The Refugee Procession on the Dangyang Plain
Following Lord Liu Bei’s decision to make for Jiangling rather than try to seize Jingzhou—choosing flight from Cao Cao’s army over a hopeless stand—we set out for Jiangling at once.
Guan Yu and Zhuge Liang, taking a portion of the common folk and a detachment of troops, went on ahead to Jiangxia to beg reinforcements from Liu Qi.
I had expected as much, yet abandoning a garrison and moving an entire army was never going to be simple. Burning the government offices of Xinye had sown confusion among Cao Cao’s forces, but in truth it bought us only a little time. Everyone marched with hearts clenched, half-expecting the enemy to fall upon us at any moment.
Worse still, rumors of this sort were already racing through Jingzhou, and the people’s hearts had grown as restless and fearful as they could possibly be.
Lord Liu Biao has passed away, and his son Liu Cong has already offered Jingzhou up to Cao Cao.
Whom, then, are we to follow?
— Let us follow Left General Liu Bei. If it is he, he will take us in.
Word that Liu Biao, once master of Jingzhou, was dead had spread everywhere. To the people of Jingzhou he had been little short of an emperor. With him gone and the remaining power surrendered to Cao Cao, how could chaos not follow?
Bewildered commoners began flocking to Liu Bei one after another. A few of his officers raised voices of protest, yet Liu Bei insisted he could not leave them behind and declared that all would travel together.
The throng that had grown little by little soon swelled into a host of more than a hundred thousand. The very spectacle I had only ever seen in books and Three Kingdoms dramas now unfolded before my eyes.
It was a long, long column. Yet there was no life in it. Everyone trudged forward in silence, shoulders slumped, simply following the person ahead in an endless chain. Now and then the sound of weeping rose among them. With so many children and elderly among the refugees, progress was inevitably slow.
Even their leader, Liu Bei, though he strove to appear composed, seemed to me to have grown markedly gaunt in only a few days.
Small wonder. He had already lost his footing more than once and spent half a lifetime wandering from place to place. Now he was forced to abandon even the modest foundation he had begun to build in Jingzhou, and to shoulder responsibility for countless commoners besides. The weight on his heart must have been crushing.
His closest companions, Zhang Fei and Zhao Yun, wore equally rigid expressions from first light to last.
So they continued their grim march until Liu Bei, catching sight of something, reined in his horse for a moment.
“What is that?”
His gaze had settled on a ridge—more precisely, on the tomb that crowned it.
“It is the tomb of Lord Liu of Jingzhou,” said Mi Fang, who rode at his side.
“Yes. I know it well.”
Liu Bei was silent a moment, then spoke again.
“Let us stop a while, pay our respects at the tomb, and then continue.”
“My lord! The road is urgent. We cannot know when Cao Cao’s army may fall upon us.”
“I know that as well. Still, must we not show a final courtesy to the man who was once master of Jingzhou? Once we leave this place, who can say when we shall ever stand before him again…”
Despite every protest around him, Liu Bei dismounted and walked toward Liu Biao’s tomb. I watched his back. Both shoulders hung heavy and low.
Before the tomb Liu Bei knelt with solemn care, pressed his forehead to the earth, and began to weep aloud.
Among the commoners who had once followed Liu Biao, sobs rose one after another.
That Liu Bei had visited Liu Biao’s tomb on the road of exile was recorded even in the histories. Whether it had been a performance meant to win hearts or a genuine act of mourning remained unclear even in modern times.
What was Liu Bei thinking now? Even I could not know.
Liu Bei bowed before Liu Biao’s grave and let the tears fall. A thousand emotions crossed within him.
The bond of sheltering under Liu Biao’s protection was already long. There had been times when Liu Biao eyed him with suspicion, times when his counsel went unheeded. Their relationship had never been purely warm; yet it was equally true that only because of Liu Biao had he been able to preserve even this much of his strength.
Then one old episode flashed through his mind.
Once, invited by Liu Biao to a banquet, he had drunk cheerfully and stepped out to the privy—only to look down at his own thighs, grown thick with flesh, and crouch there weeping for a long while.
He had risen with great ambitions, yet had achieved nothing, wasting the years until only fat remained. It was pity and lament for himself. (The Lament of the Thighs.)
He had tried to shake it off, yet nothing truly changed afterward. He had founded no great enterprise; instead he stood once more on the brink of losing his base and being driven into flight.
And this time more than a hundred thousand commoners trailed after him. What in heaven’s name was he to do? Even after a good cry, no way to lift the burden presented itself.
Having finished his homage, he returned to the column with a heavy heart. What met his eyes was the plain filled to the horizon with people.
“We resume the march as we are.”
Just as Zhang Fei and Zhao Yun clasped their fists and prepared to move again, a cry rose.
“My lord! My lord!”
It was a young woman who looked barely into her twenties. Clutching a boy of about five—clearly her son—she staggered toward Liu Bei.
The child wailed in her arms; blood ran from a scraped knee where he must have fallen.
