A Snake Lies Waiting

by Jin Yong

  “Capturing intruders has nothing to do with the palace chefs,” Zhou Botong said.

  Lotus was momentarily stumped by this logic, but she did not want to admit it. “There’s nothing stopping a chef from catching an intruder,” she said hesitantly.

  Now it was Zhou Botong’s turn to be silenced. “Fine,” he said eventually. “Let’s say I was wrong.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Let’s say’? You were wrong from the start,” Lotus retorted.

  “Fine, have it your way. Let’s say no more about it.” Turning to Guo Jing, he said, “Boy, don’t be fooled—all women are fiendish. That is why the Old Urchin lives by the motto, ‘Never take a wife’!”

  Lotus laughed at this. “Brother Guo is a good man. I would never be fiendish toward him.”

  “Does that mean I’m not a good man?” the Urchin replied.

  “You tell me,” Lotus said with a smile. “I rather think the reason you aren’t married is that no woman can stand your constant troublemaking. Or, what do you say? What’s the real reason you don’t have a wife?”

  Zhou Botong cocked his head, but could not think of a reasonable answer. His cheeks flushed red, then white. Worry spread across his face. Lotus had rarely seen such a serious expression on his face and it took her by surprise.

  “Let’s find an inn and go back to the palace tonight,” Guo Jing suggested.

  “Good idea!” Lotus said. “And I will prepare some dishes for you, Shifu, as an appetizer. The real feast is coming tonight.”

  Count Seven clapped his hands in delight.

  They found a small place called the Brocade Mansion, where they settled, and, true to her word, Lotus pulled together three dishes and a soup for her Master. The aroma filled the inn and the other guests were soon asking the innkeeper if there was a famous chef in the kitchen.

  Zhou Botong, meanwhile, was still stewing over Lotus’s comment that, rather than not wanting a wife, he was unable to find one. He refused to join them. Used to his childish ways, the others merely laughed and ignored him.

  After the meal, Count Seven lay down to rest. Guo Jing asked if the Urchin wanted to join him for a walk outside, but the old man was still sulking and would not answer.

  “Look after our shifu, then,” Lotus said lightly. “We’ll be back soon, with presents.”

  The Hoary Urchin’s face lit up. “Promise?”

  “When a word bolts, no horse can chase it down.”

  4

  When Lotus left peach blossom Island in the spring to go north, she had passed through Lin’an. She had not dared stay longer than a day, back then, as it was too close to home and she feared her father might find her. This time, the days were long and her mind was unburdened. Hand in hand, she and Guo Jing made their way to the beautiful West Lake.

  Lotus glanced across at Guo Jing and noticed the look of melancholy on his face. He was worrying about their Master’s health. “Shifu mentioned that there is someone who can cure him,” Lotus began, “but he wouldn’t let me ask who. From his tone, I’d guess that it’s King Duan of Dali. We are many thousands of miles from Dali, but somehow we’ve got to find him and beg him to save our Master.”

  “That’s wonderful! Do you think we can manage it?”

  “I was trying to find a way to ask Shifu while we were eating, but he sensed what I was getting at and clammed up. I’ll get it out of him eventually.”

  Guo Jing knew full well how talented Lotus was at such tasks, and so felt greatly relieved.

  As they talked, they came to Broken Bridge, one of the lake’s most famous beauty spots. They crossed to its midpoint and looked down at the lotus flowers beneath. Nearby stood a charming little drinking house. “Let’s have a cup of wine and admire the flowers,” Lotus suggested.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  They entered and sat down. The owner brought them wine and a series of delicious dishes, and their hearts felt light. Lotus looked across to the windows on the eastern side and spotted a beautiful screen, covered in a jade-colored gauze. She approached to get a closer look and saw that, beneath the thin layer of material, a poem had been inscribed in the wood. It was called “Wind Enters Pines”:

  Spring money wasted on blossoming bosoms

  and drunken days by the lake.

  Riding my white colt, I look up and see

  a tavern door

  apricot scent layered with drums

  a swing in the poplar’s shade.

