A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  At that moment, they heard what sounded like someone beating metal against stone. The sound grew louder. A man appeared, dressed in rags, dragging an iron staff up the stairs. Wanyan Honglie thought he looked to be around thirty, with razor-sharp features and a greying complexion. His eyes were covered in a white film.

  The others stood up and announced in unison: “Big Brother.”

  “Big Brother, sit here,” the woman said, patting the seat beside her.

  “Thank you,” the blind man replied. “Second Brother isn’t here yet?”

  “Second Brother just arrived in Jiaxing,” the butcher replied. “He should be here any moment.”

  “That’s him,” the woman said, smiling, as they heard the sound of leather slapping against the steps.

  Wanyan Honglie froze. There, at the top of the stairs, appeared a broken black oilpaper fan.

  It quaked briefly, and then behind it followed a head. It was him.

  “He took my money,” Wanyan Honglie growled, anger germinating inside him. The man grinned at him, stuck out his tongue and turned to greet the others. This was Second Brother.

  They’re clearly important fighters of the jianghu, Wanyan Honglie thought. They could do a lot for me. The filthy one may have stolen my money, but it will be of no consequence if I can persuade them to come with me to the north.

  Second Brother took a swig of wine and began reciting a poem, his head swaying from side to side as the words dipped and soared:

  “Ill-gotten gains, let them go,

  For the Jade Emperor is about to blow!”

  He reached into his shirt and removed ingot after ingot, laying them out neatly on the table. Eight gold, two silver.

  Wanyan Honglie recognised them by their size and lustre – they were his! But caution overcame his anger. I can understand how he took the ones from my room, that was easy, but my shirt? He tapped me with his fan, but otherwise I didn’t feel a thing.

  It soon became clear the seven martial siblings were the hosts, and they were waiting for guests. The innkeeper had placed only one set of chopsticks and a cup at each of the two remaining tables. Two guests. I wonder if they will be as strange, Wanyan Honglie thought to himself.

  One cup of tea later, they heard someone reciting Buddhist scriptures at the bottom of the stairs. “Amituofo!”

  “Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is here,” the blind man said.

  “Amituofo!”

  At that moment, an emaciated monk, spindly like a twig, appeared at the top of the stairs. He must have been around fifty years of age, dressed in jute robes. In his hand he carried a piece of firewood, one end scorched black. What could it be for? Wanyan Honglie wondered.

  The monk greeted his seven friends and the man in rags led him to one of the empty tables. “He came looking for me,” the monk said, hovering above his seat before sitting, “but I knew at once that he was too strong. I must thank the Seven Heroes of the South for your kind help and ever solid sense of justice; I am forever in your debt.”

  “Do not thank us, Venerable Monk Scorched Wood,” the blind man replied. “It is we who are indebted to your daily kindness. How could we just look on when Your Reverence was in trouble? Why did this fellow challenge Your Reverence to a fight? He obviously doesn’t think much of us masters of the southern wulin. There was no need—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the stairs began to creak. Indeed, it was so loud it sounded as though a water buffalo or some other giant creature was coming up the stairs.

  “You can’t take that up there!”

  “You’re going to break the floorboards!”

  “Quick, stop him! Bring him back down!”

  The innkeeper and his men were clamouring, but the creaking continued and only grew louder.

  Wanyan Honglie was aghast. There, at the top of the stairs, stood a Taoist carrying a full-sized temple censer made of bronze, usually used for burning large quantities of paper money and sticks of incense. It was Elder Eternal Spring, Qiu Chuji.

  The real purpose of Wanyan Honglie’s previous trip had been to gain favour with important officials under the Emperor, so that when the Jin invaded the south, they would have secret allies inside the Song court. He was accompanied on his travels by a Song envoy, Wang Daoqian, who had done everything he could to exact the highest bribes from the Jin for his cooperation. Having long been protected by the northern barbarians, he was a symbol of the worst excesses of Song corruption. But as soon as they entered the city, he was happened upon by a Taoist, who had chopped off his head. Fearful his scheme had been uncovered by the Taoist, Wanyan Honglie fled with his aides. With the help of Lin’an’s finest soldiers, they returned to track the assassin, chasing him all the way to Ox Village, where they engaged him in battle, only to discover he was an exceptional practitioner of the martial arts. Qiu Chuji caught Wanyan Honglie in the shoulder with an arrow before he had even launched one punch, and then went on to kill the rest of Wanyan’s men. Had Wanyan Honglie not fled and chanced upon Charity’s kindness, Qiu Chuji would have made Ox Village his grave.

