by Jin Yong
Guo Jing stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Lord Huang, I am completely ignorant in matters of music and rhythm. Allow me to admit defeat now.”
Count Seven Hong jumped in before Apothecary Huang could reply. “Hey, not so hasty! If you’re going to lose anyway, what harm is there in trying? Are you afraid of being laughed at?”
Guo Jing would not dream of disagreeing with his shifu, so he copied Gallant Ouyang and plucked a bamboo branch.
“Brother Viper and Brother Seven, forgive my rusty playing.” Apothecary Huang put the jade xiao to his lips. A mellow, graceful sound wafted forth. Ordinary flute song, as if played by an ordinary person without internal kung fu training.
Gallant Ouyang grasped the metre instantly, striking each beat perfectly in time.
Guo Jing’s switch simply hovered in the air. He gazed skywards at nothing in particular.
Apothecary Huang kept on playing. If they were drinking tea, by now they would have savoured one whole pot. Still Guo Jing had not figured out what to do.
The Ouyangs were growing confident that they would win this round, and probably the next too, if it was on a cultural subject as Apothecary Huang had promised.
Lotus tapped her left wrist anxiously, hoping Guo Jing would notice and follow her lead. But he continued to stare blankly into the sky, oblivious to everything happening around him.
At last, Guo Jing lifted his arm.
Tak! He struck right in between two beats.
Gallant Ouyang sniggered audibly – His first beat and it’s already horribly off! – but it did not deter Guo Jing.
Tak! Once again, the bamboo branch marked the quaver instead of the beat.
Tak, tak, tak, tak!
Four more attempts. All hitting that awkward in-between point. All of them wrong.
It’s really unfair of Papa to make Guo Jing do this! He doesn’t know a thing about music, Lotus grumbled to herself.
If she could not help Guo Jing win, maybe she could do something to disrupt the trial? Papa would have to accept a draw then.
As she turned over ideas in her head, she noticed a look of surprise on her father’s face, and she thought she heard the flute song falter, almost imperceptibly.
Guo Jing continued to thrash his bamboo twig. Each time, he was off the mark. First he pre-empted the beat, then he lagged behind. Sometimes he would strike too fast, sometimes too slow.
In his musical ignorance, he had decided he was supposed to unsettle and disrupt the xiao, thinking of the musical melee earlier, between the flute, the zither and the whistle.
With the tactics he had gleaned from the previous sonic tussle, Guo Jing gradually grasped the song’s pulse as he beat the branch against a dry bamboo stalk.
Tak, tak, tak!
A hollow, rasping dissonance.
So persistent and unmusical was the noise, it managed to pierce Apothecary Huang’s concentration. Several times, Guo Jing almost succeeded in dragging the melody off track to follow the racket he was making. Count Seven Hong and Viper Ouyang looked on in amazement.
Impressed, Apothecary Huang took on the challenge. He dropped his tempo, and the tune became sensual and alluring.
By now, Gallant Ouyang had lost the ability to beat time. Losing control of his body, he waved his bamboo switch as he danced to the flute song. Viper Ouyang gripped his nephew’s wrist with a sigh and blocked his ears with a silk handkerchief. He waited until the young man’s pulse had slowed before letting him go.
Lotus had grown up listening to her father playing the “Ode to the Billowing Tide”. He had also explained its complexities and variations. That understanding allowed her to be on the same plane as him, so the music had no effect on her. But she knew its power and she was worried for Guo Jing.
The song began as a perfectly calm sea, undisturbed by even the gentlest ripple. Then, the tide crept closer, the water moved faster, churning and frothing. The once gleaming mirror now splintered into white spray and snowy crests.
Fish leapt, gulls swooped, the wind howled. Water sprites and sea monsters stole forth as the tide swelled. Icebergs drifted by. The sea boiled, bubbling and steaming.
Mermen and mermaids frolicked in the undertow, intermingling, embracing, their lovemaking more arousing and sensual than it could ever be on land.
As the tide receded, a dark current prowled unseen beneath the calm surface, tugging, pulling with each ebb and flow, ensnaring its heedless listeners.