  Maidens caressed by the warm breeze,

  petals pressing on their hair.

  Boats painted in the setting sun.

  What feelings that linger must be left for

  morrow’s fun,

  when looking for new jeweled flowers

  drunken we will return.

  “It’s a good poem,” Lotus said.

  Guo Jing asked her to explain what it meant. The more he heard, the angrier he became. “We are in the capital, the heart of the Great Song, and yet the government officials spend their days drinking and admiring flowers. Don’t they care about what’s happening to our country?”

  “Indeed. They are shameless.”

  “Huh!” came a voice behind them. “What do you two know? What nonsense.”

  They turned to find a man of about forty, dressed in scholars’ robes and wearing a sneer.

  Guo Jing clasped his hands and bowed. “May I humbly apologize? Please enlighten us.”

  “The poem is by Yu Guobao, a student of the Imperial College during the Chunxi period. Emperor Gaozong came to this very inn, read it and praised it highly. That very same day, he granted Yu a government position, which is every scholar’s dream. And here you two are, making a mockery of it!”

  “The innkeeper keeps it covered with this green gauze because the Emperor once saw it?” Lotus asked.

  The man sniggered. “Ha! Is that what you think? Come here and look carefully at this line. Can you see two of the characters have been changed?”

  Guo Jing leaned in close and saw that “drunken we will return” had once been “carrying wine we will return.”

  “The Emperor commented that this line was somewhat shallow—wretched, even—so he took his brush and changed it. Truly, his was a wisdom and intelligence sent from the heavens. He turned iron into gold.” The man nodded in a self-satisfied manner.

  Guo Jing, however, was furious. “This is the same Emperor who instructed Qin Hui to kill General Yue Fei!” His leg flew up and smashed the screen. Then he grabbed the man, dragged him forward and, with a splash, dumped him head first in a vat of wine.

  Lotus laughed. “I have my own suggestion: ‘When looking for new mischief, in the barrel he was turned.’”

  The man’s head popped out over the rim. “But it doesn’t fit the rhythm,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “And, as for the title,” Lotus continued, “instead of ‘Wind Enters Pines,’ I suggest ‘Man Enters Barrel.’” At this, she reached out and pushed his head back under, then flipped their table over with a loud crash. The customers and the innkeeper dashed for the door.

  Guo Jing and Lotus were now on the rampage. They broke the ceramic wine vats, pots, and cauldrons. Guo Jing then launched into a move from Dragon-Subduing Palm, unleashing all his strength on one of the supporting columns, causing the roof to collapse. Within moments, the building had been transformed into a pile of rubble.

  Laughing, the young couple held hands and walked away. No one knew who they were or where they had come from, and certainly they did not dare to follow them to find out.

  “That felt good,” Guo Jing said with a smile. “I got all the anger off my chest.”

  “We must break anything that does not please us,” Lotus replied.

  “Indeed!”

  The truth was, since leaving Peach Blossom Island, they had been through many tribulations. They had been reunited, but their Master was gravely injured and the thought that he might not recover pressed heavy on their hearts. This moment of wanton destruction had provided
a brief outlet for their frustrations.

  Together, they walked along the shore of the lake. Dotted everywhere were poems—on rocks, on trees, on pavilions and on walls. They spoke of sightseers bidding farewell to the majestic scenery, or else young men professing their love. Guo Jing could not claim to understand their precise meanings, but all the talk of wind, flowers, snow, and the moon affected him. “We wouldn’t be able to smash all these, even if we had a thousand fists. Lotus, you’ve read so many books. What’s it all for?”

  “There are good poems,” Lotus said with a laugh.

  “I still think studying how to kick and punch is more useful,” Guo Jing said, shaking his head.

  They continued walking until they reached the pavilion at Flying Peak. A sign carved in wood, in Han Shizhong’s calligraphy, read: Pavilion of the Emerald Hills. Guo Jing had heard of Han Shizhong, the great general who had fought the Jin. Delighted, he ran inside, where he saw a stone stela, upon which was carved another poem:

  In uniform beclad in years of dust

  I take in the perfume

  of the Emerald Hills.

