by Jin Yong
“Impressive, very impressive!” A loud voice came from behind.
They turned and saw an old Chinese man with a white beard and red cheeks. He looked kind and carried a horsetail whip. His dress was strange and he wore his hair in three buns. He stood proudly, his clothes neat and clean, without the slightest trace of dust, which out in this desert landscape was unusual indeed. His robes reminded Guo Jing of those worn by Harmony Yin, who he had later discovered was a Taoist from China’s Central Plains.
This man also spoke Chinese, but as Khojin could not understand she soon lost interest and turned back to the cliff. “Those baby condors have lost their mother and father. What are they going to do now?” Khojin continued.
The cliff face was smooth and reached up to touch the clouds. The young condors had not learned to fly yet; they were stuck. They were going to starve up there.
Guo Jing looked up. “Their only hope is that someone grows wings and flies up there to save them.”
He glanced at the old man, took up his sword again and went back to his training.
He still was not making any progress and was now starting to despair. Just then the voice came again, loud and clear. “Keep doing it like that and it won’t matter if you train for a hundred years, you’ll never get it.”
Guo Jing turned back to the Taoist. “What did you say?”
He smiled, but did not answer. The man then took two steps forward. Just then Guo Jing felt his arm go numb, and with a flash of green, his sword was suddenly in the man’s hand. Zhu Cong had taught him Seize the Blade Barehanded, and though he was yet to perfect the technique, he understood the principle. But the Taoist had done something else and Guo Jing was not sure how. Fear gripped him. He retreated to Khojin’s side and drew the dagger Temujin had given him.
“Watch carefully,” the Taoist called.
He jumped up, with a swishing sound made six or seven turns with the sword, and softly landed back down. Guo Jing was amazed.
The Taoist threw away the sword and smiled. “That white condor is an impressive bird. We must indeed save its young.”
He began running towards the cliff and then, quick like a monkey and light like a bird, he scrambled up the rock face.
Guo Jing and Khojin watched from below, even more astounded than before. Just one slip would kill him. He continued, higher and higher, smaller and smaller, up into the clouds.
Khojin covered her eyes. “What’s happening?”
“He’s almost at the top. He’s there, he made it!”
She lowered her hands and continued to peer up. It really looked as if the Taoist might fall. His sleeves flapped, she screamed, but he was on solid ground. From below, he looked just like one of the condors.
He slipped his hand into the cave where the condors had made their nest, grabbed hold of the two chicks and tucked them into the front of his robes. Then, with his hand against the cliff, he slid back down, slowed every now and again by a bump in the rock or a crevice that caught his foot. He was at the bottom in moments.
They ran to him. The Taoist passed the birds to Khojin and spoke in Mongolian. “Will you look after them?”
“Yes, yes!” she said, reaching out to take them.
“Watch out for their beaks, they may be small, but their peck is painful.”
Khojin fastened her belt around their tiny feet and took them in her arms, a smile conquering her face. “I’m going to catch some insects to feed them.”
“Wait,” the man said. “If you take them, you must promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You mustn’t tell anyone I climbed the cliff.”
“That’s fine, I won’t tell,” Khojin said.
“And another thing. The condors will grow to be very aggressive,” he continued. “Feed them insects first, then meat. And be careful.”
“We will have one each,” she said to Guo Jing, “but I will look after them both to begin with.”
Guo Jing nodded mutely as Khojin mounted her horse and galloped away.
In fact, Guo Jing had not really been paying attention to the birds, as he was still confounded by the Taoist’s demonstration of Branch Beats the White Chimpanzee. The Taoist picked up Guo Jing’s sword, gave it to him and started to leave.
“Wait . . . Please don’t go,” Guo Jing said.
“And why ever not?”
Guo Jing scratched his head, unsure how to reply. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees and began touching the ground with his forehead.
“Why are you kowtowing?” the Taoist said.
The Taoist had a kindly air, like an old uncle with whom one could talk freely. A rush of familiarity overcame Guo Jing and two fat tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I’m not smart, I’m always making mistakes in my training. It frustrates my mentors. I have six.”