  Wanyan Honglie collected himself. Qiu Chuji had barely glanced in his direction and seemed far more concerned with Scorched Wood and the Seven Heroes of the South. Perhaps the Taoist had defeated him so quickly he could not recognise him? He calmed himself and turned his attention to the enormous censer the Taoist was carrying.

  At four foot in diameter, it must have weighed more than two hundred jin on its own, but a waft of fragrant rice wine told Wanyan Honglie that it was not empty and must be considerably heavier. And yet the Taoist looked perfectly comfortable holding it. The weight continued to make the floorboards groan, and downstairs the innkeeper, his men and the other guests had pressed through the main door and out onto the street, fearful that the ceiling was about to collapse.

  “We thank the esteemed Taoist for gracing us with his presence,” Scorched Wood said coldly, “but why has he brought with him the bronze incense burner from my temple?”

  Qiu Chuji raised his left hand out of respect. “I went first to the temple, but the Abbot Withered Wood told me the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood had invited me to the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals to drink wine with him. I assumed the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood wouldn’t be alone, and I was right.”

  “Let me introduce the Seven Heroes of the South.”

  “I have long heard spoken the great deeds of the Seven Heroes of the South. Your reputation precedes you, and today I am lucky enough to make your acquaintance myself. It has been my life’s great wish.”

  “This is Elder Eternal Spring, Qiu Chuji, of the Quanzhen Sect,” Scorched Wood explained to the Seven Heroes. Turning to Qiu Chuji, he continued. “This,” he said, gesturing to the blind man, “is their leader, Flying Bat Master Ke Zhen’e, Suppressor of Evil.”

  He went on to introduce the others, one by one. Wanyan Honglie listened carefully, committing each name to memory. The second was the dirty man who had stolen his silver, Quick Hands Zhu Cong the Intelligent. Next came the short, rotund man who arrived on a horse, Protector of the Steeds, Ryder Han. The fourth man to be introduced was the farmer carrying firewood, Woodcutter Nan the Merciful. Fifth was the burly man in a butcher’s apron, Laughing Buddha Zhang Asheng. The young man who carried the scales was called Gilden Quan the Prosperous, also known as the Masked Haggler. Last came the young oarswoman, Maiden of the Yue Sword, Jade Han. She was the youngest.

  Qiu Chuji bowed at each in turn as they were introduced. He was still holding the heavy bronze censer in his right hand but did not appear tired. Meanwhile, the other customers started venturing back inside and some even climbed the stairs, curious to see what was going on.

  “We are a martial family, often called the Seven Freaks of the South,” Ke Zhen’e began. “We are mere eccentrics, we daren’t call ourselves martial arts masters. We have long been great admirers of the Seven Disciples of the Quanzhen Sect, and greatly respect Elder Eternal Spring for using his wuxia skills sol
ely in the name of justice. Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is in turn most considerate and warm-hearted. How, may I ask, might he have offended Elder Eternal Spring? Please do us the honour of letting us act as peacemakers. While you both may pray to different deities, you have still both chosen a life of the temple, and are great men of the wulin. Why not air past grievances and drink together?”

  “Venerable Monk Scorched Wood and I are strangers to one another,” Qiu Chuji replied. “There is no ill will between us. If he surrenders the women, I will return to Fahua Temple and offer my sincerest apologies.”

  “Surrender which women?”

  “Two of my friends were betrayed by the Song government and died violent deaths at the hands of marauding Jin soldiers,” Qiu Chuji replied. “Each left behind a widow without family or friends. Master Ke, do you think I should ignore this injustice?”

  The cup in Wanyan Honglie’s hand shook, spilling a little wine onto the table.

  “They need not be friends of ours for us to feel compelled to act. We would only have to hear of such a story to be moved, it is our duty as members of the wulin.”

