I cannot be with you any more. Therefore I want to leave my family matters in your care. My first son, born of Lady Liu, unfortunately died young in battle. Now Lady Bian bore me four sons, as you know. The third one, Zhi, is my favorite, but he is vain and insincere, too fond of wine, and too undisciplined. Therefore he is not named my heir. My second son, Zhang, is valiant but imprudent. The fourth, Xiong, is weakly and may not live long. My eldest, Pi, is steady and serious, fit to succeed me, and I look to you to support him.”
Cao Hong and the others wept as they recorded his final wishes. After they left, Cao Cao told his servants to bring the rare spices that he had accumulated over the years and distributed them among his waiting maids, to whom he said: “After my death you must diligently attend to your womanly skills. You can make silken shoes for sale, and so earn your own living.”
He also told them to go on living in the Bronze Bird Tower. Every day they were to administer a sacrifice for him and present the eatables before his tablet, to the accompaniment of music by female musicians.
To avoid his remains being dug up, he commanded that seventy-two false tombs be built near Jiangwu in Zhangde Prefecture, so that no one should know his actual burying place. And when these final orders had been given he heaved a deep sigh and wept, tears rolling down his cheeks like rain. A moment later he died. He was sixty-six, and the time was the first month of the twenty-fifth year of the period Jian An ( A.D. 210).
A certain poet composed the following song in memory of Cao Cao:
I stood in Ye and saw the Zhang River
Go gliding by. Methought no common man
E’er rose from such a place. Or he was great
In war, a poet, or an artist skilled.
Perchance a model minister, or son,
Or famous for fraternal duty shown.
The thoughts of heroes are not ours to judge,
Nor are their actions for our eyes to see.
The man may be the first in merit, yet
His crimes may brand him chief of criminals;
And so his reputation is fair and foul.
His literary gifts may bear the mark
Of genius; he may be a ruler born,
But this is certain: he will stand above
His fellows, herding not with common men.
Takes he the field, then is he bold in fight;
Would he a mansion build, a palace springs.
In all things great, his genius masters him.
And such was Cao Cao. He could never be
Obedient; he a rebel was, foredoomed.
He seized and ruled, but hungered for power more;
Became a prince, and still was not content.
And yet this man of glorious career
When gripped by sickness, wept as might a child.
Full well he knew, when on the bed of death,
That all is vanity and nothing worth.
His latest acts were kindly. Simple gifts
Of fragrant spices gave he to his maids.
Alas!
The ancients’ splendid deeds or secret thoughts
We may not measure against our puny rule.
But criticize them, pedants, as you may
The mighty dead will smile at what you say.
As Cao Cao breathed his last the whole of those present raised a great wailing and lamentation. The news was sent to the four sons Pi, Zhang, Zhi, and Xiong. They wrapped the body in a shroud, then laid it in a golden coffin and enclosed it in a silver shell, which was sent at once to his home in Yejun.
The eldest son wept aloud at the sad tidings and went out with a big following of officials to meet the procession on the road and escort the body of his father into his home. The coffin was laid in a side hall. Dressed in mourning attire, all the officials wailed together in the hall.
Suddenly, one man stood out from the crowd of mourners and cried, “I would request the heir to cease lamentation and devote himself to the present needs of the state.” It was Sima Fu, who continued: “The death of the prince will cause a great upheaval in the empire, and it is essential that the heir should assume his dignity without loss of time. This is not the time to weep.”
The others replied, “We know it is imperative to set up