by Jin Yong
Duan was inside and happened to be questioning Lily Li over the disappearance of her husband’s head – which bandits did Guo count among his friends? – when he was interrupted by the disturbance outside. He poked his head through the window and saw a Taoist breaking through a crowd of his men, a soldier in each hand.
“Loose your arrows!” those of rank were shouting, but the men either had no bows or else no arrows.
Justice Duan was furious, drew the sabre from his belt and ran out. “Is this a rebellion?”
He brandished the weapon at Qiu Chuji, but the Taoist stopped, cast aside the soldiers and grabbed Duan’s wrist. “Tell me, where is that foul dog, Justice Duan?”
A searing pain shot through Duan’s wrist and body. “Is Your Reverence looking for Commander Duan? He . . . You’ll find him on a pleasure boat on the West Lake. I’m not sure if he plans to return this evening.”
Taking this stranger at his word, Qiu Chuji released him. Duan then turned to two nearby soldiers. “Take the Reverend to the lake. He’s looking for Commander Duan.”
The soldiers hesitated.
“Hurry!” Duan growled. “Or the commander will be angry!”
The two men understood, turned and left. Qiu Chuji followed.
Justice Duan was too frightened to remain at the camp, so he gathered some men and Lily Li, and hurried to Command Post Eight. The commanders frequently enjoyed an evening drink together. Duan’s friend was furious when he heard what had happened to him. But just as the eighth commander was about to order some of his men to track down this vile Taoist and have him killed, an altercation was heard outside. The Taoist had come to them. The soldiers must have cracked under Qiu Chuji’s questioning.
Justice Duan ran, taking his men and Lily Li. This time they made for Command Post Two at Quanjie, outside the city. It was more remote and therefore less easy to find. Duan was frightened; the image of the Taoist fighting his way through a whole crowd of soldiers would not leave him. His wrist was also throbbing and beginning to swell. The army doctor examined it and determined he had broken two bones. After being treated with ointment and fitted with a splint, Duan decided he could not return to his encampment, but would have to stay at Command Post Two for the night.
Duan slept soundly until midnight, when he was awoken by more shouting outside. Reports came that one of the sentries had vanished.
He leapt out of bed, sensing that the guards must have been captured by Qiu Chuji. As long as he stayed in army camps the Taoist was going to find him. And he was too skilled a fighter for Duan. So what now? The Taoist seemed determined to catch him. Duan’s men might not be able to protect him. As panic started to take hold of him, he remembered his uncle, a monk of exceptional martial skill now residing in Cloudy Perch Temple. The Taoist’s arrival had to have something to do with Skyfury Guo’s death, so he would take Lily Li with him for security. He forced the widow to disguise herself as a soldier and dragged her out into the night.
HIS UNCLE had assumed holy robes many years before, taking the name Withered Wood. He was now Abbot of Cloudy Perch Temple, but had once been an officer in the army and received his martial arts training from the Masters of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a branch of the Shaolin school dominant in the areas of the jianghu straddling southern Zhejiang and Fujian.
Withered Wood had always despised his nephew and did as much as he could to avoid any association with him, so when Duan arrived at the temple door in the middle of the night, his response was less than welcoming. “What are you doing here?”
Duan knew the extent of his uncle’s hatred for the Jin, so he could not possibly tell him the truth: that he had helped the enemy kill two patriots. Uncle would have him killed there and then. But Duan had spent the journey concocting a story. He knelt before his uncle, and under the monk’s cold gaze, kowtowed. “Uncle, I beg for your help. I am being threatened.”
“You’re an officer in the army, people thank the heavens above for every day that you’re not bullying them. Who would trouble you?”
“Indeed, I deserve it,” Duan replied, putting on his best performance. “Uncle is right. Some friends and I went to Blushing Cherry Lodge by Lingqing Bridge the day before yesterday to enjoy the atmosphere.”
Withered Wood snorted. The story had not started well. The ladies of Blushing Cherry Lodge did not provide the kind of atmosphere respectable men enjoyed.
“I usually visit one girl in particular, my mistress I suppose. She was drinking and singing with me, when without warning a Taoist came bursting in. As soon as he heard my girl singing, he demanded she join him instead . . .”
