A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  “Ma! This peasant boy is causing trouble. I’ve got to teach him a lesson in respect.”

  Mu Yi, meanwhile, could not take his eyes off the sedan. A corner of the curtain had been drawn aside, and he caught a glimpse of a pair of the most delicate eyes and the finest strands of black silken hair. The face of a frightened mother.

  Guo Jing was confronted with an adversary of renewed vigour. The young Prince sought to cause serious injury now, in order to put a definitive end to their combat.

  But Guo Jing had thick skin and considerable inner strength, so a few blows would not hurt him. And while the Prince’s technique was sophisticated, he was still lacking in experience. Several times he tried to replicate a move that had been successful against Mu Yi, but every time he tried to make a claw and seize hold of Guo Jing, Guo Jing defended himself with another move from his Split Muscles repertoire.

  Meanwhile, Browbeater Hou was still chasing after Lotus Huang. The old Three-Headed Dragon had in his hair two heads of corn, a practice of the marketplace to indicate an item was to be sold. Lotus must have put them there, but Hou was blissfully unaware that she had put his head up for sale. The remaining Daemons of the Yellow River were nowhere to be seen.

  Old Greybeard Liang and his friends were puzzled. Who was this ragged young peasant boy? Why could Browbeater Hou not catch up with him?

  “Is he a member of the Beggar Clan?” Tiger Peng asked.

  The Beggar Clan was the most powerful secret society of the south at the time. The question made Old Greybeard Liang twitch, but he did not answer.

  Meanwhile, the fight between the young men was growing faster and more intense. Guo Jing received a blow to the shoulder, the Prince a kick to his thigh. The merest distraction could result in a fatal blow. Tiger Peng and Greybeard Liang prepared themselves to jump in at any moment.

  Guo Jing’s upbringing on the steppe may have been poor in worldly luxuries, but it had provided him with exceptional mental strength. The Prince, however, had only known a life of gold and silks, and it showed. He was growing tired and his movements were at times clumsy. Guo Jing cried out, took the Prince by the collar and lifted him high. The Prince felt himself sail through the air and winced as the ground approached. This was no move from the jianghu, but one Guo Jing had learned from his Mongolian Master, Jebe.

  The Prince’s reactions were sharp; he tapped the ground and flew up again, and grabbing hold of Guo Jing’s legs, he brought them both back down. The Prince then seized a lance from a nearby soldier on horseback and aimed for Guo Jing’s stomach. Guo Jing rolled away, trying to take hold of the weapon, but it evaded him.

  “Dearest son! Don’t be vengeful; it is enough to defeat him. Don’t hurt him!”

  But the Prince was determined to have his victory in the bloodiest manner possible.

  The tip of the lance was only inches from his nose, but Guo Jing deflected it with his arm. Just then he heard a clatter behind him. The banner! Launching into a perfect Part the Clouds to Reveal the Sun, Guo Jing grabbed the pole.

  Now they were both armed. Guo Jing used the Exorcist’s Staff technique developed by his First Shifu for the purposes of defeating Cyclone Mei. The banner pole was a bit too long, but he managed to make good use of the many variations and subtlety of the repertoire, forcing the Prince back into a defensive position. Yet the Prince’s moves were also impressive. Mu Yi watched in astonishment; they were consistent with those of the Yang Family Spear, a technique handed down only from father to son, and rare indeed, even in the south. Yet his style was not entirely orthodox and somehow lacking in a core understanding, as if it had been copied through observation rather than passed down through personal instruction.

  The lance and banner poles crossed and clashed as the snow continued to fall.

  “Stop! Stop fighting!” The Consort, seeing her son sweating and covered in blood, could hold back no longer.

  Tiger Peng strode into the middle of the crowd and struck with all his might at the banner pole in Guo Jing’s hands. A sharp pain shot through Guo Jing’s hands and he let go; the large embroidered characters flapping in the wind were barely visible through the dense snow: DUEL FOR A MAIDEN.

  Guo Jing had no time to make out the man’s face; all he could do was leap back to safety, but not before Tiger Peng had managed to tap his arm, sending him tumbling to the ground.

  “Young Prince, let me take care of the boy. He won’t bother you again.”

