by Jin Yong
Receiving no reply, the Master of White Camel Mount said, “I don’t mind waiting. Go on. Wave your whip. You can do it for hours. Until daybreak, if you like. Let’s see who gives up first.”
The moonlight danced with the silver coil. A thousand rays flashed.
Cyclone Mei kept her tongue in check and her whip airborne. Time was not on her side. Her strength, as he had predicted, would soon be spent. Was there a way out? Deadly serpents in every direction. She might be bitten if she moved her foot by a mere inch. And once the venom had entered her bloodstream, no kung fu would be able to help her.
Relishing his control of the situation, Gallant Ouyang sat down again and addressed Mei with mock familiarity. “Sister Mei, you’ve had the Manual for twenty years. Surely you know it by heart, by now? Why hang on to a tatty old book? Lend it to me and we can be friends.”
“Call off your snakes first.”
“I’ll happily oblige, as soon as I hold the Manual in my hands.”
I’ll tear it to pieces first, Cyclone Mei thought to herself. The Manual was the only memento she had left of her husband, Hurricane Chen. It was dearer to her than life itself. And she had vowed never to let it fall into enemy hands.
Mercy Mu wanted to shout, Jump into the trees! but the gag swallowed her words. Without her sight, Cyclone Mei did not realise she could find refuge in the silent pine trees standing just beside her.
Mei reached inside the pocket in her shirt. “Fine! I admit defeat. Come and get it.”
“Throw it to me.”
“Catch!”
She flicked her right hand. The air murmured.
Two women in white were hit by something and slumped sideways. Gallant Ouyang threw himself to the ground and rolled away.
“You’ll regret this, crone!” he yelled in anger. “You’ll be begging me for death when I’ve finished with you!” He regained his footing and retreated to a safe distance as a cold sweat broke out across his back.
Cyclone Mei had not expected to miss her target. Few could detect her Vanishing Needles, lightning fast and silent as they were. Even fewer could evade them. She felt a grudging respect for her opponent’s kung fu.
Gallant Ouyang watched her hands carefully, now that he was out of her range. She continued to lash her whip, but, having done so for more than an hour, her defences were beginning to weaken. Gallant urged the snakes forward.
Mei could sense the hundreds of snakes at her feet, and could still hear thousands more approaching. She could last only so long. How am I going to get out of this? she asked herself as she tightened the circle of protection to conserve energy.
Noticing how she was growing short of breath, Gallant Ouyang knew the moment was close and signalled the herders to keep the pressure up. Yet, a part of him feared closing in on her too quickly, in case she realised death was upon her and she destroyed the Manual. His whole focus was now on her free hand, ready to intercept the second he sighted the Manual.
Mei clutched onto the Manual in her shirt pocket as the snakes edged closer. She was angry at the thought of being bested by these legless, scaly creatures, and frustrated because her husband’s death would go forever unavenged.
Just then, music resounded in the hills, clear as the twang of a zither string or the clang of jade. The night quivered to the airy bright tones of the xiao flute.
The tune came from the green-robed man, now sitting atop a pine tree.
When did he get up there? Gallant Ouyang prided himself on his powers of observation. It was inconceivable that he could have missed the man climbing the tree on such a clear, moonlit night. He was even more alarmed by the way the stranger was perched on the tip of a branch, swaying to and fro with the wind. Effortlessly steady. Even if he spent years devoting himself to the practice of lightness kung fu under his uncle’s guidance, Gallant Ouyang would never be able to attain such ease. Could he be a ghost?
The man had only been playing for a short time, yet Gallant Ouyang began to feel the corners of his lips tugged upwards by the melody. As each note wove tightly into the next, an indescribable feeling rose and spread like wildfire inside him. How he yearned to feed the rapture with dancing!
As he lifted his arm and kicked his foot to the rhythm, he noticed his women and snake herders careering towards the tree from which the music was emanating. Spinning and raving, they tore at their clothes, pulled at their hair and scratched their cheeks. Manic grins split their grazed, bloodied faces. Intoxicated by the flute song, they did not seem to feel pain.
