A Heart Divided

by Jin Yong

  Lotus had come to the rescue, sending Tiger Peng flying with the same technique she had used to disarm Ke Zhen’e earlier. Unlike the Freak, Peng held fast to his weapons, and so his stocky form took to the air along with the brushes.

  “No one wants your help, she-demon!” Ke hissed as he climbed to his feet.

  “Pa, look after this blind buffoon. Don’t let him get hurt!” Lotus cried, and sprinted over to Guo Jing’s side to fight Qiu Qianren.

  Stunned, Ke Zhen’e stood alone in the midst of fierce fighting, struggling to grasp the meaning of Lotus’s behavior.

  Tiger Peng hauled himself back onto his feet, shamefaced but determined to get even. He sized up Apothecary Huang, who was facing the other way and did not seem to have heard his daughter. Peng crept up behind Ke, preparing to strike. Even if the Freak somehow recovered his sight and his staff, he would not be able to ward off this assault.

  But, just before the brush had found its target, Peng heard a swoosh. A small speck of earth smashed into his weapon, dissipating into a puff of dusty smoke. A great force tore at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, knocking the brush out of his grasp. Peng could not understand where the projectile had come from or how it could make such an impact. He glanced at Apothecary Huang. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the dark clouds on the horizon.

  Ke Zhen’e recognized the unique fizz in the air. He had heard it once before, when Guo Jing fought Cyclone Mei at Roaming Cloud Manor. The Heretic’s Divine Flick. How could he accept help from the murderer of his siblings? He threw himself at Apothecary Huang.

  “What’s the point of living when my brethren are dead?”

  The Heretic did not seem to have heard the outburst, but when Ke Zhen’e came within three feet of him, he wafted his hand sideways across his back. A wave of energy surged toward the Freak, pushing his body to the ground until he found himself sitting on his rump. This strange force continued to pin him down, causing a curious sensation in his chest, as if his blood and breath were churning like a tempestuous sea.

  2

  The skies had grown darker. The thick mist was now creeping onto land, shrouding everyone’s feet.

  With Lotus’s help, Guo Jing was able to hold his own against Qiu Qianren, but the Quanzhen monks were making their last stand. Hao Datong had suffered a blow from the Serpent Staff and Sun Bu’er’s outer robe was ripped in two. Wang Chuyi realized that one of his siblings would be grievously wounded or worse before long, and pulled out a flare during a fleeting respite when it was the turn of Ma Yu and Liu Chuxuan to bear the brunt of the Venom’s wrath. A flash of light, whistling, drew across the night sky.

  Over the years, the Seven Immortals of the Quanzhen Sect had each taken on a sizeable number of disciples, and this third generation included a number of particularly skilled novices. Tiger Peng and his fellows were also known to have a multitude of students. Apprehensive that their unsporting opponents might try to carry the day through sheer weight of numbers, the Taoists had ordered their most accomplished protégés to wait on the far shore of South Lake. Should they see a flare, they were to cross the water to come to their teachers’ aid. Yet, Wang Chuyi feared he might have sent his signal too late, for they were now completely engulfed by a pall of dense fog and could barely see a few feet ahead.

  By now, the brume was clinging to their bodies like a white film, suffocating in its dampness. The gathering clouds crowded around the full moon, dimming its glow, and soon blotting out all light. In the gloom, caution was the watchword. The intensity of each fight dipped as they all drew back to focus on defense.

  Since Guo Jing could only catch occasional glimpses of Qiu Qianren’s fading form, he decided to take advantage of the mist’s hazy cloak to seek out Wanyan Honglie once more. He opened his eyes as wide as he could, trying to catch a glint from the Jin Prince’s golden coronet, but he could make out nothing in the muggy darkness. He dashed east and darted west, searching blindly, finding nothing.

  “I’m Zhou Botong. Who wants to fight?” His voice sounded just a couple of steps from Guo Jing.

  “Uncle Zhou!” Qiu Chuji called back, also close by.

  For an instant, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight sliced through the mist to gasps of alarm as the combatants suddenly realized their enemies were no more than an arm’s length away.

  “Oooh, how wondrous! You’re all here!” Squealing with excitement, the Old Urchin pulled up his sleeve and rubbed the skin over the crook of his left arm with vigorous relish.