“What are you going to do about it?” The Taoist smiled.
“I practise day and night and still I can’t do it . . . I just can’t.”
“Do you want me to show you a trick?”
“Yes!” said Guo Jing, kowtowing again.
“You are a sincere young man. In three days, it will be the fifteenth day of the month when the moon is at its fullest. I will be waiting for you at the top of the cliff,” he said, pointing. “But you mustn’t tell a soul!” And then he left.
“Wait, I can’t get up there!” Guo Jing cried. But the Taoist was already far, far away, his feet barely skimming the ground.
“He made it impossible on purpose,” Guo Jing said to himself. “He never wanted to help me.” He paused, and then continued muttering. “I already have a teacher, six of them, all making such an effort. It’s my own fault, what could this man say that will fix that? He seems skilled, that’s for sure, but what good does that do me? I’ll never be able to do what he does.” He looked up again at the top of the cliff and decided to forget about the encounter.
He took up his sword and began once again practising Branch Beats the White Chimpanzee, jumping, turning, until the sun disappeared behind the mountains and his belly began to rumble. It was time to return home.
THREE DAYS sped past. Guo Jing spent the afternoon taking instruction from Ryder Han in the use of his Golden Dragon whip. This weapon was like no other – if it were not mastered it could prove more dangerous to the bearer than to his enemy.
Guo Jing cracked the whip with all his might and ended up slashing himself on the head, bringing up an egg-like bump. Ryder Han, not known to be a gentle teacher, slapped him across the cheek. Guo Jing made no reply, but kept practising. Ryder Han regretted having been so rough with the boy; he was trying, that much was clear. He decided not to hit him again, despite the constant string of mistakes. He taught the boy five moves in total, loaded him up with words of encouragement, and then mounted his horse and rode off.
The Golden Dragon whip was no easy weapon, and after ten or so attempts Guo Jing was covered in bruises from his head to his arms to his thighs. He was exhausted and in pain, so he decided to lie down on the grass and take a short nap. But time passed faster than his body sensed it, and when he awoke again, the moon had appeared from behind the mountains. His body was throbbing and his cheek was still red from his Third Shifu’s slap.
He looked up at the cliff. Somehow sleep had given him new courage. “If Uncle can climb up there, why can’t I?” He ran to the bottom of the rock face, grabbed hold of some low snaking vines and roots and began hoisting himself up. But after twenty metres or so the vegetation stopped. He looked up to see a smooth wall above him. How was he going to get up there?
He clenched his teeth and tried to find his next foothold, but he kept slipping. If he fell, he would be nothing more than a pile of bones. There was no way he could go any further, so he sighed and started making his way back down again. But it soon became apparent the descent would be just as difficult; he could no longer see the places he had put his feet and hands and it was too high to jump.
His Four
th Shifu’s words echoed in his ears: Nothing eludes a man of sound heart and good will. Since it would be death to stay put, he had no choice but to continue upwards. He removed his dagger and chipped away two small holes. In the first he placed one foot, tested to see if it could take his weight and then climbed to the next. So he rose, a few inches at a time, carving hand- and footholds into the rock. The effort made his head spin and his limbs ache.
Some way up, he stopped and clung to the rock to compose himself. Trying to control his breath, he stole a glace upwards. How many clefts would he have to chisel away to get to the top? And how many before his knife broke? But there was no turning back. After a short rest, he steeled himself for a renewed ascent.
Just then he heard laughter from above.
He was too scared to lean back to look, so he kept his nose tight against the rock. The laughter continued and then stopped abruptly. Then a thick rope came down towards him and stopped just in front of his eyes.
“Tie the rope around your waist and I’ll pull you up.”
It was the Taoist with the three buns.
Relieved, Guo Jing put away his dagger and grabbed the rope with his right hand. He wrapped it around his waist twice and tied two knots.
“Is it secure?”
“Yes.”
“Is it secure?” He had not heard Guo Jing’s reply.