A feeble voice of clarity warned Gallant Ouyang to control his heart and mind. Tapping some hidden resource of strength, he dug out six poisoned silver shuttles and flung them at the musician’s head, chest and abdomen. The man flicked each of them away with the end of his xiao. All the while, the flute’s mouthpiece never left his lips. The music did not pause for a second.
The melody turned and soared. Gallant Ouyang could no longer steel himself against its call. He unfurled his fan, ready to dance. Right then, the last remaining kernel of self-control acquired over decades of kung fu training spoke to him: Tear a piece of cloth from your sleeves. Seal your ears against his music. Or you’ll dance to your death if he keeps on playing.
Cyclone Mei was also struggling. She sat cross-legged, her head bowed, in an attempt to gather her inner strength to resist the lure of the music. Meanwhile, Mercy Mu had had a lucky escape. Though the melody played havoc inside her, she lay in perfect stillness, her movements locked through her acupressure points.
Gallant Ouyang managed to wrench his arms from the music long enough to tear a piece of fabric from the front of his shirt. But his hands hovered just beyond his ears, unwilling to shut out the bewitching song. Three of his women with lesser kung fu were now completely ensnared, rolling on the ground as they ripped and shredded their clothes.
The mental battle against the music had drenched Gallant Ouyang in sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his heart raced, his throat was parched and his tongue dry. If he let the frenzy within boil over, he would not survive till morning.
Mustering all the strength and willpower left in him, Gallant Ouyang crushed his teeth down on his tongue. The pain pierced through the music’s hold for a brief moment, giving him the chance to flee. And flee he did, until the ghost of the flute song could no longer haunt him. When he finally stopped, several li away, he was drained, as if his body were fighting against a grave illness.
Only one thought remained in his tortured mind: Who was that?
6
BACK AT ROAMING CLOUD MANOR, GUO JING AND LOTUS Huang spent their days sightseeing around Lake Tai and their evenings discussing painting and literature with Squire Lu.
“We should tell Squire Lu about Cyclone Mei.” Guo Jing knew her arrival would bring carnage to the manor. “We can persuade him to let Wanyan Kang go, to save everyone on the estate.”
Lotus shook her head. “There’s something rotten about Wanyan Kang. He won’t change if he’s let off the hook so easily.”
In truth, Lotus cared little about Wanyan Kang’s rotten nature. As the disciple of two great evils – Qiu Chuji and Cyclone Mei – he could never be any good. Yet she was counting on him as Mercy Mu’s betrothed, so no busybody could make Guo Jing marry that poor orphan. And, to fulfil that role, Wanyan Kang would have to mend his ways.
“What do we do when Cyclone Mei arrives?” Guo Jing had his mind on more pressing matters.
“We can try out Count Seven’s moves!”
Knowing Lotus’s temperament, Guo Jing knew nothing he could say would persuade her to warn Squire Lu. He promised himself he would do anything in his power to help their host.
Three days after Mercy’s midnight break-in, while Lotus and Guo Jing were having their morning conversation with Squire Lu, Laurel rushed into the study with a strange look on his face. A servant hurried after him, carrying a wooden tray covered in a green cloth.
“Pa, this was delivered to the manor just now,” Laurel Lu said, unv
eiling the object on the tray.
A skull. Five holes in the crown. The emblem of Cyclone Mei.
“Who . . .? Who brought it?” The blood had drained from Squire Lu’s face.
“We don’t know. I have already sent men to find the messenger, but we’ve had no luck yet,” Laurel Lu replied, shaken by his father’s reaction. “It was dropped off like an ordinary delivery. There was nothing unusual about the box or the bearer. The servants thought it was a gift, so they tipped the man and sent it to the bookkeeper’s office to be logged. Do you know what it means, Pa?”
Squire Lu pushed himself up from his seat to examine the skull. His fingers slotted smoothly into the holes.
“Are they made by a human hand?” Laurel Lu could not imagine anyone with such strength.
