by Jin Yong
The courtyard was split in two. A pond to the right, and to the left, solid ground.
He crossed this unusual garden and headed toward the hut. The entrance was wide open; no doors guarded this circular moon gate.
“Go in. It’s safe.”
2
“Master, we ask for your forbearance. Circumstances have compelled us to impose on you.” Guo Jing allowed time for an answer that never came before stepping across the threshold.
The room’s furnishings were spartan. Standing in his way was a long table, on which seven oil lamps were arranged in the shape of the Northern Dipper constellation. Beyond, a grizzle-haired woman sat on her haunches, a hemp robe draped over her shoulders. She had heard them come in, but her eyes did not wander for an instant from the clusters of bamboo slips that were spread out across the floor.
With great tenderness, Guo Jing placed Lotus on a chair. She looked waxen, even in the warm glow of the firelight, without a tinge of color to her cheeks. The sight made his heart sore. He wanted to ask the old woman for a cup of water, but the words caught in his throat—he could not bring himself to interrupt her.
Lotus, after a short rest, revived somewhat and grew curious about their reluctant host. The bamboo slips that so captivated the woman were all about the same size, each roughly four inches long and one-fifth of an inch wide. They were counting rods, arranged in four rows to calculate—Lotus scanned the groupings—the square root of fifty-five thousand, two hundred and twenty-five. She could see that the woman had already worked out the first two numbers of the answer, two and three, and was moving the slips to determine the third and final.
“Five. Two hundred and thirty-five,” Lotus blurted out.
The woman whipped around and fixed the intruders with a glare before turning back to her mathematical problem.
For the first time, Guo Jing and Lotus were able to see their host’s face. Her forehead was marked by deep wrinkles, but the skin on her cheeks was smooth and unblemished. Her features were delicate and she seemed to be no more than forty years old, though the lines on her brow and the graying hair belonged to someone at least two decades older. They wondered what hardship could age a person so.
At length, the woman stopped working with the counting rods.
Five! The same as the little girl’s guess. She glanced at Lotus in bewilderment; then her eyes hardened. You just got lucky! Now leave me in peace!
She turned away and noted “two hundred and thirty-five” on a piece of paper, then reset the slips to calculate the cube root of thirty-four million, twelve thousand, two hundred and twenty-four.
In the time it took the woman to place the counting rods into six rows and work out the first number, which was three, Lotus had reached the solution: “Three hundred and twenty-four.”
The woman sneered in derision, assuming that she was spouting nonsense, and continued to switch the slips around for the time it takes to drink a pot of tea. At last, she arrived at the result.
Three, two, four.
She stood up, stretched and shot Lotus a black look.
“Come with me.” She scowled, pointing to the inner chamber, then picked up an oil lamp from the long table and disappeared inside.
Guo Jing helped Lotus to her feet and guided her into the room. The wall was curved and a layer of sand covered the floor—vertical strokes, horizontal lines and circles were scratched into this temporary surface. There were also characters and short phrases inscribed around the marks, such as Supreme, Heaven Unknown, Earth Unknown, Man Unknown and Matter Unknown.
Guo Jing hovered at the entrance, unable to make any sense of the writing on the floor and wary of disturbing it if he took another step, whereas Lotus, who had been taught mathematics and advanced reckoning skills by her father, instantly recognized the symbols and words—they represented some of the more difficult calculations that were in the process of being solved. These equations, though complex, could be worked out methodically by anyone familiar with the Heaven Unknown technique.
Steadying herself against Guo Jing, Lotus pulled the Dog Beater from her belt and started scribbling in the sand. She solved the seven or eight questions marked on the floor in the twinkling of an eye.
The woman had been struggling with those equations for several months, and seeing them resolved with such ease sent her into a stupor. After a long silence, she asked, “Are you human?”
Lotus smiled, then tried to explain through ragged gasps for air: “The methods of the Heaven Unknown or the Four Unknowns aren’t difficult. You do realize there are nineteen unknowns altogether, don’t you?
