by Jin Yong
I wish Lotus were still here, he sighed. She could hate me, resent me—I don’t mind. She could spurn me, ignore me—I’d accept that. She could marry another man—I’d give her my blessing. As long as she was here, alive!
At last, the tangled thoughts that had so troubled Guo Jing were beginning to straighten out.
2
Arriving in a small town near the city of Jinan, in Shandong province, Guo Jing found himself a table at a tavern, in the hope of dulling his grief with drink. Just as he was gulping down his third cup, a burly man rushed through the doors.
“Tartar scum!” he shouted, jabbing a finger into Guo Jing’s face. “You murdered my family. I’ll kill you!” The finger was swiftly followed by a punch.
Taken aback, Guo Jing raised his left hand, caught the man’s wrist and guided his fist away to one side. The reflexive defensive move slammed the fellow facedown into the floor—he clearly knew no martial arts at all. Guo Jing was extremely sorry that he had given this man a bloody forehead and extended a hand to help him up.
“Brother, you’re mistaking me for someone else.”
“Tartar scum!” the man yelled even louder. A dozen or so townspeople charged into the tavern and started raining blows on Guo Jing in a scrum of fists and feet.
Over the past few days, Guo Jing had come to the conclusion that kung fu brought only harm and destruction, and had made up his mind not to raise a hand against anyone. So he swerved and dodged from side to side, refusing to launch a single counterstroke at these aggressive strangers, none of whom had any martial training. But, as more and more angry men poured in, filling the little tavern, quite a number of punches and kicks began to land on his body. Guo Jing knew he had to get away from the mob before the situation got out of hand. Just as he gathered his strength to clear a path out of the tavern, he heard a familiar voice from beyond the doorway.
“Guo Jing, what are you doing here?”
The young man looked through the crowd to see strands of a long, flowing beard fluttering over plain Taoist robes—Eternal Spring Qiu Chuji!
“Elder Qiu!” he cried out in joy. “I don’t know why they’re attacking me.”
Qiu Chuji parted the hostile horde and pulled Guo Jing out from their midst. The two martial men sped off using lightness qinggong, leaving the brawlers panting far behind.
Ulaan found his master by following his whistles, and it did not take long for the three of them to reach the uninhabited wilderness beyond the town. The young man recounted how he had been set upon for no reason whatsoever, but Qiu Chuji just laughed at his confusion.
“You’re dressed in Mongolian clothes. The townsfolk took you for one of them.”
The Taoist went on to explain that the Mongolians and the Jurchens had been waging war throughout Shandong. At first, the people aided the Mongols, for they had long suffered under the Jin, but soon they discovered that all soldiers are equally savage. They had merely swapped one tyranny for another—villages were still being burned, people were still being slaughtered, women were still being taken, anything of value was still being plundered … So, whenever the locals found Mongolian riders separated from their fellows, they would tear into the stragglers, beating them to death.
“Why didn’t you fight back? You’re bruised and swollen all over.”
Guo Jing heaved a sigh and told Qiu Chuji about Genghis Khan’ssecret plan for the conquest of the Song Empire, which had led to his mother’s suicide and his escape from Mongolia.
“We must hurry south and warn the Imperial Court. We need to prepare our defenses.”
“What good will that do? When two armies meet, there won’t just be mountains of dead soldiers—countless lives and homes will also be destroyed.”
“The people’s suffering will be greater if our Song Empire falls to the Mongols.”
Guo Jing considered Qiu Chuji’s response. “There are many things I struggle to fathom. Could I ask the Reverend to enlighten me?”
The Taoist monk took the young man by the hand, led him to a nearby scholar tree and invited him to sit down in its shade. “I shall do what I can.”
The concerns Guo Jing had been wrestling with for the past days poured out of him, in particular his confusion over what was right and wrong, and the moral pitfalls of practicing the martial arts. When he was done, the young man exhaled deeply and added, “I have decided never again to raise a hand against another person. I wish I could unlearn what I’ve learned, but it’s hard to make the muscles forget. Just now, without even thinking about it, I cracked open a poor fellow’s head.”
