by Jin Yong
Shifu is alive and well! Lotus protested silently. You’d have known, if you hadn’t tied us up for no reason. Go on! Cry! Serves you right, you stinking beggars.
Elder Jian clapped thrice and the beggars began to collect themselves. When there was some semblance of order, he spoke again: “We brethren have gathered here today on Jun Hill, in Yuezhou, to hear Chief Hong appoint his successor. Now that tragedy has befallen our Clan, we must carry out his last wish. If he left no final command, then it will be up to the Four Elders to nominate the next chief. This rule has been passed down through the Beggar Clan, generation after generation. Is it not so, brothers?”
A collective howl of confirmation.
“Squire Yang, please tell us if Chief Hong spoke any last words,” the portly Elder Peng said.
The appointment of the chief was a most significant event for the Beggar Clan. The group’s future depended on their leader. Not so long ago, under the seventeenth leader, Chief Shi, the Clan’s sway in the jianghu had begun to wane. Though skilled in the martial arts, as a figurehead he was weak and muddled, and he allowed the division between the Washed and the Unwashed to widen beyond repair.
When Count Seven Hong succeeded, he meted out severe punishment for clansmen who attempted to sow discord, thus containing the infighting and enabling the Beggar Clan to regain its former position of influence.
This history was well known to the beggars in attendance. They waited for the announcement with bated breath.
Yang Kang lifted the green bamboo cane over his head with both hands. “Chief Hong suffered grievous injuries at the hands of villains. I chanced upon the Master and gave him refuge in the vault of my house. Once his enemies were gone, I sent for the best physicians. Alas, we were unable to save him.” He paused, giving the beggars a moment to mourn. “Before Chief Hong passed away, he bestowed on me this bamboo cane, along with the formidable responsibility of becoming the nineteenth Chief of the Beggar Clan.”
Gasps of surprise echoed. No one had expected a young man who looked as if he had only known wealth and rank to be chosen to rule the Beggar Clan.
Yang Kang had come across the two beggars who brought him here to Yuezhou soon after he found the bamboo cane in the tavern in Ox Village. Using his charms to tease out their story, it did not take him long to realize that their obsequiousness was all due to his possession of the cane. Needless to say, all the while, he was concealing the truth of how it had come into his possession.
The beggars, in the presence of the chief’s cane, answered truthfully and in great detail, so that, by the time they arrived in Yuezhou, Yang Kang had acquired a working knowledge of the operation of the Beggar Clan, as well as a good idea of its reach and influence in the jianghu. The finer points of the complex system of rules that governed the secret society were still unclear to him—no Clan member would volunteer such information to an outsider, even if he were the bearer of the cane—but he judged that he knew enough to risk declaring himself the next chief. After all, Count Seven Hong had been severely wounded by Viper Ouyang. How could a half-dead man travel all the way to Yuezhou to dispute his claim? Judging by the respectful way he was being treated, he was confident that, once he had been named chief, his subjects would never dare challenge his authority. So, after turning the idea over and over in his head during the journey, he came up with the foolproof tale he had just presented.
He knew that, if he stumbled over a word or blushed even for a moment, the horde of paupers would beat him to a pulp. But, with Count Seven Hong’s death all but assured, the cane in his possession and Guo Jing and Lotus Huang captured, who could discredit his story?
Since ancient times, it has been known that those who wish to achieve greatness must first endure great danger. Considering the benefits the title would bestow upon him, he judged the immediate risks to be well worth running.
* * *
THE RIFT that had grown in the Beggar Clan between the Washed and the Unwashed had divided the whole membership. The Washed dwelled in houses, feasted on meat and wine, took wives and kept concubines. All this they declared by sewing patches on otherwise perfectly intact clothes. They were often men of the jianghu or admirers of the Clan’s upright conduct. Some joined hoping to tap into the Clan’s vast networks, others because they were friends with someone already in the Clan, but none of them had ever begged on the streets.
The Unwashed were beggars in the truest sense of the word. They never made purchases with silver, ate from the same table as people outside the Clan, or fought those without martial-arts training.
