The Wuzi吳子

Chapter One — Planning for the State圖國第一

Ten passages. The opening chapter of the book, and it is not about fighting: it is about the state that does the fighting — hence the title, tu guo, to plan for the state. It begins with a job interview. Wu Qi comes before Marquis Wen of Wei dressed as a Confucian scholar; the marquis opens by saying “I am not fond of military affairs,” and Wu Qi contradicts him to his face — why do your words go against your heart? — and points at the armour in his storehouse, hides stripped and lacquered and painted and inlaid with rhinoceros horn and ivory, too hot in summer, too cold in winter, too heavy to hunt in and too showy to fight in. You say you are not fond of it; you have been preparing for it all year. This is the only narrative opening in the book and it lays the foundation of everything after it: cultivate civil virtue within, put military preparation in order without — both, and a state that drops either one is lost. Two counter-examples in a single breath: the lord of Chengsang, who cultivated virtue and abolished arms, and lost his state; the lord of Youhu, who trusted numbers and loved daring, and lost his altars. Six passages of Wu Qi’s own sayings follow. Three matter most. The four disharmonies: between the state, the army, the ranks and the battle — fail at one level and you never reach the next, which is why “teach the hundred families and draw the ten thousand people close” comes before any mobilisation. The arithmetic of victory: “of the warring states of the realm, he who wins five times meets disaster, he who wins four is worn out, he who wins three becomes a hegemon, he who wins twice becomes a king, he who wins once becomes an emperor” — the more you win the worse you do, which is an odd thing to find in a military classic. And the five kinds of army — righteous, strong, hard, violent, contrary — each with its own counter; against a righteous army you use rites, not soldiers. The last two passages turn to men. The five picked companies are five kinds of person each formed into a unit of its own: those with nerve and strength; those eager to fight so as to show their loyalty and courage; those who can scale heights and cover ground; officials who have lost their posts and want to earn merit again; men who abandoned a city or a post and want the disgrace off them. Three thousand such, says Wu Qi, can break out of any encirclement or storm any city. Note that three of the five are men with something to redeem — that ungovernable wish to make good is what he is recruiting. The chapter closes with the story of King Zhuang of Chu, who came away from court troubled because none of his ministers could match him: a state whose ruler has no equal is a state in danger. Marquis Wen’s son looked ashamed. From institutions to men to the ruler himself — that is one chapter of planning for the state.

Wu Qi, in the robes of a Confucian scholar, sought an audience with Marquis Wen of Wei to speak of the springs of war. The marquis said: “I am not fond of military affairs.” (Wu Qi was a man of Zuoshi in Wey; he served Lu, then fled to Wei and served Marquis Wen and Marquis Wu, and at last fled to Chu — his life is in the Records of the Historian, in the joint biography with Sun Wu. The scholar’s robes are deliberate: Wu Qi had studied under Zengzi, and the clothes are a statement of standing in the Wei court. The marquis’s refusal is a courtesy and a test at once; the book opens on a sentence that is not meant.)

Wu Qi said: “Your servant infers the hidden from the visible and the future from the past. How is it that my lord’s words go against his heart? All the year round my lord has men flaying hides, coating them with vermilion lacquer, painting them in cinnabar and azure, inlaying them with rhinoceros horn and ivory. Worn in winter they do not warm; worn in summer they do not cool. He has long halberds made of twenty-four feet and short ones of twelve; his leather chariots have screens across the front, their wheels are wrapped and their hubs cased. To the eye they are not handsome; to drive out hunting they are not light. I do not know what my lord means to use them for. If they are made ready for advancing to attack and falling back to defend, and yet no one is sought out who can use them, it is as though a brooding hen should fly at a wildcat, or a bitch with her pups at a tiger: the will to fight is there, and death comes after it. Long ago the lord of Chengsang cultivated virtue and put away arms, and by this his state perished; the lord of Youhu trusted to numbers and loved daring, and by this he lost his altars of soil and grain. An enlightened ruler takes warning from these two: within he will cultivate the civil virtues, without he will put his military preparation in order. And so to face the enemy and not advance falls short of rightness; to mourn over the fallen falls short of benevolence.” (“The springs of war” — bing ji, the hinge or trigger of military affairs. Chengsang and Youhu are legendary states, one destroyed for putting arms away, the other for trusting to them — the two halves of “civil virtue” and “military preparation.” The image of the brooding hen is the hardest thing in the book. In the Kanripo transcription of the Sibu congkan text “twenty-four feet” appears as “twenty-great-four”; the facsimile leaf itself reads zhang, “ten feet,” so that is a slip of the transcription and not a reading of the edition — see the colophon. The same transcription writes “the dwelling of Youhu” for “the lord of Youhu.” The Siku text reads “to drive out in the hunt,” “lost his state and house,” and omits the connective in “to face the enemy and not advance.”)

Thereupon Marquis Wen spread the mat for him with his own hands, his consort held up the cup, and Wu Qi was consecrated in the ancestral temple and made Grand General to hold the West River. He fought seventy-six great battles with the feudal lords, won sixty-four outright, and the rest he brought to a draw. He opened territory on all four sides and extended the borders by a thousand li. All of this was Wu Qi’s doing. (The jiao rite is a libation offered in the ancestral temple at a capping, a marriage, or — as here — the appointment of a commander. The West River is the commandery Wei held west of the Yellow River, facing Qin; while Wu Qi held it, Qin did not come east. “Brought to a draw” is literally “broke off evenly,” and the Siku text writes the adverb with the ordinary graph. The tally of seventy-six battles is this book’s; the Records of the Historian does not give it. This is the one stretch of third-person narrative in the work, and it stands immediately after the interview, as a warranty on what was said there.)

Wu Qi said: “In antiquity those who planned for the state always first taught the hundred families and drew the ten thousand people close to them. There are four disharmonies: when there is no harmony in the state, you cannot send out an army; when there is no harmony in the army, you cannot form the ranks; when there is no harmony in the ranks, you cannot advance to battle; when there is no harmony in the battle, you cannot decide the victory. Therefore a ruler who possesses the Way, when he means to use his people, first makes them of one mind and then undertakes the great affair. He does not trust his own private counsel: he reports to the ancestral temple, consults the great tortoise, tests the matter against the seasons of heaven, and only when the omens are favourable does he act. When the people know that their lord loves their lives and grudges their deaths to this degree, then, if he goes into danger with them, his officers will count it glory to die going forward and shame to live by going back.” (The book writes chen throughout where later texts write zhen, “battle ranks”; this is the old usage, and the colophon explains it. “The great affair” is war: “the great affairs of a state are sacrifice and soldiery,” says the Zuo Commentary. The four disharmonies are a chain — state, army, ranks, battle — and wherever it breaks, the next link is not worth discussing. Both witnesses lack the “always” of “always first makes them of one mind,” and the Siku text reads “makes them of one mind and then undertakes”; the base text construes perfectly and is kept. The Sibu congkan text reads “count it glory to die to the last.”)

Wu Qi said: “The Way is that by which one turns back to the root and returns to the beginning. Rightness is that by which one acts and achieves. Counsel is that by which one avoids harm and moves toward advantage. The essential is that by which one keeps an inheritance and holds what has been made. If conduct does not accord with the Way and action does not accord with rightness, and a man nevertheless occupies a great place and a noble station, calamity will certainly reach him. And so the sage settles the people by the Way, orders them by rightness, moves them by rites, and soothes them by benevolence. These four virtues, cultivated, bring flourishing; abandoned, they bring decay. Therefore when Tang the Completer punished Jie, the people of Xia rejoiced; when King Wu of Zhou attacked Zhou the tyrant, the men of Yin did not call it wrong. Their action followed heaven and men, and so it could be as it was.” (“The essential,” yao, is the pivot or gist; some read it as yue, restraint. The four definitions are unusually formal for this book. What matters in the last three clauses is the phrase “their action followed heaven and men” — not that the war was justified, but that the people on the receiving end did not object. That is this book’s test of a war.)