  “Deadly poison for you!” He cried, slapping his hand over Hector Sha’s mouth.

  The Dragon King responded with a Shape Changing move as he tried to flee, but he could not outrun the Hoary Urchin. An iron grip closed around his wrist and a ball of dead skin was forced between his lips.

  Hector Sha had spent enough time with the irreverent martial Master to know that, if he spat out the revolting pellet, a worse fate would follow, so he kept it on his tongue, choking back the humiliation, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of it. Nobody has ever died from a bit of grime and dirt, he repeated again and again under his breath.

  “Uncle Zhou, we’re so pleased you’re alive!” Wang Chuyi was as delighted as he was relieved that Zhou Botong had appeared at this crucial juncture.

  The Urchin glowered. “Who said I was dead?”

  “We heard that you’d been killed by the Heretic—”

  “The Heretic?” A derisive snort. “Well, try he did. And for fifteen years, too. But, as you can see, he failed…” He let out a burst of gleeful laughter. “Hey, Heretic Huang, would you like to try killing me again?”

  Apothecary Huang answered the Urchin’s playful but powerful punch at his shoulder with a Cascading Peach Blossom Palm.

  “Your martial nephews have been hounding me because they thought I killed you. They wanted to avenge your death.”

  “What? You killed me? When? Don’t blow your own trumpet! Look! Am I the Hoary Urchin or the Ghostly Urchin?” His palms flew as fast as his words.

  Apothecary Huang growled silently as he devoted his full attention to countering Zhou Botong’s intricate rapid-fire onslaught.

  The Quanzhen Masters looked on aghast. They had taken it for granted that their martial uncle would help them subdue Viper Ouyang, but here he was already sparring with Apothecary Huang.

  “Uncle Zhou, stop! Don’t fight Lord Huang!”

  Ma Yu’s entreaty fell on deaf ears.

  “Urchin, listen to your nephew, leave Lord Huang alone,” Viper echoed slyly. “You’re no match for him. Run for your life. Run!”

  Of course, Zhou Botong took the bait, bedeviling the Heretic further.

  Lotus made her own attempt to break up the fight. “Old Urchin, you promised your martial brother Wang Chongyang never to learn kung fu from the Nine Yin Manual! Why are you fighting Papa with those skills? What would Immortal Wang say?”

  “Kung fu from the Nine Yin Manual? No, no, no, no, no, watch me closely! See, I’m not! You don’t know how much trouble it took to purge the Manual from my head! It was so easy to learn, but so hard to forget! Look, I’m using Luminous Hollow Fist, all seventy-two moves invented by me, and now this is Competing Hands, an original Urchin boxing technique.” He gave Lotus a running commentary as he demonstrated his kung fu. “Can’t you see? It’s all my own invention. Not a stinking whiff of the Nine Yin Manual!”

  Their last exchange on Peach Blossom Island was still fresh in Apothecary Huang’s mind. This time, the overwhelming strength derived from the Nine Yin Manual that had so surprised him back then was missing from the elaborate moves, so the Urchin was once more his martial equal.

  What strange methods had this man employed to unlearn something so entwined with his core? Huang wondered.

  Satisfied by the sight of Zhou Botong wrangling with Apothecary Huang, Viper Ouyang redoubled his attack on the Quanzhen monks. He needed to break their formation before Zhou Botong came to his martial nephews’ ai
d. His merciless assault, led by sweeps and thrusts of his Serpent Staff, put the Taoists in mortal danger.

  “Uncle Zhou!” Wang Chuyi cried.

  It finally cut through to Zhou Botong how much his brethren were suffering, but he was not ready to abandon his game with Apothecary Huang just yet. Left palm hacking sideways while his right fist jabbed straight ahead, he darted up to the Heretic’s face and burst into laughter. In that moment, left flipped into right and right into left, the hack became a jab and the jab became a hack—what had been chopping athwart was now thrust forward.

  Apothecary Huang had never encountered such a mercurial move. He flung his arms up to protect his face, but he was a fraction too slow. A sting at the end of his left eyebrow, where the skin was grazed by Zhou Botong’s fingertips.

  “Damn, damn, damn! That’s from the Nine Yin Manual!” The Urchin slapped the offending hand.

