A Snake Lies Waiting

by Jin Yong

  “Being the chief of a bunch of beggars will only bring you trouble. There is not much fun to be had, believe me.”

  “I made a promise,” Lotus said.

  “Try for a day or two, if you must. Then, when you’re sick of it, you can hand the role on to someone else.” He then paused, and continued, “And what about the boy?”

  Lotus glanced at Guo Jing and caught his eye. His expression was one of tenderness and love. She turned back to her father.

  “Papa, if he is going to marry someone else, then so shall I. But I will only ever love him, and he will only ever love me.”

  Apothecary Huang smiled. “No daughter of Peach Blossom Island will be prevented from getting what she wants. Very well. But what if the man you marry doesn’t let you see him?”

  “Who would stop me?” Lotus replied with a snort. “I am your daughter, after all!”

  “Silly girl. Your father won’t live forever.”

  “Papa!” The tears flowed faster. “I cannot live without you!”

  “So, you still accept this callous young boy?” Apothecary Huang pressed.

  “Every day spent with him is a day of pure happiness,” Lotus said, but her voice betrayed her heartache.

  The Freaks listened in utter bemusement. Father and daughter spoke with no thought for propriety. Apothecary Huang was not known as the Heretic of the East for nothing. He cared little for the traditions passed down by the rulers of the Shang and Zhou, and despised the rites as laid out in the texts by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. As for Lotus, she was a product of her upbringing. That she could speak so openly of marriage as nothing more than a contract, and love as love, would shock most people who heard it. Did she not understand the importance of chastity and modesty? The Freaks were more open-minded than most, but even they could only shake their heads upon overhearing such a candid conversation between father and daughter.

  Guo Jing felt terrible and wished for nothing more than to offer some words of comfort to Lotus. But he was not known for his skill with words. He had no idea what to say.

  Apothecary Huang looked at his daughter and then at Guo Jing. Then he raised his head to the heavens and let out a long, anguished roar. His wail echoed around the valley, startling a flock of magpies and sending them screeching up into the sky.

  “Oh, magpies, build your bridge faster, so that the cowherd may see his beloved weaver girl tonight!” Lotus said.

  Apothecary Huang grabbed a handful of stones and started throwing them at the birds. One by one, they fell from the sky. “What bridge?” he cried. “Passion? Love? They are nothing but fantasies. Better they die an early death!”

  At this, he spun on his heel and sped off. Moments later, his dark green robe had disappeared into the woods.

  Tolui had not been able to understand what had been said, but he knew that Guo Jing was standing by his promise. “Brother!” he cried out, a broad smile on his face. “You finish your business here, and we will see you once again, back in the north!”

  “Keep the condors by your side,” Khojin added. “Come back soon!”

  Guo Jing nodded. “Tell my mother that I will avenge Papa’s death.”

  Jebe and Boroqul also said their goodbyes, then the Mongolians mounted their horses and left.

  Jade Han turned to Guo Jing. “What are you going to do?”

  “I … I must find Shifu Hong.”

  “Yes, that is proper.” Ke Zhen’e nodded. “I hear that Apothecary Huang visited our families. We must return to them as soon as possible to set their minds at rest. When you see Chief Hong, pass on our sincerest wishes for his good health, and tell him he is most welcome in Jiaxing. We will look after him, be assured of it.”

  Guo Jing nodded and bade his shifus farewell. Then he and Lotus mounted Ulaan and set off in the direction of Lin’an.

  4

  That evening, Guo Jing and Lotus returned to the palace. They began their search in the imperial kitchens, but there was no sign of Count Seven Hong anywhere. They interrogated some eunuchs, all of whom claimed that there had been no intruders over the past few days. This put their minds at ease somewhat. Count Seven may have been injured, but he was still in possession of his wits. Surely he had come up with an escape plan and was on his way to Yuezhou to meet with the rest of the Beggar Clan.

  Thus satisfied, they set off westward early the next morning.

  Half of China was now occupied by the Jurchen. In the east, the River Huai drew the boundary separating the Jin-controlled northern territories from the south, which remained under the rule of the Song Emperor; in the west, the two states were divided by the military stronghold Dasan Pass in the Qin Mountains.

