by Jin Yong
“Master Zhou, have no fear. It’s not a snake.”
In his fuzzy state, Zhou Botong felt himself being lifted up. The voice startled him and he sprang to his feet, only to sense the cold-blooded creature writhing against his back.
“It bit me again! It’s a snake. It’s a snake!”
“It’s a gold wah-wah. Not a snake.”
By now, Guo Jing and Lotus were able to make out the man’s features in the moonlight. It was the fisher, one of Reverend Sole Light’s four disciples. Holding the Urchin steady, he reached inside his collar and pulled out the golden salamander. The fisher then explained that he had found a pair of the amphibians in a brook earlier and had been keeping them inside his robe. One had escaped and found its way up a tree, a few moments earlier, before falling on Zhou Botong. These creatures were not known to bite, but, if the fisher had appeared any later, the Hoary Urchin would likely have fainted from fright.
Somewhat calmer now, Zhou Botong parted his eyelids to take a peek at the fellow propping him up. He thought his deliverer looked familiar, but his wits were too scattered to allow him to place his face. Hearing footsteps, he turned toward the sound and was surprised to find Qiu Qianren stumbling back from a threatening presence. He peered at this approaching figure, and, once more, his soul and spirits took flight.
Consort Liu, from King Duan’s palace in Dali!
* * *
UNTIL THIS moment, Qiu Qianren had been confident that the Contest was his to lose. Of all the heroes of the wulin likely to attend, he considered only Zhou Botong to be his martial superior. If his snakes could scare the volatile man into fleeing Mount Hua, he reasoned, then there would be no one left to stand in his way. He had never imagined that Madam Ying would be present. The sight of her brought back memories of the frenzied, reckless way she had attacked him on Blue Dragon Shoal—if this raving crone pounced on him now, the others would probably follow suit, and there was little chance of him coming out of the encounter alive.
“You killed my baby son!” the woman screeched.
The toddler’s mother!… But how does she know it was me? I disguised myself in the uniform of an imperial guard and covered my face with a mask. Qiu Qianren was shaken. He had thought King Duan would sacrifice his training to save the life of his own child, leaving him with one fewer competitor to contend with for the Greatest Martial Master title, but the stony-hearted sovereign had thwarted his plan by refusing to heal the boy …
“Mad hag, I’m warning you…”
“Give me back my son!”
“What does it have to do with me?”
“I didn’t see your face that night, but your laugh was seared into my memory. Go on, laugh! Let me hear it again!”
Qiu Qianren eyed Madam Ying’s outstretched arms and edged two steps back. He remembered her acting like this on the barge, lunging at him and trying to lock him in her arms so she could take her savage revenge. He leaned a fraction to one side, held out his right palm and smacked his left against it. The impact sent his right hand flying at an angle into Madam Ying’s lower abdomen. Yin and Yang Unite as One—one of the thirteen deadly moves of the Iron Palm repertoire.
Madam Ying thought she could dodge the ferocious attack using her Weatherfish Slip kung fu, but Qiu Qianren was too fast. Before she could even shift her footing, his palm was within half a chi of her belly. Realizing she might yet again fail to exact vengeance, she steeled herself to stomach the blow. She had in mind one last desperate gambit—to drag him over the brink. They would plunge to their deaths together. Just as she was readying herself to pounce and clamp her arms around him, a fist flew past her ear, stirring up a gust that lashed her face like a barbed whip. It forced Qiu Qianren to withdraw his lethal strike so his hands were free to deal with the new threat coming at his flank.
“Not you again, Hoary Urchin!” he growled.
For it was Zhou Botong who had stepped in, deploying a technique from the Nine Yin Manual to deflect Qiu’s lethal Iron Palm strike. In doing so, he had been careful to position himself in such a way that he had his back to the woman and would not need to look her in the eye.
“You’re no match for him. Get out of here! Go! I’m going too…” Zhou Botong forced the words out between gritted teeth, his body tense as he drew back, poised to bolt downhill, as far away from his old lover as possible.
“Zhou Botong, why won’t you avenge your son?”
Stunned, Zhou froze on the spot. “What? I had a son?”