  Never could I tire of such beauty

  but the moon and the hooves urge me on.

  It, too, seemed to have been written by the general.

  “This is a fine poem,” Guo Jing declared. In fact, he had no idea if it was fine or not, but, if the general had written it and it contained phrases like “uniform beclad in years of dust” and words like “hooves,” it had to be good.

  “That’s a poem by General Yue Fei,” Lotus said.

  “How do you know that?” Guo Jing asked in surprise.

  “My father told me the story. During the eleventh winter of the Shaoxing period, General Yue Fei was killed by Chancellor Qin Hui. Han Shizhong built this pavilion the following spring and carved this poem in his memory. Unfortunately, Qin Hui was still a very powerful man, so Han could not openly acknowledge that the pavilion had been built for the General.”

  Guo Jing traced his fingers across the carved characters, lost in thought. Suddenly, Lotus tugged on his sleeve and pulled him toward some bushes behind the wooden structure. As they crouched down out of sight, they heard the footsteps of people entering the pavilion.

  “Han Shizhong was a hero, of course. His wife, Liang Hongyu, may have started out as a courtesan, but she beat the drum during battle and helped her husband to victory, so she’s a true heroine, too.”

  Guo Jing thought that he recognized the voice, but he could not place it. Then, another man spoke.

  “Both Yue Fei and Han Shizhong were heroes, but the Emperor wanted them dead and stripped of their military titles. Yue Fei’s killers had no choice but to follow orders. No one can stand against the might of the Emperor.”

  Yang Kang! Guo Jing was startled by the realization. What was he doing here? Just then, another voice: Venom of the West, Viper Ouyang.

  “That is correct. With muddle-heads in power at the Song court now, too, what use are heroes?”

  “But, if a wise ruler occupies the throne, then a great man like Master Ouyang would help him immensely in achieving his ambitions.” The first voice again.

  Guo Jing realized suddenly who it was. The man who had killed his father: the Sixth Prince of the Jin, Wanyan Honglie.

  The three men exchanged a few more words and then left, laughing. Guo Jing waited until they were long gone before asking, “What are they doing in Lin’an? Why is Brother Yang with them?”

  “Huh!” Lotus snorted. “I knew from the first moment I saw him that this brother of yours was up to no good. You said he was descended from a hero. Well, you have been deceived. Now you know who he really is. If he truly were a good man, he would never associate with such scoundrels.”

  “I don’t understand,” Guo Jing replied.

  Lotus went on to tell Guo Jing all she had heard at the Hall of Perfumed Snow in the Zhao residence. “Wanyan Honglie brought together Tiger Peng and the others in order to steal the last writings of General Yue Fei. Perhaps they have traced them to Lin’an. If they succeed, then the lowly subjects of the Great Song will suffer untold calamity.”

  “They cannot be allowed to succeed,” Guo Jing said with a shiver.

  “But now they have the Venom of the West with them.”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course, I’m scared of the Venom. But we have to … No matter how scared we are, we can’t ignore it.”

  “If you’re in, so am I,” Lotus said with a smile.

  “Then let’s follow them.”

  5

  They had been too slow to give chase, and, without any indication of which direction the three men had taken, they were forced to search the city at random. But, with such a large area to cover and the streets so crowded, how could they possibly find them? They walked all afternoon and, as the sky was turning dark, they arrived at the Wulin Park, in front of the main theater and entertainment district of the city. Lotus spotted a shop, the entrance of which was festooned with masks, their features vivid and colorful. Amused, she remembered her promise to buy Zhou Botong a present. She spent five silver coins on ten masks that represented the demon vanquisher Zhong Kui, the divine Judge of the Underworld, the Kitchen God, the Earth God, and other divine soldiers, ghosts and supernatural beings.

  As the shopkeeper was wrapping them, the delicious aroma of freshly cooked food came wafting in from the restaurant next door.

  “What place is that next door?” Lotus asked.

  “Your first time here, is it?” the shopkeeper said with a smile. “Otherwise, you’d know. That is Premium Scholars Inn, one of the most famous establishments in the city. Their food is the best in all the Empire. You can’t leave without having tried it.”