  Apothecary Huang saw his chance. His palm shot forward, swift and silent, striking at Zhou Botong’s shoulder.

  “Aiyoooo! Retribution comes apace!” the Hoary Urchin cried as he hunched his back and doubled over.

  The mist had grown yet more impenetrable. Concerned for his two shifus’ safety, Guo Jing helped Ke Zhen’e to his feet and led him over to Count Seven Hong.

  “Masters, please rest in the Tower until this fog passes,” he said under his breath.

  “Old Urchin,” Lotus called. “Will you do as I say?”

  “Don’t worry, I can’t beat your father.”

  “I want you to deal with the Old Venom. But you mustn’t take his life.”

  “Why should I?” The Urchin was still engaged in a fierce battle with Apothecary Huang.

  “If you refuse, I’ll tell everybody about your dirty past.”

  “Hogwash! What dirty past?”

  “As you wish!” And she began to chant in a sing-song voice:

  “For the fourth time the loom is ready,

  To weave a pair of lovebirds so they can take flight.”

  “Anything you say!” the Urchin shrieked. “Venom, where are you?”

  “Uncle Zhou, take the North Star!” Ma Yu called through the haze.

  Once Zhou Botong had joined his martial nephews’ formation, Lotus cried out, “Pa, Qiu Qianren is a traitor to our country. We can’t let him live!”

  “Come to me, child.” But the leader of the Iron Palm Gang had melted into the thick mist. The only figure Apothecary Huang could identify was the Hoary Urchin, thanks to his constant chortling.

  “Venom, oh, Venom, bend the knee and Grandpa will let you live.”

  3

  Once Guo Jing had settled Count Seven Hong and Ke Zhen’e inside the Tower, he resumed his search for Wanyan Honglie, but, in those few dozen steps between the courtyard and the Tower, he had lost the Jin Prince, who, along with his henchmen—Hector Sha, Tiger Peng, Qiu Qianren and the others—had simply vanished.

  All that remained was Zhou Botong’s booming voice. “Huh? Venom? Where are you? Have you run away from me?”

  The weather that mid-autumn night was most peculiar. So dense was the fog that it had obscured the full moon as well as the faces of those standing hard by, leaving nothing but vague shapes in the murk. Voices were dulled by a dampness so palpable that it seemed to be forming a physical barrier. The curious weather had robbed everyone of their sight. Lotus stayed close to her father. Ma Yu muttered instructions to draw in the formation. Everyone listened out for the enemy, on their guard and ill at ease.

  Utter silence.

  Then, a low rustling. Growing louder, growing closer.

  “Hark! What noise is this?” Qiu Chuji asked.

  “Snakes!” Lotus cried. “The shameless old toad!”

  “Come up,” Count Seven shouted from the first floor of the Tower. “The Venom has let loose his snakes.”

  Yelping, Zhou Botong scrabbled toward the Tower as quickly as he could. He might be the most powerful martial artist present, but these creatures had always terrified him. He would not even risk the stairs, in case he got waylaid and bitten on the ankle. He sprang up using his lightness kung fu and landed, shivering, on the highest ridge of the roof.

  The serpents slithered ever closer. Lotus clung to her father as they raced for the Tower. The Quanzhen monks felt their way up the stairs, hand in hand, but Harmony Yin stumbled and fell, bumping his head. When he rejoined them, moments later, he was sporting a huge lump.

  * * *

  LOTUS WAS keeping count of who was ascending the Tower’s stairs but she did not hear Guo Jing’s footsteps. “Guo Jing? Are you here?” Her concern was apparent. She asked several times, but received no answer. “Pa, I’ll go down to look for him.”

  “There’s no need.” A frosty reply. He was just a few steps away. “Don’t use my name again. I won’t answer.”

  “How dare you speak to my daughter thus!” Apothecary Huang swung his arm out. Guo Jing ducked away from the blow and twirled his palm, ready to fight back.

  Tak, tak, tak! Arrows. Lodging into the window lattices.

  “Catch the rebels!”

  War cries rose from every direction. Bolts thudded into the woodwork of the Tower. There was no telling how many soldiers were out there.

  “The Jurchen dogs must have bribed the governor of Jiaxing to send his army!” Wang Chuyi growled.