“Beyond ‘Man’ is Spirit, Luminance, Cloud, Nebula, Rampart, Tower, Height, Above and Heaven;
Beneath ‘Man’ is Earth, Below, Decrease, Descent, Decease, Wellspring, Darkness and Specter.
“Well, things do get complicated when you try to solve the Nineteenth Unknown.”
All color drained from the woman’s face. She slumped on the sand and buried her face in her hands, struggling to wrap her mind around the implications of the girl’s words. And yet, when she eventually looked up, she sounded almost glad. “You’re a hundred times more skilled in reckoning than me. Now, how would you solve this? Line up the numbers one to nine in three columns of three. Whether down, across or diagonal, the sum must be fifteen.”
Lotus chuckled to herself. That’s a child’s game! The Nine Halls Method is the foundation of Peach Blossom Island, and Papa applied it along with the interaction of the Five Elements.
“The significance of the Nine Halls,
The method in the Hallowed Turtle.”
Lotus chanted as she scrawled on the floor with the Dog Beater, her voice still weak from her injury.
“Four and two as shoulders, eight and six are feet.
Three on the left, seven on the right,
Nine as crown and one as shoe,
In the center five sits tight.”
Every last vestige of life now left the woman’s already ashen cheeks. “I thought I invented this, but it’s so common that there’s even a verse about it.”
“The Nine Halls Diagram is the most basic form. There are grids of four by four, five by five, even of a hundred, and none of them is that complex. Take the four-by-four as an example. First, you write down the numbers in four columns, then you start swapping positions, beginning with the four corners. One is moved to sixteen, four is switched with thirteen. Then the four numbers in the middle trade places: six with eleven, seven with ten. The sum of each row, column or diagonal line is always thirty-four.”
The woman drew on the sand as Lotus explained and was startled by the simplicity of the solution.
“We can also replace the squares of the Nine Halls with the octagons of the Eight Trigrams, so eight times nine is seventy-two. We start by writing a number from one to seventy-two on each side of the octagon.” Lotus illustrated her workings on the sand as she spoke, halting from time to time to catch her breath. “Done right, the total of each individual Eight Trigram will always be two hundred and ninety-two. And there’ll be thirteen octagons together—the original nine converted from each square of the Nine Halls, plus four more that sit in-between. You’ve probably never heard of the Script of River Luo and its many variations. I wouldn’t have known any of this without my teacher.”
Gaping at the complex configuration of numbers on the floor, the woman hauled herself unsteadily to her feet.
“Who are you, miss?” Just as she uttered those words, her face contorted and she clutched at her heart. Reaching into the inside pocket of her robe, she found a vial and swallowed a green pill contained within.
It was some time before her discomfort eased.
“Never mind!” She sighed as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Guo Jing and Lotus exchanged glances, feeling a little awkward thanks to their host’s odd obsession and extreme response. They waited for her to calm herself. Just then, shouts and cries rose from the forest.
“F
riends or foes?” the woman asked.
“Foes,” Guo Jing said.
“The Iron Palm Gang?”
“Yes.”
The woman cocked her head and listened.
“Leader Qiu leads the pursuit personally … Who are you?” she growled.
Guo Jing stepped in front of Lotus protectively and said in a loud, clear voice: “We are disciples of Chief Hong the Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers. My martial sister was injured by Qiu Qianren of the Iron Palm Gang. If the Elder has dealings with the Gang and cannot offer us refuge, then we shall bid you farewell now.” He bowed low and turned to support Lotus.
“So young. So headstrong. You may escape, but will she?” A faint smile played on the woman’s features. “So, you’re students of Count Seven Hong. No wonder you have such skills…” She trailed off as her attention was drawn outside, to the noise the Iron Palm Gang was making. One moment they sounded deafeningly close, the next faraway and faint.
“They won’t find the way in, don’t worry. Even if they do, you are my guests, and I, the Supreme … Madam Ying, am not accustomed to being intimidated in my own home.” For years, Madam Ying had been referring to herself as the Supreme Reckoner. Yet, confronted by this young woman, who was a hundred times more adept in the arts of mathematics, she was too ashamed to use that title.