Guo Jing sat cross-legged on the ground. He summoned his Quanzhen-trained internal kung fu to resist the music. It also helped him keep his arm moving, bashing the bamboo branch crudely in his arrhythmical way, to disrupt the flute song.
When Apothecary Huang, Viper Ouyang and Count Seven Hong competed, they were able to attack and defend at the same time. They could keep their minds and hearts at peace and in focus while still searching for cracks and fissures in their opponents’ composure.
Needless to say, Guo Jing was a novice. He was not skilled enough to hold his spirit still and keep his senses open to scan for flaws in the Heretic’s musical attack. He simply kept guard and his defence strong, while causing enough chaos to hold Apothecary Huang back.
The Heretic, by now, had shifted the tone of his flute song several times. Still, he could not force Guo Jing into submission. Once more, he changed tack, playing so softly that the tune was barely audible.
Guo Jing strained to hear the notes. Soon, the branch began to fall in time to the music. The song was most alluring when it was played softly.
Fearful he would fall prey to the music’s snare, Guo Jing split his concentration in two, using the Competing Hands technique. With his left hand, he whipped off his shoe and slapped it against the bamboo stalk.
Dok, dok, dok!
Most martial masters would be hopelessly caught by now. There’s more to this boy than meets the eye, Apothecary Huang thought, as he began to pace in the formation of the Eight Trigrams.
Thanks to the noise made by his shoe, Guo Jing managed to wrench his right hand back under his control. Now, it sounded as if two masters had joined forces against Apothecary Huang, as each hand beat its own rhythm.
Tak, tak, tak!
Dok, dok, dok!
Tak, tak, tak!
Dok, dok, dok!
The din Guo Jing was ratcheting up grinded abrasively against the metre of the xiao music.
Both Count Seven Hong and Viper Ouyang had secretly increased their neigong engagement to maintain their focus. It would be deeply embarrassing if they showed any outward sign of trying to resist the music, and their reputations would be tarnished beyond repair if they were actually affected by it.
The flute darted from one extreme of its register to the other, the tune growing ever more unpredictable. Guo Jing soldiered on stubbornly.
Somehow, he felt the music as a gust of cold wind, plunging his body into a blizzard. He could not help but shiver and shake.
The xiao’s supple, sensual tone had tightened into a sharp, grating shrill. The sound made Guo Jing feel as if his bones had turned into ice. He immediately split his concentration further, bringing to mind the hot summer sun, a blistering forge in the midsummer heat, red hot coals in his hands, diving into a burning furnace. Soon, the chill retreated somewhat.
Now, the left half of Guo Jing trembled under the wintry sound and his right side sweated profusely under the heat he had conjured in his mind.
Apothecary Huang watched in astonishment and let the music take a new turn, a glorious summer dispelling the bleak winter. Guo Jing was once again seduced by the flute song and forced into tapping in time.
He can probably resist my music a little longer, but it will make him very ill. With that thought, Apothecary Huang held on to one note and let it dissipate into the bamboo forest.
Guo Jing exhaled in relief. He stood up, and his legs wobbled and almost buckled under his own weight. Once he had regulated his breathing, he approached Apothecary Huang and bowed low. “Lord Huang, I am
most grateful for your forbearance.” He knew the music was cut short out of consideration for his well-being.
“Put your shoe back on!” Lotus giggled.
“Oh! Yes.” Only then did he realise he was still clutching his shoe in his left hand.
As Guo Jing struggled with his shoe, Apothecary Huang was beginning to question his decision. Could the boy’s stupidity be an act? He can’t have attained such a level of kung fu at his age without an extraordinary intellectual capacity. Perhaps letting Lotus marry him wouldn’t be such a bad idea?
“Why do you still call me Lord Huang?” he said, with a smile.
It was his way of saying that Guo Jing had won two trials out of three, and could now call him father-in-law.
Guo Jing stammered, “I . . . I . . .”
Unsure how to respond, he looked to Lotus for help.
Beaming, she raised her right thumb and bent it up and down. Guo Jing fell to his knees and kowtowed four times.
