Cao Cao’s army hugely outnumbered those of Liu Bei and Sun Quan. Unfortunately for Cao Cao, his army arrived at Red Cliff in a state of exhaustion and illness, a combination of the unfamiliar southern climate (and its diseases) and sea sickness. The men, hardened land soldiers all, were not used to travelling by water. Consequently Cao Cao (so the story goes) lashed together all the boats into a huge flotilla that would provide some much needed stability and stop his men going so green around the gills. This was to be significant for what followed.

After an initial skirmish against Liu Bei’s army, Cao Cao could not press his advantage due to the parlous state of his army. While Cao Cao regrouped on the southern banks of the Yangzi, a coalition general approached him with an offer to defect, along with his fleet of boats. Soon a large number of ships were sailing upriver to join Cao Cao’s forces. Little did Cao Cao know that this was a ruse: the ships contained not fighting men, but flammable materials. At the last moment, the skeleton crew disembarked and the wind carried the explosive ships right into Cao Cao’s flotilla. Amidst fire and chaos, the coalition attacked Cao Cao’s camp on land, scattering the men and forcing an instant retreat.

A poet of great distinction, Cao Cao is said to have composed this drinking song on the eve of the Battle of Red Cliff.

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The wine before me as I sing // How long can a man’s life last? // I liken it to morning’s dew // And the days now past are too many. // The feeling is strong in me // brooding thoughts I can’t ignore. // How can I banish melancholy? // by Du Kang’s gift of wine.

“Blue, blue are your gown’s folds // ever you are in my heart” // And only because of you // My concerns keep on till now. // Yoo, yoo cry the deer // eating the shoots in the meadow // Worthy guests are here with me // so play the harp and blow the pipes.

Bright and full is the moon // When will its passage cease? // Cares come from deep within // nor can they be halted. // You crossed the paths and lanes // taking the trouble to visit me // now feasting and chatting after hard times // your hearts consider old kindness done.

The moon is bright // the stars are few // and magpies come flying south. // Three times around they circle the tree // Where is the branch on which to roost? // The mountain does not mind its height // The ocean does not mind its depth. // The Duke of Zhou broke off his meals // and all the world turned to him in their hearts.

Translation by Stephen Owen

Note: Du Kang is the legendary inventor of wine. The reference to the Duke of Zhou is a shorthand for being an incredibly attentive leader – to the point of spitting out food mid-meal to help people.

Some 850 years after the events of Red Cliff, the polymath official and poet Su Shi (蘇軾) was on a boating excursion with friends when he came to what he took to be the location of the famous battle. Captivated by the scenery and merry with wine, he begins singing in verse. But his friend accompanies him on the flute in dolorous tones, and a great sadness descends. In Su Shi’s words: “Such notes made the dragons dance as they lay sunken in their dark lairs, and caused women who had lost their husbands to weep in their lonely boats.” Asked why he played the tune in such a tragic fashion, his friend responds by quoting Cao Cao’s poem above:

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“The moon is bright, the stars are few, and magpies come flying south.”

Isn’t that Cao Cao’s poem? Here facing Xia-kou to the west and Wu-chang to the east, where the mountains and the river wind around each other with the dense green of the forests – isn’t this the place where Cao Cao was set upon by young Zhou Yu?

Once Cao Cao had smashed Jing-zhou, he came down to Jiang-ling, going east with the current. The prows and sterns of his galleys stretched a thousand leagues, his flags and banners blotted out the very sky; he poured himself some wine and stood over the river, hefted his spear and composed that poem – he was indeed the boldest spirit of that whole age, and yet where is he now?…”

If such was the end of so great a spirit, the companion continues, what of himself and Su Shi – small fry by comparison? Su Shi counteracts this existential crisis with some timely philosophical perspective and the friends end up laughing and drinking once more:

“…We all leaned against one another in that boat, unaware that the east was brightening with day.”

(Su Shi’s work translated by Stephen Owen)