A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  “Very nice!”

  “Impressive kung fu!” called another.

  Guo Jing looked into the cap: two silver darts. These are deadly! We are not sworn enemies, Guo Jing thought in alarm, and yet they are willing to kill me for a horse!

  He carefully stored the darts in his pouch and spurred his prize colt on, for fear of meeting the next four women.

  He rode like this, high up in the clouds, for nearly two hours, covering some eighty li without coming across a trace of them. He allowed himself a brief rest before pressing on, arriving in Kalgan before night fell. It would take them three days to cover the same distance on their camels, so he reckoned he was safe now.

  2

  KALGAN SITS AT THE MEETING POINT BETWEEN NORTH AND south China, a lively trading centre specialising in furs. Guo Jing rode through the city gates and looked around in amazement. He had never seen such a large city. Everything was new to him. He stopped before an inn, hunger gnawing at his stomach. He tied his horse to the post in front and went inside, where he ordered a plate of beef and a kilo of the local flatbread. He ate in the manner of the steppes, rolling the meat in the bread and tearing chunks out of it.

  But his meal was interrupted by the sound of shouting outside. Fearing that someone might be stealing his precious horse, he ran to the door. But Ulaan was quietly munching on his fodder. The noise came from two men who worked at the inn. They were taunting a young, gaunt boy dressed in rags. He must have been only a few years younger than Guo Jing, his leather cap full of holes and his cheeks so smudged with dirt that he would have been hard to recognise had they been the best of friends. The boy was clutching a piece of steamed bread and all he could do was laugh, revealing a row of bright white teeth completely at odds with his overall appearance. There was a remarkable intensity to his big, black eyes.

  “Go on! Get out of here!”

  “I’m going,” the boy replied. He turned, but before he could leave the other man who worked at the inn called back at him.

  “Leave the bread!”

  The boy placed it on the ground by his feet: a white, round steamed bun blemished by five round, black fingerprints. There was no way they could sell it now. Enraged, one of the men launched a fist at the boy, who ducked.

  Guo Jing watched, feeling pity for the hungry beggar. “Come now, there’s no need to fight! I’ll pay for the bun.” He picked up the bread and handed it back to the boy.

  But instead the boy turned to a nearby dog and said, “Disgusting! Here, you have it,” and threw it at the mutt. The dog pounced on it with gratitude.

  “Shameful, giving a perfectly good bun to a dog!” one of the inn men cried.

  Guo Jing did not know what to say. Was the boy not hungry? He returned inside to finish his food, but the dirty young boy followed, took a seat nearby and proceeded to stare at him as he ate, greatly embarrassing Guo Jing.

  “Do you want some?” Guo Jing said finally.

  “Yes please.” He smiled. “I’ve been alone so long, I was looking for someone to talk to.” He spoke in the dialect of the rivers and lakes of the south.

  Guo Jing was delighted to have someone speak to him in his mother’s tongue. The young boy took a seat at the table and Guo Jing asked the waiter for some tableware. But the waiter was displeased at this new guest’s filthy appearance, so it took a few requests before he reluctantly brought over a bowl and set of chopsticks.

  “You consider me too poor to eat here?” the boy said directly to the waiter. “You mistake me. I fear even your best dishes would not satisfy my palate.”

  “Is that so?” the waiter replied. “We would be happy to serve them to you, but my real concern is, can you pay?”

  “Will you treat me to whatever I order?” the boy said, turning to Guo Jing.

  “Of course!” Guo Jing said, and then turned to the waiter. “Another pound of roast beef and half a pound of mutton liver!” These were the finest delicacies he could imagine. “Do you drink wine?” he asked the boy.

  “Wait,” the boy said to the waiter. “First we will eat some fruit and nuts, four dried, four fresh, two sour-salted and four preserved in honey.”

  The waiter looked surprised. “Which fruits would you like?”