  “Indeed! And so I am asking our friend the monk to hand over the two wretched widows. He has assumed the robes of a holy man, so why is he detaining them in his temple? The Seven Heroes live by the wulin’s code of honour; can you explain this logic to me?”

  Scorched Wood and the Seven Freaks were astonished by Qiu Chuji’s words, as was Wanyan Honglie. Does he mean the wives of Ironheart Yang and Skyfury Guo? he asked himself.

  Scorched Wood’s normally sunken cheeks flushed crimson with anger. It took him a while to gather the words to reply. “How can you make such dishonourable accusations?” he stammered. “They are nonsense.”

  This angered Qiu Chuji even more. “You are also a great man of the wulin. How dare you lie to me!” he cried, and with one hand flung the bronze censer full of wine at Scorched Wood.

  The frightened crowd gathered at the top of the stairs now pushed at each other in a scramble back down.

  The monk dived out of the way. Laughing Buddha Zhang calculated he would be able to catch it, despite its weight. He strode forward, moved his inner strength to his arms and roared. The censer swooped at Zhang Asheng and stopped in his arms, the muscles in his shoulders and back bulging as his body absorbed its momentum. He lifted the censer above his head, but the weight was too much for the floor beneath him and his left foot tore through the wooden floorboards. A scream went up from downstairs. Zhang Asheng stepped forward, his arms slightly bent, and performed Open the Window and Push Back the Moon, thrusting the censer back at Qiu Chuji.

  Qiu Chuji caught the censer with his right hand and held it above his head. “The Seven Heroes of the South are deserving of their reputation!” Then he turned to Scorched Wood. “What about the women? You have captured them and are keeping them in the temple. What do you want with them? If you hurt so much as one strand of their hair, I will grind your treacherous bones to dust and burn your temple to the ground!”

  “His Holiness Scorched Wood is a virtuous and eminent monk,” Zhu Cong said, flicking his fan and nodding. “How could he possibly do such a terrible thing? Your Reverence must have heard this rumour from some lowly beggar. Who could believe such fabrications!”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” Qiu Chuji cried with rage. “How could it be a fabrication?”

  The Seven Freaks froze.

  “You have come south to establish your name – why ruin mine in the process?” Scorched Wood cried. “Ask the people of Jiaxing, could Scorched Wood the Monk be capable of such an evil deed?”

  “Fine.” Qiu Chuji smiled coldly. “You have supporters. Without them, defeat would be certain. But I will not let this go. You are hiding two women in a sacred temple, which is sin enough. Why kill their husbands, two such loyal patriots?”

  “Elder Eternal Spring claims the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is hiding the women, and the Venerable Monk insists he is not,” Ke Zhen’e summarised. “Why don’t we go to Fahua Temple and see who is telling the truth? I may be blind, but the rest of my martial family are perfectly able to see.” The others agreed.

  “Search the temple?” Qiu Chuji smiled. “I have already searched it several times, but even though I saw them enter, I could not find them inside. I don’t understand it. So it is up to our friend the monk to hand the women over!”

  “Perhaps they were not women,” Ke Zhen’e interrupted.

  “What?”

  Ke Zhen’e gazed unseeing at Qiu Chuji, his face still with perfect solemnity. “They must be goddesses. Either they have made themselves invisible or else they have disappeared into thin air.” The other Freaks tittered.

  “I see you are mocking me. The Seven Freaks have allied themselves with the monk.”

  “Our skills may not seem much to a Master of the Quanzhen Sect. You may laugh at them, perhaps. But here in the south we can claim some fame. People say, ‘Those Seven Freaks may be crazy, but they are no cowards.’ We may not be masters of the wulin, perhaps, but we will not stand by and watch a friend be bullied.”

  “The Seven Heroes of the South do indeed claim a fine reputation, I have long heard of your skill. But this matter does not concern you, there is no need to be sullied by such murky matters. Let me deal with the Venerable Monk myself. Please forgive me, my friend; come with me.” Qiu Chuji reached his left hand to take Scorched Wood by the wrist, but Scorched Wood twisted free of his grip.

  The fight was starting.

  “Elder Eternal Spring!” Ryder Han cried. “Are you deaf to reason?”

  “What is it, Third Brother Han?”