Guo Jing wrapped his hand over his fist to show his gratitude. Madam Ying loosened the clothes around Lotus’s shoulder to examine her wound. Frowning, she produced the vial again and dissolved a green pill in a bowl of water.
Lotus took the bowl, but did not drink from it immediately. She could not decide whether she was willing to trust this woman.
Madam Ying noted her hesitation and said, smoldering with injured pride, “You’ve been struck by Qiu Qianren’s Iron Palm kung fu. You think you can survive without my help? If I want you dead, I just need to be patient for a few days. The pill is for the pain. If you don’t want it, fine!” She snatched the bowl and splashed the content onto the sand.
“How could you!” Furious, Guo Jing lifted Lotus on his back and made for the doorway.
“My house is not an inn. You cannot come and go as you please.” A counting rod in each hand, Madam Ying planted herself at the exit.
You’ve left me with no choice, Guo Jing thought, laden with guilt. “Elder, pardon my impertinence.” He bent slightly from the knee and raised his arm. Tracing an arc in the air, he thrust. Haughty Dragon Repents.
The attack contained a mere fifth of his strength. After all, he just wanted to get out, he had no reason to hurt the woman. Her response would determine his next move—strike with more force or to pull back altogether.
Madam Ying leaned back a fraction and flicked her left arm up, brushing Guo Jing’s blow aside.
Drawn in by her countermove, Guo Jing stumbled half a step forward. Madam Ying was also caught out, her footing slipping a little on the dry sand. Both were taken aback by the other’s skill.
“Boy, show me everything your shifu has taught you.” She aimed a counting rod at the Pool at the Bend acupoint in the crook of his right arm.
Sensing a deadly sting lurking in the strike, Guo Jing pulled away and launched another move from the Dragon-Subduing Palm. Several exchanges later, he recognized that Madam Ying’s martial training—supple and yin to the extreme—was his exact opposite. Not a single one of her attacks was straightforward; there was always a malevolent twist. If it were not for the Competing Hands technique, which gave him the ability to cast two unrelated kung fu moves at the same time, he would have taken a nasty hit or two.
Proceeding with increased caution, Guo Jing put more strength in his palm thrusts, but to little effect. Each twirl of her arm seemed limp and weak, and yet her onslaught flowed like spilled mercury, slipping between the smallest gap, impossible to predict or to block.
Another handful of moves later, Guo Jing was forced to retreat two paces. Count Seven Hong’s advice on tackling Lotus’s Cascading Peach Blossom Palm came to his mind: Ignore whatever she’s doing. Every move that comes your way—feint or true—you answer with a Haughty Dragon Repents.
Still, he wavered. It was not in his character to seek to hurt a stranger. Yes, this was a place of ill luck. Yes, she did not seem to be a kind person. But there was no reason for emnity between them. All he wanted was to get out. He had no wish fight her and absolutely no desire to hurt her. And so, he had been holding back, but he knew what the price for one passing moment of distraction would be—not only his life, but Lotus’s too …
Guo Jing took a deep breath. Lifting his elbows slightly, he fired a right-handed punch while propelling his left palm forward. Swift and slow at once, this was the sixteenth move of the Dragon-Subduing Palm, Crunch Frost as Ice Freezes.
The movement contained an energy that was at once firm and supple, creating a tension of opposites that could fluidly adapt to counter any assault. Count Seven Hong’s martial foundation was pure yang, as expressed by the supreme firmness of his strength, yet, like the saying from I’Ching—“From the aged yang, a youthful yin springs”—at the very extreme of this firm state was a strand of suppleness. In each of the eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms, the two divergent forces coexisted and intermingled to a point at which they were indistinguishable.
Madam Ying sucked in a quick gulp of air and swiveled sideways. She managed to dodge the punch and the kick flying at her, but she could not move fast or far enough to avoid the horizontal swipe of his left palm that followed them. She was struck square on the right shoulder.