  “I doubt you serve anything of note in a poor little inn like this,” he said, “so we’ll have to make do with dried lychees, longans, steamed jujube and ginkgo nuts. As for the fresh, give us whatever’s in season. And we want sliced, perfumed sour cherries and sour plums with ginger. Can you get them here? And the honeyed? Hmm. Rose-scented kumquats, grapes, sugar-coated peach and some pear, done in the style of Lord my Master.” His Mandarin was far from perfect, but it was passable.

  The waiter was impressed and was no longer haughty with the boy.

  “I take it you don’t have any fresh fish or seafood to have with our wine,” the young man continued. “So we will have to be content with eight dishes of whatever you’ve got.”

  “What do the sirs like in particular?”

  “Of course, they need everything to be explained down to the last detail,” the boy sighed. “Petal-dressed quail, fried duck’s feet, chicken-tongue soup, drunken deer tripe, pan-fried beef done two ways, rabbit slivers in chrysanthemum, flame-cooked venison and . . . pig’s trotter in ginger vinegar. We’ll take these simple dishes, I don’t anticipate you have anything more refined.”

  The waiter’s mouth was by now agape.

  “Those are all rather expensive dishes, sir,” he replied. “The chicken-tongue soup and duck’s feet alone will be most costly as they require the slaughter of many animals.”

  “This gentleman is paying,” he replied, pointing at Guo Jing. “Are you questioning whether he has the means?”

  The waiter glanced at Guo Jing’s fine sable coat. I will take that in lieu of payment if he doesn’t have enough, he said to himself. “Is that all?”

  “We will also have another twelve dishes to accompany the rice, and eight sweets. That is all for now.”

  The waiter did not dare to ask what exactly these should consist of, fearing that the urchin might name dishes the inn could not supply. Instead he returned to the kitchen and told them to prepare their best.

  “And what can I get you to drink?” he said upon his return. “We have Bamboo Leaf, a sorghum wine, aged for ten years. How about that to start?”

  “Fine. We can take that to begin with.”

  The waiter came with the fruit and nuts. Guo Jing marvelled at each plate. Never had he eaten such delicious food. The boy spoke continuously, telling stories of the south, their local customs and the deeds of famous men. Guo Jing was captivated by his incredible knowledge, which clearly went beyond the culinary. Guo Jing had learned to recognise only a few basic characters in between his martial arts lessons. But this young man appeared every bit as cultivated as his Second Shifu Zhu Cong. And here I was taking him for just a poor beggar, he thought to himself. Chinese men are very different from those on the northern steppe.

  Not an hour later the dishes had all arrived – enough to cover two tables pushed together. Guo Jing’s companion merely picked at the plates, however, and hesitantly sipped at the wine. Suddenly he called the waiter over.

  “This wine is only five years old! How dare you try to cheat us?”

  “Please, sir –” the manager came rushing over – “your palate is most exquisite. Our little inn did not have sir’s requested wine in stock, so we had to procure some from a nearby establishment, the Eternal Celebration. It’s not easy to get vintage wine in Kalgan.”

  The boy waved for them to take it back. Having just learned that Guo Jing had come from Mongolia, he resumed their conversation, asking Guo Jing all about the desert wilds of the north. The Freaks had told Guo Jing not to reveal his identity while on the road, so he related only anecdotes about hunting hares and wolves, shooting eagles and racing horses. The boy listened with fascination, clapping his hands and laughing like a little child.

  Guo Jing felt an in
stant ease with him, the likes of which he had never known before. This was only strengthened by the fact that the boy spoke his mother’s dialect. He had grown up in the desert alongside his good friends Tolui and Khojin, but the Great Khan kept his beloved son close and Tolui had had less and less time to spend with Guo Jing of late. He often bickered with Khojin, who was headstrong and usually wanted him to do as she wished. Theirs was not the easiest of relationships. Guo Jing was taciturn and found it difficult to express himself. Most people found it necessary to probe him with questions to get him to speak. Jade Han teased him for taking after Nan the Merciful, as if words spoken out load cost their weight in gold. But now, sitting with this young man he had only just met, he talked non-stop, sharing everything save for his martial arts training and his connection to the Great Khan Temujin.

