Chang Liao went back and told his master who said, “I must find a way to keep him here.”
While Kuan Yü was pondering over his difficulties they told him that a friend had come to enquire for him. The visitor was introduced but Kuan did not recognise him.
“Who are you?” asked Kuan.
“I am Ch‘ên Chên of Nanyang, in the service of Yüan Shao.”
In great perturbation Kuan Yü sent away the attendants and, they being gone, said, “There is some special reason for your visit.”
For reply the newcomer drew out a letter and handed it to his host, who recognised that it was from his brother Yüan-tê.
“I, the writer, and you, Sir, pledged ourselves in the Peach Garden to die together. Why then are we apart and yet alive, our kindly feelings destroyed, our sense of right outraged? Surely you desire to obtain fame and acquire riches and honour by offering my head as a crowning act of merit. More might be said but I await your commands with great anxiety.”
Kuan Yü finished the letter with a bitter cry. “I always wanted to find my brother, but I did not know where he was. How can he think such evil of me?” said he.
“Yüan-tê looks for you very eagerly, and if you are still bound by the old pledge you should go quickly,” said the messenger.
“Any one born into the world without the one essential virtue of sincerity is no true man. I came here openly and can go in no other way. Now will I write a letter which I will ask you to bear to my brother, that as soon as I can take leave of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao I will bring the ladies and come to him.”
“But what if Ts‘ao Ts‘ao refuse to let you go?” said Ch‘ên Chên.
“Then would I rather die; I will not remain here.”
“Then, Sir, quickly write your letter and relieve your brother from his anxiety.”
So Kuan Yü wrote like this: “I, the humble one, know full well that a man of principle does not betray and a man of loyalty despises death. I have been a student in my youth and know somewhat of the proprieties. I sigh and weep at the memory of the fraternal affection that made Yang Chio-ai and Tso Po-t‘ao die rather than separate. I was in charge of Hsiapʻi but the place lacked provision and there was no help. I would have fought to the death but there was on my shoulders the responsibility for my sisters-in-law. Wherefore I had to take care of my body lest I betrayed my trust. And so I made a prisoner of myself, hoping to find a way of release. I heard of you lately in Junan. I must, however, bid farewell to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao and bring the ladies with me when I come. May I