  The Song Empire, once in control of all of China, now had dominion over just seventeen provinces: East and West Zhe, the two Huais, East and West Jiangnan, North and South Jinghu, South Jingxi, the five territories of Bashu, Fujian, and finally East and West Guangnan.

  Before long, Guo Jing and Lotus Huang had arrived in West Jiangnan. They were traveling along an exposed path, over a mountain ridge. Dark clouds sped toward them from the east. Midsummer storms arrive with scant warning in this part of the country. Raindrops as big as soybeans were soon beating down on them, as thunder cracked over their heads. Guo Jing scrambled to open an umbrella over Lotus, but a gust of wind ripped the canopy away within seconds, leaving him clutching nothing but a bare pole.

  The sight made Lotus chuckle. “You’ve found the Dog-Beating Cane already!”

  Guo Jing smiled, but inside he was sighing. There’s nowhere to take cover … He started to remove his outer robe so that he could use it to keep the rain from Lotus for a little longer.

  Lotus was moved by the gesture. “It’ll be wet through before long.”

  “We can go faster.”

  She shook her head. “Let me tell you a story. One day, on a country road much like this, the heavens opened. Everyone started to run, except for one man. He kept walking at the same leisurely pace. People were curious and asked him why he didn’t hurry. ‘The rain is also falling on the road ahead. I will get drenched, either way.’”

  Guo Jing smiled at this obvious truth.

  But the tale led Lotus’s thoughts to a darker place—to Guo Jing’s determination to honor his word in the matter of his betrothal to Khojin, against his own heart and hers.

  Our future is destined to be full of grief and heartbreak, she told herself. Whichever path we take, we cannot run from it. Just like the storm, beating down on us here, on this exposed ridge.

  They rode on in silence. It was only when they began their descent that they chanced upon a farmstead. They knocked on the door to ask for shelter.

  They were soaked through, from head to toe. Luckily, the farmers had some dry clothes that they could borrow.

  Lotus was greatly amused to be given the patched garb of an elderly peasant woman. As she dressed herself, however, she was startled by an exasperated cry from the room next door.

  She rushed over. “What’s wrong?”

  Guo Jing’s face was crumpled. He held out the painting her father had given him.

  Lotus took the scroll and unrolled it.

  “What a shame,” she muttered.

  The paper and the silk mounting were rubbed and torn in many parts. Much of the ink brushwork, if not altogether washed out, was irreparably damaged. Nothing could be done to remedy it.

  She cast one last look of regret at the ruined artwork as she set it down. Her eyes settled on a few faint lines of writing, next to the poem inscribed by Han Shizhong. Quite certain that she had not seen them before, she brought the painting close to her face to examine the marks.

  The characters were written on the lining that formed part of the backing, visible only because the painting itself had been rendered translucent by the rain. And yet, the hidden message had also been partially washed away …

  Studying the indistinct traces, she mumbled to herself: “… Fei’s final writings … iron palm … middle cra
g … in the second…”

  However hard she tried, she could not make out the missing characters. The only thing she could deduce was that, altogether, there should have been four lines, each consisting of four characters.

  “Did you say ‘Fei’s final writings’? As in, General Yue Fei?”

  “It could very well be that! Remember Wanyan Honglie thought General Yue’s writings were hidden behind the waterfall by the Hall of Wintry Jade, in the Imperial Palace, in Lin’an? He found a marble casket that was supposed to contain the manuscripts, but it was empty.” Lotus repeated the characters to herself several times before continuing. “These four lines must be the key to where the writings are concealed … When we were in Roaming Cloud Manor, Brother Zephyr and your shifus mentioned that Qiu Qianren was the leader of the Iron Palm Gang. Papa has also told me that the Iron Palm Gang rules over Sichuan and Hunan. Could Yue Fei’s final writings have something to do with Qiu Qianren?”

  “I don’t trust anything, when it comes to him.” Guo Jing shook his head.

  “Neither do I,” Lotus replied with a smile.

  With no clear answers, they tucked the scroll back in their packing and carried on toward Yuezhou.