“Yes,” Guo Jing called, this time louder.
But he still had not heard. “Ah, I forgot, you haven’t trained your breathing enough. Your voice doesn’t carry. If you’ve secured it, tug three times on the rope.”
Guo Jing pulled sharply three times and the rope instantly went taut. His body then started soaring up to the sky. The speed of it took him by surprise and in a trice he had landed on his feet.
There he was: the old Taoist.
He had saved Guo Jing’s life. The young man dropped to his knees to kowtow again, but the Taoist pulled him up. “Enough, enough. You kowtowed more than enough times last time we met. You certainly know how to behave with your elders.”
Guo Jing looked out across the flat expanse of snow. The Taoist pointed to two rocks shaped like drums. “Sit.”
“Your student will remain standing, out of respect.”
“You are not of my school and I am not your shifu, so you are not my student. Sit.”
Guo Jing was confused, but sat as instructed.
“Your shifus are well respected in the wulin. I cannot claim an acquaintance, but I have heard many speak of their prowess. You need only learn the skills of one of them to gain a reputation in the martial world. You are working hard. Do you know why you have made so little progress over the last ten years?”
“I’m too stupid. My shifus are doing all they can.”
“It needn’t be so. It can only be because they do not know how to teach you.”
“Please . . . sir . . . I don’t understand.”
“You already have a solid grasp of the basics. If we look only to the core martial arts, your current skills are far from inconsequential. But you lost your first real fight to the young Taoist Harmony Yin, and this made you question yourself. On this point, however, you are mistaken.”
How does he know about that? Guo Jing wondered.
“He performed a somersault, yes, but he used tricks, not skill. Indeed, his mastery of the essentials does not necessarily exceed yours. With such accomplished shifus, I cannot teach you any more than they can.”
“Yes.” Excellent, he thought, my shifus are masters of the martial arts. Then the problem does indeed lie with me.
“As your shifus have a bet going, they would be most displeased if I were to teach you. They care about honour above all else and would not dream of profiting from any kind of unfair advantage.”
“What bet?” asked Guo Jing.
“You don’t know? Then if your shifus haven’t told you, you mustn’t ask me. At some point over the next two years, they will explain. You are an honest young man, we were fated to meet. Let me teach you some breathing techniques at least. How to sit, walk and sleep, that sort of thing.”
Sitting, walking, sleeping? Guo Jing thought to himself. I know how to do that already! But he decided not to say so, in case it made him look even more stupid.
“Brush away the snow from this rock and go to sleep.”
This was certainly odd, Guo Jing thought, but he did as he was told.
“Why I am teaching you this, you don’t need to know. Focus on remembering these words instead:
“Clear heart, emotions departed,
In empty body qi can spread.
A dead mind, yet the spirit lives,
For Yin thrives but the Yang is shed.”
Guo Jing repeated and memorised it, but he had no idea what it meant.
“You must clear your mind before sleep. Don’t leave a single thought. Then settle your body in the correct position, on your side, that’s right. Make your breath smooth and even. Release your spirit but don’t let your mind wander.”
Guo Jing did as he was told. At first his mind was overrun by uncontrollable thoughts, but the Taoist’s explanations were slow and thorough and gradually he managed to focus on what he was being told. A warm feeling spread through his abdomen. The air at the top of the cliff was cold enough to cut bone, but he no longer felt it. After two hours, he opened his eyes. He had been lying in meditation like this without feeling the slightest prickling of the hands or feet.
The Taoist was sitting with his legs crossed in front of him. Noticing that Guo Jing was moving, he said, “Now you will be able to sleep.”
Guo Jing dozed off. By the time he awoke, the sun was beginning to rise in the east. The Taoist tied a rope around his waist and lowered him back down the cliff with instructions not to tell anyone about what had happened that night.
That evening, Guo Jing returned to the cliff and was once again hoisted up. His mother did not think to ask why he was not returning at night, as the Freaks frequently kept him out late, training. And so he spent his nights learning meditation with the mysterious Taoist. The Six Freaks were none the wiser.