Wu Qi said: “Whenever you govern a state or order an army, you must teach them by the rites and urge them on by rightness, so as to give them a sense of shame. When men have a sense of shame, it is enough in the large to fight with and in the small to hold a defence with. Yet winning a victory is easy; holding on to a victory is hard. Hence the saying: ‘Of the warring states of the realm, he who wins five times meets disaster; he who wins four is worn out; he who wins three becomes a hegemon; he who wins twice becomes a king; he who wins once becomes an emperor.’ And so those who have taken the realm by many victories are few, and those who have lost it that way are many.” (“Enough in the large to fight with and in the small to hold a defence with” means one and the same sense of shame, used greatly or used modestly. The five clauses in quotation marks are a saying of the age, which Wu Qi cites as evidence. This is the most quoted passage in the book and the strangest thing in any military classic: the return on victory falls as the number of victories rises. The base text prints a vertical-form colon here, which this page has changed to the ordinary one.)

Wu Qi said: “There are five causes from which armies arise: first, contending for a name; second, contending for gain; third, accumulated hatred; fourth, internal disorder; fifth, famine. And there are five names they go under: first, a righteous army; second, a strong army; third, a hard army; fourth, a violent army; fifth, a contrary army. To suppress violence and rescue men from disorder is called righteous; to rely on numbers and make war is called strong; to raise troops out of anger is called hard; to cast away the rites and covet gain is called violent; to raise an affair and move the multitude when the state is in disorder and the people worn out is called contrary. Each of these five has its own way of being met: the righteous must be subdued by rites, the strong by deference, the hard by argument, the violent by deception, the contrary by expedient force.” (The first five are the occasions of war, the second five its character; the two lists do not correspond and should not be forced together. The last five clauses are the finest thing here: against a righteous army you use rites and not soldiers — grant that the other side has a case, and do not try to settle it by arms. The Siku text reads “the five have their own submissions” for “their own number.” The Sibu congkan text has an extra character before “accumulated hatred,” evidently intrusive.)

Marquis Wu asked: “I should like to hear the way of ordering the army, reckoning the men, and making the state secure.” Wu Qi replied: “The enlightened kings of antiquity were always careful of the rites between lord and servant, made the forms between high and low seemly, settled officers and people where they belonged, taught them in accordance with their customs, and selected and recruited men of quality against the unforeseen. Of old Duke Huan of Qi recruited fifty thousand fighting men and by them was hegemon over the lords; Duke Wen of Jin summoned forty thousand to form his vanguard and by them attained his purpose; Duke Mu of Qin established thirty thousand shock troops and by them subdued his neighbours. Therefore the ruler of a strong state must reckon up his people. Those among them who have nerve and strength: form them into one company. Those who are eager to advance and fight and spend themselves, so as to show their loyalty and courage: form them into one company. Those who can leap a height, cover a distance, and run fast and far: form them into one company. Officers of the king who have lost their posts and wish to earn merit before their lord: form them into one company. Those who abandoned a city or deserted a post and wish to wipe out the disgrace: form them into one company. These five are the tempered edge of an army. With three thousand such men you may break out from within any encirclement, or break in from without and take any city.” (“Reckoning the men” is counting and sorting one’s own population. “Shock troops” are literally “men who break the ranks,” a storming corps. Three of the five categories are men with something against their name — the cashiered, the deserters, those with a disgrace to erase — and it is precisely their unwillingness to be left there that Wu Qi is after. Both witnesses read “eager by advancing and fighting”; the base text’s particle gives the same sense and is kept. The Siku text writes Duke Mu’s name with the usual graph.)

Marquis Wu asked: “I should like to hear how the ranks may be made certainly firm, the defence certainly secure, and the battle certainly won.” Wu Qi replied: “You may see it at once, let alone hear it. If my lord can put the worthy above and the unworthy below, the ranks are already firm. If the people are settled in their fields and houses and attached to their officials, the defence is already secure. If the hundred families all say that our ruler is in the right and the neighbouring state in the wrong, the battle is already won.” (“You may see it at once” — the thing can be shown, not merely described. This passage takes three military questions — ranks, defence, battle — and answers each with a matter of civil government: appointments, property, and where the people think the right lies. It is the shortest exchange in the book and the plainest gloss on its title.)

Marquis Wu once deliberated on an affair, and none of his ministers could match him; he came away from court with a pleased look on his face. Wu Qi stepped forward and said: “Long ago King Zhuang of Chu deliberated on an affair, and none of his ministers could match him; he came away from court with a troubled look on his face. The Duke of Shen asked: ‘My lord looks troubled. Why is that?’ He said: ‘I have heard that the age is never without sages and the state never lacks worthy men. He who can find a teacher becomes king; he who can find a friend becomes hegemon. Now I am without talent, and none of my ministers can match me. Chu, I fear, is in danger.’ This is what troubled King Zhuang of Chu, and my lord is pleased by it. Your servant is privately afraid.” At this Marquis Wu looked ashamed. (“The Duke of Shen” is the magistrate of Shen county in Chu; some identify him with Shen Shushi. This is not tactics but remonstrance. The chapter began with “cultivate civil virtue within, order military preparation without,” and it ends on the ruler’s own complacency: planning for the state runs all the way up to the man at the top. The Siku text reads “Wu Qi answered” for “stepped forward and said,” and inverts “came away from court”; the Sibu congkan text reads “withdrew from court” and drops one “can” from “he who can find a teacher.”)

Chapter Two — Sizing Up the Enemy料敵第二

Five passages, and the longest chapter in the book, because the second of them disposes of six states in one breath. Marquis Wu opens with a concrete difficulty: Wei is hemmed in on every side — Qin presses from the west, Chu girdles the south, Zhao butts against the north, Qi faces the east, Yan cuts the rear, Han holds the front. “I am troubled by this. What is to be done?” Wu Qi’s answer is not a formation. It is a table of national character. The men of Qi are hard, the state rich, lord and ministers arrogant and contemptuous of the common people, the government lax and its salaries unequal — so their ranks are heavy but not solid. The men of Qin are strong, their land defensible, their government severe, their rewards and punishments trustworthy, none of them willing to give way — so their ranks scatter and every man fights for himself. Chu is weak, its land wide, its government harassing and its people worn — so their ranks are orderly but do not last. Yan is honest, its people careful, fond of courage and of right and short on stratagem — so they hold their ground and will not withdraw. The Three Jin are the middle kingdoms, even-tempered and evenly governed, their people tired of war though practised in it, contemptuous of their commanders and resentful of their pay — so their ranks are well ordered and of no use. Each character is followed by the way to break it. This is the earliest enemy-character table in Chinese military literature, and it is where the Wuzi differs most from the Sunzi: Sun Wu calculates shape and momentum, Wu Qi calculates people. The third passage changes the method. Eight conditions under which you may fight without taking the auspices, and six under which you must withdraw without consulting them. The eight are all the enemy’s exhaustion, thirst, long campaigning, spent stores, sickness, weariness, flimsiness and unformed ranks; the six are all his breadth of land, wealth of people, the affection between his high and low, his reliable rewards and clear-sighted punishments, his employment of the able and the strength of his allies. Divination replaced by a checklist — that is the bone of the chapter. The last two passages go finer still and reach thirteen occasions for an attack, running from an enemy newly arrived and not yet formed down to the last one, which is neither ground nor formation but fear.

Marquis Wu said to Wu Qi: “At present Qin threatens me on the west, Chu girdles me on the south, Zhao butts against me on the north, Qi overlooks me on the east, Yan cuts off my rear and Han holds the ground in front. The troops of six states keep watch on four sides, and my position is very inconvenient. I am troubled by this. What is to be done?” (“Girdles” is literally to wrap round like a belt. Wei’s capital, first at Anyi and later at Daliang, lay in the middle of the world, with enemies on every side; this was the geography of the state and in the end the reason it declined from strength. Marquis Wu was the son of Marquis Wen. The Siku text adds a particle in “the troops of the six states.”)