  5

  On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, they entered Yuezhou, in North Jianghu. After setting the condors free on the outskirts, they dismounted and asked for directions to Yueyang Tower, the city’s most famous monument.

  They found a tavern next to the tower and chose a table upstairs. Once they had ordered some food and wine, they cast their eyes over the vast expanse of Dongting Lake.

  The surface of the water was still and shiny, as if made from a single piece of polished jade. Mountains soared on all sides, framing the wild majesty of the scene. It was quite unlike the elegant mists and gentle refinement of Lake Tai.

  Before long, their meal arrived. The food was served in exceptionally large bowls and they were given chopsticks longer than any they had ever seen before. Though their tongues struggled with the sting of the chilies that characterized the cuisine of this region, the flavors were as bold as the view.

  After picking at the dishes for a little while, they turned their attention to the verses inscribed on the walls of the dining hall. Guo Jing’s eyes fell on a passage titled “Memorial to Yueyang Tower”, by Fan Zhongyan. He read, mouthing silently until he reached the lines:

  Be the first to bear the hardships of the world,

  and the last to enjoy its comforts.

  “What are you thinking?” Lotus asked.

  Overwhelmed by the enormity of the statement, Guo Jing did not seem to hear her.

  “The man who wrote this was given the posthumous title of the Duke of Wenzhong,” Lotus explained. “He was more than just a man of letters. His military foresight kept the Tangut army at bay.”

  Guo Jing asked Lotus to tell him more. His respect for Fan Zhongyan grew as he learned about his difficult early life—Fan’s father died soon after he was born, and his mother, destitute, was forced to remarry—and how he never forgot the struggles faced by the common man, even as he rose higher and higher in the Imperial Court.

  Filling his bowl with wine until it was full to the brim, Guo Jing raised a toast to the great man. He then threw back his head and drank it in one long gulp.

  “‘Be the first to bear the hardships of the world, and the last to enjoy its comforts.’ That is exactly how a hero should think!” he exclaimed.

  Lotus found his passionate response endearing. “Of course, it’s a very noble sentiment, but this world has too many hardships and too few comforts. Should a hero never enjoy life, even just for a moment? I wouldn’t want to live like that.” She fell silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. “I don’t care about the world, I don’t care about its comforts or its hardships. All I know is, if you are not by my side, I’ll never be happy…”

  Guo Jing, too, was thinking about their future and how they were destined to be apart. He lowered his head. There was nothing he could say to comfort her.

  “I won’t be happy, either,” he eventually mumbled.

  “It doesn’t matter. It is what it is.” Lotus looked up, sounding almost cheerful. “Fan Zhongyan also wrote a poem set to the tune of ‘Trimming the Silver Lamp’s Wick.’ Do you know it?”

  “Of course not! But I would like to hear it.”

  Lotus began to recite it:

  “In the world of men, none reach one hundred.

  In youth, sophomoric; in dotage, weak.

  Only the time betwixt, those few short years,

  For fleeting fame, endure,

  Strung along by first in rank and gold.

  From such fate how can I escape?

  May you ask the old.”

  She then explained its meaning to a confused Guo Jing.

  “He was right to remind us not to waste our prime chasing fame, fortune or rank,” Guo Jing said.

  Lotus continued to chant softly to herself, oblivious to Guo Jing’s words:

  “As wine courses through guts wrenched by sorrow,

  Out pour tears of lovelorn woe.”

  “Was that also written by Fan Zhongyan?”

  “Yes, even that great hero loved once.”

  They raised their cups in a mutual salute, and drank.

  As Lotus placed her cup back down, three middle-aged men sitting around a table at the other end of the tavern caught her attention. Unlike the merchants and scholars that made up the general clientele, these men had the bearing of authority, and yet their freshly laundered clothes were covered in patches.

  They’re probably going to the gathering of the Beggar Clan tonight, she told herself, before the chattering cicadas in the willow tree outside distracted her.

  “All day, cicadas cry, ‘I see! I see!’” Lotus said. “But what do they actually ‘see’? Maybe even insects claim to know things they cannot possibly understand. Just like our dear friend … I must say, I rather miss him.” She smiled.

