Cao Cao’s third son finds out what passes for brotherly love in his family.

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Welcome to the Romance of the Three Kingdoms Podcast. This is episode 100.

First of all, I want to wish everyone a belated merry Christmas. The fact that our last episode of 2016 also happens to be the 100th episode in our narrative seems a fortuitous omen of some sort. I’d like to thank everyone who has been listening to the show, rating the show in iTunes, supporting the show through donations, and telling other people about the show. You guys are awesome, and I would not have made it this far without your enthusiasm and support. So thank you. Happy holidays and here’s to better things in 2017.

And now, back to our originally scheduled programming. 

So, we had some momentous developments in the last episode, didn’t we? Cao Cao, the Darth Vader of Chinese history and literature, had just died. His eldest son Cao Pi assumed his title as King of Wei and then proceeded to consolidate his position by marginalizing his brothers. He took away one brother’s army, scared another brother into committing suicide, and had just arrested his third brother, the literary genius Cao Zhi, for being disrespectful.

Horrified at seeing her sons at each other’s throats, Cao Pi’s mother, Lady Bian (4), had begged him to spare Cao Zhi. Cao Pi told her, oh I was never going to harm him; just take him down a peg or two.

After she left in tears, Cao Pi ordered that Cao Zhi be brought in to see him. Before Cao Zhi entered, however, one of Cao Pi’s senior advisers, Hua Xin, spoke up.

“Was the queen mother asking your highness to spare your brother?”

“Indeed,” Cao Pi replied.

“But given Cao Zhi’s talent and knowledge, he will never be a content subject,” Hua Xin said. “You should eliminate him now to avoid trouble later.”

“But I cannot go against my mother’s orders,” Cao Pi lamented.

“Everyone says Cao Zhi is so gifted that he can compose poems off the cuff,” Hua Xin said. “But I don’t believe it. Your highness can summon him and test his talent. If he fails your test, then you can kill him. If he passes the test, then exile him. That will silence any criticism from the literati.”

Cao Pi went along with that idea. Momentarily, Cao Zhi entered and threw himself on the ground and apologized for his offense. But, showing that he was very much his father’s son, Cao Pi was unmoved.

“You and I may be brothers, but we are also lord and vassal,” Cao Pi said. “How dare you show such disrespect? When our father was alive, you often showed off your writings, but I always suspected that you were passing off others’ work as your own. Today, I command you to compose a poem within seven steps. If you succeed, you will be spared. If you fail, you will be punished severely, without mercy!”

 

“Please name the topic,” Cao Zhi said.

In the room there was an ink-brush painting depicting two oxens fighting under a mud wall. One of the oxens had fallen into a well and died. Pointing at the painting, Cao Pi said, “Use this painting as the topic, but your poem must not say anything along the lines of “Two oxens fighting under a wall, one oxen dying after a fall.”

Cao Zhi promptly took seven steps and spoke the following lines, imbued with symbolism:

“Two butcher’s victims lowing walked along,