by Jin Yong
Guo Jing and Lotus were disappointed that the warrior they had heard so much about was turning out to be a terrible leader. His first priority had not been the city’s defenses, but petty punishments against those who disagreed with his subordinates. It was clear that the guardians of this city were not a united front. They were even more alarmed when they witnessed the offhand way Li Quan treated information about enemy movements in the region.
“How many men? Mongols or Jurchens? Not the Mongols? Can’t be. Where’s their vanguard now?”
The answer was given in similar broad strokes, to the extent that it was impossible to tell if the scout’s report was genuine or made up. The exchange ruined Guo Jing and Lotus’s appetite. After a quiet discussion, they took their leave, and Lotus set off on Ulaan for a quick reconnaissance of the surrounding area.
At sundown, Guo Jing waited outside the north gate for her return. He rushed forward when he saw a cloud of dust rising from the horizon—Ulaan was galloping at full speed. Lotus tugged at the reins the moment she spotted Guo Jing.
“Mongolians, at least a hundred thousand.” Her face was pale, her voice strained with tension. “How can we resist them?”
“That many?” Guo Jing bowed to Lotus. “You must have a plan, my strategist.”
Lotus shook her head. “I’ve been thinking this over since Samarkand. In single combat, no more than two or three people under the heavens can match you. We don’t have much to worry about in a fight against a few dozen men, maybe even a hundred. But, with tens of thousands out there, what can the two of us do to make a difference?”
“The Song Empire has enough subjects and soldiers to resist the Mongolians. If we were of one heart, we’d have nothing to fear. But the traitors at court are cowardly and corrupt. Every decision they make is a disaster for the people and the country. And the so-called Patriotic Army busy themselves with infighting, when our true enemies are almost at the city gates!”
“Well, we’ll just have to kill as many Mongolians as we can. If the worst happens, we can ride away on Ulaan … We can’t burden ourselves with all the worries of the world.”
“That’s not right, Lotus. We’ve studied General Yue Fei’s The Secret to Defeating the Jin, and we should follow his example and repay our country with loyalty. He gave our people a taste of victory, and we can use his methods to defeat the Mongolians. Even if nothing comes of it, we should do everything in our power to help. If we die on the battlefield, we will have lived up to the principles our parents and shifus instilled in us.”
“I knew this day would come eventually. Very well! Live together, die together!”
Now that they had confirmed their resolve to defend their country at all costs, Guo Jing and Lotus felt more at ease. They headed back into the city, found an inn and drank as they discussed the coming invasion and the prospect of separation in life and in death, their hearts closer than ever before.
At the second watch of the night, their conversation was interrupted by heart-rending wails from beyond the city walls.
“They’re here!” Lotus cried.
The young couple hurried to position themselves on the battlements of the north gate. Streams of refugees—men and women, young and old—were making for the city.
Faced with endless skirmishes between different factions of the Song military, many of Qingzhou’s residents had chosen to camp in the wilderness surrounding the city, but, now that the Mongols were here, they had no choice but to seek safety within the city walls.
An officer rode up to the north gate and ordered the guards to make sure it remained shut and barred—under no circumstances should they allow anyone inside. Moments later, a company of archers manned the ramparts at Li Quan’s command. Arrows nocked, bows drawn, they took aim at their fellow countrymen, shouting at them to get back.
“The Mongols are here!” Screams and shouts filled the air, but the north gate remained shut.
From their elevated vantage point, Guo Jing and Lotus could just about make out the faint glow of a fiery dragon slithering in their direction through the dark of the night.
The Mongolian vanguard.
Guo Jing knew from experience that Genghis Khan’s army would be with them by dawn. And he was well acquainted with the conqueror’s siege craft—he would send prisoners to scale the walls ahead of his warriors. But what really troubled the young man was the prospect of a first wave of bloodshed before the Mongols even arrived. The blood of the people of Qingzhou—those outside the walls pitted against those inside for a chance to be protected by the city’s fortifications.