Wu Qi replied: “The way to make a state secure is to hold forewarnedness precious. My lord is already forewarned, so calamity is far off. Let me set out for you the ways of the six states. The ranks of Qi are heavy but not solid; the ranks of Qin are scattered and fight each for itself; the ranks of Chu are orderly but do not last; the ranks of Yan hold their place and will not withdraw; the ranks of the Three Jin are well ordered and of no use. The men of Qi are hard by nature, the state is rich, lord and ministers are arrogant and extravagant and think little of the common people; the government is lax and the stipends unequal; one line of battle holds two minds, the front heavy and the rear light. Hence heavy but not solid. The way to strike them: divide your force in three, harry their right and left wings, press them so that they must follow, and their ranks can be broken. The men of Qin are strong by nature, their land is defensible, their government severe, their rewards and punishments trustworthy; none of them gives way, all have the will to fight. Hence scattered, each man fighting on his own. The way to strike them: first show them an advantage and draw them off; when the soldiers grow greedy for gain they leave their commander, and you may take them at their parting and hunt them scattered, set an ambush and seize the moment — their commander can be captured. The men of Chu are weak by nature, their land wide, their government harassing, their people worn out. Hence orderly but not lasting. The way to strike them: raid and confuse their camps, take their spirit from them first, advance lightly and fall back quickly, tire them and wear them down, and do not close with them in a pitched battle — their army can be beaten. The men of Yan are honest by nature, their people careful, fond of courage and of what is right, and poor in stratagems. Hence they hold and will not withdraw. The way to strike them: push against them and press them close, ride over them and then draw away, gallop round to their rear, so that those above grow suspicious and those below afraid; keep our chariots and horsemen carefully on the road they must shun, and their commander can be taken alive. The Three Jin are the middle kingdoms: even in temper, level in government, their people tired of war though practised in arms, contemptuous of their commanders and resentful of their small pay, with no will to die. Hence well ordered and of no use. The way to strike them: hold the difficult ground and bear down on them; when they come in force, resist; when they go, pursue; and so tire out their army. Such are the dispositions of the six. Even so, in any army there are always warriors of the tiger’s vigour — men who lift a cauldron as though it weighed nothing and outrun a war-horse, who can pull down a standard and take a commander. Men of that sort should be picked out and set apart, cherished and given honour: they are what is called the life of the army. Any of them who can handle the five weapons, whose strength and quickness are equal to it, and whose mind is set on swallowing the enemy, should be raised in rank and title, and can be used to decide a battle. Treat their parents, wives and children generously, spur them with rewards and make them fear punishment, and these will be the men who make a line of battle solid, with whom one may hold out for a long time. If you can truly reckon all this, you may attack twice your number.” Marquis Wu said: “Good.” (“Honest” renders que, plain and unguileful. “The life of the army” is the thread on which an army’s existence hangs. The five weapons are the dagger-axe, the staff, the halberd and the two lengths of spear; the phrase stands for weapons generally. Notice that every method of attack grows out of the character it answers: Qi is rich and proud, so divide and harry; Qin’s soldiers are greedy, so bait them; Chu’s government harasses, so wear them out; Yan will not withdraw, so go round behind; the Three Jin have no will to die, so exhaust them. Both witnesses read “pull down a standard and cut down a commander,” which is the standard idiom; the base text’s “take a commander” is a minority reading but construes, and is kept. Both likewise transpose two characters in “if you can truly reckon all this.” The Siku text reads “my lord is first forewarned” and “may hold out a long time” with a different particle; the Sibu congkan text miswrites “their people” as a similar-looking graph.)

Wu Qi said: “In sizing up an enemy, there are eight cases in which you may engage him without taking the auspices. First: a great wind and hard cold, and they are up before dawn moving camp, breaking ice to ford water, undeterred by hardship. Second: high summer and burning heat, and they rise late and take no rest, driving on hungry and thirsty to make distance. Third: the army long in the field, its provisions gone, the common people angry and resentful, strange portents repeatedly reported and the officers unable to stop them. Fourth: their war material exhausted, firewood and fodder scarce, the weather wet day after day, nowhere left to plunder. Fifth: their numbers small, the ground and water against them, men and horses sick, no help from any neighbour. Sixth: the road long and the day late, the soldiers tired and frightened, weary and unfed, unbuckling their armour to rest. Seventh: their commanders of no weight and their officers of no seriousness, the soldiers unsteady, the army repeatedly alarmed, no other force to support it. Eighth: their ranks not yet formed and their camp not yet finished, crossing a slope or a defile with half of them hidden and half in the open. In all such cases strike, and do not hesitate. And there are six cases in which you should avoid him without consulting the auspices. First: broad lands and a numerous, wealthy population. Second: those above love those below and their kindness reaches everywhere. Third: rewards are reliable and punishments discerning, and both are dealt out at the right time. Fourth: rank follows service and offices go to the able. Fifth: many soldiers and good armour and weapons. Sixth: help from every neighbour and the backing of a great state. In any of these, if you are not their equal, avoid them and do not hesitate. This is what is meant by advancing when you see an opening and withdrawing when you know the thing is hard.” (“Up before dawn moving camp” — awake and shifting quarters. “Strange portents” are ominous freaks of nature that spread rumour through a camp. The eight are all the enemy’s present misery; the six are all the condition of his state in ordinary times. The eight are how badly he is placed today, the six are how sound he is underneath — and a sound state should not be attacked even on a bad day for it. The words “without taking the auspices” and “without consulting them” are the key to the passage: Wu Qi means to replace divination with items that can be counted. The Sibu congkan text reads “felling wood to ford” for “breaking ice.”)

Marquis Wu asked: “I wish to observe the outside of an enemy and so know his inside; to watch him advance and so know where he will stop; and so settle the question of victory. May I hear of it?” Wu Qi replied: “When the enemy comes on loosely and without forethought, his banners in confusion, his men and horses repeatedly looking back, then one of yours may strike ten of his, and you must leave him no time to act. When the feudal lords have not yet assembled, ruler and ministers are not of one mind, ditch and rampart are not yet finished, the prohibitions are not yet in force, and the whole army is in an uproar, wanting to go forward and unable, wanting to leave and not daring — then with half his numbers you may strike twice your own, and in a hundred battles you will not be in danger.” (“Repeatedly looking back” is the point of the first half: what a soldier looks back at is the road home, and which way the heads are turned tells you whether to fight. The onomatopoeia for the uproar is written with a variant graph in the Siku text. The previous passage counted the enemy’s circumstances; this one reads his appearance — and neither requires the tortoise shell.)

Marquis Wu asked about the occasions on which an enemy may certainly be struck. Wu Qi replied: “In using troops you must judge where the enemy is solid and where hollow, and go for the dangerous place. When the enemy has come a long way and has only just arrived and his column is not yet formed, he may be struck; when he has eaten and not yet set his guards, he may be struck; when he is on the run, he may be struck; when he is labouring, he may be struck; when he has not got the advantage of the ground, he may be struck; when he has lost his moment and his units are not following one another, he may be struck; when he has come by a long road and the rear has not rested, he may be struck; when he is half across a river, he may be struck; on a difficult road or in a narrow pass, he may be struck; when his banners move in disorder, he may be struck; when his ranks shift again and again, he may be struck; when his commander is separated from his men, he may be struck; when his heart is afraid, he may be struck. In any of these, drive a chosen edge of picked men into him, follow it with divided detachments, strike quickly and do not hesitate.” (“Lost his moment and his units not following one another” means the schedule has slipped and the formations have come apart. “Drive a chosen edge in and follow it with divided detachments” is two movements: first the breach, then the exploitation. The thirteen occasions run from the outside inward — column, food, footing, then ground, timing, river crossings — and the last of them, “when his heart is afraid,” is no longer about formations at all. It belongs with the Sunzi: “an army may be robbed of its spirit, a commander of his resolve.” Both witnesses insert a word — “you must needs judge” — which the base text lacks without loss, so the base text is kept. The Sibu congkan text puts the clause about disordered banners earlier in the list than either the base text or the Siku text does.)