“Ha! Nonsense. Men of holy robes do not frequent such obscene places.”
“Exactly. I made some comment to that effect and ordered him to leave. But the Taoist turned nasty and started cursing me. Then he said I shouldn’t bother picking fights when I’d be losing my head soon anyway.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“He said the Jin will be crossing the Yangtze within days and are going to kill the entire Song army.”
“He said that?”
“Yes. I got angry and started arguing with him. Even if the Jin did come south, I said, we would fight to defend this great country. And there was nothing to say we would be defeated.”
Justice Duan’s words were calculated to rouse emotion in his uncle, and the Abbot nodded as his nephew spoke. These were the only sensible words to have come out of his nephew’s mouth since the day he emerged from his mother’s womb.
Duan saw they were having the desired effect, so continued. “We then got into a fight, but as you know, I’m no match for a Taoist trained in the martial arts. He pursued me and I had nowhere to go. Uncle, you’re my only hope.”
“I am a monk,” Withered Wood said, shaking his head, “I cannot understand these petty fights over a woman’s attentions.”
“I ask for Uncle’s help just this once. It will never happen again.”
Withered Wood could not help but think of his brothers in the army and fury rose within him. “Fine, you can hide here in the temple for a few days. But no trouble.”
Justice Duan nodded.
“You’re an army officer.” Withered Wood sighed before continuing. “Such debauched behaviour. What will we do if the Jin really do decide to cross into the south? Back when I was a soldier . . .”
Duan may have threatened Lily Li into silence, but she was listening to every word.
4
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON AN ATTENDING MONK RAN IN to speak with the Abbot.
“There’s a Taoist in a rage outside. He says Commander Duan must come out at once.”
Withered Wood sent for Justice Duan.
“It’s him, the Taoist,” Duan said, trembling.
“What a despicable excuse for a monk. To which sect does he belong?”
“I have no idea where this crook is from. I don’t think his martial arts are anything special. But he’s strong, to be sure. Stronger than me.”
“Then I shall speak to him,” Withered Wood said, and made for the Great Hall.
Qiu Chuji was just then engaged in a tussle with the guards, trying to push his way into the Inner Hall. Withered Wood walked up to him and, using his neigong inner strength, tried to push Qiu out with minimal pressure to the shoulder. To his surprise, however, the Taoist’s upper arm felt like fresh cotton. He tried to pull back but it was too late; he was stumbling backwards, and with a peng! his back smacked against the altar table, which collapsed, the incense burner and candles crashing down around him.
“What brings Your Reverence to my humble temple, may I ask?” Withered Wood said from where he sat, smarting.
“I am looking for a beggar by the name of Duan.”
Withered Wood understood the extent of the Taoist’s kung fu, so tried another tactic. “We spiritual men must show mercy and benevolence. Why is the monk behaving as if he were no more enlightened than a mere farmer?”
Qiu Chuji ignored him and st
rode into the Inner Hall. Justice Duan had already escaped into a secret chamber with Lily Li. Cloudy Perch Temple was fogged with plumes of incense as worshippers crowded the halls for spring pilgrimage season. He would struggle to find the commander in there. Qiu Chuji snorted and left.
Justice Duan emerged from his hiding place.
“Who is he?” Withered Wood said. “He could have killed me if he’d wanted to.”
“He’s an agent working on behalf of the Jin. Why else would he be picking a fight with an officer of the Song?” Duan replied.
At that moment, the attendant monk came back in to confirm that the Taoist had left.
“Did he say anything as he went?” Withered Wood said.
“He said he would not rest until the temple had surrendered Commander Duan.”
Withered Wood glared at his nephew. “You’re not telling me the whole truth. The Taoist is accomplished in the martial arts; you would never come out of an encounter with him alive.” He paused briefly before continuing. “You can’t stay here. I only know of one person who could fight this Taoist: a fellow disciple of my Master. His name is Scorched Wood. I think you should seek shelter with him for a while.”
Withered Wood provided Duan with a letter and hired a boat to take him through the night to Jiaxing to seek refuge with Scorched Wood of Fahua Temple.
5
SCORCHED WOOD COULD BARELY COMPREHEND WHAT HAD just happened. He left the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals with the Seven Freaks and together they made their way back to his temple.
