Chapter Sixty-Two: Commanding the Lords with the Emperor as Leverage

Handan Chun was an old gentleman who was unwilling to serve in officialdom or to teach and guide students. He devoted himself instead to the natural beauty of the mountains and rivers, spending his days studying calligraphy, delving into essays, and relying entirely on ancient jokes to pass the time.

As the saying goes, “A smile takes ten years off one’s age.” No wonder he lived such a long life, being born in 132 AD and dying in 221 AD, reaching the remarkable age of ninety.

However, refusing official posts and disciples did not mean he lacked renown. In fact, Handan Chun was an illustrious scholar in Jingzhou during his time.

Later, when Cao Cao gained control of Jingzhou, he soon learned of Handan Chun’s reputation and immediately summoned him to Ye City, intending to have him instruct his two sons, Cao Pi and Cao Zhi.

Upon hearing that Handan Chun was coming, both Cao Pi and Cao Zhi competed eagerly to visit and befriend him. Cao Pi requested his father to make Handan Chun his literary attendant, while Cao Zhi was equally insistent in his plea for Handan Chun’s guidance.

At that time, Cao Cao favored Cao Zhi, so he commanded Handan Chun to visit him. Cao Zhi, overjoyed, welcomed him with great ceremony—testament to the scholar’s lofty reputation.

As a great scholar of the era, Handan Chun received an endless stream of visitors daily. Wang Can, accompanied by Shen Chen and others, came seeking his favor, hoping to earn his appreciation—and, even better, his appraisal.

It was much like Xu Shao and Sima Hui, one making monthly evaluations of talent, the other uttering but a single phrase—declaring Zhuge Liang and Pang Tong the finest talents in Jingzhou—and immediately “Wolong” and “Fledgling Phoenix” became renowned throughout the land.

In a sense, if one could gain the recognition of a literary giant through a visit, one’s reputation would swiftly spread, paving the way to prominence.

Recently, Wang Can had been engaged in this very practice. Of course, he was already famous in Jingzhou, a notable scholar who needed no further help in increasing his renown.

Yet he was passionate about assisting his friends. History records many of his poems dedicated to friends—for instance, “Poem for Shisun Wenshi,” “Poem for Cai Zidou,” “A Poem of Homesickness for Pan Wenze,” “To Wen Shuliang – The Soaring Wild Goose,” and “To Yang Dezhu.”

He maintained an extensive network, knowing many of Jingzhou’s great figures, and when he brought friends to visit, their gatherings became occasions for literary exchange and academic discussion. So long as one’s talent was genuine, these luminaries were willing to offer their recognition.

After visiting Handan Chun, Shen Chen, thanks to his excellent storytelling and profound learning, won the elder’s favor and was praised as one of the foremost talents in the southern provinces.

With such endorsement, Shen Chen’s fame spread rapidly.

In fact, he was already somewhat well-known. At Xianshan Academy, though the youngest, he surpassed all students in scholarship, earning the admiration of Song Zhong and Wang Can.

Moreover, he enjoyed a deep friendship with Wang Can. The two often exchanged poetry and essays, and Wang Can held him in high esteem.

It should be noted that, though the Three Caos’ poetry is celebrated by later generations—like Cao Cao’s “Short Song Style,” “Watching the Blue Sea,” “Though the Tortoise Lives Long,” and “Song of the Mugwort Field,” all well-known—poetry and literature at the end of the Han were not highly regarded. Only in the Tang dynasty did poetry culture reach its dazzling zenith.

Thus, poetry was a small circle; though Jingzhou had many scholars, true poets were rare.

Wang Can had no one with whom to share his poetic insights, and felt lonely for it.

Now, with Shen Chen able to compose verses and discuss poetry with him, Wang Can was naturally overjoyed and counted him as a close friend.

Last year, Wang Can composed the “Poem of Seven Sorrows,” inspired by his flight with Shisun Meng from Chang’an to Jingzhou and the sorrowful sights they witnessed along the way.

The poem tells of a starving woman abandoning her infant by the roadside as he left Chang’an.

Once written, the poem was circulated and moved all who read or heard it to tears, but no one could write a responding poem, which he regretted.

When Shen Chen learned of this, recalling his own journey south from Xuzhou, he too composed a “Poem of Seven Sorrows.”

This title, in fact, denotes a poetic form, not a specific work. It reflects the social phenomena of turbulent times: war, plague, death, separation, disappointment—evoking profound literary value.

The most famous examples are Du Fu’s “Three Officials” and “Three Partings.”

The earliest example of this poetic form is Wang Can’s “Chaos in the Western Capital.”

Shen Chen’s “Poem of Seven Sorrows” followed this style, consisting of twelve lines and one hundred and twenty characters, depicting the massacre of hundreds of thousands as he traveled south from Xuzhou.

The poem reads:

“Xuzhou, mounds upon mounds, tens of thousands of new graves.
White banners hang at the crossroads, corpses bound to the hitching posts.
City walls ground to rubble, only a single battered window remains in the ruined manors.
Why has it come to this? Cao Cao’s army slaughtered north of the Huai.

Looking south from the carriage, the hills seem sick and sallow.
Passing Pengcheng and the Si River, countless bodies float upon the water.
Remains pave the roads, blood and flesh churned into mire.
Why has it come to this? The Cao army drove the people to their deaths.

In this end of days, chaos reigns, thieves and bandits prowl like wolves.
Wild brambles fill the fields, by the roadside dead children lie.
Foxes and hares nest everywhere, wild grass overgrows the plain.
I recall the lament at Yongmen; from ancient times to now, sorrow abides alone.”

