Though appearing only once in Chapter 28 of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the brief episode involving Guo Chang and his wayward son serves far more than a passing narrative function. This seemingly minor interlude not only deepens Guan Yu’s characterization as a paragon of righteousness and mercy, but also offers a microcosm of social decay during the late Eastern Han dynasty.
Strikingly, this vignette finds a literary echo over a century later in Chapter 56 of Journey to the West, where Old Yang and his criminal son present a parallel tale of parental helplessness and moral failure. By comparing these two episodes across China’s great classical novels, we uncover how Ming-dynasty fiction used humble households to explore timeless tensions between filial duty, justice, compassion, and societal collapse.
Guo Chang and His Son
In Chapter 28 of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, after Guan Yu’s legendary “Ride of a Thousand Li” — slaying six generals at five passes — he arrives weary with his entourage and seeks lodging. He is welcomed by Guo Chang, an elderly villager who shows him generous hospitality: slaughtering a sheep, preparing wine, and offering shelter for the night.
However, Guo Chang’s son — described as idle and obsessed only with hunting — attempts to steal Guan Yu’s famed Red Hare horse. Upon discovering the theft, Guan Yu could have punished the youth severely. Yet, remembering Guo Chang’s kindness, he chooses forgiveness.
This moment powerfully reinforces Guan Yu’s core virtues: benevolence, righteousness, and magnanimity. Rather than reacting with wrath, he honors the bond of guest-host reciprocity, showcasing the Confucian ideal of measured justice tempered by gratitude.
A mirror of social decay in turbulent times
Guo Chang’s son embodies the moral erosion spreading through rural society amid warlordism and imperial collapse. With no stable governance, many youths turned to idleness or petty crime. His obsession with hunting and attempted horse theft reflect a generation adrift—lacking purpose, discipline, or ethical grounding.
Notably, Guo Chang himself is portrayed as helpless: aware of his son’s flaws but unable to correct them, partly due to his wife’s indulgence. This domestic tension mirrors the larger breakdown of social order—where even well-meaning elders cannot uphold virtue in their own households.
Thus, this short episode functions as a social commentary, revealing how chaos at the national level seeped into family life, distorting values and weakening communal bonds.
Literary Parallel: Old Yang’s son in Journey to the West
A strikingly similar dynamic appears in Chapter 56 of Journey to the West, where the pilgrims encounter Old Yang, a farmer whose only son has become a bandit. Like Guo Chang’s son, Old Yang’s son is morally corrupt—not merely stealing, but actively robbing, murdering, and burning homes alongside a gang of outlaws.
Both fathers share key traits:
- They are ordinary, law-abiding commoners.
- They deeply regret their sons’ misconduct.
- They refrain from reporting them to authorities, out of filial hope and fear of losing their sole heir—especially crucial in a culture where sons ensure ancestral rites and elder care.
Yet the narrative purposes diverge:
- In Three Kingdoms, the son’s misdeed highlights Guan Yu’s virtue and sets up future plot points: the stolen horse leads Guan Yu to meet Pei Yuanshao and Zhou Cang, ultimately resulting in Zhou Cang joining Guan Yu’s service and the reunion at Gucheng.
- In Journey to the West, the son’s crimes escalate conflict between Sun Wukong and Tang Sanzang: Sun Wukong kills the bandits (including the son), Tang Sanzang punishes him with the tight-fillet spell, and their ideological rift deepens—compassion vs. retributive justice.
Divergent themes, Shared humanity
While both stories feature wayward sons and conflicted fathers, their thematic focuses differ:
- Guo Chang’s tale emphasizes heroic magnanimity and the fragility of morality in wartime. It serves Guan Yu’s mythos and subtly critiques societal disintegration.
- Old Yang’s story explores Buddhist mercy versus Daoist pragmatism, and the limits of parental love when confronted with irredeemable evil. It drives character development in the monk-disciple relationship.
Nevertheless, both episodes reveal a shared literary technique: using ordinary families as lenses to examine grand philosophical and historical questions. Through these “minor” characters, the novels expose the human cost of chaos—and the enduring struggle between duty, love, and justice.
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