by Jin Yong
Surefoot Lu writhed and squirmed. He could not extract himself.
Qiu’s stomach, somehow, was sucking him in, all while producing a fierce heat. Lu felt as if he had been plunged into a fiery furnace. His scalp sizzled, his hands were scorched.
The pain was excruciating.
“Yield!” Qiu Qianren bellowed.
“Never!”
Qiu clenched his left fist around Surefoot Lu’s right hand. With a series of sickening cracks and pops, the bones in all five of the beggar’s fingers were crushed.
“Yield!”
“Nooo!”
More crunching. This time, from Surefoot Lu’s left hand.
Despite the pain, curses flowed from the beggar’s delirious lips.
“Let’s see how defiant you will be when I crush your skull!” Qiu Qianren cried.
4
Just as Qiu Qianren issued his threat, a tall, broad-shouldered young man leaped out from among the crowd and landed behind Surefoot Lu. He lifted his arm and slapped his palm down onto the beggar’s backside. Loud and firm.
Smack!
A potent strength traveled through the beggar’s skull, into Qiu Qianren’s belly.
Smack!
Though the blow was once again on the beggar’s buttocks, Qiu felt its power in his gut.
Smack!
The force sucking Lu’s head into Qiu’s stomach had been nullified.
Surefoot Lu took the chance to pull himself upright, but his hands were still trapped.
“You’re no match for Master Qiu. Let me!” the young man cried, swiping his foot at the beggar’s shoulder.
Qiu Qianren’s grip was shaken. Though the kick was not aimed at him, he felt the blow at the point where his thumb joined his forefinger.
Making use of the momentum, Surefoot Lu lunged to the side. But the awkward position he had been stuck in had left him dizzy. He wobbled and crashed to the floor.
Qiu Qianren eyed his opponent. A boy, barely out of his teens, and he had already mastered the intricate skill of striking through a conduit without causing them harm. He had underestimated the Beggar Clan. He would remain on the defensive, for now.
The beggars, meanwhile, surged forward, shouting and cursing. This insolent boy had not only killed their beloved Chief Hong, but now he had also kicked Elder Lu to the ground.
The boy was, of course, Guo Jing.
Since Qiu Qianren’s arrival, Guo Jing had been focused on the seven stars of the Northern Dipper, recalling the martial formation Ma Yu and his Quanzhen brothers had used against Apothecary Huang in Ox Village.
He began to think about the formation in connection with the content of the Nine Yin Manual. Somehow, this cryptic text, of which he knew every word but understood no more than a few lines, began to make sense. Many points that he had struggled to grasp were now within his reach.
Even though he had always known that the Manual was written by a man with exceptional knowledge of the Taoist canon, and that the Quanzhen Sect’s kung fu was rooted in the very same philosophy, he had never been able to connect the two fully. Until now, that is, guided as he was by the constellation above.
While the Beggar Clan Elders were wrangling with Qiu Qianren, Guo Jing had been thinking about the skill referred to in the second volume of the Manual as Shrinking Muscles, Shortening Bone. It was a commonplace technique, used by thieves and burglars to squeeze through small openings and narrow gaps, but, when advanced martial knowledge was applied, a master could use it to contract every muscle and pull the body into a small ball, much like a hedgehog or porcupine seeking protection.
When Guo Jing was on Rosy Cloud Island, Count Seven had instructed him in a section from the Manual called Transforming Muscles, Forging Bones. As his mind delved into these two chapters, the steel-reinforced leather ropes began to slacken around his wrists and ankles, before slipping off entirely. Not that he realized this was happening. His body was ten times as agile as his intellect.
The instant Elder Peng saw Guo Jing had broken free, he reached out to grab the young man, but Guo Jing eluded him with ease. It was then that Peng noticed the ropes still coiled and knotted on the ground.
How had the boy managed to wriggle out of his restraints like a weatherfish slipping between a fisherman’s fingers? Peng was taken aback.
By the time he looked up, Guo Jing had already freed Surefoot Lu from Qiu Qianren’s strange grip. Knowing he did not possess the skill to secure the prisoner alone, Peng cried out, “Catch him!”
Dozens of beggars responded to the call. Guo Jing’s heart sank at the sight of them swinging their fists and waving their weapons, even though he knew it was because they had fallen for Yang Kang’s lies.
I’ll give you beggars a good beating! That will please Lotus! he said to himself.
Keen to try out his newfound knowledge of the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation, Guo Jing flexed his arms and planted his feet in the Heavenly Power position.
Standing tall and firm, he held his left arm horizontally across his chest.
