Legend of Condor Heroes Book 2

by Jin Yong

Guo Jing, who had been content to listen to their conversation, interrupted, “It's true, Master Ma said that they had a martial uncle, but he did not mention the name of this Taoist master.”

  “Zhou Botong is not a Taoist,” Hong Qigong replied. “He is a secular person, who was personally taught by his martial brother, Wang Chongyang... Eh, I say, my simple-minded one, you seem rather clumsy to me! Does your father-in-law, so fine and so crafty, really appreciate you?” Guo Jing, who didn’t think he had a ‘father-in-law’, spluttered, not knowing how to reply.

  “My father has yet to see him,” Huang Rong said, smiling. “If you would be kind enough to give him some pointers, then, thanks to you, my dad will have some appreciation for him!”

  “Little rogue,” Qigong grumbled, “who has learned not even a tenth of her father's kung fu, but who has inherited all his trickery and cleverness! I don't like your flattery or your toadying! And also, I never take disciples! Who wants a stupid one like that? You planned to get me to teach your dumb little husband! Huh, this old beggar will not fall into such a trap!”

  Huang Rong bowed her head, red faced. She never had applied herself to learn martial arts. Her father himself was so powerful, yet she had not learned seriously from him; why would she want to learn from Qigong? But Guo Jing’s kung fu was not up to the mark and his six Shifus considered her to be a ‘little witch’, so she rejoiced at having met a master such as Qigong. She hoped that he would pass on a little of his knowledge to her loved one so that, in front of his masters and in front of Qiu Chuji's Taoists, Guo Jing would not have to be afraid, like a mouse in front of the cats. Qigong was very gluttonous and always grinning but he was not stupid; he had seen through her act all along!

  The old beggar, muttering to himself, left without a backward glance. The two young people stood silently for a long moment.

  “Rong’er,” Guo Jing finally said, “this Elder has a rather unique character!” Huang Rong heard a light rustle in the foliage above their heads and realized that Qigong had made a loop before returning, discreetly, to the top of the tree.

  “He's a really kind person,” she then said. “And his kung fu is much stronger than my father's.”

  “He hasn't shown his skills,” Guo Jing wondered aloud, “how do you know that?”

  “My dad told me so.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “He said that, in today's world, there was only one person who could beat him, and that was the Divine Nine-Fingered Beggar, Hong Qigong. Unfortunately, since this Elder is always wandering, he has seldom had the occasion to see him and exchange pointers.”

  In fact, after he had moved away, Qigong had used his incomparable qinggong and had returned to the top of the tree, high above the heads of the young people. He wanted to hear their conversation and to assure himself that they had not been sent by Huang Yaoshi to steal his skills. The words of Huang Rong filled him with pride. “So,” he said to himself, “Huang Yaoshi never wanted to accept my superiority; but deep within himself, he admires me nonetheless!” How could he have guessed that it was all pure and simple invention by the girl?

  “I didn't learn great things from my father,” Huang Rong went on, “but that's my fault. I enjoyed having fun too much and never wanted to apply myself! Having had the good fortune to meet Elder Hong and had he wanted to give me some lessons, it would have been much better than learning from my father! What a shame I offended him without intending to!” Then she started to sob. At first she pretended and Guo Jing tenderly tried to console her. Then she thought about the death of her mother, the intransigence of her father and started to truly weep. Qigong, atop his tree, was nearly convinced.

  “I heard father say,” Huang Rong continued while sobbing, “that Elder Hong had an exceptional skill of incomparable power that even Wang Chongyang feared. It's called... It's called... What is it called? I can't remember... Anyway, I had it on the tip of my tongue all this time and I wanted to beg him to teach it...to you- it's called...it's called...” Indeed, she did not know of any such skill and talked in a rambling way.

  Hearing her hesitate, seemingly searching for the name without finding it, Qigong could not hold back and cried as he jumped to the foot of the tree, “It is called the ‘Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms’!” Guo Jing and Huang Rong bounded up in surprise, one's surprise was real, the other's was feigned...

  “Ah, Elder Hong,” Huang Rong cried, “how did you get up in the tree? By flying? Yes, that's it, the ‘Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms’! Exactly! How could I have forgotten it? Father often told me that the kung fu that he admired most in the world was the ‘Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms’!”