“Yes—Qiu Qianren killed our son.”
Never in his wildest dreams had Zhou Botong imagined that their brief dalliance could have resulted in a child. He was struck dumb by the news, unsure how to respond to the revelations. Forgetting his opponent, he turned and saw a monk with the face of King Duan standing with his four disciples beside the woman he knew as Consort Liu.
Qiu Qianren, meanwhile, having spun away from Zhou Botong’s attack, now found himself with his back less than three chi from the sheer drop. And before him stood a crowd that wanted him dead. The martial Master had never been in a more precarious situation. His only hope was to talk his way out of it. He clapped his hands together and put on a show of bombast: “I came to Mount Hua to fight for the title of the Greatest Martial Master Under the Heavens, and yet you are conspiring together to eliminate me on the eve of the Contest. Who would have thought that such exulted heroes of the wulin would resort to so base a scheme?”
Zhou Botong could not dispute his logic. “As you wish. I will take your life after the Contest instead.”
“I will not wait another day!” Madam Ying hissed.
Lotus was also vexed by his concession. “Old Urchin, we keep faith with those who keep faith, and we punish those who break it. We all have a reason to fight him—he can have no complaints.”
The blood drained from Qiu Qianren’s face. He was surely doomed. But he had one last trick up his sleeve. “On what grounds are you calling for my death?” he asked, fixing his gaze on each of them in turn.
It was the scholar, Reverend Sole Light’s disciple, who answered. “The evil deeds you have committed are reason enough.”
Qiu Qianren threw his head back and let out a grating laugh. “When it comes to martial prowess, I cannot stand against your superior numbers, but, when we speak of good and evil, let one who among you has never killed nor done wrong come forth. I shall bare my neck and accept my fate like a man.”
Letting out a sigh, Sole Light was the first to step back. He sat cross-legged on the ground, with his head bowed. The rest stood in silence, thinking about the times they had erred. Not one of them had an answer for Qiu Qianren’s challenge.
The monk’s four disciples—the fisher, the logger, the farmer and the scholar—had ordered the deaths of numerous individuals when they served the Kingdom of Dali. Although they had adhered to the principles of justice during the proceedings, they could not rule out the possibility that mistakes had been made and innocent men condemned. Zhou Botong and Madam Ying exchanged glances; neither could shed the lingering guilt over what had happened between them. Guo Jing had slain many on the battlefield during the Khwarazm campaign, and he had been reproaching himself for it ever since. As for Lotus, she recalled the many worries she had subjected her father to in recent years, and regretted her deeply unfilial behavior. Then there were those she had cheated, deceived, swindled and tricked—more than she could count.
Qiu Qianren had not dared to hope that his plan would work so well. His foes were all bereft of speech, too shamed by their own misdeeds to raise a hand against him. He strode toward Guo Jing, and the young man turned aside and stepped out of his way. Qiu Qianren picked up his pace to put as much distance as possible between them, only for a switch of bamboo to come flying at him from a cluster of rocks, whacking him in the face.
So swift and sudden was this makeshift weapon that, in the split second it took Qiu Qianren to raise his left palm and twirl his wrist to try to push it aside, it jolted out of reach, ret
urning just as quickly to threaten three major vital points on his chest. The bamboo stick continued to whip into Qiu Qianren like a storm, impossible to block or avoid, forcing him to withdraw to the very edge of the cliff. And now its master emerged from his craggy hideout.
“Shifu!” Guo Jing and Lotus cried at the same time.
Count Seven Hong, the Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers.
“You stinking beggar,” Qiu Qianren said, glowering. “Have you come to pass sentence on me too? There’s still a day to go before the Contest.”
“I’m here to rid the world of evil. Not to compare kung fu.”
“Oh, indeed, great hero. Here stands your villain. But who are you to take my life? Can you claim to be innocent of all wrongdoing?”