  “We believe Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is telling the truth,” Ryder Han replied. “If he says he doesn’t have them, then he doesn’t have them. Such a steadfast and respected member of the wulin cannot be lying.”

  “So if he is not lying, then it is I who is the liar?” Qiu Chuji was furious. “I, Elder Eternal Spring, am to distrust my very own eyes? Seeing as they are so easily deceived, perhaps I should gouge them out and present them as a gift? They are useless to me. So, to confirm, you are allied with the monk?”

  “Yes!” the Seven Freaks responded in unison.

  “In that case, please everyone take a cup of wine. Let us first drink, then we fight.” He lowered his right arm, put the bronze censer to his mouth and took a long gulp. “Here, for you.” He flung the bronze censer at Zhang Asheng.

  How am I going to drink from it, even if I catch it above my head? Zhang Asheng thought to himself. He retreated back two steps and placed his hands outstretched before him, but as the censer came hurtling towards him he opened his arms and let it crash against his chest. He carried some extra weight in that area, so his flesh absorbed the impact as if it were a soft cushion. With a deep breath, he thrust forward his chest and wrapped his arms around it. Gripping it tightly, he dipped his head and drank from the bowl. “Delicious!”

  He pulled his arms away and let the censer balance a few moments, before pushing it away in a move known throughout the wulin as Two Hands to Move a Mountain. Wanyan Honglie watched in amazement.

  Qiu Chuji caught the censer, drank another large mouthful of wine before propelling it towards Ke Zhen’e. “Master Ke, please!”

  He’s blind, how will he catch it? Wanyan Honglie thought. But he was unfamiliar with the extent of the Seven Freaks’ martial skill, and the fact that Brother Ke was the most accomplished among them. Using his hearing alone, Ke could place a flying object to within a centimetre just by listening for the rush of air around it. He sat calmly, focused, seemingly unconcerned by Qiu Chuji’s cry. Then, at the last possible moment, up shot his hand, and he struck the censer with his walking staff. He caught the censer and it spun like a plate on a bamboo stick. Ke Zhen’e then tipped the staff and the censer dipped, spinning a stream of rice wine from the rim. Ke Zhen’e opened his mouth and drank three or four mouthfuls, the spray drenching his clothes. He then jerked the stick with the lightest
of touches, righting the censer, before flicking it up in the air. As it fell, he hit the censer one more time, sending it back, ringing, to Qiu Chuji.

  “Master Ke must spin plates in his spare time!” Qiu Chuji laughed as he caught the censer with ease.

  “We didn’t have much money when I was a child, I used to spin plates to help my parents,” Ke Zhen’e said, through gritted teeth.

  “Honest work makes the man,” Qiu Chuji said. “A toast to Fourth Brother Nan!” He took another gulp of wine and sent the censer to Woodcutter Nan.

  Clang! Woodcutter Nan said nothing, but stopped the censer with his shoulder pole and scooped a handful of wine as it fell. He then spun his pole horizontally, dropped onto his right knee, placed the pole on his left, caught the censer with the other end of the pole and, pushing downwards, flicked it back into the air.

  As the censer flew back in the direction of Qiu Chuji, Gilden Quan spoke. “I never turn down a good deal, let me drink.” He appeared at Woodcutter Nan’s side and waited for the censer’s return. Just as it was falling, he too fished out a handful of wine, caught the censer with his feet and then kicked it back at Qiu Chuji. The backwards momentum sent him flying into the wall behind, where he slid to the ground.

  “Wonderful, simply wonderful!” Zhu Cong declared, flicking his broken fan.

  Qiu Chuji caught the censer and drank again. “Wonderful, wonderful. Now a drink for Second Brother.”

  “Aiya! I’m a master of the mind, not of the body. I can’t hold my drink. I’ll be drunk in seconds.” The censer was already making its way back towards him before Zhu Cong could finish. “Help, it’s going to squash me!”

  He dipped his fan into the wine, drank, then struck the bottom of the censer, flicking it away. At that point, the floorboards creaked and a large crack appeared. “Help!” he cried as he fell through.

  Everyone knew he was playing the fool. Wanyan Honglie, however, was still marvelling at Zhu Cong’s use of the small fan, which appeared as strong as Woodcutter Nan’s shoulder pole.