Now was the moment to act. Guo Jing waved his arms for attention and projected his voice: “If Qingzhou falls, we all die. If you’re a real man, join me and fight!” He jumped from the ramparts to find a way to force open the gates.
“Arrest him!” the officer shouted, upon hearing Guo Jing’s call to arms, for he was a loyal follower of Li Quan. Before any of his men could carry out his orders, Guo Jing grabbed him by the front of his robe, dragged him out of the saddle and mounted his warhorse.
“Open the gate!” he demanded, towering over the officer.
The bulk of the Patriotic Army rank and file had joined up because they believed in retaking lost Song land, and they were repulsed by the idea of keeping their fellow countrymen out. After all, many had friends and family in the crush beyond the walls, and it was impossible to remain unmoved by their despairing cries. Not a single soldier gave any thought to rescuing their leader.
Fearful for his life, the officer relented. The gates were flung open and the refugees poured in like a swelling tide.
Guo Jing grabbed a spear and placed the officer under Lotus’s watch, ready to ride out to intercept the enemy.
“Wait!” Lotus stopped him. She made their captive strip off his armor, then strapped it onto Guo Jing herself, taking the chance to whisper in his ear: “Say you have an imperial mandate to lead the army out.” She then flicked the officer’s pressure points to lock his movements and left him at the foot of the ramparts.
“I was sent by His Majesty the Song Emperor to defend this city and its people. Fight with me!” Guo Jing cried, amplifying his voice with qi from the Elixir Field. His words cut through the din, loud and clear. For a moment, the people of Qingzhou fell silent, then they erupted in cheers. No one had time to consider whether or not he was telling the truth, for their enemies would be upon them in a matter of hours. Moreover, with clashes between the Patriotic Army and the regular army a daily occurrence, the soldiers were used to conflicting orders. They were not going to question a leader that gave them hope.
Guo Jing mustered six or seven thousand volunteers, but even the soldiers among them were disorganized and ill-trained. How could this ragtag band possibly stand against elite Mongol riders?
A sudden situation calls for surprise, an army in danger calls for deceit.
With this maxim from The Secret to Defeating the Jin in mind, Guo Jing sent three thousand men to conceal themselves behind a hill to the east. He ordered them to wave their standards and shout at the top of their voices when the cannons fired to give the signal—but to make certain that only the banners were visible. A similar battalion was sent with orders to do the same behind the hill on the west when the cannons sounded for a second time. He then gave detailed instructions to the artillery teams. Reassured by confident and clear commands, the unit captains took their men to their positions.
When first light came, it was heralded by the beating of drums and the calls of a thousand bugles, soon followed by a dust storm kicked up by countless galloping horses. The Mongols had arrived.
By now, all the refugees had entered the city. Lotus rode up to Guo Jing, armed with a spear, in time to hear him issue his final command before the battle began: “Keep all four gates open! Everyone must remain inside. If anyone is caught disobeying this order, off with their head!”
The jingle of horse bells announced the arrival of Li Quan and Yang Miaozhen. Li, cla
d in full armor, carried a saber, while Yang held her Pear Blossom Spear. The burnished spear point glittered in the sunlight. She looked every inch the warrior of legend that had first captured Lotus’s imagination.
When the first unit of Mongol riders charged toward Qingzhou, they were surprised to find that the city gates had been thrown open. Stranger still, their approach was barred not by a waiting army, but by two teenagers standing side by side, their only support, a middle-aged couple. The commander of the thousand-strong detachment halted his men and sent his fastest rider to report this unexpected situation to his superior.
Hearing the news, the divisional general rode to the frontline to see for himself, and immediately recognized Guo Jing among those standing outside the walls. He had admired the clever strategies deployed by the young commander when taking cities on the road to Samarkand, culminating in the fearless descent into the capital itself, and he knew the youth had never lost a battle.
The veteran soldier studied the view that the open gates offered him into the city, eyeing the empty streets of Qingzhou with caution, then cupped his hands in greeting. “Prince of the Golden Blade.”