“Aye! This Old Beggar has taken two hundred and thirty-one lives to date, and they were all miscreants. Corrupt officials, local tyrants, double-crossers, oath breakers. The Beggar Clan investigated each one thoroughly, gathering evidence, and each case was scrutinized twice over to ensure no one was wronged and there were no miscarriages of justice. Only then would I execute the trespasser. I might be a glutton and a buffoon, and sometimes a little muddled-headed when it comes to details, but I have never killed a person that did not deserve their fate. Qiu Qianren, you will be number two hundred and thirty-two!”
Count Seven Hong’s tirade had left Qiu Qianren speechless, and now the Divine Vagrant proceeded to list the man’s crimes.
“Qiu Qianren, your shifu Shangguan Jiannan was a great hero, a true patriot, a man of integrity who devoted his entire life to serving his country. And yet, when you inherited the leadership of the Iron Palm Gang, you consorted with the Jurchen invaders and betrayed your homeland. How will you face your shifu when you leave this life behind?
“You have come to Mount Hua to fight for the greatest honor the wulin can bestow. Huh! For shame! Even if you prove to be more skilled than each and every one of us, no hero under the heavens will ever crown a traitor.”
Qiu Qianren was dumbstruck by the Beggar’s fierce castigation. Memories from the past decades gushed forth into his mind. He thought of the principles and morals his shifu had tried to instill in him. He could hear his shifu’s last words and final biddings from his deathbed, as he passed on the maxims and rules of the Iron Palm Gang to the man he was entrusting with its leadership. He recalled his shifu’s exhortations to act in the best interests of their country and their people, and remembered his explanation for the Gang’s name. It was not just the name of a kung fu technique. It was a reminder to its members that they should root out evil with an iron will and strike down wickedness with a firm and steady hand. Qiu at last realized how, as he had aged and his martial skills had developed, he had strayed further and further from the tenets of the Iron Palm Gang—to serve the country with loyalty, to destroy the country’s enemies and to reclaim the country’s lost lands. He could see that he had sunk lower and lower, accepting followers that were increasingly vulgar and morally wanting, to the point that the few remaining upstanding members distanced themselves from the group. The Iron Palm Gang had become a cohort of outlaws, traitors and wrongdoers undertaking cruel deeds at the bidding of corrupt men.
Qiu Qianren looked up at the bright moon overhead. Pinned in place by Count Seven’s blazing glare, he knew he had been acting contrary to the demands of honor and dignity for most of his life. A cold sweat of shame and regret covered his skin.
“Chief Hong, thank you for your admonition.” And, with those words, Qiu Qianren turned and leaped from the precipice.
Count Seven Hong had been expecting Qiu to lash out to silence him, and had been holding the bamboo cane in readiness, for any blow was likely to be deadly. It had not occurred to him that the proud man would be driven to suicide by remorse. Before the Beggar could react, a gray shadow swooped in and a hand shot out. Sole Light was now right on the brink, still sitting in the same position with his legs crossed, but he had one arm curled around Qiu Qianren’s shins, pulling him back.
“Sadhu, sadhu! Boundless is the bitter sea, look behind you for the shore,” the monk said. “Since you rue your past ills, it is not too late to be a new man.”
Qiu Qianren knelt before the former King of Dali. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but it was all lost in a wail of anguish and a flood of tears.
Watching the broken, sobbing man, Madam Ying saw her chance and removed a sharp dagger from the inside pocket of her robe.
“No!” Zhou Botong put his hand over her wrist to forestall her attack.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Zhou Botong had been trembling with fear ever since he had set eyes on the woman, and, hearing her snap at him, all he could think of was to run away. Yelping, he flew down the mountain.
“Where are you going?” Madam Ying shouted, giving chase.
“My tummy hurts. I need to go!”
His answer stopped her in her tracks, but she soon resumed the pursuit, sprinting at her fastest pace.
“Aiyooo!” the Hoary Urchin yelled, terrified. “Don’t come any closer! I’ve soiled myself. It stinks!”
But Madam Ying had been searching for this man for twenty years, and she knew, if he slipped away this time, she would likely never see him again. What did she care if he had emptied his bowels? In fact, Zhou Botong had lied about the bad stomach, hoping to scare her into keeping her distance so he could get away. Shrieking as he ran, he suddenly realized his trousers were weighed down, after all, the fabric sticking to his legs, warm and wet.