Chapter Three — Governing the Army治兵第三

Eight passages. The previous chapter looked at the enemy; this one looks at oneself. Marquis Wu opens by asking what comes first in the use of troops, and Wu Qi answers: four lightnesses, two weights and one good faith. The ground must make the horses go lightly, the horses must make the chariots go lightly, the chariots must make the men ride lightly, and the men must hold battle lightly. Then: heavy reward for advancing, heavy punishment for retreating — and let it be carried out in good faith. The four “lightnesses” are a chain read backwards: whether the soldier will spend himself comes back, link by link, to whether the ground is known, whether the fodder is given on time, whether there is grease to spare on the axle. Morale reduced to maintenance — this is the Wuzi at its most practical. The second passage carries the chapter’s thesis. “By what does an army win?” — “By good order.” The marquis presses: “Is it not by numbers?” If the laws are not clear and rewards and punishments not trusted, says Wu Qi, if the gong sounds and they do not halt and the drum sounds and they do not advance, then a million men are of no use. And what is good order? At rest they observe the rites; in motion they are formidable; advancing they cannot be withstood and withdrawing they cannot be pursued; forward and back they keep their measure and left and right they answer the flag; cut in two they are still a formation, scattered they are still a column. Such an army “may be gathered and not divided, used and not worn out,” and it is called an army of fathers and sons. Six passages of particulars follow: the three prohibitions of the march — do not violate the measure of halt and advance, do not miss the proper hour of food and drink, do not use up the strength of men and horses; “resolve on death and you live, hope to live and you die,” with the good commander compared to a man in a leaking boat or under a burning roof; the multiplying method of drill, one man teaching ten and ten a hundred, up to a whole army; weapons assigned by build and temper — the short carry spear and halberd, the tall carry bow and crossbow, the strong carry the standards, the brave carry the gongs and drums, the weak do the camp work, the clever make the plans; the five drum-calls in order; and finally an entire passage about horses. Settle them where they belong, suit their water and grass, ration their feed, warm stables in winter and shaded sheds in summer, trim manes and dress hooves, cover their eyes and ears against fright, and — “rather tire the men; take care not to tire the horses.”

Marquis Wu asked: “In the use of troops, what comes first?” Wu Qi replied: “First make clear the four lightnesses, the two weights and the one good faith.” The marquis said: “How do you mean?” He replied: “Let the ground make the horses go lightly, the horses make the chariots go lightly, the chariots make the men ride lightly, and the men hold battle lightly. When you know exactly what ground is difficult and what is easy, the ground makes the horses go lightly. When fodder and grain are given at the proper hours, the horses make the chariots go lightly. When there is grease to spare for the axle-boxes, the chariots make the men ride lightly. When the blades are keen and the armour sound, the men hold battle lightly. Heavy reward for going forward, heavy punishment for falling back — and carry it out in good faith. If you can truly reach this, you hold the master key of victory.” (“Fodder and grain” are the hay and the grain ration. The axle-box is the iron sleeve on the axle, and greasing it is exactly what is meant. The four lightnesses are a chain read from the far end: what stands at the end is whether a man will spend himself, and what stands at the beginning is whether the ground is known, the fodder sufficient and the axle greased. Reducing “morale” to a few things that can be inspected is this book at its most practical. The Sibu congkan transcription is at its worst in this passage, reading “in advancing troops” for “in the use of troops,” “knows shadow and light” for “knows difficult and easy,” and three wrong graphs in “if you can truly reach this.”)

Marquis Wu asked: “By what does an army win?” Wu Qi replied: “It wins by good order.” He asked again: “Is it not by numbers?” The reply: “If the laws and orders are not clear, if rewards and punishments are not trusted, if the gong sounds and they do not halt, if the drum sounds and they do not advance, then though you had a million men, what use would they be? What is called good order is this: at rest they keep the rites; in motion they are formidable; advancing, they cannot be withstood; withdrawing, they cannot be pursued; going forward and drawing back, they keep their measure; to right and left, they answer the flag. Cut in two, they still make a formation; scattered, they still make a column. They will be safe with him and in danger with him; such a host may be gathered and not divided, used and not worn out. Send it where you will, and there is nothing in the world that can stand against it. This is what is called an army of fathers and sons.” (The “gong” is the bronze zheng, sounded to halt or recall. “Cut in two, they still make a formation; scattered, they still make a column” is the best description of an army anywhere in the book. “It wins by good order” is the title of this chapter in four words. The marquis’s “is it not by numbers?” is the ordinary man’s question, and Wu Qi does not at first deny that numbers matter — he says only that without order a million men come to nothing. Both witnesses transpose two characters in “by what does an army win”; the base text construes and is kept. The Sibu congkan text reads “is it not in numbers and fewness.”)

Wu Qi said: “In all marching, do not violate the measure of halting and advancing; do not miss the fitting hour for food and drink; do not use up the strength of men and horses. These three are how you make them able to bear the orders from above. Being able to bear the orders from above is where good order comes from. If halting and advancing have no measure, if food and drink do not come at the right time, if the horses are spent and the men weary and yet they are not allowed to unharness and camp — that is how you make them unable to bear the orders from above. Once the orders from above are set aside, in camp you will have disorder and in battle defeat.” (“Unharness and camp” is to take off the packs and settle for the night. The three prohibitions all concern the most ordinary things: marching, eating, resting. Wu Qi plants the root of “good order” in these three — it is not that soldiers will not obey, it is that they have been put past obeying. Read this passage with the one before it: that one says what good order looks like, this one says where it comes from.)

Wu Qi said: “A field of battle is a place where corpses are laid out. Resolve on death, and you will live; hope to live, and you will die. The good commander is like a man sitting in a leaking boat or lying under a burning roof: he leaves no time for the clever to lay plans or for the brave to work up their anger — there is nothing for it but to take the enemy on. Hence the saying: of the harms in using troops, hesitation is the greatest; the calamities of an army are born of doubt.” (“A place where corpses are laid out” — the Siku text writes the verb as “where corpses halt.” “Hope to live” is to gamble on surviving. The leaking boat and the burning roof put a whole army in a position with no second option, which is the Sunzi’s “throw them where they cannot survive and they will live,” said more brutally. The last two clauses put the weight on the commander: fear is not the worst harm; hesitation is. The Sibu congkan text reads “men ought to die” for “men commonly die” in the passage following.)

Wu Qi said: “Men commonly die at what they cannot do and are beaten at what does not come easily to them. Therefore in the use of troops instruction and warning come first. When one man has learned to fight, he can instruct ten; ten men, a hundred; a hundred, a thousand; a thousand, ten thousand; ten thousand men, a whole army. Meet the far with the near, the weary with the rested, the hungry with the well-fed. Make the round square and the square round, make them sit and rise, march and halt, turn left and turn right, divide and unite, close up and open out. When every change has been practised, then issue them their weapons. This is the business of a commander.” (“Does not come easily” is what a man is not used to. “Meet the far with the near, the weary with the rested, the hungry with the well-fed” comes from the Sunzi, chapter seven. “When every change has been practised, then issue them their weapons” puts the order of things beyond argument. The multiplying scheme — one teaches ten, ten teach a hundred — is the earliest sketch of a training establishment in Chinese.)

