The condemned man heard him but uttered no word. He stretched out his neck for the blow. Tears sprang to the eyes of all present. His remains were honourably coffined and buried in Hsütu.
A poem pitying his fate says:—
Neither hope of life nor fear of death moved him.
How brave was he, a hero indeed!
But his lord heeded not his words,
Wherefore in vain possessed he great talents.
Nevertheless, in that he stood by his master,
To parting with wife and mother,
He merits our pity and profound respect.
Who would not resemble Kung-t‘ai
That day he died at the White Gate?
While Ts‘ao sadly escorted Ch‘ên Kung on the way to death, Lü Pu appealed to Yüan-tê, “Noble Sir, you sit there an honoured guest while poor I lie bound at your feet. Will you not utter one word to alleviate my lot?”
Yüan-tê nodded. As Tsʻao Ts‘ao returned to his place his prisoner called out, “Your only trouble, Illustrious Sir, is myself and I am on your side now. You take the lead, I will help you and together the world is at our feet.”
“What do you think?” said Ts‘ao turning to Liu Pei.
“You are willing to forget the episodes of Ting Yüan and Tung Cho?”
“Truly the lout is not to be trusted,” said Lü Pu, looking at Yüan-tê.
“Strangle and expose,” said Ts‘ao.
As he was led away the prisoner turned once more to Yüan-tê, “You long-eared lout, you forget now the service I rendered you that day at my yamên gate, when my arrow hit the mark.”
Just then some one shouted, “Lü Pu, O fool! death is but death, and why are you scared at it?”
Every one turned to look; the lictors were hustling Chang Liao to the place of judgement.
A poet has written upon the death of Lü Pu:—
The flood spreads wide, the city drowns,
Its lord is captive. Nought avails
His courser’s speed or halberd’s thrust.
The tiger erstwhile fierce, now whines
For mercy. Ts‘ao had meted him
Full well, a falcon flown at will
And hungry kept. Poor fool! He let
Ch‘ên Kung’s advice be overborne
By harem tattle; vainly now
He rails against the Long-eared Childe.
And another poem says:—
Bound is the hungry tiger, eater of men, for whom is no pity,
Since the blood of his victims is fresh and not yet dry.
Yüan-tê spoke no word in favour of Lü Pu,
To whom even a father’s life was not sacred.
How could he save him to be a menace to Ts‘ao Man.