“You’re mistaken, Guo Jing. When the existence of the Nine Yin Manual became known in the wulin, decades ago, many martial masters died trying to obtain it. As you know, that was why the Contest of Mount Hua was held. My shifu, Wang Chongyang the Double Sun Immortal, prevailed over the other Greats and won custodianship of the Manual. He had originally planned to destroy it, but he changed his mind, saying, ‘Water can carry a boat, but it can also capsize it. Let the world decide whether they will use it for good or evil.’
“Literary flair, military wisdom, hardy soldiers, sharp weapons—they can all be of great benefit to humankind, but they can also bring calamity upon us. If you are compassionate and stout of heart, then, the stronger your kung fu, the more good you can do. Why would you wish to cast off your knowledge?”
“I am sure the Reverend knows best,” Guo Jing said, mulling over the Taoist’s words. “The greatest martial artists of our age are the Heretic of the East, the Venom of the West, the King of the South and the Beggar of the North. It’s no mean feat to even approach their level, and yet, if one manages to do so, what good will it bring—for oneself and for the people?”
Qiu Chuji considered how best to respond. “Apothecary Huang’s peculiar conduct is rooted in his disdain for convention and worldly ways,” he said, after a long pause, “but he is not often given the chance to explain or justify himself. However, he is also known to act willfully, with little regard for others, and that I cannot condone. Viper Ouyang has done many wicked deeds and we need say no more about him. King Duan was a generous and benevolent ruler who could have done much good for the people, but he chose to renounce the world and live as a recluse because of an affair of the heart, which is not exactly the behavior of one who possesses true compassion and staunch principles. The one I wholly admire and would happily prostrate myself before is Count Seven Hong—he truly does uphold justice and help those in need. The second Contest of Mount Hua is almost upon us. It is possible that someone out there may surpass Chief Hong’s martial achievements, but the heroes under the heavens will still honor him above all others in the wulin—because none can fault him for his actions and his heart.”
“Has Shifu recovered from his injuries? Do you know if he’ll compete on Mount Hua?”
“I haven’t seen Chief Hong since returning from the Western Regions, but, whether or not he takes part in the Contest, I am sure he will be there. I am on my way to the mountain myself, in fact. Why don’t you come with me?”
“Pardon me, Elder Qiu, but I do not wish to go to a place where the only talk is of kung fu.” Guo Jing was feeling so disillusioned that the mere thought of the Contest made him apprehensive.
“Where will you go next?”
“I don’t know.”
Qiu Chuji was unsettled by Guo Jing’s low spirits and withered expression, which were those of a man who had suffered a grave illness and lost all will to live. He tried to console the young man and cheer him up, but the only response he managed to solicit was a weary shake of the head.
He doesn’t want to listen to me, the Taoist thought with a sigh, but he’ll probably heed his shifu Count Seven Hong. If I can persuade him to come to Mount Hua, a reunion with Chief Hong will spur him on and lift him out of this rut. But how do I get him to join me?… Yes, maybe this will work!
Qiu Chuji looked Guo Jing in the eye and said, “If you truly wish to set aside your martial skill
s, I believe it is possible.”
“Really?”
“There is a man who mastered the Nine Yin Manual without any conscious effort on his part, but, in order to stay true to the vow he made, he forced himself to forget everything—”
“Of course! Brother Zhou! He can teach me his method!”
Guo Jing jumped up in excitement, but then it struck him how rude he had been—Zhou Botong was Qiu Chuji’s martial uncle, so, by calling him brother, he had just claimed to be the Taoist’s senior.
Noticing the young man’s sheepish expression, Qiu Chuji smiled. “Uncle Zhou cares little for hierarchies and honorifics. Call him what you like, I don’t mind.”
“Where is he?”
“He’ll most certainly come to Mount Hua.”
“I will join you, then.”
When they reached the next town, Guo Jing bought a horse for Qiu Chuji and they rode side by side westward, arriving at the foot of Mount Hua in a matter of days.
3
One of the Five Mountains that Chinese Emperors had since time immemorial made pilgrimage to, Mount Hua was known as the Mountain of the West because it occupied the most westerly location among its fellow peaks. The ancients matched the Five Mountains to the Five Classics of the Confucian canon, and Mount Hua, with its sheer crags and jagged tors, was compared to the Spring and Autumn Annals, which had the most austere content out of all the Classics, being a chronicle of major events in the State of Lu.
