by Jin Yong
Indeed, the moon was not yet full—it was only the fourteenth of the eighth month. The mid-autumn contest with Tiger Peng and the others, who had yet to arrive, was not due to start until the next day.
“Master is right—we should not be causing a disturbance here,” Qiu Chuji said. “Viper Ouyang, let’s take this fight elsewhere.”
The Venom smirked. “It would be my pleasure.”
“The Quanzhen Sect is truly a mess without Wang Chongyang,” Count Seven said to himself in a stage whisper, making sure everyone could hear his aside, before addressing the monks. “Let me share an uncomfortable truth. You can put five monks, a nun and a novice together, and they still won’t be a match for our Old Venom. I don’t owe Wang Chongyang any favors and I couldn’t care less if his tawdry little followers are wiped out, but I do want to ask you one question: In what form will you take part in the contest tomorrow? Do you plan to fight as corpses?”
Of course, the Quanzhen Masters recognized that these jibes were a kindly reminder that they had no hope against Viper Ouyang, for they had just failed to best Apothecary Huang, who was his equal in reputation. And yet, how could they back down when they were seeking to avenge one of their own?
Count Seven had also been keeping an eye on his two disciples. Guo Jing was staring daggers at the Heretic, while Lotus was on the verge of tears. What could he say to smooth over this shambles?
When the Hoary Urchin gets here, he can keep everyone in a line with his kung fu, and I’ll be able to say my piece, Count Seven said to himself, pinning his hopes on Zhou Botong’s impish nature—after all, missing the fun of such a fight would be most out of character for that overgrown child.
“This Old Beggar is going to sleep now,” he announced. “If I hear so much as a peep out of you lot, I’ll consider it an act of war. Tomorrow night, you can turn the world upside down and I’ll watch from up there. And don’t expect me to lift a finger to help any of you.
“Ma Yu, Qiu Chuji, get your little brothers and sister in order, sit them down and start channeling your qi. What meager inner strength you can gather now will be to your benefit—clinging onto the Buddha’s legs for help at the last minute is better than nothing at all.
“Guo Jing, Lotus, massage my legs.”
“Brother Apothecary and I have scores to settle with the Quanzhen Sect,” Viper Ouyang said to Count Seven. “We all know that the Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers’ words are as immovable as a mountain. I shall let things pass today out of respect for you, but, tomorrow, you will have to abide by your word and stand aside.” He wanted to make certain that the Beggar would not step in, now that he had miraculously regained his martial prowess.
Count Seven giggled inwardly at the Venom’s wary tone. If only you knew! You could knock me down with your little finger right now.
“This Beggar’s farts have more substance than your vows. As I’ve said, I won’t help anybody, but are you so sure you’ll come out on top?” Without waiting for an answer, Count Seven Hong flopped on the ground, lying flat and resting his head on his gourd of wine. “Kids, massage, chop-chop!”
The mutton leg in Count Seven’s hand had long been reduced to a stick of bone, but the gourmand was unwilling to relinquish it, licking and sucking in search of the last morsels of flavor.
“The weather’s going to turn.” The Beggar eyed the thickening clouds on the horizon and the mist clinging to the water. He sucked in a few big gulps of air and shook his head. “Stifling! Brother Apothecary, you’ll give your permission, won’t you? These tired old legs could really do with a massage.”
The Heretic smiled as Lotus sat down, gently hammering her martial teacher’s thigh.
“Aaaahhhh, these old bones have never had such a treat…” He glared at Guo Jing. “Oi, silly lad, the Heretic hasn’t broken your paws, has he?”
“Master,” Guo Jing mumbled as he sat opposite Lotus, mirroring her motions.
Ke Zhen’e slumped against a willow tree by the water, his unseeing eyes fixed in the direction of Apothecary Huang, his head turning left and right as his nemesis paced up and down, his ears picking out the light scratching of his footsteps.
The Heretic paid no attention to the blind man, a vague smile hovering on his lips.
The Quanzhen Taoists followed Count Seven’s advice and sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes lowered, brows relaxed, working on their internal energy while maintaining the layout of the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation.