  He held his palm up, took a deep breath, and went to give Guo Jing a rude punch to the head. Guo Jing raised his arms to block it, but he knew such an attempt at defence was futile. Lama Supreme Wisdom and Old Liang exchanged a meaningful glance; Tiger Peng could snap those arms with one blow.

  Just then a cry rose from the crowd: “Stop!”

  A grey shadow leapt into view and grabbed hold of Tiger Peng’s wrist. In his other hand, he was carrying a strange weapon. Tiger Peng hit out with his left palm and broke the weapon at once. The man in grey ducked, took Guo Jing by the hand and leapt beyond reach. Only then did the likeness of this strange intruder become clear: a Taoist monk, at least thirty or forty years of age and dressed in grey robes. His weapon appeared to be a horsetail whip, the head of which had become detached from the handle and was now wrapped around Tiger Peng’s wrist.

  The two men took each other in. In one exchange, the extent of their respective martial skills had been made apparent.

  “You must be the famed Master Peng? What an honour to meet you at last,” the Taoist said.

  “You are too kind. May I ask the monk’s name?”

  All eyes turned to the Taoist, but he did not answer. Instead, he pushed his foot through the snow and pulled back. There, on the ground, was revealed a hole at least ten inches deep! Such was the power of his kung fu.

  This startled Tiger Peng. “The Iron Foot Immortal, Jade Sun Wang Chuyi?”

  “Master Peng flatters me. I am indeed Wang Chuyi, but I am undeserving of the name Immortal.”

  They all knew very well who Wang Chuyi was: a Taoist monk of the Quanzhen Sect whose fame was second only to Eternal Spring Qiu Chuji. But they had never seen him in the flesh before. He was handsome, his chin capped with a wisp of the blackest beard. His socks were a brilliant white, his cloth shoes grey. This was a man who took great care in his appearance. Had they not seen his brilliant display of kung fu for themselves, they would never have guessed that he was in fact the Iron Foot Immortal who had once balanced on one leg on the edge of a precipice, swaying like a lotus leaf in the wind. Word of his skill had spread all through the south and even up north into the hinterlands of the Jin capital itself.

  “I am not personally acquainted with this young man, but I admire very much his bravery in intervening in such a way. Therefore, I beseech Master Peng to let him live.”

  “A most courteous request,” Tiger Peng was forced to admit. “And who would dare refuse an Elder of the Quanzhen Sect?”

  “In which case, I am most grateful,” Wang Chuyi said, cupping his hand in a gesture of respect.

  Wang Chuyi turned to the Prince and at once his expression darkened and he was severe. “Who are you? And who is your shifu?”

  The young Prince had turned pale upon hearing Wang Chuyi’s name, and he would have liked nothing more than to slip away unnoticed. But he had also felt the monk’s attention during his exchange with Tiger Peng.

  “I am Wanyan Kang, but I cannot reveal the identity of my shifu.”

  “He has a red mole on his left cheek. Am I right?”

  Wanyan had wanted to reply with something witty, but the sight of the monk’s fierce gaze silenced him, and he merely nodded.

  “I thought as much,” Wang Chuyi said. A student of his brother, Eternal Spring Qiu Chuji. “And did your shifu not teach you certain principles of how to fight nobly before you began your training?”

  Wanyan Kang understood the gravity of the situation. His shifu would be furious if he learned of his behaviour today.


  “Seeing as the Master is acquainted with my shifu, perhaps he might come with me to my humble abode, so that I might benefit from his wisdom?” He then turned to Guo Jing and bowed. “Perhaps a friendship might grow between us, since we have already been acquainted in combat? Your kung fu is most impressive. May I extend the invitation to you as well?”

  “What about the young girl? Will you marry her?” Guo Jing replied.

  “This matter . . . is not so easily resolved,” Wanyan Kang answered, embarrassed.

  “My friend,” Mu Yi said, tugging at Guo Jing’s arm. “Let’s go. We needn’t take up any more of the sir’s time.”

  Wanyan Kang bowed to Wang Chuyi. “Elder Wang, I shall await you at my home. Ask for Prince Zhao’s residence. The day is cold; we shall sit by the fire and admire the snow from inside. There will be wine waiting to celebrate our meeting.”