Guo Jing returned the salute, but did not speak.
The Mongolian wheeled his horse around and hurried back to inform the general in overall command of the campaign. An hour or so later, a yak’s-tail banner came into view, carried by an elite mounted unit in fine iron armor.
It was Tolui, the fourth son of Genghis Khan.
“Guo Jing, anda!”
“Brother Tolui!”
In the past, the sworn brothers would have leaped from their saddles and folded their arms around each other in a warm embrace, but now they pulled their horses to a stop when they were still five zhang apart.
“Anda, you have come to invade my homeland,” Guo Jing stated dispassionately.
Tolui tried to explain. “I am here under Father’s orders. I do not have a choice. Please forgive me.”
Guo Jing scanned the horizon. Flags swirled like clouds, sabers sparkled like fresh snow. If they charge at us now, we’ll all die here today. He fixed his gaze on Tolui once more. “Very well. Come and take my life.”
The Mongolian Prince was taken aback by Guo Jing’s tone. I cannot match his talent on the battlefield, he told himself. And our ties are as close as ties of flesh and blood. Am I really supposed to destroy such a bond?
Watching from afar, Li Quan and Yang Miaozhen were stunned to see their visitor conversing with the Mongol commander. They did not know what to make of it. Lotus, meanwhile, gave the signal for the cannons to fire from the city walls.
Boom! War cries erupted from the hill to the east.
All color drained from Tolui’s face.
The cannons sounded again. Banners were raised above the slopes to the west.
We’re surrounded! Tolui realized with horror. He knew that there were only several thousand fighting men in Qingzhou, and, under normal circumstances, they would represent no threat at all, but, with Guo Jing on their side, he could not afford to be careless. He bid his anda farewell and gave the order for the army to retreat and set up camp thirty li from the city.
With Tolui gone, Lotus allowed herself a smile at his expense. “Congratulations! You’ve tricked them with an empty city.”
Her words did nothing to dispel the grim look on Guo Jing’s face. He knew it was a hollow victory. “Tolui is patient and determined. He’ll be back tomorrow. What do we do then?”
“There is one way … but, you’re sworn brothers. You may not wish to…”
“… You want me to assassinate him?”
“He is Genghis Khan’s youngest son and also his favorite. His status is far above that of an ordinary general. If the Fourth Prince dies, the army will withdraw.”
Guo Jing did not know how to respond. He rode back into the city with his head bowed.
Awed by the exchange they had just witnessed, and by the way Guo Jing had sent an army into retreat single-handedly, Li Quan and Yang Miaozhen invited the young couple back to their residence to celebrate.
Guo Jing was in low spirits. He insisted that the Mongolians would return the next day and asked Li about his plans for defending the city.
“You are good friends with the Mongolian commander,” the Patriotic Army General ventured. “Perhaps you can agree terms for laying down our arms to save the city.”
“Pah!” Guo Jing spat. “If you want to surrender, negotiate your own terms, but you won’t save a single life that way.”
Embarrassed, Li Quan and Yang Miaozhen made their excuses and withdrew from the feast.
Guo Jing was all too familiar with the Mongolian attitude toward those who yielded—mercy did not come into it. As dusk fell, his ears seemed to become more sensitive to the sobs and wails that could be heard throughout the city. He could already see the brutal fate awaiting its people. Qingzhou’s streets would be awash with blood, every living soul inside its walls butchered.
The massacre of Samarkand came back to him, turning his stomach, and he struck the dining table. “Ancient heroes sacrificed their kin to safeguard their principles. I can give up one friendship to save a city.”
6
Changing into black clothes to blend into the night, Guo Jing and Lotus rode north for the Mongolian camp. They tethered their horses a few li short of it and made the final approach on foot. At the perimeter of the camp, they captured two sentries, locked their acupoints and stripped them of their armor. Thus disguised, it did not take them long to reach Tolui’s ger, since Guo Jing knew the habits of the Mongol army inside out.