Meanwhile, the Venom’s snake herders had set up a table and chair for him on the ground floor of the Tower of Mist and Rain. The Martial Great sat with his back to the others, picking at the food and drink spread out before him and pondering what miracle had allowed Count Seven Hong to recover from the crippling injury he had dealt him.
The heat was suffocating. Insects zoomed hither and thither. The mist over the lake was turning milky.
“Oh, the ache in my joints. They’re sensing a storm. If we can see the full moon tomorrow night, I’ll cut these legs off.”
The Beggar had been observing Guo Jing and Lotus. The young lovers let their eyes rest everywhere but on each other. For a man as straightforward as he, suppressing his curiosity was out of the question. He asked several times, but they both just ummed and ahhed, refusing to give him a straight answer.
“Brother Apothecary, does South Lake have another name?” he called.
“The Lake of Mandarin Ducks.”
“How romantic! Now, why are you two lovebirds ignoring each other by this lake of lovebirds? And why aren’t you—father to them both—stepping in to stop this silly business?”
Guo Jing leaped to his feet, glaring at Apothecary Huang. “He—he killed my five shifus. He’s not my father.”
“So?” Huang sneered. “There’s still one Freak left, though the blind bat won’t live another day—”
Ke Zhen’e lunged, but Guo Jing was faster. The Heretic raised his arm in retaliation. Their palms thudded together—pang!—and Guo Jing stumbled two steps back.
“Oi! Do you think this Old Beggar’s words are empty farts?”
Still glowering at Apothecary Huang, Guo Jing stepped down obediently.
“Old Heretic, the Six Freaks of the South live by the moral code of xia. Why would you hurt good people? I must say, I don’t like the sound of it.”
“I slay as I see fit. What can you do about that?”
“Pa! You didn’t do it. I know you didn’t. Tell them the truth!”
Huang looked at his daughter. In the pale moonlight, her complexion seemed more sallow than the last time he had seen her. He was almost swayed by pity, until he met Guo Jing’s glare and saw the thirst for blood on his young face. His heart stiffened.
“I killed them.”
“Pa, why?” Lotus sobbed. “Why do you have to claim things you didn’t do?”
“Have you forgotten that the world has always seen your pa as a heretic and a miscreant? How can someone like me ever do good? All the evil under the heavens is my doing.”
“I admire your honest admission, Brother Apothecary.” Viper Ouyang cackled, raised his cup in a toast and drank it dry. “And I have a gift for you.”
The two men were several zhang apart, and yet one small flick of his wrist was enough to send a sizeable bundle flying through the air to reach the Heretic.
Apothecary Huang caught the parcel and immediately knew that he was holding a human head. He peeled back the layers of fabric and was confronted by an unfamiliar face. The square headscarf of a learned man. A wispy beard covered his chin … freshly harvested.
Viper cackled in delight. “I entered the city from the west this morning and rested my feet at a school. This stuffy bookman was droning on about loyal subjects and filial sons. He was so tiresome, I had to cut his head off to shut him up. You the Heretic, I the Venom, we hold the world in the same disdain.”
Apothecary Huang regarded the martial Master with contempt and distaste. “I have nothing but the utmost respect f
or loyal subjects and filial sons.” He dug a hole in the ground with his bare hands and laid the head to rest, bowing three times before the fresh grave.
“So, your name is an empty title—the Heretic is also bound by convention,” Viper said with a mocking laugh.
“Loyalty, filial piety, benevolence and righteousness are principles, not conventions!”
Thunder cracked. Storm clouds obscured the sky. Drums echoed around the lake. The splash of oars. Half a dozen stately boats, glittering with red lanterns, heading their way. Standing proud on the prow were colossal signs reading Silence and Turn Away, warning all onlookers of the arrival of an official retinue.
Someone of high rank and great import was approaching the Tower.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IRON SPEAR TEMPLE
1
Two dozen or so men disembarked, among them Tiger Peng and Hector Sha. Then, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped ashore, accompanied by someone older, slight but nimble—Wanyan Honglie, the Sixth Prince of the Great Jin Empire, and Qiu Qianren, leader of the Iron Palm Gang. Now that the Jin Prince had gained the support of both Viper Ouyang and Qiu Qianren, he was confident that his cortège would win the contest, and felt safe venturing south again.