  “Who?” Guo Jing was mystified.

  “Who else but our favorite lying cheat, Qiu Qianren!”

  Guo Jing chuckled at the memory of their last encounter.

  “What prattle!”

  Lotus and Guo Jing turned to see who had cut short their merriment. A man was squatting in a corner, against the wall, watching them with a grin on his face. They relaxed when they saw his begrimed rags and sun-scorched skin.

  A member of the Beggar Clan, without a doubt.

  Guo Jing cupped his hands in a gesture of esteem. “Master, would you like to join us for a drink?”

  “Yes.” The beggar shuffled over to their table.

  Lotus, meanwhile, asked for another set of chopsticks and a bowl for their guest, then poured him some wine. “Please, take a seat and drink with us.”

  “Beggars aren’t meant to sit on benches.” With those words, he dropped to the floor, reached into a rough hemp pouch on his back and pulled out a chipped bowl and a pair of bamboo chopsticks.

  “You can give me your leftovers,” he said, thrusting his bowl forward.

  “That would be disrespectful!” Guo Jing was aghast. “We shall order whatever our elder wishes from the kitchen.”

  “We beggars have our beggarly ways. If I’m only a beggar in name, but not in deed, then it will all be nothing more than an act. If you wish to give alms, go ahead. If not, I’ll go elsewhere.”

  Lotus stole a glance at Guo Jing, then at the three men in beggar-like dress. “Very well! You’re right.” Smiling, she took his bowl and scraped all the uneaten food into it.

  Meanwhile, the beggar had dug out a few cold balls of rice from another bag he carried on his person.

  As the man wolfed down his meal, Lotus counted the number of sacks he was laden with. Nine altogether, in three neat groups. She looked over to the three men; they wore the same number of pouches. Yet, they had no problem sitting on benches and feasting on an elaborate spread prepared for them by the tavern.

  She noticed that t
hey made a point of not looking in her direction, pretending not to have seen their dirty comrade. Could she even detect a whiff of displeasure?

  The wooden staircase creaked, and they heard footsteps ascending. Lotus and Guo Jing turned, eager to get a glimpse of the new arrivals. Two beggars appeared—one corpulent, one skinny. The Beggar Clan members who had been so respectful to Yang Kang in Ox Village!

  Right on cue, Yang Kang appeared on the landing. He caught sight of Guo Jing, hissed an order and ran back down the stairs. The plump one hotfooted it after him, while the gaunt one went up to the three men in patched clothes and whispered a few words. The men hopped to their feet and rushed after them.

  All the while, Lotus and Guo Jing’s guest did not lift his eyes from his bowl.

  Lotus left the table and leaned out of the window, intrigued.

  Surrounded by a dozen beggars, Yang Kang was being ushered westward with great deference. Once he was some way from the tavern, he glanced back and caught Lotus watching him. Lowering his eyes, he scuttled away in haste, his entourage trailing behind him.

  When Lotus sat down again, their guest was licking his bowl clean. Then he wiped the chopsticks on his grubby shirt.

  Taking the opportunity to observe him more closely, she noted that his face was scored by wrinkles and colored by hardship. His hands, almost twice the size of an average adult man’s, were covered in blue veins bulging angrily through the coarse skin—testament to a lifetime of toil.

  Once the beggar had stowed his things in one of the sacks on his back, Guo Jing stood, put palm over fist and bowed his head once more. “Please, would the elder like to take a seat, so that it would be easier to converse?”

  “I’m not used to sitting on benches,” the beggar said with good humor. “I know you’re disciples of Chief Hong, so we are of the same martial generation, but I think the extra years I’ve lived give me some rank, here. My name is Lu. Surefoot Lu.”

  Guo Jing and Lotus looked at each other, surprised that he knew who they were.

  “Big Brother Lu, what an interesting name,” Lotus said, beaming.

  “I’m sure you know the saying, ‘A poor man without a staff will be beaten by dogs.’ Well, as you can see, of sticks, I have none, but, stinky feet—I have two of those. When dogs trouble me, I plant a foot right on their cursed heads. And off they scurry, tails between their legs.”