Looking at Cao Pi
"General. What did Cao Zhang say to you?"
"Ah, nothing much. Just that that fraud of Cao Wei is likely to face punishment later on."
"Is that so."
Yu Eun had asked the moment I returned what had happened, but I brushed it off with a vague answer.
"It's late. Let's rest. Cao Cao's memorial rites are tomorrow."
"Yes, understood."
Parting from Yu Eun, I returned to my quarters, straightened my bedding, and lay down. I fretted briefly over how Cao Pi might respond, but honestly I could not even begin to imagine what he might try.
Worrying would not produce an answer. Having decided to handle whatever came with improvisation, I fell asleep at once.
"Did you rest well? Then allow me to escort you first to His Highness the King of Wei."
Cao Zhang, who came for us the next morning, led us to Cao Pi. The place we arrived at was the great hall of Wei.
The great hall in Chengdu where Liu Bei held court was magnificent in its own right, but the hall at Xuchang boasted a far grander scale.
Civil and military officials stood ranked along both sides of the hall, and upon the highest seat sat a man in lavish robes. It was, needless to say, Cao Pi.
He sat at a slant, wearing an expression of pure boredom — nothing about him looked like a man in the midst of mourning his father.
"Your Highness, the King of Wei. The envoys from Shu have arrived."
At the news that Fei Yi and I, serving as envoys, had arrived, the boredom in his eyes seemed to flash for an instant.
"Oh. Is that so."
Fei Yi and I stepped forward.
"We pay our respects to Your Highness, the King of Wei. I am Fei Yi, Palace Attendant of Shu."
"I am Jin Cheong, General Who Pacifies the North of Shu."
Cao Pi was a man in his early thirties, ordinary-looking enough that the word psychopath did not spring immediately to mind. Then again, a psychopath would hardly go about with the word written across his face.
Sure enough, his very first words were slightly jarring.
"Well. You are welcome. I am the King of Wei. And the gifts?"
Fei Yi's official cap twitched ever so slightly at the sheer gall of asking about gifts the moment he laid eyes on us, but as a seasoned diplomat he composed himself at once and answered.
"Yes, Your Highness. We have prepared Shu gold along with various jewels and treasures. They will be to your liking."
Cao Pi nodded at his words.
I had read that even during the three-year mourning period for Cao Cao, Cao Pi had demanded luxury goods from Sun Quan. Bringing up gifts first here was simply Cao Pi being Cao Pi — something one could shrug off and move past. The real problem lay ahead.
What followed proceeded more smoothly than expected, from the first audience through to the memorial rites themselves.
Cao Pi's manner and expression carried a certain flippancy, but nothing he did grossly violated the rites.
After various formalities, the memorial ceremony began.
Cao Cao's achievements were recited in turn, and through the elegiac verses that followed, Cao Pi wore only a faintly bitter look and did not display any great emotion.
Cao Zhang, by contrast, fell to his knees and wailed. As he cried out for his father, the ministers of Wei all joined in weeping and mourning, and in an instant the hall became a sea of tears.
Seeing that valiant Cao Zhang weep so desolately, I too straightened my collar and composed my posture.
Up to that point it had been an ordinary memorial service — but one thing kept nagging at me. Throughout the entire ceremony, Cao Pi kept stealing glances at my face.
I could not tell whether I only felt that way because I was conscious of him, but unpleasant was unpleasant. He had not actually done me any harm, so there was nothing I could say about it.
And another point that stuck with me: Cao Zhi, Cao Cao's third son, was not present. It seemed the word from Cao Wei had been correct after all.
Cao Zhi was apparently in Yecheng; I had caught a rumor that he was ill.
There were even whispers of a grave sickness, but it was not yet time for Cao Zhi to die. He might truly be too unwell to come — or, if not, might it be a feigned illness?
In any case, the memorial rites concluded. Both Fei Yi and I considered the envoys' duties all but finished.
Until that night, when Cao Zhang came with news.
"…I have come to convey His Highness the King of Wei's invitation that you attend tomorrow's banquet."
"A banquet? The memorial service was only today. Is this not a period of national mourning?"
I, who had read that Cao Pi had thrown festivals and feasted even during the three-year mourning period, remained unfazed — but Fei Yi exclaimed in surprise, and Cao Zhang looked thoroughly embarrassed.
"Yes. It is a farewell banquet for the Shu envoys, so he asks that you be sure to attend…"
"Hmm…. Yes, understood. We shall attend…."
"Yes. We will attend. Thank you for taking such care of us each time."
After Cao Zhang left, Fei Yi tilted his head.
"A banquet? We have already observed the memorial rites and delivered all the gifts. I cannot see any need to hold a banquet on top of that. It makes no sense to me."
"Yes. Cao Pi must have something more he wants to do."
"What might that be?"
"Who knows. I don't know either. We'll find out when we go."
What sort of stunt might Cao Pi pull at a banquet?
The banquet was held — and held in grand style.
Cao Pi, of course, sat in the seat of honor, with his close retainers Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo and the civil officials arrayed in long rows to either side. Fei Yi and I were seated among them.