It was now completely dark. Guo Jing and Lotus crept up to the sizeable tent and peered through a gap in the felt.
Tolui was pacing around in a state of restless agitation, muttering: “Guo Jing, anda…”
Lotus clamped her hand over Guo Jing’s mouth just as he parted his lips to speak. Only then did the youth realize his mistake—Tolui was talking to himself!
“A true man is resolute. Get it done,” Lotus urged him under her breath.
Just then, they heard pounding hooves approaching. The rider dismounted just a few feet from the entrance to the ger. Guo Jing knew only messengers bearing the most urgent dispatch would remain in the saddle all the way up to a commander’s tent.
“Let’s hear the news first,” he said.
A herald clad in yellow prostrated himself before Tolui. “Fourth Prince, I have orders from the Great Khan.”
“Speak.”
Rising to his knees, the herald presented Tolui with a roll of parchment, then began to chant. Though the Mongolian script was widely used in Genghis Khan’s court, the conqueror himself could neither read nor write, so his edicts and messages were often passed on verbally as well as in writing. With more complex matters like military orders, the words were arranged into songs to make them easier to commit to memory, and the messengers were tested again and again before they set off, to ensure accurate delivery.
Only three lines had been sung, and Tolui was already in tears. Guo Jing also felt his heart skip a beat. Genghis Khan had fallen ill after the successful conquest of Tangut, and his health had failed to improve in the weeks that followed. He was asking Tolui to return by the swiftest horse.
The message ended thus:
I have missed Guo Jing greatly. If you discover his whereabouts in the South, you must entreat him to come north to bid me a final farewell. All his offenses are forgiven.
Guo Jing cut the ger open with his dagger and stepped inside. “I’ll come with you, anda.”
Tolui was startled by the intrusion, but, when he realized it was Guo Jing, he hurried over to give his sworn brother a hug.
The messenger kowtowed before Guo Jing. “Prince of the Golden Blade, the Great Khan speaks of you every day. Please, visit him in the golden ger.”
Hearing himself addressed by his former title, Guo Jing was reminded of all the misunderstandings that had blighted his relationship with Lotus. He ducked out
through the gap he had made, took her hand and led her into the ger. “We’ll go together and we’ll come back together.”
* * *
TOLUI ORDERED the retreat that night, and the army set off the following morning. Guo Jing and Lotus traveled side by side, as the two condors wheeled overhead.
“Li Quan is weak,” Guo Jing said with a sigh. “What fire he had in him has gone out. He will surrender when the Mongolians return.” His prediction was proved accurate when Qingzhou was besieged again, some months later.
Worried that he would not make it in time to see his father, Tolui entrusted the army’s return to his deputy, and gathered the swiftest horses to race back with Guo Jing and Lotus. The three of them reached Genghis Khan’s camp in Tangut in less than a month. The Prince was relieved to see the nine-tail banner hoisted high over the golden ger. The Great Khan was still alive.
Tolui dismounted by the entrance to the tent and rushed inside. Guo Jing reined in his horse some distance away. He was deeply conflicted about seeing Genghis Khan again. The man had raised him like his own son, recognized his talent and given him opportunities, but he had also driven his mother to suicide in pursuit of his limitless ambitions and put whole cities to the sword to soothe his injured pride. Guo Jing felt both love and disgust for the conqueror, and the weight of these opposing emotions weighed heavy upon him.
A fanfare dragged him back to the present. A company of archer-bodyguards lined up in two rows before the golden ger. Wrapped in black sable, Genghis Khan emerged, holding on to Tolui for support. His stride was as long and bold as before, but it was plain for all to see that he was no longer steady on his feet.
Guo Jing dismounted and prostrated himself before the great warrior.
Hot tears streamed down Genghis Khan’s face. “Get up! Get up!” he said with a tremor in his voice. “You’re back, Guo Jing, my boy. You’ve both come back. This is excellent! I have thought of you every day,” he added, patting Tolui on the shoulder.