  Guo Jing lost himself in the moment while relating a particularly exciting encounter with a wild animal, and without any thought to propriety, grabbed the boy’s hand. To his astonishment, it was soft and smooth and somehow almost boneless. The boy blushed and looked away, revealing the alabaster skin of his neck. It was perfectly clean, not at all smudged in dirt like his cheeks, Guo Jing noticed.

  “The dishes have gone cold,” the boy said, gently pulling his hand back.

  “Yes, but they’re still delicious,” Guo Jing said.

  The boy disagreed.

  “Then let’s have them warm them up,” Guo Jing suggested.

  “No, that spoils the food.” He called over the waiter and ordered him to throw away the cold food and prepare the same dishes anew. The innkeeper, cooks and staff were puzzled, but did as the boy requested. Guo Jing wanted to please his guest, and having never been entrusted with money before, he was not sure of its worth. The boy’s company alone was enough to warrant such extravagance.

  The new dishes arrived, but again, the boy ate only a few mouthfuls before declaring himself full.

  “This street child is playing you for a fool,” the waiter muttered to himself as he glanced over at Guo Jing, before bringing him the bill. Nineteen taels, seven mace and four candareens. Guo Jing handed the waiter an ingot of gold and told him to change it into silver and settle the account.

  A northerly wind was blowing fierce as they left the inn. The boy shivered. “My sincerest gratitude. Farewell.”

  But Guo Jing could not stand to see the boy head into such a cold night wearing such scant clothing. He placed his black sable coat on the boy’s shoulders. “Brother, I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life. Take this against the wind.”

  He slipped four ingots of gold into one of the pockets, leaving himself four more for his journey. The boy left without even saying thank you, and began to trudge against the weather, before turning around for one last look.

  Guo Jing was standing beside his bridled horse, watching him. The young man waved and Guo Jing ran over to him. “Does my brother need anything?”

  “I didn’t ask you your name,” he said and smiled.

  “Yes, we forgot. My family name is Guo, my given name Jing. And you?”

  “My family name is Huang, my given name Lotus.” His companion looked at him meaningfully, but Guo Jing did not know what a lotus was and thus could not understand the significance of the revelation.

  “Where are you going? I am heading south; if you are going the same way we could go together.”

  “I’m not going that way,” Lotus said. Then, after a pause, “But I’m still a bit hungry.”

  “Then let’s get something to eat!” Guo Jing said, despite being very full from their first meal.

  Lotus led Guo Jing to Kalgan’s premier eating establishment, the Eternal Celebration, a richly adorned inn decorated in the southern style favoured by the courtiers of the Song. This time, Lotus ordered four plates of pastries and buns and a large pot of Dragon Well tea. Though it was considered a delicacy from his ancestral homelands, Guo Jing had never before tasted such a weak and tasteless drink. But conversation picked up where they had left off.

  “I’m not sure where to go next, but I think I should go north and find myself a pair of white condors just like yours!” Lotus declared.

  “They’re pretty rare,” Guo Jing said.

  “Then how did you come across them?”

  Guo Jing smiled but did not answer the question. How is such a delicate young boy going to survive the harsh northern winds? Guo Jing asked himself. “Why not go home? Where do you live?”

  “My father doesn’t want me back,” Lotus replied, her eyes moist.

  “Why?”

  “He was keeping a man hostage and I took pity on him, bringing him food and chatting to him. My father was furious, he shouted at me. So I ran away in the night.”

  “I’m sure he’s worried and wondering where you are. What about your mother?”

  “She died many years ago. When I was very little.”

  “I think you should go home.”

  Lotus started to cry.

  “I’m sure he wants you back.”

  “So why hasn’t he come looking for me?”

  “How do you know he hasn’t? Maybe he hasn’t been able to find you?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Lotus said, smiling through the tears. “I’ll go home once I’ve finished with my adventures. I have two white condors to tame first.”

  Guo Jing related his encounter with the eight women dressed in white and disguised as men who wanted to steal his horse. Lotus was intrigued.

  “Big Brother,” Lotus began, “I want to ask you for something. But I fear it is something you value highly and you won’t want to part with it.”

  “Anything.”