  As soon as the package was ready, Lotus pulled Guo Jing to the entrance of the inn. The building was brightly painted in red and green, and lanterns embellished with jasmine flowers hung from the eaves. The interior was richly decorated. They were greeted by a waiter, who led them down a corridor into a private room set out with the finest tableware. Lotus ordered some dishes and then the waiter left.

  Guo Jing looked out into the corridor and, by the candlelight, saw a line of ten or so richly dressed women waiting outside. He was about to ask what they were doing, when, suddenly, Wanyan Honglie’s voice came booming from the room next door: “Wonderful! Let’s invite them to sing to us while we drink!”

  Guo Jing and Lotus exchanged glances. Just as they had stopped searching, they had found them.

  A waiter called out. An exceptionally beautiful woman stood up and began to beat a rhythm with a pair of ivory clappers. Then, she sang. Lotus strained to make out the words:

  “The Yangtze flows down to

  the three Wus,

  where the Qiantang River has flourished

  since ancient times.

  Smokey willows painted bridges,

  screens and curtains emerald-green,

  a hundred thousand cottages scattered all

  around.

  Cloud-crested trees stand along the banks

  where furious waves churn snowdrifts,

  until the river reaches out of sight.

  Pearls and gems laid out on stands

  to compete with silks and satins.

  Lakes and peaks praise each other

  as the autumn osmanthus flowers

  greet lotus uncoiling for miles.

  Tunes play from the northwest by day,

  while water chestnut songs interrupt the night

  and fishermen smile at maidens

  collecting lotus pods.

  A thousand banners raised as you arrive

  drunken on horseback, you hear flute and drum,

  sing praises to the pinky clouds

  of a scenery that reminds you of days of old

  that you will extol to the court on your return.”

  Guo Jing did not understand a word of what was being sung, but he did enjo
y the gentle rhythm of the ivory clappers and the rise and fall of the flute accompaniment.

  “Wonderful!”

  “Bravo!”

  Wanyan Honglie and Yang Kang declared their praise loudly as soon as the song finished. The woman thanked them profusely and left, along with the musicians. The Sixth Prince must have rewarded them handsomely.

  “Boy, did you know that the song we just enjoyed was written by Liu Yong and is called ‘Gazing at the Tide’? It has great significance for us Jin.”

  “No, I didn’t. Please tell me more, Father.”

  Guo Jing and Lotus exchanged glances. Did he call him “Father”? And with such affection? Guo Jing was furious. He wanted nothing more than to go in there, grab him by the throat and demand an explanation.

  “As our Empire was beginning to prosper, Our Majesty Emperor Wanyan Liang read this poem by Liu Yong, which praised the beauty and wonder of West Lake. For this reason, he dispatched an envoy south, along with a master painter, who painted the scenery of Lin’an and added Our Majesty riding a horse inside the city walls, at the summit of Mount Wu. Our Majesty then added the following poem:

  “Ten thousand miles of road, united by brush,

  How can a separate court be named in the south?

  I will lead a million soldiers to West Lake,

  and alone claim the peak of Mount Wu.”

  “What heroic ambition!” Yang Kang said.

  Enraged, Guo Jing clenched his fist so hard his fingers cracked.

  Wanyan Honglie merely sighed, however, and continued, “Our Majesty Emperor Wanyan Liang never realized his vision of sending an army south and taking command of Mount Wu, but it is something we, his children and grandchildren, bear with us and have made real. He once wrote a poem on a fan that went like this: ‘With the hilt firmly in my grasp, a cool breeze will engulf the world.’ That was the extent of his ambition!”

  “With the hilt firmly in my grasp, a cool breeze will engulf the world,” Yang Kang repeated.

  Viper Ouyang laughed. “One day, the Sixth Prince will stand on top of Mount Wu.”

  “I do hope so,” Wanyan Honglie said quietly. “But there are many eyes and ears about, so let us drink instead.” And, with that, conversation turned to the local scenery and customs they had observed as they traveled.