The two groups were uncompromising in their views and quarreled constantly. Count Seven Hong would wear clean but patched clothes for one year and dirty rags for another, in order to demonstrate his impartiality. However, gourmand that he was, it was impossible for him to live on scraps and leftovers, so he never fully adhered to the rules practiced by the Unwashed, even though their way of life was closer to the true roots of the Clan.
Of the Four Elders, Count Seven had always turned to Surefoot Lu first on any matter. He would have long since appointed Lu as his successor, had Lu not let his temper get the better of him on several important occasions.
Understandably, the Washed members had been dreading this gathering at Yuezhou. They had long suspected that Surefoot Lu would be next in line to take over the Clan, as he was the most righteous and the best fighter, not to mention the beggar most trusted by the chief. They were also aware that, although three of the Four Elders were of the Washed, the majority of the clansmen in the lower ranks were genuine beggars who adhered to the way of life of the Unwashed.
The Elders of the Washed were always searching for ways to improve their situation and reform the Clan in their image, but they had held back from doing anything untoward, out of respect for Count Seven Hong. When Yang Kang arrived in Yuezhou with the green bamboo cane and news of the chief’s death, they saw, through their grief, their long-hoped-for opportunity to crush the Unwashed. They noticed the young man’s ornate clothing and fastidiousness about food, and were confident that they could persuade him to side with their cause. So, they welcomed Yang Kang with great courtesy, hoping to learn from him the chief’s final thoughts on the matter of the succession before the Assembly.
Yet, Yang Kang would not reveal a thing. He could not risk these senior figures of the Beggar Clan changing their mind about him. How could he have known that the Elders of the Washed cared little for the identity of the new chief, as long as Surefoot Lu did not ascend to the role?
The three Elders of the Washed—Jian, Peng, and Liang—seemed pleased by Yang Kang’s claim to be the next chief. They shared a conspiratorial look, with the slightest nod of their heads.
“Squire Yang holds in his hands the Clan’s most revered object,” Elder Jian added, once he had given the crowd a moment to absorb Yang Kang’s words. “If anyone among our brethren has any doubts, please come up to examine it yourself.”
Surefoot Lu shot Yang Kang a sideways glance. This boy is to be our chief? To lead the brothers of the Beggar Clan?
He could hardly contain his indignation, but, though he struggled to accept the idea, he reached out courteously for the bamboo cane.
Green and glossy like jade. The very cane that had been passed down from chief to chief, there was no doubt about it.
Chief Hong must have given it to him as a token of gratitude for his attempts to save his life, Surefoot Lu told himself. Who am I to disobey our leader’s wishes? I will serve this young man with courage and a loyal heart, for the sake of Chief Hong and his legacy.
With that thought, Surefoot Lu lifted the cane over his head with both hands and offered it to Yang Kang in an appropriately ceremonial manner.
“We shall obey Chief Hong’s last command and bow to Squire Yang as the nineteenth Chief of the Beggar Clan,” Surefoot Lu pledged, to thunderous cheers.
Guo Jing and Lotus watched in desperation, but they could not break out of their restraints. Guo Jing
recalled Apothecary Huang’s warning that Yang Kang would try to become the Chief of the Beggar Clan. He feared the destruction his sworn brother would wreak upon the group. Meanwhile, Lotus was waiting for Yang Kang to make a decision about how he would deal with them. Although she knew he would not let them off easily, it would give her an opportunity to improvise a response.
“I have neither the wisdom of age nor the knowledge of experience.” Yang Kang was all humility. “This is too great a responsibility.”
“Squire Yang need not be so modest,” Elder Peng said immediately. “It is Chief Hong’s last command, and we, your brethren, shall serve you with one heart.”
“Indeed!” Surefoot Lu cried, full of conviction. Then, he cleared his throat noisily, and spat.
Right in Yang Kang’s face. Phlegm splattered on his right cheek.
Stunned by the sudden insult, Yang Kang barely had a chance to react before he felt three more gobs of sputum land on him.
