by Jin Yong
Though he had been held on Peach Blossom Island for fifteen years, Zhou Botong’s disappearance did not cause alarm among his martial nephews, the Seven Immortals of the Quanzhen Sect. Familiar with their martial uncle’s temperament, they assumed he was enjoying himself in some far-flung, secluded place. They knew, if he did not want to be found, no-one – mortal or immortal – would be able to locate him. It never occurred to them he could have been captured. The idea of mounting a search effort never crossed their minds.
Zhou Botong had only recognised the martial potential of the Competing Hands, a game he devised to alleviate the boredom of captivity, after Guo Jing had pointed it out. Now, he need not fear Apothecary Huang anymore. After all, who could deal with two Zhou Botongs at the same time? He could at last make the Heretic pay for the suffering he had endured since arriving on Peach Blossom Island. The only problem was, he had yet to settle on a plan.
When Guo Jing had left to investigate the snake formation, the night before, he was once more left alone in the cave. As usual, Apothecary Huang’s flute song wreaked havoc in his mind, dredging up his past entanglements. This time, he was all the more disturbed by the competing tugs of the zither and the whistling. Then a thought intruded upon his struggle.
Why is Guo Jing not affected by the flute? His kung fu is far inferior!
Zhou Botong had asked himself that question the first night he met Guo Jing. Now, having spent some weeks with him, he knew the answer.
He has a childlike simplicity and openness. He’s yet to learn all the strange, wonderful and troublesome emotions that bind men and women. “Strength grows when desire is weak.” Why am I still obsessed with revenge? It’s laughable to be so petty, at my age!
The Hoary Urchin was not a Taoist monk, but he had spent the majority of his life with the Quanzhen Sect, and their veneration of peace and tranquillity undisturbed by desires and worries had rubbed off on him.
Coming to terms at last with his inner burdens, Zhou Botong stood up and stepped outside, laughing.
The sky was a deep blue, dotted with a few white clouds.
The heavens were as clear and light as his heart. The torments Apothecary Huang had subjected him to seemed as trivial and commonplace as a flock of chickens foraging for bugs.
He simply did not care.
Still, I should leave a little memento for the Heretic. I’ll probably never set foot on this island again. With that thought, Zhou Botong put the Nine Yin Manual inside his shirt and gleefully set about preparing his traps.
Several steps away from the cave, it struck him. This place is a maze! How am I going to find my way out? And I can’t leave Brother Guo stranded here either; he’ll certainly come to harm. I’ll take him with me. Let the Heretic try to stop us! One Heretic cannot beat two Hoary Urchins!
Chuckling, he waved his arms and flicked his wrists in merriment.
Crack! A small tree snapped in two.
When did my strength improve so much? he asked himself, taken aback. This has nothing to do with the Competing Hands.
He rested his hand on the tree stump and tried to ascertain what had just happened.
He flung both arms out.
Crack, crack, crack, crack!
Half a dozen trees. Felled in an instant.
This is kung fu from the Nine Yin Manual! When . . .? When did I learn that? A cold sweat broke out all over Zhou Botong’s body, soaking him from head to toe.
He ran, screaming, “Ghosts! Ghosts!”
Though Zhou Botong had read the Nine Yin Manual many times over the years, he had faithfully followed his martial brother’s dying decree and never put into practice the martial skills within.
However, in order to teach Guo Jing, he had read the text out and explained it, over and over again. Without conscious effort on his part, the contents had wormed its way into Zhou Botong’s mind and seeped into his being as he slept.
After all, the Hoary Urchin was a quick and intuitive learner, with a deep understanding of the martial arts, and the Manual’s kung fu was rooted purely in the Taoist tradition, just like his.
Now, his every move was informed by the theories laid out in the Nine Yin Manual. Its teachings were firmly implanted within him.
“Rot!” he squealed, realising what had happened. “I pulled a prank on Guo Jing and it rebounded on me!”
Zhou Botong slapped himself across the head, again and again, overwhelmed and full of regrets. Then another idea struck him. He tore a few strips of tree bark and fashioned them into a rough rope. With the help of his teeth, he tied his hands together.