4
IT WAS STRANGE, HE HAD TO ADMIT. THE TAOIST HAD NOT taught him even one martial arts move, but he was noticeably quicker and lighter during his daily practices. Six months on, he was performing moves with a skill and agility that had previously eluded him. “He has finally matured,” the Six Freaks could only exclaim.
The Taoist taught him to climb the rock face by himself by moving the qi around his body, and only when Guo Jing was exhausted and could climb no more would he rush to the top and lower the rope. Before long, Guo Jing could manage all but the most difficult parts of the ascent.
So the earth circled once more around the sun and there were just a few months left before the day of the contest. It was going to cause a sensation in the wulin and the Freaks of the South could talk of nothing else. They felt sure Guo Jing was going to win, given his recent progress, and their excitement at the thought of finally returning to their home in the south grew with each passing day. But they still had not explained to Guo Jing what exactly was going on.
One morning, Gilden Quan turned to the boy: “Young man, you’ve been practising with weapons a lot these last few months. I think we should concentrate on your boxing for a while.”
Guo Jing nodded.
They arrived at their usual training ground and Gilden Quan had just assumed his usual stance when a storm of dust suddenly rose before them, accompanied by the sounds of horses and someone shouting. A group of horses broke through the sand cloud and their herders followed behind, struggling to retain control.
Just as they had managed to get their animals to settle, a colt, dark red like blood, broke through, kicking and biting. This sent the rest of the horses into a frenzy, until it galloped away again. They watched as it returned and stirred up another uproar. The men were furious and tried desperately to capture it, but it evaded them, stopped and began to proudly shake its mane. The herder
s could not help smiling. But as it approached for its third attack, one of the herders raised his bow and shot. Just as the arrow approached, the horse spun out of its path.
The Freaks and their disciple watched with growing fascination. Ryder Han, who loved horses like life itself, had never seen such a magnificent steed. It surpassed even his own dear Wind Chaser. He ran over to the herders to ask if they knew anything about it.
“He appeared a few days ago from deep in the mountains. We wanted to catch him, he’s such a beauty, it has proved impossible. We just ended up making him angry, so he’s been chasing our animals ever since.”
“That’s no horse,” an older herder among them said solemnly.
Ryder Han looked at the old man in puzzlement. “Then what is it?”
“A dragon sent from the heavens, that’s what it is. Don’t touch him.”
“A dragon? Nonsense,” another herder replied.
“And what would you know? I’ve been herding horses since before you were born and I’ve never seen anything like it.” At that moment, the horse reappeared and started charging at the herd once again.
Ryder Han wasn’t known as Protector of the Steeds for nothing. He selected his spot and waited. There wasn’t a horse in all his days that he had not managed to tame. Then, as it approached, he jumped. Just as he was about to land perfectly on its back, however, the colt shot forward like an arrow and Ryder Han fell to the ground. Furious, he started running after it, but his short legs could not carry him fast enough.
Just then a figure leapt through the air and caught hold of the young horse’s mane. The animal accelerated in surprise, pulling the man with him.
The crowd roared with applause.
To the delight of the Freaks, it was Guo Jing.
“Where did he learn such impressive lightness kung fu?” Zhu Cong asked.
“He’s been making such progress recently,” Jade Han replied. “Maybe his dead father’s spirit is helping him? Or Fifth Brother Zhang?”
They still did not know anything about Guo Jing’s secret nightly training in the art of breathing. While the Taoist had not taught him any moves, he had effectively been imparting the great art of neigong inner strength without Guo Jing even realising it. Every evening, the young boy climbed up and down the cliff, itself a lesson in Golden Goose kung fu, one of the foremost branches of lightness technique. The boy was still as muddle-headed as ever, but he slept as per Uncle’s instructions. The results of all of this were only ever made clear during Zhu Cong, Gilden Quan and Jade Han’s lessons. But the boy did not realise it himself and the Six Freaks were merely delighted he was finally getting better. They did not imagine there might be a clandestine reason for his progress.