This is it! he thought, frightened and disgusted. They must have seen through my guise.
Tensing, he prepared himself to flee. He knew he had little chance of outrunning the beggars, and yet, he was not going to remain and submit himself to fate.
The Four Elders crossed their arms over their chests and prostrated themselves on the ground.
Mystified, Yang Kang, for once, was lost for words.
The beggars had, by now, ordered themselves by rank, and they approached their new chief in line, coughing and hawking.
Slime flew with each show of obeisance.
Is this their way of showing submission? Yang Kang was bewildered. How could he have known that this was customary at the appointment of a new chief? The act of expectoration was a reminder for the leader of the beggars of the treatment his followers received by society at large. As their figurehead, he must first submit to the insult suffered by all those under his command.
This spectacle brought Lotus back to the day when Count Seven Hong had named her Chief of the Beggar Clan, on Rosy Cloud Island. She remembered the speck of spittle on the hem of her skirt and his apology: “When it becomes official to the Clan, there will be a disgusting ritual, I am afraid. It will be hard on you.” She had assumed he had been unable to aim his spit accurately, due to his injuries, but now she realized he had done it on purpose and his cryptic warning referred to this very rite Yang Kang was enduring. She understood why he had been vague; she might well have refused, out of pure disgust.
At long last, the beggars present had finished paying homage. “Chief, ascend the Terrace!” they cried as one.
Yang Kang eyed the platform. It was not particularly high. He knew an elegant move that would show off his kung fu. He flexed his toes, and up he flew.
Yet, to the Elders, who had honed their craft over decades, the fanciful leap contained little substance. All it had demonstrated was that the new chief was a novice of the martial arts, albeit somewhat gifted and with some training at the hands of a master. He was still young, after all.
Standing tall on the Terrace of the Yellow Emperor, Yang Kang projected his voice: “Although we have yet to apprehend Chief Hong’s murderers, I have captured two of the accomplices.”
“Where?”
“Cut them into pieces!”
“Make them suffer!”
The crowd erupted again.
“Bring them here!” Yang Kang ordered.
Guo Jing was also eager to find out whom Yang Kang had caught—that is, until he saw a portly beggar waddling toward him. That was when he understood.
Elder Peng grabbed Guo Jing with one hand and Lotus with the other, before hurling them down in front of the Terrace.
“Chief, allow me to speak,” Surefoot Lu said. “They are disciples of Chief Hong. Why would they harm him?”
“They plotted a crime most vile.” Yang Kang spat the words out. “They sought to destroy their own teacher!”
“Chief Yang saw it with his own eyes,” Elder Peng added. “Are you saying he’s mistaken?”
“Allow me to speak, Chief!” A man rushed to the front of the crowd. “I know them. They are heroes. Righteous and moral. By my life, they’d never harm Chief Hong.”
The speaker was, of course, Vigor Li, whom Guo Jing had saved from Gallant Ouyang, back in Baoying. Li knew how fond the chief had been of the young couple.
“They are good people—good friends of the Clan!”
A younger man spoke up—Prosper Yu. He had been in Baoying with Vigor Li, where they had tried to thwart Gallant Ouyang’s prurient plan to abduct Emerald Cheng.
“Speak through your leader.” Elder Liang glared at the Unwashed upstarts. “You know full well you are not permitted to interrupt.”
Realizing what an affront it would be to directly challenge their senior, Vigor Li and Prosper Yu stepped back, fuming in silence.
Li and Yu’s protest chimed with the doubt gnawing at Surefoot Lu. They were men under his command and he trusted them.
“This lowly member of the Clan would never be so bold as to cast doubt on the chief.” The Unwashed leader chose his words carefully. “Nevertheless, it is of the utmost importance that we avenge the wrong suffered by Chief Hong, and I beg the chief to extract every piece of information possible first.”
“Of course! I will wring the truth out of them.” Yang Kang already had a plan, and turned to his captives. “You have no need to speak. Nod if what I say is true, shake your head if it’s untrue. If you try to fool us…” He tailed off and flicked his wrist.