Wu Qi said: “The standing order for training is this. Let the short men carry spear and halberd, the tall men bow and crossbow, the strong men the standards, the brave men the gongs and drums; let the weak do the camp work and the clever be the makers of plans. Let men of the same village and neighbourhood be put together, and let squads of five and of ten stand surety for one another. At the first drum they put their weapons in order; at the second they practise formation; at the third they go quickly to their food; at the fourth they stand ready in full array; at the fifth they fall in and march. When they hear the drums come together, then raise the standards.” (“Camp work” is the chopping of wood and feeding of animals. Putting men of the same village together and making the squads stand surety for one another builds the neighbourhood into the army — this is the ancestor of the Qin and Han system of mutual liability, though here what is asked is mutual protection, not mutual informing. “First drum” to “fifth drum” are five drum-calls in sequence, not five drums. Assigning weapons by build and temper is the finest-grained passage in the book: the short fight close, the tall shoot far, and neither is a judgement about courage.)

Marquis Wu asked: “Is there a rule for the halting and advancing of an army?” Wu Qi replied: “Do not face the Heavenly Stove; do not face the Dragon’s Head. The Heavenly Stove is the mouth of a great valley; the Dragon’s Head is the summit of a great mountain. Always keep the Blue Dragon on the left, the White Tiger on the right, the Vermilion Bird in front and the Dark Warrior behind, with the Twinkling Indicator overhead, and act beneath it. When battle is about to be joined, look carefully to see where the wind comes from. If the wind is with you, raise the shout and go with it; if the wind is against you, hold your ranks firm and wait for it.” (The Heavenly Stove and the Dragon’s Head are names given to terrain: the mouth of a valley is a wind trap, a summit is exposed and has nothing to lean on. The Blue Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird and Dark Warrior are the spirits of the four quarters, used here as the names of the left, right, front and rear of a camp and as the devices on its flags. The Twinkling Indicator is a star at the end of the Dipper’s handle, by which an army takes its bearings. This is the only passage in the book with any flavour of the occult arts about it, and even here what it comes down to is two things: do not stand in a wind gap and do not stand on a peak. The last two clauses, about the wind, are pure experience. For “Dark Warrior” the Siku text writes the first graph with its final stroke omitted, avoiding the personal name of the Kangxi emperor; the whole manuscript does so, and the colophon says more.)

Marquis Wu asked: “Is there a method for keeping horses for the cavalry?” Wu Qi replied: “Horses must be settled where they belong, their water and grass made suitable, their feeding and fasting kept in measure. In winter let the stables be warm, in summer the sheds cool. Trim their manes, dress the four hooves with care. Cover their eyes and ears so that they are not startled; practise them in galloping and pursuit, school them in going and halting. When man and horse have grown attached to each other, then they may be used. The gear of the chariots and horses — saddle, bridle, bit and rein — must be kept whole and sound. A horse is not hurt at the end of a journey but at the beginning; it is not hurt by going hungry but by being overfed. When the day is late and the road long, be always dismounting and mounting again: rather tire the men, and take care not to tire the horses. Always keep something in reserve against the enemy’s falling upon you. He who can be clear about this may go where he pleases in the world.” (“Sheds” are the shaded galleries put up against the summer sun. “Trim their manes, dress the four hooves” is cutting the mane and attending to the feet. The four items of gear are the saddle, the halter, the bit and the reins. “Not hurt at the end but at the beginning” means the damage is done in the first stretch, when the horse is pushed too hard; “not hurt by hunger but by being overfed” means too much feed does more harm than too little. That a military classic should end its chapter on the government of an army with seven words about sparing the horses says something about the book. The Sibu congkan text miswrites “warm stables”; the Siku text transposes “whole and sound” and writes the prohibition in “take care not to tire the horses” with a different negative.)

Chapter Four — On the Commander論將第四

Five passages. The opening sentence fixes what a commander is: “he who sums up the civil and the military in himself is the commander of an army; he who joins hardness to softness is equal to the business of war.” Then comes the most famous judgement in the book: “When men judge a commander they commonly look at his courage; but courage, in a commander, is one part in several.” A brave man will close with the enemy readily, and closing readily without knowing where the advantage lies will not do. There follow the five things a commander must be careful of: li, governing a multitude as one governs a few; bei, going out of the gate as though the enemy were in sight; guo, facing the enemy without a thought of living; jie, being as wary after a victory as at the first engagement; yue, keeping the regulations few and unfussy. When the Qing editors of the imperial library praised the Wuzi for holding opinions “not at all at odds with what is right,” these five words are what they quoted. The second passage sets out the four hinges — of spirit, of ground, of affairs, of strength. A host of a million, its weight disposed by one man: that is the hinge of spirit. A narrow road and a hard pass, a famous mountain and a great barrier, where ten men holding it stop a thousand: the hinge of ground. Good use of spies, light troops coming and going, the enemy’s numbers dispersed and his ruler and ministers set against one another: the hinge of affairs. Sound axles, handy oars, soldiers practised in formation and horses schooled in the gallop: the hinge of strength. Knowing these four makes a commander possible, but he must still have the authority, the virtue, the benevolence and the courage to lead his men and steady them — “get him and the state is strong; lose him and the state is lost.” The third passage gives the three kinds of awe: drums and bells for the ear, banners and flags for the eye, prohibitions and punishments for the heart. The fourth is a list of twelve weaknesses in an enemy commander — foolish and trusting, so deceive him; greedy and careless of his name, so buy him; changeable and unplanning, so wear him out; rich above and poor below, so divide them — down to the last, which is not an error but a slackness: “if he stays long in one place and his officers grow idle and his army careless, you may creep up and surprise him.” The last passage is the most practical thing in the book. Two armies face each other and you do not know who commands the other one: how do you find out? Send a man of low rank but brave, with a light picked force, to try him — and order him to lose. If the enemy pursues without overdoing it, and pretends not to see the bait, he is a wise commander: do not fight him. If his men shout and scramble, if they chase as though afraid of not catching up and grab as though afraid of missing, he is a fool: however many he has, he can be taken. A small battle thrown away on purpose, in exchange for the other commander’s character.

Wu Qi said: “He who sums up the civil and the military in himself is the commander of an army; he who joins hardness to softness is equal to the business of war. When men judge a commander they commonly look at his courage; but courage, in a commander, is one part in several and no more. A brave man will certainly close readily, and to close readily without knowing where the advantage lies will not do. Therefore the things a commander must be careful of are five: first, governance; second, preparedness; third, resolution; fourth, wariness; fifth, restraint. Governance is to govern a multitude as one governs a few. Preparedness is to go out of the gate as though the enemy were in sight. Resolution is to face the enemy with no thought of living. Wariness is, after a victory, to be as careful as at the first engagement. Restraint is to keep the regulations few and unfussy. To receive the command without demur, and to speak of returning only when the enemy is broken — this is the commander’s proper conduct. And so, on the day the army marches out, there is the glory of dying and no disgrace of living.” (“Sums up the civil and the military” means taking both in hand at once. “No thought of living” is to hold no reservation about surviving. “Restraint” means few articles of regulation. That a military classic should cut courage down to “one part in several” is not common. Of the five, the fourth is most characteristic of Wu Qi: after you have won, go on as though you had not yet fought. Both witnesses transpose two characters in “on the day the army marches out”; the base text construes and is kept, and the Sibu congkan text further miswrites “day” as “say.” The Siku text adds a character after “receive the command without demur.”)

Wu Qi said: “There are four hinges in the use of troops: first the hinge of spirit, second the hinge of ground, third the hinge of affairs, fourth the hinge of strength. When the host of a whole army, a force of a million, has its weight and lightness disposed by one man — that is the hinge of spirit. When the road is narrow and the way hard, with famous mountains and great barriers, where ten men holding a place cannot be passed by a thousand — that is the hinge of ground. When spies are well used and light troops go to and fro, so that the enemy’s numbers are scattered and his ruler and ministers blame one another, high and low reproach one another — that is the hinge of affairs. When chariot axles are sound and boats have handy oars, when the soldiers are practised in formation and the horses schooled in the gallop — that is the hinge of strength. He who knows these four may be made a commander. Even so, his authority, his virtue, his benevolence and his courage must all be enough to lead those under him and settle the multitude, to frighten the enemy and resolve what is doubtful; and when he gives an order, none below him will dare transgress it, and wherever he is, no raider will dare face him. Get him and the state is strong; lose him and the state is lost. This is what is called a good commander.” (A “hinge,” ji, is the point on which a thing turns. “Axles” are the iron keys at the ends of the axle that hold the wheels on; “oars” are the sweep and the paddle. The four hinges are four places where a man can take hold: the minds of men, the lie of the land, division sown in the enemy, and equipment and training. The hinge of spirit stands first and hangs on one man alone, which is why what follows is the list of things that one man must have. The Siku text reads “none below dare venture to transgress” and adds a connective before “no raider will dare face him.” The base text here writes the word for “schooled” with a variant graph; this page uses the form the book itself uses elsewhere, and the colophon says so.)