Qiu Chuji and Guo Jing began their ascent from the south, where the start of the trail was marked by the Mountain Herb Pavilion. Twelve enormous dragon-vine trees had taken root beside this open structure. Coiled and intertwined, their gnarly branches twisted toward the heavens like flying dragons, reminding Guo Jing of the Dragon Soars in the Sky technique from the Dragon-Subduing Palm. He even started to see connections between the rugged contours of the ancient bark and the key tenets of the Nine Yin Manual, and found himself dreaming up a fist-fighting repertoire of twelve moves based on their stark, knotty outlines. He was drawn into the mental exercise, until a sudden thought stole into his mind: Why am I dreaming up new ways to hurt people? I’m supposed to be setting aside my kung fu!
While Guo Jing berated himself for his lack of resolve, he heard Qiu Chuji say, “To us Taoists, Mount Hua is of great spiritual importance. These twelve dragon-vine trees are said to have been planted by our Ancient Grandmaster Chen Tuan.”
“Is he the Immortal who slept for many years?”
“Quite so! Ancient Grandmaster Chen Tuan, or Master Xiyi, as he was sometimes honored, was born toward the end of the Tang dynasty and lived under five ruling families—Liang, Tang, Jin, Han and Zhou. Each time he heard about a dynastic change, he shut the doors of his house and lay down in sorrow. Rumor had it that he was deep in slumber, but, in fact, he was so concerned about the chaos and disturbances under the heavens and the sufferings of the common people that he kept himself indoors. And yet, when he heard the news that Emperor Taizu, the founding father of our Song Empire, had ascended the throne, he roared with laughter. So elated was he that he fell off his donkey and announced that peace had come to the world. Emperor Taizu was benevolent and compassionate; the people did indeed live well under his rule.”
“If Ancient Grandmaster Chen Tuan were alive today, he would probably close his doors again, for years,” Guo Jing said, shaking his head sadly.
Sighing, Qiu Chuji replied, “The Mongolians have taken control of the north, and now they’ve turned their sights on the South. Our Song Emperor and his officials are corrupt and inept. They see no way to turn the situation around, but we are full-blooded men, we cannot just give up, even when all seems lost. Master Xiyi was as wise as he was enlightened, but to stand aside and shy away from the cause of one’s worries is not an act befitting a truly compassionate and righteous man, nor the behavior of one who lives according to the moral code of xia.”
The two men left their horses at the base of the mountain and made their way up on foot. They passed through Peach Grove Plain, crossed Xiyi Gorge and continued on their way up Sal Tree Plain. Mount Hua lived up to its treacherous reputation, and the path grew more perilous with each step they took toward the summit. When they came to the Gate of Western Mysteries, the route was so steep that one had to hoist oneself up with the help of a metal cable, but Qiu Chuji and Guo Jing scaled the severe incline with ease, using lightness kung fu. After another seven li, they arrived at Green Branches Plain. Beyond this rare stretch of flat terrain, vertiginous rocks rose up, looking for all the world as though they had been splintered from the peak with sharp blades, and a giant boulder blocked the way to the northern escarpment.
“This is Turn Around Rock,” Qiu Chuji explained. “From here to the summit, the trail is even more dangerous. Travelers would be wise to heed its advice at this point.”
A small stone pavilion stood ahead of them, far in the distance. The Taoist monk pointed it out. “That’s Wager Pavilion. Legend has it that Emperor Taizu played a game of Go, there, with Chen Tuan, with Mount Hua as the stake. The Emperor lost, and the people of this place have been exempt from sending silver and grain to the court ever since.”
“Genghis Khan, the Shah of Khwarazm, the Emperors of the Song and the Jin—they gamble with each other for mastery of the world, and we common people are just the many stones they toy with on the Go board.”
“Indeed.” Qiu Chuji nodded in agreement. “Guo Jing, it makes me very happy to hear that you’ve been thinking about such matters, and that you’re no longer the unworldly, rather ignorant boy you once were. As you have wisely observed, these kings, rulers and generals wager their subjects and their kingdoms, and when they lose, they don’t just lose their lands, they lose their heads, and in the process bring immeasurable pain to the people.”
