Presently they happened upon a hill of sinister aspect overhung by angry clouds, while the summit was wreathed in mist.
“What hill is that?” asked Zhong Hui, pulling up to question the guides.
“It is known as the Dingjun Mountain,” was the reply. “It is where Xiahou Yuan met his death.”
This did not sound cheering at all, and Zhong Hui turned back to camp greatly depressed. Rounding the curve of a hill, he came full into a violent gust of wind and there suddenly appeared a large body of horse coming down the wind as if to attack.
The whole party galloped off panic-stricken, Zhong Hui leading the way. Many generals fell from their steeds. Yet when they arrived at the pass, not a man was missing, although there were many with bruises and cuts from the falls and many had lost helmets. Everyone had seen phantom horsemen, who did no harm when they came near, but melted away in the wind.
Zhong Hui called the surrendered general Jiang Shu and asked, “Is there any temple to any supernatural being on the Dingjun Mountain?”
“No,” replied he, “there is nothing but the tomb of Zhuge Liang.”
“Then this must have been a manifestation of Zhuge Liang,” said Zhong Hui. “I ought to sacrifice to him.”
So he prepared presents and slew an ox and offered sacrifice at the tomb, and when the sacrifice had been completed, the wind calmed, and the dark clouds dispersed. There followed a cool breeze and a gentle shower, and the sky cleared. Pleased with the evidence of the acceptance of their offerings, the sacrificial party returned to camp.
That night Zhong Hui fell asleep in his tent with his head resting on a small table. Suddenly a cool breeze began to blow, and he saw a figure approaching clad in Taoist garb, turban, feather fan, white robe of Taoist cut bound with a black girdle. The countenance of the figure was as refined as jade, the lips a deep red and the eyes clear. The figure moved with the calm serenity of a god.
“Who are you, Sir?” asked Zhong Hui, rising.
“Out of gratitude for your kindly visit this morning, I would make a communication. Though the Hans have declined and the mandate of the Eternal cannot be disobeyed, yet the people of the west, exposed to the inevitable miseries of war, are to be pitied. After you have passed the frontier, do not slay ruthlessly.”
Then the figure disappeared with a flick of the sleeves of its robe, nor would it stay to answer any questions.
Zhong Hui awoke and knew that he had been dreaming, but he felt that the spirit of Zhuge Liang the Martial Lord had visited him, and he was astonished.
He issued an order that the leading division of his army should bear a white flag with four words plainly written thereon, “Secure state, comfort people”, so that all might know that no violence was to be feared. If anyone was slain wantonly, then the offender should pay with his own life. This tender care was greatly appreciated, so that the invaders were welcomed in every step. Zhong Hui soothed the people, and they suffered no injury.
Jiang Wei at Tazhong heard of the invasion and wrote to his three generals — Zhang Yi, Liao Hua, and Dong Jue — to march against the enemy, while he prepared to repulse them if they came to his station.
Soon they came, and he went out to encounter them. Their leader was Wang Qi, Governor of Tianshui.
When near enough, Wang Qi shouted, “Our forces are numbered by millions, our generals by thousands. Two hundred thousand are marching against you, and Chengdu has already fallen. In spite of this you do not yield, wherefore it is evident you do not recognize the divine command.”
Jiang Wei cut short this tirade by galloping out with his spear set. Wang Qi stood three bouts and then fled. Jiang Wei pursued, but seven miles away he met a cohort drawn up across the road. On the banner he read that the leader was Qian Hong, Governor of Longxi.
“Dead rat! No match for me,” said Jiang Wei, smiling.
Despising this antagonist, he led his army straight on, and the enemy fell back. He drove them before him for three more miles, and then came upon Deng Ai. A battle at once began, and the lust of battle held out in the breast of Jiang Wei for a score of bouts. But neither could overbear the other. Then in the Shu rear arose the clang of gongs and other signs of coming foes.
Jiang Wei retired the way he had come, and presently one came to report: “The Governor of Jincheng, Yang Xin, has destroyed the camps at Gansong.”