Musicians played and sang, stirring the atmosphere.
The food and wine were all of the finest quality, yet I felt little cheer. I kept wondering when he would try some strange scheme.
Cao Pi, who had been making only idle conversation until then, drained a cup of wine in one go and opened his mouth.
"On so merry a day as this, a strange emptiness still lingers."
A merry day. I almost envied the nerve it took to say such a thing in the middle of a mourning period.
"I have been pondering what this emptiness might be, and just now it came to me."
"What is it, Your Highness?"
Wu Zhi, seated beside him, asked, and Cao Pi answered.
"Poetry. Now that I think of it, there is no poetry at this gathering. How can a gathering such as this be without poetry, my lords?"
"Ah, indeed, Your Highness. On so joyous an occasion, we have been without a splendid poem. We failed to notice it — how brilliant of you."
"Does Your Highness mean to favor us with a verse? We long to hear the poetry of our lord, so accomplished in letters."
The moment Cao Pi brought up poetry, Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo piled on the flattery as if they had been waiting for it. They were perfectly in sync.
"Just so. I shall offer a verse first, my lords."
Cao Pi cleared his throat — ahem, ahem — and composed himself, while Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo gazed at him with bright, eager eyes.
"Where the Wo River's waters run blue, the shadows of trees are cast,
and a gentle breeze blows soft, so the waves upon the stream dance full."
Having delivered one stanza, Cao Pi went on to spin out the next lines with easy fluency, and before long the banquet was steeped in the poetry he produced.
Cao Pi, together with Cao Cao and Cao Zhi, was counted among the Three Caos — the three most gifted men of letters of the age.
Still, he fell a little short of Cao Cao and Cao Zhi. And yet for a poem this fine — how brilliant must Cao Cao and Cao Zhi have been?
Everyone, Fei Yi included, was by now listening intently to his verse.
Is that the Rhapsody on Approaching the Wo? The one that sang the beauty of his ancestral home in Qiao County.
"Truly magnificent, Your Highness. This Wu Zhi is overcome with admiration. Your poetry has no equal under heaven."
"Indeed. Whenever I hear Your Highness's verse, I cannot restrain the tears that well in my eyes."
Your flattery, on the other hand, truly has no equal under heaven.
But the poetry itself was excellent, so even those beyond Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo did not stint their praise.
"Then, Wu Zhi — will you offer a verse next?"
"Yes, Your Highness. I cannot compare to you, but I shall compose one as well."
Wu Zhi rose and produced a poem on the spot. It was not the equal of Cao Pi's, but it was a decent piece.
But wait…. Was this what that bastard Cao Pi was aiming for?
Zhu Shuo, who took up the baton next, also recited a poem at length.
The records said Wu Zhi was gifted with the pen; of Zhu Shuo I was less certain. Perhaps he had prepared it in advance.
"This Xun Yi shall now compose a verse as well."
Following Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo, the other civil officials began to recite poems one after another in turn.
Fei Yi, sensing that something was amiss, cast uneasy glances about. He would not be fretting for himself. He was a capable man of letters; composing a single poem was no trouble for him.
The problem was me — a military officer.
Come to think of it, everyone present was a civil official. Everyone but me.
When Fei Yi's turn came, he too composed a verse on the spot. The poem itself was fine, but he kept glancing at me, clearly worried on my behalf.
And then, once Fei Yi's poem ended, the turn passed to me, seated beside him.
Sure enough, Cao Pi spoke as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
"Next, it is the turn of the General Who Pacifies the North of Shu. May we look forward to a fine poem? Thus far, not one person has failed to offer a verse. I should very much like to hear yours as well."
At that, Fei Yi stepped forward again.
"Ah! Your Highness. Just now a brilliant poetic conceit has struck me. I am certain it will please you. If I might recite one more—"
But Cao Pi cut him off.
"You have already had your turn; I shall grant you another opportunity later. There are those beside you fairly itching for their chance, are there not?"
"But…."
"I will give you another chance later, so wait. The General Who Pacifies the North of Shu is a military officer, yet I have heard he also serves as tutor in letters to the Crown Prince of Shu. Well? Surely a man who tutors His Highness the Crown Prince himself cannot be incapable of composing a single poem."
So that was it. Watching him brush aside Fei Yi's offer at once and keep fixing on me, I was certain. This had been aimed at me all along.
This was a scheme to watch me flounder, unable to produce a poem, and make a laughingstock of me. And by dragging in not only me but Liu Shan as well, he risked casting a stain even upon the Crown Prince of Shu.
What exactly did he gain by doing this? A sense of superiority — that he was the greater man of letters?
It was a petty stunt, but it was also one that struck at my weak point.
I had not composed a single poem since coming here. Poetry was not something one could simply knock out on demand.
But that did not mean I was obliged to become the evening's entertainment.
"Very well. Then I too shall offer a verse."
As I rose from my seat, every gaze in the hall turned upon me.
No choice, then. I had not meant to use this….