Wu Qi said: “The war drum and the bronze bell are what strike awe into the ear; banners and flags are what strike awe into the eye; prohibitions and punishments are what strike awe into the heart. Since the ear takes its awe from sound, the sound cannot but be clear; since the eye takes its awe from colour, the colour cannot but be bright; since the heart takes its awe from punishment, the punishment cannot but be severe. If these three are not established, then though a man hold his state, he will be beaten by the enemy. Hence the saying: where the commander waves, none fail to move with him; where the commander points, none fail to go forward and die.” (The pi is the small drum carried in an army; the duo is a large hand-bell with a clapper; the flags are those used for signalling. Ear, eye and heart each get an instrument and each a standard: clear, bright, severe. What the passage is really about is the perceptibility of an order — if it cannot be heard plainly, seen plainly and feared truly, it never reaches the men. The base text prints a vertical-form colon here, which this page has changed to the ordinary one.)

Wu Qi said: “The essential thing in any battle is first to take the measure of the enemy’s commander and examine his abilities, and then, going by the shape he shows, to apply the expedient that fits: so you will spend no effort and the work will be done. If his commander is foolish and trusts people, he can be deceived and lured. If he is greedy and careless of his reputation, he can be bought and bribed. If he changes readily and lays no plans, he can be worn out and put to straits. If those above are rich and arrogant and those below poor and resentful, they can be split apart and worked upon. If he is much given to doubt in advancing and withdrawing and his men have nothing to rely on, he can be shaken and made to run. If his officers think little of their commander and have their minds on going home, block the easy roads and leave the difficult ones open, and he can be waylaid and taken. If his road forward is easy and his road back hard, he can be enticed to come on. If his road forward is hard and his road back easy, he can be pressed close and struck. If he camps on low wet ground where the water has no outlet and heavy rain comes again and again, he can be flooded and drowned. If he camps in a waste marsh, in rank scrub and foul undergrowth, and the wind gets up repeatedly, he can be burnt out and destroyed. If he stays long in one place and does not move, and his officers grow idle and his army careless, he can be crept upon and surprised.” (“Take the measure of the commander” means sizing up the man himself. “Block the easy roads and leave the difficult ones open” is to shut the good road and leave the bad one, so that he must take the bad one. Of the twelve, the first six read the enemy commander’s temper and the last six read where he has put his army. The last of all is not a blunder but a slackness — the army has been in the field a long time and has let itself go, which is the commonest failing and the hardest to notice. The Siku text expands the clause “going by the shape he shows, apply the expedient” with two extra particles.)

Marquis Wu asked: “The two armies are in sight of each other and I do not know who commands theirs. I wish to take his measure. What is the method?” Wu Qi replied: “Have a man of low rank but brave take a light body of picked troops and try him — and let them seek only to be driven off, not to gain anything. Then watch how the enemy comes on. If every sitting and rising is by rule; if in pursuing the beaten he makes as though he could not catch them, and on seeing an advantage makes as though he did not know of it — a commander of that sort is called a wise commander, and you should not engage him. But if his men shout and jabber, if his banners are in disorder, if his soldiers go and stop as they please, if his weapons are held now upright and now crosswise, if in pursuing the beaten he seems afraid he will not catch them and at the sight of an advantage afraid he will not get it — this is a foolish commander, and however many his men, he can be taken.” (“Take his measure” is to appraise a man as one appraises a horse. “Seek only to be driven off, not to gain anything” is the heart of the test: the man sent out is under orders to lose. A small engagement thrown away on purpose, in exchange for a dossier on the opposing commander. It is the most immediately usable passage in the book, and the most characteristic of Wu Qi: he does not ask how many men the other side has; he asks who is in charge of them. The Siku text ends the sentence with a different final particle; the Sibu congkan text writes “taken” with a rare variant graph.)

Chapter Five — Responding to Change應變第五

Ten passages. The first four chapters argue; this one is a manual of cases. Marquis Wu puts nine bad situations one after another and Wu Qi gives an answer to each. The order of the bad situations is itself deliberate: first, your chariots are sound and your horses good and your commander brave and your soldiers strong, and you meet the enemy suddenly and the ranks come apart; then the enemy is many and you are few; then the enemy is many and strong, with his back to a great obstacle, mountain on one side and water on the other, deep ditches and high ramparts, and plenty of food besides; then he is close up against you and there is no way out; then you meet him in a ravine; then you are boxed in a valley with high mountains right and left; then you are in a great marsh with your wheels sunk and your shafts under water; then it has rained for days, the horses are bogged and the chariots stopped and you are taking fire from all sides; and last, raiders arrive out of nowhere to carry off the cattle in your fields. From open battle to encirclement, from encirclement to the weather, and from the weather to plain robbery. The answers grow lighter as the questions grow smaller. The heaviest is the five columns on five roads of the third passage: against a strong enemy who sits behind his works, equip a thousand chariots and ten thousand horse, add the foot, divide into five columns, and send each by a different road. Five columns on five roads, and the enemy cannot tell which to guard. Then send spies to read his mind; if he will listen, raise the siege and go; if he will not, behead his envoy and burn his letter and attack on all five roads at once. The lightest is the last passage: when a town has been taken, do not fell its trees, tear down its houses, take its grain, kill its livestock or burn its stores — “to show the people that you have no cruelty in you” — and any who ask to surrender are to be accepted and settled. A chapter about change ends on a rule that does not change: leave the inhabitants’ things alone. Two smaller things are worth noting. The second passage converts terrain into odds: “to strike ten with one, nothing is better than a defile; to strike a hundred with ten, nothing better than broken ground; to strike ten thousand with a thousand, nothing better than an obstacle.” And the fifth gives six words that admit there is no clever answer at all — in hill country, wooded valleys, deep mountains and great marshes, “go fast and get out; do not take your time.”

Marquis Wu asked: “The chariots are sound, the horses good, the commander brave and the soldiers strong; then suddenly we meet the enemy, the ranks fall into confusion and the columns break. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “The rule of battle is this. By day the signals are the banners, pennons and flags; by night they are the gongs, drums, reed-pipes and flutes. When the flag waves left, go left; when it waves right, go right. When the drum sounds, advance; when the gong sounds, halt. At one blast, march; at the second, assemble. Whoever does not obey the signal is put to death. When the whole army has submitted to that authority and the soldiers do as they are commanded, then in attack there is no enemy too strong and in assault no formation too firm.” (The fan is a long hanging streamer, the hui the commander’s signal flag; the reed-pipe and flute are wind instruments used to pass orders at night. The marquis asked how to retrieve a confusion; Wu Qi does not answer about this confusion at all, but about the standing signals — by day you look, by night you listen. Ranks come apart because there was no set of marks every man knew. The Sibu congkan text reads “at the second blast, march”; the Siku text gives Wu Qi his surname in the reply.)