Apothecary Huang chuckled. “What are you doing that for?”
“Lotus told me to.”
He is a blockhead, after all! Apothecary Huang sighed and gestured at Gallant Ouyang to remove the silk handkerchief from his ears.
“In terms of internal kung fu, Master Guo is stronger. But we were testing musical knowledge and Master Ouyang’s is far superior . . . I shall declare this trial a draw. The final trial shall determine who will win my daughter’s hand.”
“Yes, let’s move on to the last test,” Viper Ouyang said. He knew his nephew had lost twice, but Apothecary Huang was giving him a final chance.
She’s your daughter, you can marry her to that cad if you want; it’s nobody else’s business, Count Seven Hong thought, seething at the unfair treatment. I can’t fight the two of you alone, but I’m not going to let this rest. I’ll get King Duan to help.
6
“MY WIFE AND I ONLY HAD THIS ONE DAUGHTER BEFORE SHE tragically passed away during labour. I am honoured that both Brother Viper and Brother Seven are here, seeking her hand. If my wife were still with us, I have no doubt she would be overjoyed.”
Lotus Huang wiped her eyes at the mention of her mother.
Apothecary Huang then carefully retrieved a hand-bound volume with a tattered cover from inside his shirt.
“This book was written in my wife’s hand. She put her lifeblood into it. It was lost for a long time, but it found its way back to me recently. This is the most valuable object I possess. I now ask our young masters to read it once, together. I shall give my daughter’s hand to the one who can remember the most and recite the text with the fewest mistakes.”
He paused and glanced at Count Seven Hong. “It is true that Master Guo is one round ahead, but this volume has played an important role in my life. My wife died for it. I am hoping her soul in the heavens will select her son-in-law and help her chosen one win.”
“Enough of your hogwash, Heretic! You know full well that my disciple, here, isn’t the brightest and he knows nothing about books and poetry. Yet you want him to memorise a book, even dragging your dead wife out as an excuse! Have you no shame?” Count Seven Hong flicked his sleeve and stormed off.
“Brother Seven, if you came here to show your temper, I fear you are in need of a few more years of learning,” Apothecary Huang sneered.
Count Seven turned, with his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean? Are you threatening to hold me captive?”
“You have no knowledge of the arts of the Mysterious Gates and the Five Elements. You will never find your way out without my permission.”
“I’ll raze your stinking island to the ground.”
“You can try!”
I can’t let Shifu come to harm or be stuck here because of me! Guo Jing stepped boldly forward. “Lord Huang, Shifu, I shall take part in this final trial. I am not bright and I will most likely lose. So be it.”
In Guo Jing’s mind, once he had helped Count Seven Hong get away, he could turn to the sea. He and Lotus could trust their fates to the waves and swim until they had no strength left.
“Fine! If you want to be humiliated, be my guest!”
Count Seven was quibbling with the Heretic on purpose, to create an opportunity for the three of them to make a break for the shore. They could deal with the ramifications once they had sailed away. But his calculations had not factored in how stubbornly honourable his disciple would prove to be. And now there really was nothing to be done.
“Sit down properly. No more tricks,” Apothecary Huang said to Lotus.
Still sulking, she ignored him. She could tell from the way he had brought up her mother, this last trial would be decisive. He clearly intended to disregard Guo Jing’s two wins. Even if he decided to take all three tests into account, when this next one was done, it would mean both Guo Jing and Gallant Ouyang had won one trial each. Then he no doubt would invent another test, and another, until that loathsome man came out on top. If only she could find a way to escape from the island with Guo Jing . . .
By now, Apothecary Huang had Gallant Ouyang and Guo Jing sitting side by side on a boulder. He sat down opposite them and held out the book.
It was worn and weathered from years of use and rough handling. The once-white paper had yellowed, its corners and edges were dog-eared and creased. The words were obscured by smudges from hands and spots of water damage. Was it tears or tea? And the blots of purplish black – were they blood?
Gallant Ouyang saw the cover and his heart leapt with excitement. The Nine Yin Manual! Father-in-Law clearly cares for me; why else would he offer me a glimpse of this most coveted book?