The meaning of the first four lines: passing south through Xuzhou, one sees grave mounds rising everywhere, thousands upon thousands of tombs. White mourning banners hang by the roadside pavilions, and corpses are lashed to the posts at gates where horses once stood. The city is reduced to ruins, manors so devastated that only a single wooden window remains. Why has this happened? Because Cao Cao’s army massacred those north of the Huai River.

The next four lines: traveling by carriage, looking south, the mountains seem sickly and yellow. Passing Pengcheng and the Si River, one sees countless commoners’ bodies drifting in the water. Their remains line the roads, flesh and blood turned to mud. Why has this happened? The soldiers of Cao’s army drove the people into the river to kill them.

The final four lines: as the age descends into chaos, bandits and thieves are as numerous as wolves. Brambles overrun the wilderness, and dead children are found by the wayside. Everywhere there are the dens of foxes and hares, and wild mugwort grows taller than a man. Recalling the words of Yongmen Zizhou to Lord Mengchang, what happened in ancient times is all too similar to today, filling me with sorrow.

After its composition, Shen Chen’s poem caused little stir in Jingzhou’s literary circles. Though some expressed outrage at Cao Cao’s atrocities, as before, poetry was not mainstream literature at the end of the Han.

Unlike in the Tang, where a poet skilled in verse could travel the land and be welcomed everywhere, poets at this time held no such status.

At most, people acknowledged the poem as well-written but could not articulate exactly why.

Only Wang Can truly loved it.

As one who understood poetry, he could see the deeper meaning within. The poem’s theme closely paralleled his own “Chaos in the Western Capital”: both depicted tragedy and both raged against the chaos of feudal lords. Where Wang Can wrote of Dong Zhuo, Shen Chen wrote of Cao Cao; Wang Can told of a woman abandoning her child, Shen Chen of bodies drifting in the Si River; Wang Can wrote of the people of the underworld, Shen Chen of the lament at Yongmen.

In the words of future language teachers, “In this poem, the poet paints a hellish tableau of misery, expressing the suffering and disaster brought upon the people by the wars of late Han, and profoundly reflecting the darkness of feudal society and the harm inflicted by ancient warlords on the common folk.”

Thus, Shen Chen’s image as a poet concerned for his country and the people leapt vividly from the page. Perhaps a millennium or two hence, this would become a poem that all students must recite and copy in full.

For those students, of course, the true suffering caused by warlords would be unknown; instead, Shen Chen’s poem would leave them with a mountain of psychological scars.

For Wang Can, however, the poem’s appearance was a revelation, giving him a sense of true companionship. Since Shen Chen often exchanged verses and sometimes helped him revise lines, Wang Can found his company all the more agreeable.

In fact, Wang Can was not very old, only nineteen this year, while Shen Chen was eleven. Though there was an eight-year gap, Wang Can still vividly remembered befriending Cai Yong in Chang’an, so he regarded Shen Chen as a dear friend and was happy to help spread his fame.

By July, Wang Can once again took Shen Chen to visit friends throughout the region. Though young, Wang Can’s talent was unmatched in Jing and Chu, and as the descendant of a Three Excellencies, all the scholars of Jingzhou paid him respect.

Thus, they made the rounds of the great clans—Huang, Xi, Ma, Yang, Xiang—and Shen Chen’s reputation steadily rose.

Meanwhile, the tides of the world had begun to shift.

For instance, in May, Zhang Xiu, lacking talented advisers, heard that Jia Xu was faring poorly among Duan Wei’s forces and promptly sent for him, bringing him to Nanyang.

In June, Yuan Shu dispatched Ji Ling with thirty thousand troops to attack Xuzhou again. At that time, Liu Bei had already been defeated by Lü Bu and was stationed at Xiaopei. When Ji Ling attacked, Lü Bu performed his famous arrow shot at the camp gate and helped Liu Bei out of his predicament.

In July, as autumn began, Sun Ce captured Kuaiji, routed Wang Lang, and then moved against the local magnate Yan Baihu, who was driven out, thus securing control over Jiangdong.

At the start of August, Emperor Xian, after much wandering under the protection of Yang Feng and Han Xian, finally returned to Luoyang. Earlier that year, Liu Biao had sent men to repair the palace in Luoyang and supply food, allowing the emperor a brief respite.

But he soon made a grave error: he issued a secret edict via Dong Cheng, summoning Cao Cao to Luoyang to “support the throne.”

Strictly speaking, this was not entirely a mistake. Han Xian, having escorted the emperor, became arrogant and disruptive to the court, making Emperor Xian uneasy and seeking outside power to balance the situation.

But he could never have imagined that Cao Cao was a tiger, while Han Xian was but a husky—no match at all.

At that time, Xun Yu was already advising Cao Cao to “hold the emperor’s banner to command the disobedient.” Dong Cheng’s secret edict was timely indeed; Cao Cao immediately marched to Luoyang, denounced Han Xian and Zhang Yang before the emperor, and with Han Xian fleeing to join Yang Feng, military power in Luoyang fell into Cao Cao’s hands.

The emperor thereupon appointed Cao Cao as Colonel-Director of Retainers, Chief of the Secretariat, and granted him the imperial tally—making him the supreme power of the Han.

Cao Cao then eliminated those who opposed his rule, including Chamberlain Tai Chong and Minister Feng Shuo, seizing full control of the court.

Finally, at the end of August, citing the ruinous state of Luoyang, Cao Cao formally requested Emperor Xian to move the capital to Xuchang.