  Qigong was delighted. “Then your dad knows what the truth is! I believed that, after the death of Wang Chongyang, he considered himself to be the most powerful in the world!” He turned towards Guo Jing. “Indeed, your kung fu isn't inferior to that of your little friend. The problem is that your palm technique is not at all up to the mark. Little girl, you return to the inn!”

  Huang Rong realized that he was going to give a lesson to Guo Jing and she went away, well satisfied. Qigong addressed Guo Jing solemnly, “You will kneel down and promise me that, without my permission, you will not transmit my kung fu to anyone else, not even to your crafty little woman!”

  Guo Jing was greatly embarrassed. “If Rong’er insists that I teach her,” he said to himself, “how can

  I refuse?” “Sir,” he said, “I do not want to learn from you. What does it matter if she is more skilled than me?”

  “And why not?” Hong asked.

  “If she wants me to teach her, I cannot refuse without offending her and I cannot accept without offending you... ”

  “Simple-minded though you are,” Hong Qigong said, laughing, “you have a good heart and you speak directly. That is good. Very well, I will teach you a stroke called ‘The Proud Dragon Shows Remorse’. I would imagine that Huang Yaoshi has enough pride that he won't, although he would desire to, copy my superior skills. In any case, our schools are completely different; I cannot learn his kung fu and he cannot learn mine...” At that, he bent his left knee, pivoted and straightened his arm, made a circle with the upright hand and pushed outwards with the other. His palm touched a great pine and ‘craack’, its trunk snapped! Guo Jing stood petrified, shocked by the power contained in this blow.

  “This tree could not move,” Qigong said, “if it were human, it would obviously try to avoid the blow. The difficulty of this technique is to strike precisely so that your opponent cannot, no matter what, avoid it and so well that once you land your blow, ‘craack’, the enemy will collapse like this pine!” He repeated the demonstration twice, explaining in detail how to concentrate and project the internal energy. It was only one stroke, but the lesson took more than an hour.

  Guo Jing was not clever but he had a good basis in neigong. To learn a move such as this, made with simple movements but having unequaled power, suited him perfectly. He trained conscientiously and, at the end of two hours, had grasped the majority of this technique...

  “In that little imp's technique,” Hong said, “there are many more feints than real attacks. If you try to follow her, she will run around you as if you were a donkey and you will always fall. You will never be as quick as her. You will think that, after all these feints, the next blow will be real, but no, it will be a feint! And the blow following you will believe to be a feint, but she will strike a real blow and you will be in trouble!” Guo Jing nodded his head in agreement.

  “Therefore, to fight her, the clever way is to completely put the thought of whether it is a feint or not out of your mind. When she attacks you with a palm blow, whether it is a feint or not, return it with a blow of ‘The Proud Dragon Regrets’. Against the power of your attack, she will be forced to withdraw and defend herself; so much so that all her tricks fall into water!”

  “And after that?” Guo Jing asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘and after that’?” Hon
g replied, his face suddenly darkening. “You great idiot, do you think she is able to withstand this blow that I taught you?”

  “But if she can't withstand it,” Guo Jing said, very worried, “won't she be injured?”

  Qigong shook his head and sighed. “If, in such a blow one seeks only to send out the force and not to keep it, if one cannot somehow control its lightness or its power, firmness or softness, how can one consider himself a master of these unique 'Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms'?”

  Guo Jing was eager to agree, but he had made a mental decision. “Since I haven't learned to control my force perfectly, I won't fight with Rong’er!”

  “You don't believe me?” Hong Qigong said. “In that case, try it!” Guo Jing took up the position, imitating his senior's posture, picked a pine with a particularly slender trunk and struck it with a violent blow. The pine shook but was not at all broken.

  “You big fool,” Qigong said, “Why are you shaking this tree; to catch squirrels or to drop pinecones?” Guo Jing, red with shame, laughed with an air of denial, not knowing how to reply.

  “I already demonstrated it for you.” Hong Qigong said. “It is necessary to put the opponent in a position such that it cannot back up or get away. Your blow just now had enough force, but all the pine needed to do is shake itself a little for it to escape the full force. It is necessary that you learn to approach and strike in such a way that the tree cannot budge, in order to be able to break it in one go.”