“If I can’t get the Manual’s kung fu out of my head, then I’ll never be able to fight again. Not even against the Heretic. I will not disobey my martial brother,” he promised himself, sighing dramatically. “Urchin, oh, Urchin, you’ve brought this on yourself. Your little prank backfired spectacularly. You are the butt of the joke now!”
NEEDLESS TO say, Zhou Botong’s answer left Apothecary Huang none the wiser as to why his hands were tied. He assumed it was yet another of the Hoary Urchin’s games.
“Hoary Urchin, you have met Brother Ouyang before, and this is—”
“This must be Count Seven Hong,” Zhou Botong said. He had already circled the group several times, sniffing theatrically. “He’s a good man. As the saying goes, ‘The celestial net of justice catches all who err.’ My piss only drenched the Heretic and the Venom. You injured me with your palm strike once, Viper Ouyang, and I’ve just returned the favour. Now, we’re equal.”
With a disdainful curl of his lip, Viper Ouyang whispered into Apothecary Huang’s ear, “Look how fast he moves! His kung fu – both internal and external – is clearly superior to ours. It’s best not to upset him.”
You haven’t seen my kung fu for twenty years. How do you know it isn’t as good as his? Apothecary Huang thought, before turning to Zhou Botong. “I shall repeat what I’ve said many times before. Hand over the Nine Yin Manual and you are free to leave the island.”
Even now that Cyclone Mei had returned his wife’s copy, Apothecary Huang still wanted Zhou Botong to surrender the original, so he could burn it as an offering, and his wife could read it in the underworld.
“I’m bored of this island. It’s time for me to leave,” Zhou Botong said.
“Then give me the Manual.” Apothecary Huang held out his palm.
“I’ve given it to you already.”
“Nonsense. When did that happen?”
Zhou Botong chuckled. “Guo Jing is your son-in-law, isn’t he? So what belongs to him, belongs to you. I’ve taught him the whole Nine Yin Manual. From cover to cover. Have I not given it to you, then, in a way?”
“Is . . . Is that really what you taught me? The Nine Yin Manual?”
“Do you think I can make up something so complex?” Zhou Botong doubled over with laughter.
The truth left Guo Jing reeling, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
The Hoary Urchin was delirious with joy. This look was worth all the hours, days and weeks he had put in. All the hard work. Even the predicament he faced at that very moment.
“You didn’t tell me it was the Nine Yin Manual.”
Zhou Botong loved nothing more than toying with his sworn brother’s honest nature. “Huh? Don’t you remember me saying that, because you’re not part of the Quanzhen Sect, you wouldn’t be defying my martial brother’s final decree by learning from it?”
Apothecary Huang glared at Guo Jing before turning to Zhou Botong. “I would like to burn the original Nine Yin Manual as an offering to my late wife.”
“Brother, could you do the honours?”
Guo Jing walked up to his sworn brother, reached inside his shirt and pulled out two thread-bound volumes, half an inch thick.
With his hands still tied together at the wrists, Zhou Botong clapped his palms over the books and said, “Here are the two volumes of the Nine Yin Manual. Take them – if you’ve got the skill.”
“What do you mean?”
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Zhou Botong tilted his head and pondered the question.
“The skill of binding and mounting,” he said, with a giggle.
“Huh?”
The Hoary Urchin raised his hands over his head and thrust them skywards. Thousands of pieces of paper fluttered above him like a swarm of butterflies, dancing in the sea breeze, drifting east and flying west, impossible to catch.
An exceptional feat of internal kung fu. I could not tear such a thick pile of paper into so many small pieces in the blink of an eye, Apothecary Huang said to himself, stunned to find Zhou Botong suddenly so skilled. It took him a moment to collect himself. His mind slipped back to thoughts of his wife, fuelling his outrage at the Hoary Urchin’s act of defiance.
“Hoary Urchin, you presume to mock me, do you? You will not leave this island today!” Apothecary Huang lunged, striking his palm at Zhou Botong’s face.
Zhou Botong swerved a fraction to dodge the blow, his hands still tied together. He swivelled left and right as Apothecary Huang’s palms sliced noisily around him, and neither so much as grazed his person.