The conversation lapsed as the two men navigated the Thousand Chi Precipice and the Hundred Chi Crevice, for so narrow were these passes that they could only progress by squeezing themselves through them sideways.
Guo Jing marveled at the dizzying landscape. If someone were to waylay us here, he said to himself, we’d have no room to maneuver or defend ourselves.
Just as that notion entered his head, a man called out to them from up ahead. “Qiu Chuji, we spared you at the Tower of Mist and Rain. Why are you here on Mount Hua?”
The Taoist dashed forward a few steps and took cover in a slight recess along the cliff wall. Marginally less exposed, he looked up to see Hector Sha, Tiger Peng, Lama Supreme Wisdom and Browbeater Hou blocking the precipitous path to the summit. He had expected Viper Ouyang and Qiu Qianren to make an appearance, but had reasoned that since Zhou Botong, Count Seven Hong and Apothecary Huang would also be present, he would not have to worry about them. What he had not foreseen was that mediocre martial artists like Hector Sha would also make the journey, and that they would be so contemptible as to ambush him during his ascent through unfavorable terrain.
Qiu Chuji was now standing in a less precarious spot, but it would not take much to send him plummeting into the ravine ten thousand zhang below. To grasp the advantage of making the first move, the monk drew his sword with a sha! and thrust its point at Browbeater Hou in a White Flash Pierces the Sky.
The Three-Horned Dragon was not only the weakest of Qiu Chuji’s assailants, he had also lost an arm to Apothecary Huang in Ox Village. Nevertheless, he was able to twist away from the ferocious lunge and fend it off with his pitchfork.
As the two weapons clashed, Qiu Chuji’s strength surged to the tip of his blade. Using the point of contact as a pivot, the Taoist sprung up and vaulted over Browbeater Hou’s head, a leap that also sent him sailing clear of Tiger Peng and Lama Supreme Wisdom’s combined pincer assault.
Their weapons fell on the cliff face instead. Sparks flew as metal grated on rock.
Seeing his companions fail to hold back Qiu Chuji, despite their three to one advantage, Hector Sha swerved this way and that using Shape Changing kung fu to block the Taoist monk�
�s advance. Qiu flashed his sword, forcing Sha to retreat farther and farther back. The Dragon King was determined to stand in the Quanzhen Master’s way, but he too was impeded by the loss of an arm, which had been hacked off at Iron Spear Temple to stem the spread of Viper Ouyang’s venom.
At last, Qiu Chuji managed to push past his opponent, but Hector Sha gave chase, refusing to give him a moment’s respite. Tiger Peng had now rejoined the fray, jabbing at Qiu with his Scribe’s Brushes, while Lama Supreme Wisdom clashed and clanged his cymbals.
Guo Jing could see that Qiu Chuji was increasingly hard-pressed. He knew he ought to step in, but, at the same time, he was revolted by the fierce fighting—surely it would be immoral to involve himself in such a scrap. He turned his back on the skirmish and climbed down the pass with the help of a vine, looking for a different route to the summit. As he walked away, two questions echoed in his mind: Should I help Elder Qiu? Should I raise my fists again? The more he agonized over what he ought to do, the more befuddled he became. If I don’t help him and he ends up injured or worse, would it be my fault? If I help him and throw his attackers off the cliff, would that be right or wrong?
He was now so far from the scuffle that he could no longer hear the clash of weapons. Sitting down on a boulder, he stared blankly at the majestic prospect, trying to settle on the right course of action.
Guo Jing focused on his dilemma, with no sense of how much time was passing, until a rustle from a nearby clutch of trees jolted him back to the present. He looked over to find a man with long white hair and a ruddy complexion peering at him—Graybeard Liang the Ginseng Codger—then turned back to survey the view once more.
Putting Guo Jing’s blank reaction down to his confidence in his superior martial skills, Old Liang ducked back among the trees. He was ruffled to be so ignored, though he could not deny that the boy was indeed more than a match for him. He watched from his hiding place with bated breath, expecting Guo Jing to come for him at any moment, but the frowning young man just mumbled to himself, listless and lost, as if he had been possessed by demons.