  “Would you give me your horse?”

  “Gladly,” Guo Jing replied without hesitation.

  In fact, Lotus was teasing him. It was clear that Guo Jing felt a great attachment to the animal, and they had only just met. But his reply took her by surprise and she buried her face in her sleeve.

  Guo Jing watched awkwardly. “What’s the matter, Brother, are you unwell?”

  Lotus looked up. The tears had cleaned her cheeks, revealing a jadeite glow beneath. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Guo Jing paid and together they went outside. Guo Jing took his horse by the reins and spoke to it, caressing its mane.

  “You will now go with my friend here. Be good and do as he says, and no more of your foul temper!” He then turned to Lotus. “Brother, up you get!”

  The horse was not usually given to allowing other people to mount it, but it had grown calmer over the passing days and now it had special instructions from its master. Lotus jumped up into the saddle. Guo Jing let go of the reins, gave the horse a light clap and watched as they disappeared into a cloud of dust.

  Guo Jing stood watching until they had faded on the horizon before turning back to the inn. It was late, and he settled into a room. But just as he was about to blow out the candle, a scratching started at his door. Was it the boy? The thought made him feel giddy.

  “Brother, is that you?”

  But the reply came in a voice considerably older and croakier: “Yes, it’s me. What are you so excited about?”

  Guo Jing opened the door cautiously and, to his surprise, there in the flicker of the candlelight, he saw five men. He peered closer and felt a shiver go up his spine. The Four Daemons of the Yellow River, one with a sabre, one with a spear, another carrying a whip, and there, the twin axes. The fifth man was thin, with a long face. He looked to be around forty. Guo Jing made out three large lumps on his forehead. He was one of the ugliest men Guo Jing had ever seen.

  This last man pushed Guo Jing aside with a sneer, and entered the room. He sat himself down on the hard bed and turned to look at Guo Jing. The light from the candle fell upon the three bumps on his forehead, casting his whole face in shadow.

  But it was the eldest of the Four Daemons who spoke, Shen the Strong, wielder of the Spirit Cleaver: “This is our martial uncle Browbeater Hou, the Three-Horned Dragon. Show your re
spect.”

  Guo Jing was surrounded, there was no way he could overcome all four Daemons and Browbeater Hou all by himself.

  “What do you want?” Guo Jing said, cupping his fist. But there was an edge to his voice.

  “Where are your Masters?” Browbeater Hou asked.

  “My shifus aren’t here.”

  “Ha, then you shall live another day at least. I couldn’t kill you now, people would say the Three-Horned Dragon took unfair advantage of a weak opponent. But tomorrow, at noon. I will be waiting for you and your shifus in the forest of black pines, ten li west of here.”

  He left before Guo Jing could reply. Wu the Bold, carrier of the Soul Snatcher whip, pulled the door shut behind them and pulled across the latch.

  Guo Jing blew out the candle, sat on the bed and watched their shadows move across the paper window as they kept watch outside. Just then he heard a noise on the roof, a weapon striking tiles and then a voice: “Don’t even think about trying to run away, young man. I’m watching you!”

  Escape was impossible. Guo Jing lay down on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. How was he going to get out of the fight tomorrow? But he was asleep before he could think of a plan.

  The next morning, one of the inn boys brought noodles for breakfast and hot water so that Guo Jing could wash. Qian the Hardy was visible outside, clutching his pair of axes known as the Great Reapers and keeping guard.

  His shifus were who knew where, and could not help him now. He had no choice but to fight and die like a man. “If all else fails, run!” His Fourth Shifu’s words rang in his ears. But he had to at least try to fight first. The fact of the matter was, he could have easily escaped, as Qian was alone at that moment, but he wasn’t known for his quick-wittedness. Browbeater Hou was convinced the Freaks could not be far away, and they would have to show up when presented with a challenge.

  Guo Jing sat on his bed, practising the breathing techniques Ma Yu had taught him. Qian had entered and was standing before him, spinning his axes and barking suggestions for how he could improve. But Guo Jing ignored him, until the sun approached its highest point, when he rose to his feet.