The Cascading Peach Blossom Palm was Apothecary Huang’s signature martial invention, but, twenty moves in, he had yet to force the Hoary Urchin to fight back.
The Heretic was about to channel more strength into his attack when he realised in horror what he was doing. How can I fight a man whose hands are tied? he thought, and he leapt back three paces.
“Untie your hands. Show me the might of the Nine Yin Manual. If you don’t, I fear I may cause you harm again.”
Zhou Botong shook his head, his face a mask of misery. “My hands are bound for a reason, and I will not break these bonds, no matter what.”
“Then I’ll break them for you!” Apothecary Huang shouted, grabbing at his wrists.
“Argh! Help! Help!” Zhou Botong threw himself to the ground and began to roll from side to side.
“Father!” Guo Jing rushed forward, curbed by a hand on his arm, pulling him back.
“Don’t be silly,” Count Seven Hong muttered, under his breath. “Just watch.”
Zhou Botong was writhing on the ground with extreme agility. Not one of Apothecary Huang’s strikes or kicks landed.
Guo Jing, transfixed by his display, recognised the Slithering Snake Pouncing Fox technique from the Nine Yin Manual, and cheered when Zhou Botong performed a particularly nimble dodge.
This only enraged Apothecary Huang further. His palm strikes were like sharp blades, slicing strips from Zhou Botong’s sleeves and the hem of his robe. Even the tips of his hair and beard were trimmed by the searing force of Apothecary Huang’s internal strength.
Zhou Botong knew he could not dodge Apothecary Huang much longer. If he were hit, it would be the end of him – or result in grievous injury, at the very least.
The Heretic now launched a renewed flurry of attacks. His left palm swept sideways. His right hand sliced down diagonally. Each blow contained three sly and lethal twists.
Caught between the two attacking hands, Zhou Botong realised now was the time to act. He summoned strength to his shoulders and – pang! – the ropes snapped. He raised his left arm to block, and at the same time twisted his right arm around to scratch his back.
“Ah, I can’t ignore this itch any longer!”
Apothecary Huang was flabbergasted. How could anyone take the time to scratch an itch in such an intense fight? He let fly another three ferocious attacks, each containing the full force of a lifetime of martial training.
Zhou Botong sighed. “I can’t overpower you with just one hand. But there’s no other way. I will never disobey my martial brother.”
He channelled all his energy into his right arm and let his left hang limp by his side. He was fully aware that his own kung fu was no match for Apothecary Huang’s. The moment they connected, a great force pushed him back. He staggered and stumbled as he fought to keep his footing.
Palms raised, Apothecary Huang pounced. Zhou Botong was still reeling from his last attack.
“Fight with both hands! You can’t block with just one arm!”
“No! I will only use one!”
“As you wish.”
He struck down at Zhou Botong’s lone arm with both hands and let his internal energy pour forth.
Thump!
Zhou Botong collapsed on his backside, his eyes closed. Blood shot out of his mouth, followed by a strangled gurgling sound. His face was now as white as paper.
Apothecary Huang stepped back. No-one could fathom why Zhou Botong had refused to fight back properly with both hands. Even if he could not win, he would not have lost within a handful of moves.
Zhou Botong opened his eyes, stood up slowly and said, “The Hoary Urchin fell for his own prank. Without realising it, I learned the kung fu from the Nine Yin Manual, against my martial brother’s dying wish. If I’d used both hands, you would not have been able to subdue me.”
Full of remorse, Apothecary Huang fell silent. Zhou Botong had not bound his hands and fought at a disadvantage just to spite him. He realised he had imprisoned this man for fifteen years for no real reason, and had now injured him once more in an irrational fit of rage. He reached into his shirt and took out a jade casket. He lifted its lid, counted out six pills and handed them to Zhou Botong.
“These Dew of Nine Flowers are made from rare and precious herbs. Take one every seven days. They will reduce the pain and aid the healing process. Brother Botong, I am very sorry for injuring you again. I, Apothecary Huang, humbly apologise. The injury you have suffered today will heal quickly, thanks to your deep neigong. I will see you off the island myself.”