Squire Lu nodded, but did not speak for a long time. “Pack up the valuables at once and escort your mother to our northern mansion in Wuxi. Order the captains and their men to stay in their camps for the next three days. No matter what happens at Roaming Cloud Manor, they must not interfere. Hurry!”
“Why, Pa?”
Squire Lu ignored the question and turned to his guests with a wry smile. “Alas, your stay here is cut short. I had hoped that we might have longer together. However, I have, over time, made two fearsome enemies and they will soon be here to take their revenge . . . A disaster is about to befall Roaming Cloud Manor. If I survive, we shall meet again, but the likelihood is very slim . . .” He trailed off and addressed the pageboy instead. “Fetch fifty taels of gold.”
Laurel Lu knew better than to ask questions, and slipped away to carry out his father’s orders, followed by the pageboy.
When the servant returned with a tray of gold sycee ingots, Squire Lu said to Guo Jing, “Brother Guo and the young lady are a match made in the heavens. Please accept this humble gift for the day you become man and wife.”
Lotus blushed, dying to ask Squire Lu when he had first seen through her disguise and how he had worked out that the two of them were yet to marry. However, she knew it would be rude to interrupt her host at this moment, and kept quiet.
Not versed in the etiquette of ritual refusal, Guo Jing thanked his host and accepted the generous gift.
Squire Lu picked up a porcelain bottle from his desk and carefully tipped dozens of small crimson pills onto a piece of soft parchment paper. “I acquired a little medical knowledge from my gracious teacher. These pills took some effort to make. They can improve your health and extend your years. A small token to celebrate our friendship.”
They had a delicate fragrance that Lotus knew well. She had helped her father make them, collecting the morning dew from petals of nine different flowers and pairing it with the rarest and most precious medicinal herbs. She remembered how each step in the process could only be performed during a particular season and at a specific time of day. This was a truly lavish gift.
“The Dew of Nine Flowers is very hard to come by. This is too great an honour,” Lotus said.
“My lady knows about them?” Surprise flashed across Squire Lu’s face.
“I was a sickly child and was once given three such pills. Their effect was exceptional.”
Squire Lu put the pills back in the bottle and sealed it tight. Then, taking great care, he wrapped it twice in tin paper. They were clearly very precious to him. “I have little use for them. Please accept this gift.”
It was obvious Squire Lu was not expecting to survive his encounter with Cyclone Mei. Lotus accepted the pills with gratitude.
“A boat will be ready to take you across the lake at once. No matter what you encounter along the way, you must not turn back.”
Guo Jing was about to offer his help, but, after one look at Lotus, he swallowed his words and nodded.
“Might I ask sir an impertinent question?” Lotus said.
“Please.”
“I surmise that you are not confident that you can subdue your enemies, and yet you also have no intention of taking refuge. I am not sure I understand.”
“They are the source of my misery.” Squire Lu sighed and pointed at his legs. “This is their bequest. But my suffering is insignificant compared to the wrong they have done my mentor. And this is the offence I must avenge. I shall defy them unto death. I doubt I will overcome them, but I hope my demise will also be theirs. And that is the only way I can repay the immense kindness Shifu has shown me.”
Why does he keep saying “them”? Does he not know Copper Corpse Hurricane Chen is dead? How did he get tangled up with Twice Foul Dark Wind? Though curious, Lotus kept these questions to herself.
Laurel Lu re-entered the study and made his report quietly. “Captain Zhang, Captain Gu, Captain Wang and Captain Tan refuse to leave the manor. They said they would sooner lose their heads for insubordination than desert Roaming Cloud Manor in its hour of need.”
Squire Lu smiled at the pirates’ devotion. “Son, see our guests out safely, and quickly.”
Guo Jing and Lotus bid their host farewell and followed Laurel Lu out of the manor. Ulaan and their other horse were already waiting on the boat.
“Shall we go aboard?” Guo Jing whispered.
“Yes, and then we will turn back.”
Just as they were about to step aboard, Lotus saw a man striding towards them along the waterfront, balancing a large vat on his head. She pointed at him.