“My martial brother Withered Wood sent his nephew Justice Duan and another young man to me with a letter and asked me to protect them,” he explained. “Elder Qiu is one of the Seven Masters of the Quanzhen Sect, who all trained under the great shifu Double Sun. Among them Elder Qiu is said to be the best. He may be a bit coarse, but he doesn’t seem the type of man to stir up trouble without good cause. He can bear no grudge against an old monk like me. There must have been some grave misunderstanding.”
“Let us speak with the two young men and ask them what’s going on,” Gilden Quan suggested.
“Good idea. They haven’t told me their story yet,” Scorched Wood said.
He was just about to send for Justice Duan when Ke Zhen’e spoke. “Qiu Chuji has quite the temper. He clearly doesn’t think much of us wanderers of the southern wulin. The Quanzhen Sect may command a great reputation in the north, but they can’t behave like that down here. A martial challenge, that’s the answer. We take him on, one at a time. Only the honourable need apply.”
“We should fight him together,” Zhu Cong said.
“Eight against one? Doesn’t sound very honourable to me,” Ryder Han said.
“We’re not going to kill him, only calm him enough so that he will listen to what the Venerable Monk has to say,” Gilden Quan said.
“Won’t it damage our reputation if word gets out among our friends in the wulin that Scorched Wood the Monk and the Seven Freaks fought Qiu Chuji together, eight against one?” Jade Han said.
Just then came a terrible clanging, a bell in the Great Hall.
“He’s here,” Ke Zhen’e said, jumping to his feet.
They ran towards the sound. Another clang, and then the sound of metal tearing. It was him, slamming the bronze censer against the large bell which hung from the centre of the ceiling. Qiu Chuji’s whiskers stood spiky like a porcupine, his eyes fixed and round. The Seven Freaks weren’t to know this was extreme behaviour for the otherwise mild Taoist. Days had passed with no sign of the traitor Justice Duan and anger had been smouldering inside him.
Qiu Chuji’s frustration was erupting.
The Seven Quanzhen Masters’ reputations only made the Seven Freaks even more determined to fight. Had Qiu Chuji been just another unknown wanderer of the wulin they might have been content to resolve the dispute by other means.
“Sister, we’ll go first!” Ryder Han cried to Jade, who was in fact his cousin on his father’s side. Ryder Han was the most impatient of the Seven Freaks. He pulled the Golden Dragon whip from his belt and performed a move known as Wind Disperses Swirling Clouds at Qiu Chuji’s hand. Jade Han drew a long sword and lunged at Qiu Chuji’s back. But the Taoist’s reactions were quick, twisting his wrist so that the whip struck the censer instead, and dipping his body to let Jade Han’s sword pass by him.
In ancient times, the two southern kingdoms of Yue and Wu were long at war. The King of Yue, Gou Qian, kept himself ready for combat at all times by sleeping on a bed of straw and drinking from a gall bladder. But the Wu army was universally acknowledged to be superior, mainly due to General Wu Zixu’s strategic prowess, learned under the master tactician Sun Tzu. One day, however, a beautiful young woman, accomplished in the art of the sword, arrived in Jiaxing, then located just inside the Yue border. One of the kingdom’s highest-ranking ministers, Fan Li, asked if she would teach them her skills so they might defeat the Wu. So it happened that Jiaxing came to be the home of this particular sword technique, passed from master to disciple, generation to generation. It was, however, designed for battle, for slicing generals and puncturing horses. When used against the masters of the wulin, it lacked the necessary agility and forcefulness. It was not until the dying years of the Tang dynasty that the repertoire came to be expanded by a swordsman familiar with the martial arts of ancient times, who added his own moves and made it faster and more complex.
Jade Han had studied the technique to such a level as to earn her the nickname Maiden of the Yue Sword.
It took no more than a few moves, however, for Qiu Chuji to assess the extent of her skills. All he needed to defeat her was speed; she was fast, but he could be faster. With the censer in his right hand, he blocked Ryder Han’s Golden Dragon whip and with his left palm he struck Jade Han, seizing her sword. Within seconds she had been beaten back, taking shelter behind a statue of the Buddha.