  This was, for Guo Jing, enlightening. “Then,” he cried joyously, “It’s necessary for the force to be particularly swift, delivered in such a way that the opponent has no time to defend himself!”

  Qigong shot him a bleak look. “Absolutely! That goes without saying! You’ve sweated blood for such a long time and you only now understand this truth? One really can say that you aren't clever! For this stroke, known as ‘The Proud Dragon Shows Remorse’- it's essence is not found in the word ‘Proud’ but rather in the word ‘Remorse’. If one concentrated only on pure violence, brute power, a little force in the muscles would suffice. If that were true, how could this technique be admired by Huang Yaoshi? As the old saying goes: ‘The Proud Dragon itself regrets, the surplus will not last a long time’. This is the reason that if there is transmission, there must be retention. When you send out a force of ten, it is necessary to preserve within yourself a force of twenty. The day when you know to appreciate the full meaning of the concept ‘Remorse’, then you will be able to say that you have understood thirty percent of this stroke. Just as a fine old wine that has had time to age at first tastes not very strong, but afterwards it releases its full heady flavor, that explains the concept ‘Regrets’.”

  Guo Jing didn't understand anything about these matters, but he tried to memorize them in order to reflect upon them later. To learn martial arts, he always had adopted the same method: ‘To that which others may assimilate in a morning, I will devote ten days!’ Then he concentrated on the study of the palm technique. At first, the pine absorbed each of the blows that it received. Towards the end, these blows became more and more powerful, but the tree shook less and less. He realized that he had progressed and rejoiced somewhat. His palm had become red and swollen, but he did not treat it and continued to train with determination, never relaxing.

  Hong Qigong, who had initially laughed at his persistence, had stretched himself on the ground and snored contentedly. Little by little, Guo Jing felt more comfortable as he attained a mastery of his energy.. .to carry the blow and to keep it. He brought his breath into his dan tian, advanced his palm violently, and withdrew his force immediately; so well that the tree did not move at all. Delighted, the young man repeated it in the same way while concentrating his force on the edge of his palm. He heard a ‘craack’, and the small pine broke apart.

  “Bravo!” Huang Rong, who had seen the scene from a distance, cried. She approached slowly, carrying a heavy shopping basket.

  Before even opening his eyes, Hong Qigong had smelled the delicious aroma of the food that she brought. “That smells good! That smells very good!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. He seized the basket from the girl's hands and opened the lid. He beheld a dish of roasted frogs thighs, a very fat duck suited to the ‘Eight Treasures’, and a big bowl of white and immaculate money noodles. With joyful sounds, he pounced on the food, continuously praising as he devoured it. But, since his mouth was full, one couldn't understand anything he said. In an instant, the bowls containing the frog thighs and the duck were emptied. Realizing that Guo Jing again had not eaten, the old beggar felt a little ashamed of his gluttony. “Go on, eat up,” he said, “these noodles aren't bad...” And as he felt really bothered, he added, “They are even better than the duck!”

  Huang Rong laughed and said, “Elder Hong, you haven't yet tasted my best dishes!”

  Surprised and delighted, the old beggar eagerly asked, “What dishes? What dishes?”

  “You can't name them all,” Huang Rong replied. “For example, stir-fried Chinese cabbage, steamed tofu, stewed eggs, sliced meat... ”

  As a well-informed gourmet, Qigong knew well that it was in the simplest dishes that the true masters really showed their talents. The same applied to martial arts...wondrous execution of the simplest techniques.. .that was the hallmark of the great masters! These words of Huang Rong’s delighted him so much that his expression was almost imploring. “Good, good!” he said. “I always said that you were a brave little girl. Do you want me to buy you cabbage and tofu? Please?”

  “It's not worth your while,” Huang Rong said, laughing. “What you buy may not necessarily suit me.”

  “Fair enough,” Qigong said. “No other but you can choose your ingredients.”

  “Just now,” Huang Rong said, “I saw him break the trunk of a pine; he's already more powerful than me!”

  “Not at all,” Hong Qigong protested, shaking his head. “He isn't up to standard at all! It's necessary that the point where the trunk breaks be perfectly neat. Look, it's all twisted like a saw's teeth.. .what pathetic kung fu! Besides, this pine is as slender as a stick, no, as slender as a toothpick! This kid isn't up to the mark at all!”