Grizzled and bearded, the man wore a summer shirt woven from arrowroot and held a palm-leaf fan in his hand. The vessel on his head was wrought iron, and must have weighed hundreds of jin. However, his steps were light and nimble, and he hurried past them without as much as a glance in their direction.
Once he was several paces past their boat, the man swayed casually and water sloshed over his head. An iron tub full of water! Laurel Lu was astonished. That surely doubled its weight. He must be a martial master. Otherwise, how could he walk with such an enormous weight, as if it were nothing?
Could he be Papa’s enemy? Ignoring the danger, Laurel Lu went after the stranger.
Guo Jing caught Lotus’s eye and followed Laurel Lu. He remembered his shifus telling him about the fight with Qiu Chuji at the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, and the wine-filled bronze censer they had hurled around to test each other’s strength.
This tub is bigger than the one my shifus told me about. Could this man be more skilled than Elder Eternal Spring? Guo Jing was impressed.
The man carried the load for another li, to where a stream fed the lake, its banks scattered with untended graves. Laurel Lu knew there was no bridge in the vicinity and wondered which way he would turn.
An incredible sight stopped all three in their tracks. The man walked straight into the water and crossed the stream. Only his feet were submerged. His body was as steady as if he were walking on land. He set down the vat on the far bank and returned in the same way – treading on water!
Lotus had heard of many martial sects and kung fu moves, but nothing of what she was witnessing now. Walking on water was a mythical skill in the wulin. It was impossible. But she had just seen it with her own eyes. This man must be an extraordinary master.
The man addressed Laurel Lu. “You must be Young Squire Lu, leader of the Lake Tai pirates.”
“Might I ask the Elder’s name?” Laurel Lu bowed.
He stroked his beard and laughed. “And our young friends over there. Do come over here!”
Laurel Lu turned and, to his surprise, found Guo Jing and Lotus Huang kowtowing to the stranger, not three paces from where he himself stood. He had never imagined that his father’s guests were skilled in lightness kung fu and could move so fast in near total silence.
“You’re too polite.” The older man waved the homage away, but was clearly pleased. He addressed the pirate leader once more. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”
“Does the Elder know my father?” Laurel Lu asked warily.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of making his acquaintance yet.”
“My
father received an unusual gift today. Does the Elder know anything about it?” The young man wanted to gauge whether this stranger had anything to do with his father’s enemies.
“What was it?”
“A skull with five holes in the crown.”
“How peculiar! Could someone be playing a trick on your esteemed father?”
If he was Papa’s enemy, he wouldn’t need to lie. With kung fu of that level, he could have easily come straight to our main gate, Laurel Lu reasoned. With a master like him on our side, we won’t have to fear whoever sent the skull.
He relaxed visibly and said with warmth, “It would be my honour to serve the Elder tea at our humble estate.”
The stranger considered the invitation before nodding. “Our young friends are from the manor too?”
“They are my father’s friends,” Laurel Lu replied deferentially. He invited his guest to lead the way.
The man took no further notice of Guo Jing and Lotus. When they arrived at Roaming Cloud Manor, Laurel Lu settled everyone in the front hall before hurrying inside to inform his father.
A few moments later, Squire Lu was carried by two servants into the room on a bamboo chair. He cupped his hands in respect. “We are honoured that the Elder has deigned to grace our humble manor with his presence.”
“There is no need for ceremony, Squire Lu.” The man inclined his head fractionally in acknowledgement.
“Might I ask the Elder’s name?”
“My family name is Qiu, the given name is Qianren.”
“The Master is honoured as Iron Palm Water Glider in the jianghu.” Squire Lu sounded surprised.
The man smiled. “I thought my name had long been forgotten.”
Squire Lu knew that Qiu Qianren led the Iron Palm Gang and wielded great influence over Hunan and Sichuan, in the south and south-west of China. Many years ago, this Master of the martial world had put up his sword and become a recluse. Young people of the wulin today would not have heard of this great man.