Marquis Wu asked: “If the enemy is many and we are few, what then?” Wu Qi replied: “Avoid him on open ground; waylay him in a defile. Hence the saying: to strike ten with one, nothing is better than a defile; to strike a hundred with ten, nothing is better than broken country; to strike ten thousand with a thousand, nothing is better than an obstacle. Now if a small body of troops rises up suddenly and beats gongs and drums in a narrow pass, then however great the host, none of them will fail to be alarmed. Hence the saying: he who uses many seeks open ground; he who uses few seeks narrows.” (“Defile” and “narrows” render the same word. In “if a small body of troops rises up suddenly,” the first of the two identical graphs is “soldiers” and the second is “suddenly.” The three clauses beginning “nothing is better” turn terrain into a ratio of strengths: use a defile at one to ten, broken country at ten to a hundred, an obstacle at a thousand to ten thousand. The closing sentence is the shortest thing the book says about ground. The base text prints vertical-form colons twice here, which this page has changed. The Sibu congkan text reads “a few young men” for “a small body of troops.”)

Marquis Wu asked: “There is an army very numerous, warlike and brave; its back is against a great obstacle, mountain on its right and water on its left; it has deep ditches and high ramparts and holds them with strong crossbows; in retreat it moves like a mountain shifting and in attack like wind and rain; and its food is plentiful besides, so that it is hard to hold out against it for long. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “A great question! This is not a matter for the strength of chariots and horsemen; it wants the planning of a sage. Equip a thousand chariots and ten thousand horse, add the foot soldiers to them, and divide into five columns, each column taking a road of its own. With five columns on five roads the enemy will certainly be perplexed and will not know where to put his weight. If the enemy holds fast to make his army secure, send spies quickly to observe what is in his mind. If he listens to what we say, he will raise his works and go; if he does not listen to what we say, behead his envoy and burn his letter, and attack on all five roads. If you win, do not pursue; if you do not win, come back quickly. Then, feigning flight in this way, march unhurriedly and fight fiercely: let one column close on his front and one cut off his rear, while two more, with gags in their mouths, come at him from the right or the left and fall upon his position. With the five columns arriving together you are certain to have the advantage of him. This is the way to strike a strong enemy.” (“A gag” is a short stick held crosswise in the mouth to prevent talking. This is the longest passage in the chapter and the only “planning of a sage” in the book: divide yourself into five so that the enemy cannot tell which road to defend, then give him one chance to negotiate, and only when that fails go in on five roads at once. Negotiation written into a book of tactics is characteristic of the Wuzi; “behead his envoy and burn his letter” says what happens when it fails. The Sibu congkan text drops five characters of the question and miswrites two words in the answer; the Siku text reads “if you do not win, run” for “come back quickly.”)

Marquis Wu asked: “The enemy is close and bearing down on me; I wish to withdraw and there is no road; my men are very frightened. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “The method for this is as follows. If we are many and they are few, divide and fall upon them. If they are many and we are few, take them with a square formation and keep after them without pause; then however many they are, they can be subdued.” (“Bearing down” is pressing close. “Take them with a square formation” means keeping in square while you move: the square can face all four ways and is the steadiest formation for a force under attack on the march. “Keep after them without pause” is to hold on and give no rest. The question is about having no way out; the answer is eight characters of distinction — if we are many, divide; if we are few, form square. It is the shortest response in the chapter. The Sibu congkan text drops Wu Qi’s name from the reply.)

Marquis Wu asked: “Suppose we meet the enemy in a ravine, with difficult ground on either hand, and they are many and we are few. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “Wherever you meet hills, wooded valleys, deep mountains or great marshes, go fast and get out; do not take your time. If you come suddenly upon them in a high mountain or a deep valley, you must first beat the drums and raise a shout and fall on them, pushing the bows and crossbows to the front, shooting and taking prisoners as you go. Watch their ordering closely: when it is disordered, strike them and do not hesitate.” (“Get out” is to leave in haste. “Taking prisoners” is seizing men as you advance. The six words “go fast and get out; do not take your time” are the point of the passage: in such country the best response to circumstance is not to be in it. If you truly cannot get away, then take the initiative by noise — “beat the drums and raise a shout” — and by distance, pushing the missile weapons forward. The Siku text reads “watch their government” with a different graph.)

Marquis Wu asked: “High mountains to right and left, the ground very narrow and cramped; we meet the enemy suddenly, we dare not strike him and we cannot get away. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “This is called fighting in a valley. Numbers are of no use in it. Call out our men of ability, match them against the enemy, and put the light-footed with the sharp weapons in the front rank. Divide the chariots and draw up the horsemen, hidden on all four sides, several li apart, and let none of their troops be seen. The enemy will then hold his ranks firm and dare neither advance nor withdraw. At that point bring out the banners and spread the pennons, march out beyond the mountain and dazzle him, and the enemy will certainly take fright. Provoke him with chariots and horsemen and give him no rest. This is the method of fighting in a valley.” (“Men of ability” are soldiers of physical quality. The pei is the swallow-tail streamer at the end of a flag, here standing for flags generally. “Dazzle him” is to bewilder him — the flags are carried out beyond the mountain so that he will think a further army is there. Both witnesses read “encamp beyond the mountain”; both senses construe and the base reading is kept, with the variant recorded. The whole method lies in letting him see nothing that is real and only what is not: the troops hidden on four sides are invisible and the flags outside the mountain are conspicuous.)

Marquis Wu asked: “I meet the enemy in a great marsh of standing water; the wheels lean over and the shafts are under water; water is pressing on chariots and horsemen; no boats or oars have been prepared; we can neither advance nor withdraw. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “This is called fighting on water. Do not use chariots or horsemen; leave them to one side for the time being. Climb a height and look about you on all four sides, and you will certainly learn the state of the water: know where it is broad and where narrow, sound it to the bottom for its shallows and its depths, and then you may work a surprise and win by it. If the enemy crosses the water, press him when he is half across.” (“The wheels lean over and the shafts are under water” describes a chariot foundering. “Press him when he is half across” comes from the Sunzi, chapter nine: “when an enemy crosses a river to come at you, do not meet him in the water; let him get half over and then strike.” The order of the answer matters more than the answer: first, chariots and horsemen are no use here; second, find out the water; only then the surprise. Do not be clever before you know the depth. Both witnesses lack the preposition in “meet the enemy in a great marsh,” which the base text has and which reads better; the base text is kept.)

Marquis Wu asked: “It has rained a long time without stopping; the horses are bogged and the chariots stuck; we are taking the enemy on all four sides and the whole army is in alarm. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “In all use of chariots: in wet and damp, halt; in dry and sunny weather, move. Prefer high ground and shun low; drive your strongest chariots. Whether you advance or halt, keep to the road that will take you. If the enemy gets under way, follow his tracks.” (“Dry and sunny” is fine weather and firm ground. “Prefer high and shun low” is to take the higher ground and keep off the lower. “Follow his tracks” is to pursue along the ruts and hoofprints — after rain, soft ground keeps a record. The question is about being attacked on four sides and the answer talks only about chariots and ground: halt in the wet, move when it dries, keep high. Wu Qi here says nothing about the encirclement and everything about the mud. The Siku text reads “in all use of an army.”)

Marquis Wu asked: “Violent raiders come out of nowhere, plunder my fields and carry off my cattle and sheep. What then?” Wu Qi replied: “When violent raiders come, you must reckon on their strength; keep a good guard and do not respond. Toward evening they will be leaving, and their loads will be heavy and their hearts uneasy; they will hurry their retreat, and there will certainly be stragglers. Pursue them then and strike, and their force can be destroyed.” (“Violent raiders” are a sudden plundering party. “There will certainly be stragglers” means the column will not hold together. Everything here turns on waiting: do not engage while they are loading; wait until they start home with the load on their backs. The more they have taken, the slower they move and the less steady their nerve. The Siku text reads “carry off my cattle and horses.”)