  “But if he attacks me with this palm,” objected Huang Rong, “I will not be able to defend myself. This is all your fault! If he bullies me later, how will I resist?”

  Qigong, who wanted to get back into her good books and did not want to keep annoying her, clearly saw that she was being devious. “So what, according to you, must I do?”

  “Teach me a skill with which I can beat him. After that, I'll cook for you.”

  “Very well, we're agreed,” Qigong said. “He only learned a single blow; it's easy to beat him. I will teach you a fist technique called ‘Wandering Strides’.” No sooner had he finished speaking, he rose to his feet to demonstrate. He jumped to the right and to the left, with grace and nimbleness, while his big sleeves flew...

  Huang Rong, quick to learn, silently memorized every movement. When the old man had finished the complete chain, she had already half-learned it. After he had given all the supplementary instructions, it didn't take more than two hours for the girl to execute perfectly the thirty-six movements of the ‘Wandering Strides’. In the end, she executed the skill at the same time as Qigong. They moved together and leaped in concert, the one to right, the other to the left, twirling like a jade swallow and gliding like a great eagle in the skies. At the end of the thirty-six movements, they landed on their feet at the same time. While looking at each other they burst into laughter and Guo Jing applauded vigorously.

  “This little one is a hundred more intelligent times than you,” Hong Qigong said to Guo Jing.

  “So many movements and variations,” marveled the latter while scratching his head, “how did she learn so quickly? And how does she manage not to forget? Me, when I learn the second movement, I've already forgotten the first one!”

  Qigong burst out laughing, “Indeed you absolutely cannot learn this ‘Wand
ering Strides’! Even if you memorized the steps, you are incapable, in practice, of producing the spirit of striding! Executed by you so painstakingly and clumsily, this fist technique would become a real chore!” “You've got a point!” Guo Jing laughingly conceded.

  “The ‘Wandering Strides’,” Hong said, “is a kung fu that I practiced in my youth. I taught it to the little girl because it compliments her style of kung fu. It actually doesn’t match my current kung fu style.. Thus, I haven't used it myself once during the past ten years.” What he implied was that the ‘Wandering Strides’ was a lot less powerful than the ‘Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms’.

  Huang Rong was delighted. “Elder Hong, if I beat him again he'll surely be unhappy; please teach him some other blows.” She herself had no real intention to learn and it was only a pretext to push the old beggar to give more lessons to her love. If she really had wanted to learn martial arts, she had at her disposal a great master in the person of her father, all of whose skills she never could have learned.

  “This dumb kid,” Hong said, “He hasn't even fully digested the single blow that I taught him. He’s bitten off more than he can chew! As long as you prepare me lots of dishes and I will grant all your wishes!”

  “Very well then,” Huang Rong said, smiling. “Ill leave for the market.” Hong Qigong laughed heartily and returned to the inn leaving Guo Jing alone in the pine forest where he resumed training with determination, late into the night.

  That night, Huang Rong indeed prepared a cabbage dish and a plateful of tofu for Qigong. She had carefully selected the most tender cabbage heart, then she stir-fried with chicken oil and duck leg filaments. But the plateful of tofu was really extraordinary - she had cut a ham in two and then dug twenty-four small spherical cavities in which she placed balls of tofu, before closing the ham and beginning to steam it. At the end of cooking, the flavor of the ham had passed into the tofu, while the ham itself was left out. After tasting this dish, Hong was naturally overwhelmed. This steamed tofu had a name inspired by Tang poetry and was called ‘Full Moon Night on the Twenty-four Bridges’. [Note: This refers to poetry composed during the Tang dynasty (618-907 AD). The most famous poets of the era were Li Bai (sometimes known as Li Po) and Du Fu.] If the girl had not had at her disposal the family technique called ‘The Orchid Skims the Point’, her ten nimble and delicate fingers would not have been able to cut twenty-four small balls in the fragile mass of the tofu. To do it demanded as much delicacy as engraving characters on a grain of rice or sculpting a boat in a nutshell. It would have been easy to cut pieces of tofu in cubes, but where has one seen square full moons?