spent long hours over it but in vain. He leaned over on the small table, his head resting on his hands and was almost asleep, when a candle snuff fell down upon the girdle and burned a hole in the lining. He hastily shook it off, but the mischief was done: a small hole had been burned in the silken lining, and through this there appeared something white with blood red marks. He hastily ripped it open and drew out the decree written by the hand of the Emperor himself in characters of blood.
It read, “Of human relationships, that between father and son stands first; of the various social ties that between Prince and Minister stands highest. To-day Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, the wicked, is a real tyrant, treating even his Prince with indignity. With the support of his faction and his army he has destroyed the principles of government. By conferring rewards and inflicting punishments he has reduced the Emperor to a nonentity. I have grieved over this day and night. I have feared the Empire would be ruined.
“You are a high Minister of State and my own relative. You must recall the difficulties of the great Founder’s early days and draw together the loyal and right-minded to destroy this evil faction and restore the prerogatives of the Throne. Such a deed would be indeed an extreme joy to the spirits of my ancestors.
“This decree, written in blood drawn from my own veins, is confided to a noble who is to be most careful not to fail in executing his Emperor’s design.
“Given in the era Established Tranquillity, fourth year and the third month of Spring.”
So ran the decree and Tung Ch‘êng read it with streaming eyes. There was no sleep for him that night. Early in the morning he returned to his library and re-read it. No plan suggested itself. He laid the decree down on the table and sought in the depths of his mind for some scheme to destroy Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, but could not decide upon any. And he fell asleep leaning over his table.
It happened that a certain official, Wang Tzŭ-fu, with whom he was on terms of great intimacy, came to visit him and, as usual, walked into the house unannounced and went straight to the library. His host did not wake and Wang noticed, hardly hidden by his sleeve, the Emperor’s writing. Wondering what this might be he drew it out, read it and put it in his own sleeve. Then he called out loud, “Uncle Ch‘êng, are you not well? Why are you asleep at this time of day?”
Tung Ch‘êng started up and at once missed the decree. He was aghast; he almost fell to the ground.
“So you want to make away with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao? I shall have to tell him,” said Wang.