“Hold! How dare you approach!”
Mi Fang moved to stop her, but Liu Bei restrained him.
“Very well. What is the matter?”
The woman answered through her own tears, voice tight with desperation.
“This little one fell while we were walking and now swears he cannot go another step. I myself am at the end of my strength—I can no longer carry him. My husband is already dead, and this boy is the only family I have left. What are we to do?”
She was gaunt and haggard; she herself looked ready to drop, and no spark of life remained in her eyes.
“Ah… that is indeed a difficult plight…”
Liu Bei smiled as though embarrassed, yet his own gaze wavered with the same helplessness.
“My lord! Forgive my presumption, but I must speak.”
Mi Fang raised his voice once more.
“Our progress is already far too slow. Preserving Jiangling with all speed is the urgent task.”
“I have already said we will speak no more of that. These people came following me—how can I turn my back on them?”
“The commoners are many; the soldiers are few. If Cao Cao’s army should strike us in this state, we will be annihilated. My lord, you must decide!”
“To me, taking them with us is the greater cause.”
“You must first preserve yourself if you are ever to achieve that cause! Look around you. You cannot take every single one of these people.”
Mi Fang’s face flushed as he spoke; Liu Bei only smiled bitterly and repeated the same words. Yet he did as Mi Fang urged and looked about him. A strange feeling rose that he had forgotten something vital.
People… people.
Those who followed him were there.
Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, Jin Do, Gan Yong, Sun Qian, Mi Zhu, and the rest—men who had endured long hardship at his side yet followed him in silence.
And Zhuge Liang, Xu Shu, Yi Ji, Xiang Lang, Jin Cheong, and others—more recent arrivals, yet men and women who likewise trusted this small force of his and chose to stay.
And the commoners. He had resolved to take them in, yet he had never truly looked into their eyes. This time he did.
Every face was haggard, yet their eyes held hope and expectation—the hope that Liu Bei would not abandon them.
They were of every age and every calling, yet each had left the place they called home to follow him.
Liu Bei looked at them one by one.
A parent cradling a small child. Someone supporting a frail elder. A pair who seemed husband and wife.
If they shared one thing, it was that none of them had let go of the hands of those who walked with them.
He saw a boy who could not have been more than ten—perhaps younger—clutching a still smaller child’s hand and staring at him, and he thought:
Why have I come this far through a world of chaos? It was never strength, never rank. It was the people who walked with me—how could I have forgotten that? Even a child so young refuses to release the hand of his own. How then can I cast these people’s hands aside?
A smile spread across Liu Bei’s face—not forced, but light with sudden ease.
“My lord, once more I must—”
“Enough!”
Liu Bei’s shout rang out, charged with a force unlike anything before; Mi Fang flinched.
“We all go together! I will abandon not a single soul!”
“My… my lord…”
“To accomplish great things one must take people as the foundation. When the people entrust themselves to me, how can I cast them off and leave? If anyone speaks such words again, I will take his head!”
Mi Fang flushed and stepped back.
The air itself had changed.
“Aye—that’s more like our elder brother.”
Zhang Fei threw back his head and laughed.
Zhao Yun brought both hands forward in respectful salute and bowed deeply to his lord, a quiet smile at the corners of his mouth.
“Hahaha. Well then, let us see. I know a little of medicinal herbs—allow me to look after them.”
Xu Shu approached the woman with a kindly smile.
“I will help as well.”
“Ah! If Lady Jin lends her hand, we are in good hands indeed!”
Jin Cheong lifted the sobbing child into her arms and led him to the roadside to sit. Xu Shu opened his pack and began selecting and combining herbs.
“Come, come! I will see to everyone in turn—do not worry.”
The injured crowded around Xu Shu and me. He compounded salves from the herbs; I bound the wounds with them.
“There now. Good boy.”
I treated the child’s scraped knee and soothed him. Beside us the mother bowed again and again in thanks.
While we tended the wounded I looked out over the host of more than a hundred thousand that Liu Bei led. He now walked with shoulders squared, quite unlike before, while my father Jin Do advanced as escort to Liu Bei’s household.
Zhang Fei urged the soldiers on; Zhao Yun inquired after the people’s welfare.
Some of the troops stepped among the refugees and held out their hands. One hoisted a small child onto his back; another supported a sick old man.
“Well now, that seems to be the last of them. Young lady, shall we tidy up and rejoin the column?”
Xu Shu straightened with a cheerful stretch.
“Yes, let’s. But Military Advisor Xu—”
“Yes? What is it?”
“You said your mother is traveling with us as well, did you not?”
“Of course. I’m a selfish wretch who looks after his own family first. By now she should be riding ahead in a carriage.”
Only moments earlier he had been caring for the sick among the people, yet he called himself a selfish wretch. That was simply the man he was.
I had seen her earlier myself—Xu Shu’s mother riding in a carriage amid the refugee column.
If I keep Xu Shu’s mother safe, then Xu Shu will remain with our cause, won’t he?