“Pa, that old fossil almost killed me with his palm thrust,” Lotus said, pointing at Qiu.
Apothecary Huang had met the man twice before, at Roaming Cloud Manor and at Ox Village, and, both times, he had scampered away whimpering. How could that imbecile be capable of hurting his daughter? Of course, he had yet to realize that his dealings had been with the impostor and identical twin Qiu Qianzhang.
The Venom got up from his feast to welcome the new arrivals, conversing with the Prince in hushed tones, then approached Count Seven Hong.
“Brother Seven, you said you wouldn’t take sides in the upcoming fight. Does that hold true?”
The Beggar sighed. I’m in no state to help, even if I wished to.
“What upcoming fight? I said I wouldn’t help anyone on the fifteenth of the eighth moon.”
Viper ignored his response and turned to the Heretic. “Brother Apothecary, neither the Quanzhen Sect nor the Seven Freaks of the South appear to know their place, offending a paramount master like yourself. It is beneath your status to raise your hand against such feeble warriors. Allow your brother, here, to deal with them, while you watch.”
Apothecary Huang weighed up the situation. If Count Seven Hong stayed true to his word and refrained from taking part, then the Quanzhen Sect would be annihilated by Viper Ouyang; though, if Guo Jing took the position of the Heavenly Jade, there would be a good chance that the formation could vanquish the Venom. And yet, the boy had been so single-minded about attacking him …
How ironic that the future of the Quanzhen Sect rests upon the whim of this unweaned idiot, he thought. If Wang Chongyang could see us from the world beyond …
From Apothecary Huang’s blank look, Viper knew his words had not had the desired effect. But he could not miss a chance to obliterate the Quanzhen Sect before Zhou Botong could come to their aid.
“What are you waiting for?” he taunted the Taoists. “Make your first move!”
“What did you just promise?” Count Seven roared.
Viper pointed to the sky with a smirk. “Midnight has passed. We’re now in the early morning of the fifteenth.”
Count Seven looked up. The moon had indeed crept westward, though half obscured by clouds. He could not deny that they had entered a new day.
A tap of the Serpent Staff against the ground and the Venom was suddenly standing right in front of Qiu Chuji. The Martial Great unleashed one deadly kung fu after another, keen to show off his signature techniques in the presence of such an illustrious audience.
The Quanzhen monks knew that the slightest error would spell the end—for themselves as well as their martial branch. Steeling their hearts, they engaged Viper Ouyang head-on, employing all their learning to maximize the power of the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation, but, within a handful of moves, they were straining to cope with the Venom’s onslaught.
Guo Jing was scarcely aware of the Taoists’ struggles. His eyes were trained on the murderer of his shifus. He would be battling him even now if he had not been forced to stand down by Count Seven Hong.
Lotus had been wondering how she could break Guo Jing’s fixation on her father. The arrival of Wanyan Honglie gave her the perfect diversion.
“So, all your talk of revenge turns out to be mere empty words,” she said, her voice ringing with derision. “Your father’s murderer has come to you, and yet here you sit, doing nothing.”
Giving her a baleful look, Guo Jing drew the golden dagger and charged at Wanyan Honglie.
I’ll kill the Jin dog, then I’ll kill the Heretic, he swore to himself.
Hector Sha and Tiger Peng planted themselves in Guo Jing’s path. The young man hacked his dagger at them an angled backhand slash. Peng crossed his Scribe’s Brushes—claaang!—and blocked the blade, but his numbed arms could not hold Guo Jing back. Sha swiveled to check his progress, employing Shape Changing kung fu to bar his way, but the young fighter pushed past him with ease.
Graybeard Liang and Lama Supreme Wisdom joined the effort to halt Guo Jing, brandishing their weapons. Old Liang threw two Bone-Piercing Needles, which the young man sidestepped smoothly before retaliating with a move known as Horns in the Fence, launching palm, dagger and body at his opponent. Graybeard cast himself to the ground and rolled out of harm’s way—he knew he had not the skill to counter such a powerful attack.