  Wanyan Kang climbed up onto his horse and spurred it straight at the crowd, which scattered before him like ants.

  Such arrogance merely irritated Wang Chuyi even more. “Young man,” he said, turning to Guo Jing. “Follow me.”

  “But I must wait for a friend,” Guo Jing said.

  At which point, Lotus Huang jumped out of the crowd and called to him. “Don’t worry, I will find you. You go ahead!” Then she disappeared back into the throng of the dispersing crowd. In the distance, they saw Browbeater Hou running towards them.

  Guo Jing kneeled down in the snow and bowed before the Taoist monk as a mark of gratitude for saving his life. The Taoist leaned down and lifted Guo Jing up to his feet.

  Together they left the square, threading their way through the crowd, and on to the outskirts of the city.

  Chapter Eight

  Every Man a Mythical Skill

  1

  WANG CHUYI MOVED QUICKLY, EAGER TO ASSESS THE EXTENT of Guo Jing’s martial arts, and in no time they were clear of the city. They continued on for some miles as their path led them into the shadow of a mountain and began to rise steeply.

  Ma Yu had taught him to ascend a vertical cliff face, so Guo Jing had no trouble keeping up, despite having just taken part in a long duel. The wind and snow blew in their faces. Wang Chuyi began the climb, undeterred by the slippery ground beneath his feet, pulling Guo Jing behind him. As the path became ever steeper, Wang Chuyi wondered at the boy’s steady breathing, which was just as if he were running on flat ground.

  “You have considerable inner kung fu,” the Taoist said, releasing Guo Jing’s arm. “Why were you unable to beat the young man?”

  Guo Jing did not know how to answer and just smiled.

  “Who is your shifu?”

  Guo Jing now knew that this man was martial brother to Scarlet Sun Ma Yu. This gave him confidence to answer truthfully.

  “Elder Ma Yu and the Seven Heroes of the South!”

  Guo Jing’s answer delighted the Taoist. “Then I shouldn’t worry about angering Brother Qiu.”

  Guo Jing’s eyes widened. He did not understand what he meant.

  “Prince Wanyan Kang, the young man you were fighting just now, is a disciple of Qiu Chuji. Didn’t you realise?”

  “No, I didn’t . . .” Guo Jing was surprised indeed.

  Ma Yu’s teachings had focused on inner strength breathing techniques as well as a branch of lightness kung fu known as Flight of the Golden Eagle. But he had never given him instruction in the art of combat or the use of weapons, which is why Guo Jing was wholly unfamiliar with the Quanzhen-school style. Now that he thought about it, the Prince’s moves were reminiscent of those he had encountered in his fight with Harmony Yin.

  “I was unaware that the Prince was a disciple of Elder Qiu,” Guo Jing said, bowing, believing he had offended the Taoist. “Please forgive my mistake.”

  Wang Chuyi responded with a hearty burst of laughter.

  “You are a courteous and humble young man, just to my liking! Why would I be angry? The Quanzhen Sect is most clear about this – disciples are punished when they are in the wrong. This young man is arrogant and unworthy of our school, and I will instruct Brother Qiu to deal with him.”

  “But he must be forgiven if he agrees to marry the maiden.”

  Wang Chuyi shook his head. Guo Jing had a good heart which forgave readily, making him only more agreeable to the Taoist. But Brother Qiu has always been an enemy of injustice, especially any committed by the Jin, Wang thought. Why did he agree to take on a Jin prince as his disciple? The young man shows a deep understanding of our kung fu, which means Brother Qiu has devoted considerable energy to teaching him. And yet there is also a hint of unorthodox and pernicious technique in his fighting. He could not understand it!

  “Brother Qiu told me to meet him in the Jin capital,” Wang said to Guo Jing. “He should arrive in the next few days and we will have our explanation then. I heard that he has taken on a young student by the name of Yang whom you are to fight in Jiaxing. I don’t know how sophisticated his skills are, but don’t worry, I will be there to help.”

  Guo Jing had been told by the Freaks to make his way to Jiaxing before noon on the twenty-fourth day of the third lunar month, but they had not told him why.

  “Please Master, why am I to fight this Yang?”

  “If your teachers did not explain the reason to you, it would be improper for me to say.”