Guo Jing knew she would either be thrown against the earthen wall, and that part of the hut would collapse on impact, or her body would crash right through it to land in the courtyard outside. And yet, she defied him. The instant it made contact, his palm skidded off her robe.
As if she were slathered in a thick coat of grease.
The brunt of the blow might have missed its target, but it was still strong enough to rock Madam Ying to the core. The bamboo slips she had been clutching clattered to the floor.
Guo Jing pulled back, unnerved.
Nimble and deft, Madam Ying recovered swiftly. She touched her fingers together to form two beaks, pecking at the Spirit Seal and Jade Hall acupressure points on Guo Jing’s chest.
Her technique is just like Brother Zhou’s, Guo Jing thought, impressed by the level of skill on display. Having sparred with Zhou Botong hundreds and thousands of times, he knew he would not be fast enough to block her, but he could steal in with a counterattack to push her away.
He tilted back marginally and swung his arm, driving an enormous force toward her shoulder.
Madam Ying realized her humerus would shatter if Guo Jung’s thrust made contact. She skimmed away from it with the same Weatherfish Slip technique as before.
Guo Jing jumped back several steps. What fascinating kung fu, he marveled. My energy simply glides off her!
Madam Ying had retreated an extra few steps to put more distance between them. How has he mastered such intricate techniques at his young age? Is it because he was taught by one of the Greats? she thought sourly. I’ve been living here, alone, cut off from the world, for more than a decade. I’ve worked night and day on my martial capabilities. I thought I had invented an unassailable repertoire, that I was almost ready to leave this forsaken place to rescue him. Yet, it turns out that, next to this girl, I am a novice in reckoning, and, against this unweaned boy, I stand no chance, even when he is carrying the girl on his back; I cannot beat him, even when he holds his strength in check to avoid injuring me. Does it mean all these years have been wasted? That all the sacrifices I made are for nothing? Am I supposed to forget about vengeance, forget about freeing him? All these doubts and questions were resulting in a deluge of tears.
Guo Jing felt awful that he had made the woman cry. “This junior has been most impertinent. I did not mean to hurt you. Please pardon me, Elder. Please let us go.”
Madam Ying marked, as the boy addressed her, how his gaze
kept flitting back toward the girl, to check on her, and those glances contained so much love and concern. A flood of envy and rage overtook her—she who had suffered so many misfortunes, who had been torn from her true love. How dare these lovebirds invite themselves into her house and dash her hopes of ever being reunited with him!
“You don’t need to guard her against me.” Resentment sharpened her tone. “She was struck by Qiu Qianren’s Iron Palm kung fu. A blackness has now shrouded her face. She’s only got three days left.”
Guo Jing whipped around to look at Lotus, who was still draped on his back. Just like the woman had said, a faint inky cloud had darkened her brow. The sight brought a chill to his heart, followed by a surge of hot blood. He wrapped his arms tighter over Lotus’s back. “How … how are you feeling?”
Lotus knew the woman was telling the truth. She had been dogged by a burning sensation in her chest and abdomen, and yet, her limbs were ice cold. “Will you stay with me? Please?”
“I won’t take even half a step away from you!” Guo Jing said, forcing down a sob.
Gently, he settled her by the wall and sat down to join her. Taking her right hand, he touched it against his left, thinking he would try the healing method in the Nine Yin Manual to smooth the erratic flow of her qi, though he could not be sure that this woman would not attempt to foil the endeavor. The slightest interference from her would mean instant death for Lotus and serious injury for him, but it was a risk he was ready to take.
Summoning his inner neigong strength, he sent it gently through his palm, but Lotus did not respond at all. Puzzled, he propelled a little more energy into her hand.
Wah!
Blood shot from her lips, staining the front of her dress.
“Lotus!”
Guo Jing could not take his eyes off the bright red splatters on the white fabric.
“I’ve no neigong left.” Lotus’s chest heaved laboriously. “This won’t work. Don’t—don’t cry.”
“Whatever you’re doing with your internal force, it’ll only kill her faster,” Madam Ying sneered. “Say your goodbyes now. Even if you stay right by her, she only has three days.”