Wu Qi said: “The way of attacking an enemy and besieging a city is this. When the walled town has been broken, go each of you into its offices, take charge of its registers of salary and rank, and collect its implements. Wherever the army goes, let no one fell the trees or pull down the houses, take the grain, kill the six domestic animals or burn the stores. Show the people that you have no cruelty in you. Any who ask to surrender, accept and settle them.” (“Take charge of its registers of salary and rank” means receiving them against the books, not looting them. The six animals are the horse, ox, sheep, pig, dog and fowl. “Show the people that you have no cruelty in you” is the whole reason given for the five prohibitions: they are not for the enemy’s sake, they are for the inhabitants to see. A chapter of ten questions and nine answers about changing circumstances ends with something that is not an adjustment at all but a standing prohibition. It corresponds almost clause for clause to the field discipline of Benevolence the Root in the Methods of the Sima — “do not destroy earthworks, do not burn houses, do not fell trees” — and when the Qing editors of the imperial library remarked that the Wuzi “may have taken something from the Methods of the Sima,” this is the place where the resemblance is closest.)

Chapter Six — Rousing the Officers勵士第六

Five passages, the shortest chapter in the book and the only one that ends in a real battle. Marquis Wu opens by asking whether severe punishments and clear rewards are enough to win with. Wu Qi’s answer turns on one sentence: “Of severity and clarity your servant cannot speak fully; but they are not the thing to rely on.” What can be relied on is three things: that when the orders go out men are glad to hear them, that when the army is raised men are glad to fight, and that when the blades cross men are glad to die. Three gladnesses. How is that brought about? Not by raising the reward. By giving a dinner in the courtyard of the ancestral temple. Three rows of mats: those of the first rank of service in the front row, with precious vessels and the best meat besides their food; the second rank in the middle row, their vessels less; those with no service at all in the back row, food and no precious vessels. When the feast breaks up, presents are given outside the temple gate to the parents, wives and children of those who had served, again by rank. And to the households of men killed in service, an envoy is sent every year to comfort and reward the parents — to make it plain that they have not been forgotten. After three years of this the men of Qin raised an army and came up to the West River, and the men of Wei, without waiting for an order from any official, put on armour and went at them, tens of thousands of them. Marquis Wu sent for Wu Qi to say that his method had worked, and Wu Qi’s reply is the edge of the chapter: give me fifty thousand men who have no record of service and let me take the Qin army with them. “Set one desperate bandit in open country and a thousand men will go after him, and every one of them will look about him like an owl and turn his head like a wolf” — afraid the man may spring up and do him some harm. And so one man who has thrown his life away is enough to frighten a thousand. The marquis agreed, added five hundred chariots and three thousand horse, and broke a Qin host of five hundred thousand. The last passage is the order issued the day before the battle, and it is three sentences long: every officer and man is to take on the enemy of his own kind — chariot against chariot, horse against horse, foot against foot — and “if the chariots do not get chariots, the horse do not get horse and the foot do not get foot, then even if we break their army, none of you shall have any credit.” And so on the day, “his orders were not many, and his authority shook the world.”

Marquis Wu asked: “Are severe punishments and clear rewards enough to bring victory?” Wu Qi replied: “Of severity and clarity your servant cannot speak fully. Even so, they are not the thing to rely on. What can be relied on is this: that when the word goes out and the order is given, men are glad to hear it; that when the army is raised and the multitude is moved, men are glad to fight; that when blade meets blade, men are glad to die. These three are what a ruler may rely on.” (“Cannot speak fully” is a courteous way of putting the question aside: Wu Qi does not say that severe punishment and clear reward are wrong, only that they are not the root of the thing. The four words “they are not the thing to rely on” are where the chapter starts. The three gladnesses deepen by a step each time — glad to hear is obedience, glad to fight is taking the field, glad to die is not turning back. The Siku text reads “when the word goes out and the order is issued.”)

Marquis Wu said: “How is this brought about?” The reply: “Let my lord single out those who have done service and feast them; and those who have done none, let him urge them on.” (To “feast” is to entertain with food and drink as a mark of honour. To “urge on” is to encourage, not to punish — and that is where the chapter takes its title, Rousing the Officers. It is the shortest passage in the book, and it states the whole method in outline: a dinner for those who have served and, for those who have not, no reproach but a spur. The passage that follows gives the dinner in detail.)

Thereupon Marquis Wu had mats set out in the courtyard of the ancestral temple, in three rows, and feasted his officers. Those of the first rank of service sat in the front row, and beside their food they had precious vessels and the best meat; those of the second rank sat in the middle row, their food and their vessels less; those with no service sat in the back row, with food but no precious vessels. When the feast broke up and they came out, presents were made outside the temple gate to the parents, wives and children of those who had done service, again graded by rank. And to the households of those who had died in service an envoy was sent every year to comfort and reward their parents, making it plain that they were not forgotten. This had been done for three years when the men of Qin raised an army and came up to the West River. The men of Wei heard of it, and without waiting for any official’s order put on helmet and armour and went at them; there were tens of thousands of them. (The courtyard is that of the ancestral temple, so that where a man sat was settled in front of the ancestors. “The best meat” is the highest grade of sacrificial animal; the “precious vessels” are ritual bronzes. “Making it plain that they were not forgotten” is to give the remembering a visible form. What matters here is not the size of the reward but that the whole of it is public: the seating is public, the presents to parents and wives at the temple gate are public, the yearly envoy is public. And what is really being shown to the living is the phrase “households of those who had died in service” — men will spend their lives when they can see that the families of the dead are looked after. For “helmet” the base text has the graph meaning a helmet and both witnesses the graph meaning a descendant; the two are easily confused and the base text is right. The Sibu congkan text reads “every year an envoy was sent” with a different construction and the Siku text “every year despatched an envoy”; the base text’s doubled graph, “sent a messenger,” is kept.)

Marquis Wu summoned Wu Qi and said to him: “Your teaching of the other day has taken effect.” Wu Qi replied: “Your servant has heard that men have their strong points and their weak, and that spirit has its times of vigour and of decay. Let my lord try issuing me fifty thousand men who have no record of service, and your servant asks leave to lead them against the army of Qin. If we should fail to win, we shall be laughed at by the feudal lords and lose our authority in the world. Now set one desperate bandit in open country, and let a thousand men go after him: there will not be one of them who does not look about him like an owl and turn his head like a wolf. Why? Because each is afraid that the man may spring up and do him harm. So one man who has thrown his life away is enough to frighten a thousand. Now if your servant takes these fifty thousand and makes of them that one desperate bandit, and leads them to punish Qin, they will indeed be hard to face.” Thereupon Marquis Wu did as he asked, adding five hundred chariots and three thousand horse, and broke a host of five hundred thousand men of Qin. Such was the effect of rousing the officers. (“If we should fail” renders a word meaning “supposing, by any chance.” “Look about him like an owl and turn his head like a wolf” describes the pursuers, not the pursued: it is the thousand who are frightened. “Thrown his life away” is to have staked it and let it go. The figure of five hundred thousand is this book’s; the Records of the Historian does not give it. Note that what Wu Qi asks for is the fifty thousand without service — the men who sat in the back row at the dinner. “One man who has thrown his life away is enough to frighten a thousand” is where the three gladnesses of the first passage are cashed in. The Sibu congkan text reads “because each begrudges that he may spring up.”)

On the day before the battle Wu Qi gave orders to the army, saying: “All officers and men are to take on the enemy of their own sort — chariots, horse and foot. If the chariots do not get the enemy’s chariots, the horse do not get his horse and the foot do not get his foot, then though we break their army, none shall have any credit.” And so on the day of battle his orders were few and his authority shook the world. (“Take on the enemy of their own sort” means that each arm is to answer for the corresponding arm opposite. “The chariots do not get the enemy’s chariots” means the charioteer has not taken a chariot of theirs. The book ends on this single order, and the order redefines merit: not whether the army won, but whether you closed with your own opposite number. “His orders were few” answers the fifth of the commander’s five cares in chapter four, “restraint is to keep the regulations few and unfussy.” After forty-two passages of argument, what the book leaves the reader with is one sentence that anybody can understand and nobody can slip out of. The Sibu congkan text miswrites both “take on the enemy” and “have any credit.”)