Nodding in gratitude, Zhou Botong took one of the pills and channelled his qi to heal his body. A moment later, he spat out a mouthful of darkened blood.
“Heretic, no wonder they call you Apothecary. This pill of yours is most effective. Hmm . . . What does my name, Botong, mean?”
It sounds just like “bottom”! Lotus thought, giggling silently, but, wary of her father’s grave expression, she knew better than to make such a joke.
Zhou Botong pondered his question for a moment, then shook his head and said, “Heretic, I’m leaving now. Do you want to make me stay?”
“You are free to come and go as you please, Brother Botong. Should you wish to visit the island again, I shall welcome your return with all my heart, as my best friend and an honoured guest. I will send for a boat now.”
4
GUO JING CARRIED ZHOU BOTONG ON HIS BACK, FOLLOWING Apothecary Huang to the shore, where half a dozen boats were moored in the bay.
“Brother Apothecary, there is no need to arrange another boat; Brother Zhou can sail with us,” Viper Ouyang said.
“How very kind of you,” Apothecary Huang replied, gesturing at a servant. The man disappeared into one of the larger boats and returned with a tray of gold ingots.
“Brother Botong, please accept this gift to fund your antics. Your kung fu is most certainly stronger than mine and I am full of admiration. If you decide to take part in the next Contest of Mount Hua, then I shall withdraw. The Heretic concedes that you are the Greatest Martial Master Under the Heavens.”
Zhou Botong blinked and pulled a silly face, plainly delighted. But, the moment he looked over at Viper Ouyang’s ship, he frowned and shook his head in disapproval.
Hoisted at the stern of the grand vessel was a large white flag embroidered with a double-headed snake, two forked tongues protruding from its open mouths.
Viper Ouyang made a rasping tone with a wooden flute and the vegetation seemed to come alive. Led by two servants, the snake herders of White Camel Mount guided their flock down to the bay. They slithered up the gangplanks in tidy rows and disappeared below deck.
“I hate snakes! I’m not setting foot on the Venom’s boat!” Zhou Botong said.
“Of course. You are very welcome to use my boat.” Apothecary Huang smiled and gestured towards a smaller vessel nearby.
Zhou Botong shook
his head. “I want that big one!”
Apothecary Huang’s face darkened as he saw where Zhou Botong was pointing. “I am afraid I cannot let you use that boat,” he said in a queer voice. “It’s being repaired.”
The ship was impressive. Ornate, clean lines, the paintwork new, glistening like gold and jade. There was no visible sign of damage. It looked like it had never been used.
“I want the new boat! Why are you being so mean, Heretic?”
“Ill fortune sails with that vessel. Its passengers succumb to sickness or meet with disaster. That is why it is docked here and never used. I am not being mean. If you don’t believe me, I will reduce it to ashes this instant.” At Apothecary Huang’s command, four servants ran towards the boat, each holding a flaming torch.
Zhou Botong flopped to the ground, pulling on his beard and crying loudly. Everyone was at a loss what to do – all except for Guo Jing. He was used to his sworn brother’s tantrums and he was smiling on the inside.
“I want the new boat! I want the new boat!” the Hoary Urchin insisted, bawling like a newborn baby.
Lotus Huang raced ahead to stop the servants, returning a few moments later.
“Brother Apothecary, I will keep the Hoary Urchin company on this ill-starred vessel,” Count Seven Hong said. “This old beggar is no stranger to ill luck. We shall fight fire with fire. Let’s see if my dark cloud is blacker than your boat’s curse.”
“Brother Seven, do stay on the island for a few more days. Surely there is no need to leave so soon?”
“Beggars great and small are gathering in the city of Yueyang in Hunan soon, to hear this aged one appoint my successor. If I meet my fate without naming the next in line, the beggars of this world will be left without a chieftain. When the matter is settled, it would be my pleasure to visit you.”
“You are a generous man, Brother Seven, devoting your life to the service of others, perpetually galloping back and forth.”
“Beggars don’t ride. It’s my feet that do all the galloping! Wait, are you slyly insulting me? If I gallop, then I must be a horse!” he said, in good humour.