Lacking Liang’s agility, the fleshy Lama Supreme Wisdom knew he could not get away in time, so he held his cymbals firm against the assault. After all, he was the last line of defense for his patron Wanyan Honglie, the Prince of Zhao. Bong, bong … both cymbals flew straight up into the air as a gust whipped into his face. The lama thrust out a palm in reply, assuming that his great strength and the poison on his skin would make his attacker think twice, and yet, moments later, he felt his breath catch in his lungs, his arm racked with pain and his hand flopping uselessly as his wrist was knocked out of joint.
He stood stupefied, deserted by his supreme wisdom, his toxic touch nullified. The two copper-coated discs descended, one after the other, leaving a glistening, golden trail. The first landed square on the lama’s glossy pate. If it had not fallen flat, its razor-sharp edge would have split his skull down the middle. Its fellow followed soon after. The steel plates clashed with a resounding crash and a deafening hum that traveled far into the night.
If Guo Jing wished to dispatch the lama, he could have done so with ease, but he had no quarrel with the man. He made straight for Wanyan Honglie, the golden dagger leading the way.
The Jin Prince stood petrified. He had counted on the four martial Masters in his employ to keep him safe, but they had been shoved aside in an instant. Not a single fighter now stood between him and Guo Jing.
Aiiiiyaaaa! Shrieking, he bolted.
Dagger held high, Guo Jing followed in hot pursuit. Two palms materialized from a blur of earthy yellow, striking at him from the side. Guo Jing slewed away and arced the blade in retaliation, only to realize his body had been drawn into the wake of the powerful ambush. He took a step forward to steady himself and turned his eyes on this new opponent: Qiu Qianren.
Guo Jing drew in a deep breath to focus his mind. If he wanted to get past the leader of the Iron Palm Gang, he would need to forget about Wanyan Honglie and push aside any thoughts of revenge, for the time being. He readied himself, shifting his grip on the dagger in his right hand.
With Guo Jing now occupied and Wanyan Honglie once more under the protection of Graybeard Liang and Hector Sha, Tiger Peng allowed himself a sigh of relief. The danger had passed. He approached Ke Zhen’e and asked with mock concern, “Master Ke, where are the rest of you Freaks?”
Ke flicked his wrist, letting fly a poisoned devilnut, and settled into a defensive stance. Peng had suffered the effec
ts of this secret weapon before and knew it would be too risky to try staving off the projectile in the dim moonlight. He jabbed both Scribe’s Brushes into the ground, using them for leverage to vault up high, like a bird frightened by an arrow’s song.
Swash! The devilnut zoomed by, passing under his feet.
Once safely back on firm ground, Peng noticed that the Freak had no weapon to defend himself. He lunged, thrusting his brushes, his jaw set tight.
The Exorcist’s Staff was more than a weapon to Ke Zhen’e, for he was lame in one leg and relied upon its support to move around. At the sound of his enemy’s approach, the Freak half hopped, half hobbled two paces to the side, but, as he took the last step, his legs buckled and he toppled face-first to the ground.
Peng speared one of the brushes at Ke’s back, while holding the other close to his chest in case the blind man still had another trick up his sleeve.
Hearing the attack, Ke rolled sideways and the metal brush struck the ground, raising a smattering of sparks.
“You can’t flap away from this, blind bat!” Peng roared, thrusting the other brush forward.
Still lying prone on the ground, Ke evaded the blow and—hiss!—flung another devilnut. Then he heard a muttering of insults and sensed a rush in the air, as it was first sucked upward, then pushed down toward him.
In his bid to escape Tiger Peng, the First Freak had dragged himself into Lama Supreme Wisdom, who had been nursing his injured wrist and cursing Guo Jing. Ke pressed a hand against the ground and propelled himself to the side. Although he managed to avoid the lama’s descending foot, he felt a prick on his back. There was nothing more he could do, now, to escape Peng’s brushes. He readied himself to face his fate, and yet, what followed was a girlish cry of shoo! then a gruff voice bellowing aiyoooo! before it was cut short by a thump.