Woodcutter Nan and Zhang Asheng rushed forward. Qiu Chuji’s left palm shot out at Zhang Asheng’s face. Zhang bent backwards, but the move was a diversion. Qiu Chuji’s foot struck Zhang’s wrist, sending a sharp pain up his arm and forcing him to drop his knife. Zhang was better with his bare fists, however. Balancing on his left foot, he faked a right, roared, and punched with his left with all his strength.
“Beautiful!” Qiu Chuji said as he dodged to the side. “Such a shame!”
“What do you mean?”
“You are so accomplished and yet insist upon associating with that evil monk and living in thrall to the Jin.”
“You are the most brazen of traitors,” Zhang cried. “You’re the thrall!” He struck three times at Qiu Chuji, each blow dodged or blocked with use of the censer. Two of Zhang’s punches clanged squarely against the bronze vessel.
The Seven Freaks were losing, despite their four-to-one advantage. Zhu Cong gestured at Gilden Quan and together they launched themselves at the Taoist. Gilden Quan always carried a large steel balance, the arm of which could be used as a spear or club, the hook as a flying claw, and the weight as a hammer on a chain. One scale, therefore, became three weapons. Zhu Cong, in turn, preferred to strike the metal frame of his broken oilpaper fan against his opponent’s pressure points, while dodging dancing weapons.
Qiu Chuji spun the censer, angling it in front of him like a shield. Using his free hand, he chopped and grabbed, slipping punches through the weaknesses in the Freaks’ defences. The weight of the vessel may have slowed his movements, but it also made it almost impossible for the Seven Freaks to land a blow, which gradually drained their strength.
Scorched Wood looked on, growing ever more anxious his friends might get hurt. “Stop, everyone!” he cried. “Listen to me, please!”
But men of the wulin do not stop mid-fight.
“You good-for-nothing!” Qiu Chuji shouted back. “No-one wants to listen to your prattle. Watch this instead!” Alternating at speed between punches and slaps, in a move known as the Flying Mountain, Qiu Chuji chopped at Zhang Asheng.
“Your Reverence, please stop!” Scorched Wood cried.
But with two more fighters yet to join in, Qiu Chuji was in fact growing tired and afraid; he had no desire to die in this crumbling temple deep in the swampy south. Yet now he understood his opponents’ weaknesses he had to push on.
Zhang Asheng was specially trained in Iron Shirt kung fu, by which he had toughened his skin to withstand the sharpest weapons. He was used to wrestling bulls bare-chested in the slaughterhouse, so his muscles were as hard as if covered in a thick layer of hide. Gathering the qi to his shoulders, he prepared himself for Qiu Chuji’s attack. “Go on!”
Qiu Chuji’s palm struck his shoulder, and with a crack! the bone in Zhang’s upper arm snapped.
Zhu Cong tapped his metal fan at Qiu Chuji’s Jade Pivot pressure point just below the collarbone, trying to break the flow of the attack.
But Qiu Chuji was energised by his small victory and made a grab at the weapons aimed at him.
“Hai!” Gilden Quan cried as Qiu Chuji seized one end of his scales. With a tug, Qiu Chuji pulled him closer. Blocking Woodcutter Nan and Zhu Cong with the spinning censer, he then struck Gilden Quan on the crown of the head.
At this point Ryder Han and Jade leapt in, aiming at Qiu Chuji’s chest with their weapons. Qiu Chuji was forced to dodge to the side, letting go of Quan. Quan was dripping with sweat, but before he could get clear he felt a sharp kick to his side. He fell to the ground and was unable to get up again.
Scorched Wood the Monk had not wished to fight the Taoist and somehow had hoped to calm him with words. But he could not stand by as his friends were being hurt, not when they had come to his aid. Rolling up his sleeves, he picked up a piece of charred firewood and sprang at Qiu Chuji’s armpit.
But Qiu Chuji sensed the move. He’s going for my vital points, he realised, focusing.
Judging from the cries and moans, Ke Zhen’e, meanwhile, understood that two of his martial brothers had been badly hurt. He took up his metal staff and was about to join the fray when Gilden Quan called out, “Brother, your iron devilnuts, one in the direction of the Prospering and another towards the Small Surpassing!” Before he could finish, Ke had already fired the two metal projectiles, one between Qiu Chuji’s eyebrows and the other at his right hip bone.