  Qiu Chuji had given him only the barest details, but from what he had heard, he could not help feeling admiration for the Freaks. Like his martial brother Ma Yu, he too hoped Guo Jing would prevail. Yet Brother Qiu was his senior and he could hardly tell him to concede the fight. Now that he could see what a good young man Guo Jing was, he decided he must find a way to help him without damaging his Brother Qiu’s reputation. Exactly how he would do this he would have to see once they arrived in Jiaxing.

  “Let’s go back and visit Mu Yi,” Wang said. “His daughter is a fiery character, don’t upset her.”

  These words startled Guo Jing.

  Together they made their way to the Prosperity Inn, located in the western part of the city. A dozen or so servants dressed in finest brocade were waiting by the entrance. They made their way closer and one of them spoke: “The Prince invites Master Wang and Guo Esquire to join him at his residence for a banquet.”

  One of the men handed them a red card with the characters “A Humble Invitation from your Disciple Wanyan Kang.”

  “Well, well,” Wang Chuyi said, shaking his head. “We will be along soon.”

  “Please accept these cakes and fruits as a present from the Prince,” the head servant declared. “If the Master would instruct me where they are to be placed, I will organise it.”

  The servants presented Wang with twelve large boxes filled with all kinds of colourful fresh fruits and delicate pastries.

  Brother Lotus is fond of cakes, Guo Jing said to himself, I will save some for him.

  Wang Chuyi had intended to refuse the present, but seeing Guo’s pleasure at receiving it, he told the servants to leave them at the inn. Young people are always a little gluttonous, he thought, smiling.

  They went to knock on Mu Yi’s door. He was laid out on the bed, his cheeks pale. His daughter was perched on the bed beside him, tears moistening her eyes. Both father and daughter were surprised to see Wang Chuyi and Guo Jing at the door. The girl rose to her feet and Mu Yi struggled to sit up.

  Wang Chuyi examined the old man’s wounds. The scratches on his swollen hands had cut to the bone. They looked as if they had been made by a weapon, not the Prince’s fingers as was the case. His daughter had applied a balsam to soothe her father’s pain, but fearing infection, had yet to bandage them.

  Who had taught Wanyan Kang such a cruel and brutal technique? Wang thought to himself. It would have taken time to develop such power. How could Brother Qiu not have noticed? And if he knew, why didn’t he stop it?

  “May I ask the young lady’s name?” Wang said, turning to Mu Yi’s daughter.

  “My name is Mercy, after my mother,” she said, glanci
ng at Guo Jing before making a quick bow of her head.

  Guo Jing spotted the banner pole at the end of the bed. The banner itself had been torn to pieces. “Have you stopped your search for a husband?”

  “Your father’s wounds are grave, they need to be treated properly,” Wang said.

  Wang looked around the room. Father and daughter were of slender means, that was obvious. They would struggle to pay for medicine. He removed two ingots of silver and placed them on the table. “I will return tomorrow to see how you are feeling.”

  Wang took Guo Jing by the arm and left before father and daughter could give their thanks.

  Four servants in brocade were waiting for them as they emerged from the inn.

  “Our master is waiting, please come with us.”

  Wang Chuyi consented, but Guo Jing stopped him. “Master, please wait one moment.”

  He ran back into the inn, opened one of the boxes and picked out four pastries, wrapped them in a handkerchief and tucked them into his pocket. He then went back out and followed Wang and the servants.

  2

  FLAGS FLUTTERED HIGH ABOVE THE IMPOSING ENTRANCE. Two fierce jade lions stood guard. A flight of white jade steps carried them up to the vast red door that opened onto the main hall. Above the large door was written an inscription in the finest golden calligraphy: RESIDENCE OF THE PRINCE OF ZHAO.

  Prince of Zhao: the title given to the Sixth Prince of the Jin Empire, Wanyan Honglie. Guo Jing knew this already.

  The young Prince is the son of Wanyan Honglie? Guo Jing said to himself. I can’t go in! What if his father sees me?

  He hesitated. Just then drums started beating and horns echoed around them. The Prince emerged in person, dressed in red robes and a golden crown, his hair swept back in a bun. Around his waist was tied a gold belt. He rushed down the steps to greet them.