Half a dozen men were upon him. Three seized him by his outstretched arm, but Guo Jing held his stance, steady as a mountain. The others joined them.
He drew his arm to his side and pivoted.
Full circle.
“Aiyaaaaah!”
“Ouch!”
“Bastard!”
A smack on the back. A slap on the belly. A kick up the backside. The beggars collapsed in a heap, on top of each other.
Guo Jing was about to go for Yang Kang when he saw two beggars pouncing on Lotus. Too far away to tackle them, he ripped off his canvas shoes and flung them at her attackers.
If he had not been told so many times the story of his second shifu Zhu Cong tossing his shoes at Qiu Chuji at the battle of Fahua Temple, Guo Jing would never have imagined that such ordinary items could be used as a weapon.
The two beggars had lifted their blades, ready to deal the deathblow. They feared Lotus might also find a way to break her restraints, and, if so, they would lose the chance to avenge their late chief.
Just then, the air behind them gave way. Something was hurtling at them with a mighty force.
One of the attackers whipped round. A shoe caught him square in the chest. The other shoe slammed into his accomplice’s back before the man even had time to turn his head.
The two beggars toppled, one on his back, the other facedown.
Closest to the action, Elder Peng was startled by Guo Jing’s prowess. Only a master could throw something so soft and light with such force. He edged back.
With a flick of his hand, Guo Jing sent three more men sprawling. He then sprinted over, crouched down and started to untie Lotus’s binds. Before he managed to untangle the first knot, however, scores of Clan members had already surrounded them several times over.
With the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation still in mind, Guo Jing sat down, shifting Lotus onto his lap. Using his right hand, he fought off the attacks, while his left continued to work on the knots. It was a perfect display of Zhou Botong’s Competing Hands technique.
Before long, Guo Jing and Lotus were encircled by nearly a hundred men. Those at the back could not even see their captives, let alone deal any blows.
“Lotus, are you hurt?” Guo Jing asked, as he finally freed her and removed the gag. Above them, weapons clashed and men howled.
“Only numb,” she answered. “And achy.” She made no attempt to pull herself up.
“Lie here a little longer. I’ll make them pay.”
“Make sure you don’t hurt my clansmen,” Lotus said, with a chuckle.
“Of course!” Guo Jing gathered his internal strength to his right hand.
Pang, pang, pang!
Three men flew up and over the crowd.
Guo Jing continued to stroke Lotus’s hair.
Another four became airborne.
Panic. Jostling.
“Brethren, let the Disciples of Eight Pouches deal with the traitors,” El
der Jian cried from the rear.
Most of the crowd fell away, leaving just three men, who were soon joined by another five.
These eight men each carried eight cloth bags on their back. One rank below the Four Elders, they were responsible for a whole region’s clansmen. There were supposed to be nine of them altogether, but Vigor Li had taken his life just before Guo Jing freed himself.
They may have been few in number, but Guo Jing could tell that these men were more formidable fighters than the other beggars.
Sensing that he was about to stand up, Lotus said softly, “Stay sitting. You can do it.”
But what if they attack all at once? Guo Jing appraised his opponents and picked up one of the leather cords that had been used to tie Lotus.
He recognized only two of his attackers—the portly beggar and his stick-thin companion, who had traveled with Yang Kang from Ox Village. He would take them out first.
Guo Jing swung the steel-reinforced cord just centimeters above the ground, in a move known as the Shin Breaker, part of the Golden Dragon Whip repertoire. This was his third shifu Ryder Han’s most accomplished kung fu. Yet, Han could not have accompanied it with the level of inner strength his student now mobilized.
The two men jumped.
In the blink of an eye, the dancing rope created a wall, shielding Guo Jing’s front, back and left. And yet his right side was left undefended. His opponents saw their chance.
“No!”
Elder Jian’s cry was accompanied by two loud slaps. The portly beggar and his rake-thin fellow each took a hit to the shoulder.
Their bodies flew up and sailed through the air.
The skinny beggar plowed into one of the Iron Palm Gang standing closest to the fight. His fleshy friend, flung with more heft, flew farther before colliding with another of Qiu Qianren’s men.
Qiu had shown no interest in the fight until he heard the thud of body against body. That doesn’t sound right, he thought, and glanced over to check on his followers.
He was incensed to see the beggars had vaulted to their feet without a scratch, while his men lay in a heap, bones broken and tendons snapped.
Just as Qiu Qianren was about to turn and confront Guo Jing, he felt a gust of air behind him. Two more beggars were flying his way. He understood that the airborne men were simply the conduit; the lethal force of the boy’s inner strength was reserved for whomever they struck.