  “We’ll slay the turncoats, every last one!” Qiu Chuji roared in reply.

  “Wait! There are snakes down there,” Hao Datong reminded his hot-blooded brother.

  The Venom’s minions had almost reached the Tower and the archers were firing with increasing rapidity. It was clear that this was a planned ambush. Wanyan Honglie must have sent his soldiers out in small boats to surround the Tower, but he could not have predicted the weather. The fog might be giving his men cover, but it was also frustrating their aim—their only target was the hazy outline of the building.

  Zhou Botong, alone on the exposed roof, was shouting curses at the snakes. He had caught two long bolts and was waving them around to ward off any others that came his way.

  “We can’t deal with both snakes and arrows up here,” Count Seven said. “We have to retreat … Let’s head west. We can take the land route.” As the Chief of the largest gang under the heavens, he had a compelling way of speaking that commanded attention, and even the respected characters of the wulin gathered in the Tower were willing to lend him their ears.

  The Tower of Mist and Rain jutted out into South Lake, embraced by water on three sides. When approached by boat, the Tower appeared to be floating on the ripples, and yet there were footpaths connecting it to the city.

  The Quanzhen Taoists led the way, groping through the mist down the stairs. They could barely make out their own hands. How were they supposed to find a path to safety?

  Qiu Chuji and Wang Chuyi twirled their swords in tandem to deflect as they picked their way through a torrent of missiles to find the route least bedeviled by archers. The rest of the group ventured forward hand in hand, reaching out to friend and foe alike, lest anyone got left behind. Guo Jing held Count Seven’s hand in his right and extended his left to grab the person next in line. The fingers were dainty and the skin soft and smooth. He felt a pang of longing and let go immediately.

  “Who wants to hold your hand?” Lotus muttered.

  “Turn back! Turn back!” Qiu Chuji shouted. “Too many snakes ahead! There’s no way through.”

  Apothecary Huang and Ma Yu had been bringing up the rear of the column, guarding against an attack from behind. At Qiu’s cry, Apothecary Huang broke off two long branches of bamboo and brushed them against the ground. Hisses. The way back was blocked by serpents. An awful stench filled the air. Lotus tried to stop herself retching, but soon succumbed.

  “There’s nowhere to go. It’s time to submit to our fate.” Apothecary Huang threw the bamboo sprigs down and lifted Lotus into his arms.

  Archers alone could not have stopped these martial Masters, but the Venom’s snakes were anothe
r matter. One bite meant instant death. And there were hundreds and thousands of the creatures. All their martial learning was no use against serpents, since Apothecary Huang had snapped his jade flute and Count Seven Hong was not yet capable of launching his Skyful of Petals technique. Blinded by the brume, they stood on the spot, listening to the slither and hiss as the snakes closed in. Even if there were a way out, they could not see through the haze to find it.

  “Little witch, give me your cane.”

  Lotus immediately handed the Dog Beater over to Ke Zhen’e. The blind man prodded the ground with the stick—“Follow me!”—and hobbled ahead, muttering as he made his way forward. “What’s so surprising about a bit of fog? How do you think the Tower got its name?”

  A native of Jiaxing, he had explored every single trail around the Tower in his childhood, and, for a sightless man, day, night, mist and fog were all the same. He could tell from the whistling of the arrows and the hissing of the snakes that a path he knew that led to the west was unobstructed, and was now heading confidently in that direction. Yet, seven or eight steps later, he found himself marching into a dense bamboo grove. Of course, he had not known that, in the intervening years, the track had become overgrown with vegetation, which was why it was not infested with snakes.

  Qiu Chuji and Wang Chuyi slashed and chopped a way through with their swords, while Ma Yu called for Zhou Botong. The Hoary Urchin sat tight-lipped on the roof, scared of making the slightest sound. What if the wriggly creatures heard his reply and swarmed up the Tower to devour him? He knew they loved the taste of his flesh. It was not a risk he was willing to take.

  4

  The group emerged from the bamboo grove a hundred or so paces later to find a footpath. The rustling of snakes was behind them, but the thunder of soliders on the march was drawing near. The governor of Jiaxing’s men were hurrying overland to outflank them. But what harm could crudely trained men-at-arms inflict upon warriors skilled in kung fu?