Elder Peng unsheathed his sword and Elder Liang his saber. Guo Jing and Lotus each felt the sharp, cold point of a blade pressed to their back.
This was a tactic Lotus knew well. Last time she had witnessed its use was during that sweet and romantic encounter at the inn, in Ox Village. She and Guo Jing had been concealed in the hidden chamber, watching Laurel Lu try to ask Emerald Cheng to marry him. But the young lady was too shy to speak, so he asked her to answer with a nod or a shake of her head.
Lotus also remembered using the method on Gallant Ouyang, on Peach Blossom Island, when he came with his uncle, Viper Ouyang, to seek her hand. She bridled at the idea that she was about to suffer the same indignity at the hands of this treacherous snake.
Though fury had drained the blood from her face, she still had her wits about her. She needed to find a way to raise Surefoot Lu’s suspicions with her responses, so that he would press for verbal answers. If she could speak, she was certain that she could convince everyone present that Yang Kang was deceiving them.
But Yang Kang also knew who he was up against. Guo Jing’s simplemindedness would play into his hands, so he had him brought forward first.
“She is Apothecary Huang’s daughter, is she not?” he asked loudly.
Guo Jing ignored the question and closed his eyes.
Elder Liang pressed his saber a little harder against Guo Jing’s back and growled, “Yes or no?”
Guo Jing had been planning to deny Yang Kang the satisfaction of a reply, but then it occurred to him that the truth would come out, whether he answered or not. He nodded.
The daughter of Chief Hong’s killer!
“Kill her!” the crowd exploded.
“Brethren, please,” Yang Kang said, in an attempt to quell the masses before turning once more to Guo Jing. “Apothecary Huang gave you her hand, did he not?”
Nod.
Yang Kang pulled out the dagger tucked into Guo Jing’s belt. “Qiu Chuji, one of the Seven Taoists of the Quanzhen Sect, gave you this, did he not?”
Nod.
“Your name is carved on the hilt, is it not?”
Nod.
“Ma Yu, another Quanzhen monk, taught you kung fu, and his martial brother, Wang Chuyi, saved your life. Is it not so?”
Nod.
“When Count Seven Hong was grievously injured, you were by his side, were you not?”
Nod.
Lotus cursed silently. Silly boy. Shake your head! If you keep denying, he�
��ll have to let you speak!
Yang Kang grew sterner and fiercer with each accusation. To the beggars, each nod of Guo Jing’s head was a confirmation of his crimes. They had not realized that the questions posed had little to do with any wrongdoing, and that it was all a ploy. Now, even Surefoot Lu believed that Guo Jing and Lotus Huang were guilty. He went up to Guo Jing and kicked him.
“Brethren, since they have confessed, we shall not make them suffer unduly. Elder Peng, Elder Liang, make it quick.”
Guo Jing looked at Lotus and found her smiling at him.
She was content. The prospect of dying by his side comforted her. It was she, Lotus Huang, who would share him in the next life, now, and forever after. Not Khojin, the Mongolian princess to whom he was betrothed.
Bewildered by Lotus’s reaction, Guo Jing tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky, looking in a northerly direction. He thought of his mother, far, far away, in Mongolia. His eyes were drawn to the glow of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper, and the sight reminded him of the fight that had taken place not long ago between the Seven Immortals of the Quanzhen Sect, Cyclone Mei, and her shifu, Apothecary Huang.
He had never possessed a memory for details, but, in this moment, he felt a sudden clarity. He could see before his eyes, blow by blow, how the Seven Immortals had used the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation to attack and defend, and how, by shifting positions, they had lured their opponents into the snare, before closing in on them.
So immersed was he in what he could recall from the fight, he had not noticed Peng and Liang standing over him, weapons raised.
“Not so hasty!” Surefoot Lu darted into his clansmen’s way. Then, as he worked to remove Guo Jing’s gag, he asked, “What exactly happened to Chief Hong? Tell me everything.”
“There’s no need to ask him,” Yang Kang cut in. “I’ve told you all you need to know already.”