Who can read these tadpole scribbles? Guo Jing stared at the title calligraphy written in curvilinear seal script. I know he wants me to lose. I’ll admit defeat, anyway.
Apothecary Huang turned to the first page. The paper showed signs of having been recently repaired. The handwriting, in the much more legible regular script, was slender and elegant. The penmanship of a woman.
Guo Jing’s heart hammered as he read the opening line:
It is the heavens’ Way to take away from excess and to supplement when in absence, such is how the immaterial beats the material and how absence trumps excess.
This is one of Brother Zhou’s phrases! He cast his eyes over the rest of the page. Every sentence matched exactly with words he had recently learned by heart.
After a moment, Apothecary Huang turned the page. Guo Jing was once more greeted by words Zhou Botong had instructed him to memorise:
The weak overcomes the strong, the supple conquers the firm. Everyone under the heavens knows it, though no-one can put it into practice.
He read on.
The most supple under the heavens can gallop through the toughest.
There were several characters he did not know on this page, but those he recognised corresponded exactly with his sworn brother’s words.
Did Brother Zhou teach me this book? It had never occurred to Guo Jing that the Hoary Urchin’s martial theory could be someone else’s invention. How come Lord Huang has a copy? How would Madam Huang choose her son-in-law through it? He stared blankly at the familiar words, perplexed by these questions.
Apothecary Huang assumed the complicated content had set Guo Jing’s head spinning. Ignoring Guo Jing’s dazed inattention, the Lord of Peach Blossom Island turned the leaves at his own pace, slowly and steadily.
In the beginning, Gallant Ouyang had felt rather pleased by what he could remember, but soon he was utterly lost. The text was steeped in Taoist jargons and neigong theory, and he knew nothing about the religion, its philosophy or its martial concepts. He recognised every character on the page, but, strung together, they made no sense. He could not even commit half a phrase to memory.
Strength courses through the fingers, no matter can stand in their way.
Shattering the skull of the enemy, as if clawing through rotten earth.
He paused at this line in despair. What on earth does that mean? The Nine Yin Man
ual is incomprehensible!
He looked over at the dumbstruck Guo Jing. Still, I’ll remember more than that halfwit. I’m going to win this trial, for sure!
Reassured, he turned to his future bride in triumph.
Lotus stuck her tongue out and pulled a face. “Do you remember Mercy? My friend you abducted? You left her in a coffin in that ancestral temple. Did you know she suffocated? She came to me in a dream last night, her hair unkempt, her face bloody. She’s coming for you.”
“I forgot to let her out!” Gallant Ouyang muttered. Such a shame, she was a pretty young thing. Then, seeing Lotus’s grin, he grew suspicious. “How do you know? You freed her, didn’t you?”
“Focus!” Viper Ouyang growled. It was obvious that Lotus was trying to distract his nephew.
“Yes, Uncle.” Gallant Ouyang turned back to the text.
Guo Jing had stopped reading. Every sentence he had seen so far corresponded, word for word, with Zhou Botong’s theory, which he knew by heart. He stared at the trees instead, trying and failing to work out why.
Unable to decipher the script on the title page, Guo Jing had no idea he was reading the second volume of the Nine Yin Manual – the very same copy Cyclone Mei had returned to Apothecary Huang at Roaming Cloud Manor.
The Lord of Peach Blossom Island chose it because, without the internal-energy foundation explained in the first volume, it was impossible to understand the martial skills described. He did not mind Count Seven Hong gaining a few insights, but he did not wish to share anything that would allow Viper Ouyang to improve his kung fu.
Moreover, the second volume ended with a long, incomprehensible passage. After their encounter with Zhou Botong, his wife had transcribed this section the moment they returned to their room. He remembered how confident she was of her memory of the main text of the Manual, but she had revised this meaningless incantation again and again, doubting herself each time she looked at it. It was unlikely Gallant Ouyang would remember much after reading the Manual once through, and the little he could retain would surely deviate in important ways from what his wife had set down. So, even if he had one-tenth of her memory, whatever he repeated to his uncle in the future was unlikely to expand their martial knowledge.