Guo Jing and Lotus watched the odd couple disappear around a rocky bend and exchanged wry smiles. They turned to see Reverend Sole Light speaking under his breath to Qiu Qianren, as the penitent man nodded earnestly along to what he was being told.
The monk continued to impart his wisdom for a long time, before at last standing up. “Let’s go,” he said.
The young lovers stepped forward to bow to the Martial Great, then inclined their heads toward his four disciples.
With a kindly smile, Sole Light placed one hand on Guo Jing’s head and the other on Lotus’s. “Brother Seven, it gives me great joy to see you so hale and hearty. And I must congratulate you on accepting such a brilliant pair of disciples.”
Bowing, the Beggar returned the courtesy. “I am happy to see the Reverend in good health. Thank you for saving the lives of these two little ones.”
“Water runs far in mountains tall, our paths shall cross again.” The monk touched his palms together in a Buddhist gesture of respect, then set off downhill.
“Are you leaving now? The Contest is tomorrow.”
Sole Light looked back at Count Seven Hong with a smile. “This old monk leads a simple life, unfettered by worldly trappings. It is not my place to contend with the foremost heroes under the heavens. I came to resolve the wrongs and entanglements that have tied us down for so long, and, thanks be to good fortune, I have succeeded. But, Brother Seven, you deserve the honor. Who in this world can compare to you? There is no need to be humble.” He made another obeisance, took Qiu Qianren by the hand and resumed his descent. His four disciples bent low in deference and followed their Master.
As the scholar walked past Lotus, he noticed the color in her cheeks and the joyful spark in her eyes, and recited with a smile:
“In the damp lowlands are carambola trees,
Supple and luxuriant are their branches.”
Catching the joke made at her expense, Lotus also replied in verse:
“Chickens rest in the roost in the wall,
The day has reached eventide.”
Laughing heartily, the scholar put his hands together to take his leave.
“Lotus, what was that about?” Guo Jing could not make head nor tail of the exchange.
“Quotes from The Book of Songs.”
“Oh.” Knowing nothing about poetry, Guo Jing chose not to pursue that line of conversation.
Lotus noted his reaction with a smile. Chancellor Zhu is indeed
perceptive, she said to herself. He has seen clearly into my heart and cited this poem because it is known to be a love song about a young woman’s feelings for her unmarried sweetheart. The final line of each stanza is especially apt:
In delight, envy your wanting for awareness.
In delight, envy your wanting for kindred.
In delight, envy your wanting for household.
They do suit Guo Jing—a headstrong and artless boy, without the ties of kin or the bonds of marriage. It does work well …
“Oh no!” Lotus suddenly cried out loud.
“What is it?”
“I just thought of the next lines of the poem I quoted.” She gave a sheepish grin.
“Goats and oxen come down the hill.
Goats and oxen make their way home.
“I wanted to call Chancellor Zhu a four-legged beast, but I now realize I included Uncle Sole Light in the insult … and that’s terribly rude of me!”
The convoluted jibe did not interest Guo Jing, so he cast his mind back to what Count Seven Hong had said when reprimanding Qiu Qianren. He sensed that the Beggar’s words could help him to at last untangle the jumble of questions that had been troubling him.
Shifu said he had killed two hundred and thirty-one trespassers, each of them a villain, Guo Jing reminded himself. Because Shifu’s conscience is clear, when he chastised Qiu Qianren, he exuded a might that could not be challenged, even though their martial skills are on a par. Qiu Qianren’s malevolent heart could not withstand the force of justice that Shifu embodies. And I can aspire to be like Shifu—I can use my kung fu to do good, to uphold righteousness. I don’t have to discard what I’ve learned.
In fact, Qiu Chuji had tried to explain this same simple truth to Guo Jing, but his words did not carry the same weight as Count Seven Hong’s, and the barbaric massacres of the Khwarazm campaign and his mother’s suicide had been too fresh in the boy’s mind. Applying Count Seven’s remarks to the questions he had been grappling with, Guo Jing at last found some measure of peace, secure in his belief that he should follow in his shifu’s footsteps.