Drawing his arm back, he batted one man away, changing his course so he landed on a clear patch of dirt. With the air roaring around him, he then thrust both palms simultaneously into the next flying man’s back. This powerful move was part of the Iron Palm kung fu that had secured Qiu Qianren’s reputation.
Had Qiu’s neigong been stronger, it would have canceled out Guo Jing’s, probably scrambling the poor beggar’s insides at the same time. As it was, Qiu struggled to keep his footing.
The man sailed through the air toward Guo Jing, before gliding to the ground and landing on both feet. He stood in a daze for a moment, then he turned and made for Guo Jing again. He was obviously not injured.
Lotus watched and realized with a shock: Old Qiu’s kung fu is mediocre at best. How could the old fraud withstand Guo Jing’s strong neigong?
A dozen moves were quickly exchanged. Two more beggars were sent staggering from the fight before the last three fell back, accepting that they stood no chance.
Guo Jing flicked his wrist and the rope curled over two of the retreating beggars. He tugged, dragging them toward him. One final swerve of the makeshift whip and the last of the Eight-Pouch Disciples were tied and bound.
5
Thrilled, Lotus flashed a goading smile at Elder Peng.
He must have used the dark arts of mind entrapment on us, she said to herself, recalling Count Seven Hong’s description. First, you are put in a trance, and then you are forced to do whatever the spellcaster tells you to do.
“Guo Jing,” she said, “does the Nine Yin Manual mention some kind of mind entrapment?”
“No…”
Guo Jing’s answer disappointed her.
“Watch out for the smiling one,” she said as he helped her to her feet. “Don’t look him in the eye.”
Instead, Guo Jing looked across at Yang Kang. Pinning him down with a hard glare, Guo Jing marched up to him.
Cowering among the beggars, Yang Kang had prayed to the heavens that their sheer number would be enough to subdue Guo Jing. But this had not proved to be the case, and he knew he was in grave danger.
“Elders, there are more heroes here tonight than we could possibly count. Surely we’re not going to let this ingrate get away?” Yang Kang’s feet were moving as briskly as his lips as he scampered over to stand behind Elder Jian.
“Don’t worry, Chief. We will grind him down,” Jian said to Yang Kang before turning to his fellows. “The wall formation!”
One of the Disciples of Eight Pouches stepped forward, followed by a dozen or so beggars of lower rank. They arranged themselves in a line and linked arms. Another sixteen men formed a second row behind. Then, with a loud cry, they squared their shoulders and ran at Lotus and Guo Jing.
“Aiyooo!” Lotus yelped as she swerved left, while Guo Jing darted right.
Two more beggar phalanxes were now bearing down on them, one from either side.
Even with his experience of leading armies on the battlefield, Guo Jing had never known such a formation. He decided to let them approach, before thrusting both palms into the beggar in the center of the line closing in on him.
But how could one man hold back a score of grown men and their collective momentum? All Guo Jing could manage, despite his exceptional kung fu and tremendous neigong, was to slow a few men in the middle. Those on the flanks folded in on him.
At the last moment, with the beggars all but enveloping him, Guo Jing sprung up and flew over the two rows of attackers. But, just as he touched down on the other side, a new rank appeared. He sucked in a deep breath, flexed his right foot and, once more, sailed over the heads of his pursuers.
Row upon row, the beggars plowed on. From every direction, without pause.
He jumped, but they merely rotated and came back at him.
Charge. Turn. Charge. Turn. Charge.
Wave after wave. How could he get out? Guo Jing could see no weak link to exploit. He was trapped once more.
Lotus was nimbler on her feet. Leaps and sudden quick turns were integral to her martial practice. Even so, she began to feel the strain in her body. Her heart hammered, her breathing could barely keep up.
Before long, she found herself back next to Guo Jing. She too was cornered.
Behind them, the cliff edge; in front and to the sides, files of beggars closing in.
“The cliff!” she cried.
Guo Jing sprinted over to the edge. No time to ask why.
The pursuing force ground to a halt only feet from the precipice.
Now he understood: here, at the edge, they were safe. The beggars were reluctant to come any closer, in case they lost their footing and fell to their deaths. He looked at Lotus, full of admiration, but saw only alarm in her eyes.
The beggars had reconfigured. The phalanx had lengthened to block any chance of escape. The wall had now grown into a column a dozen rows thick. It would not be possible to jump over that many men.
The beggars took one step forward. Then another. Slow but steady.
Guo Jing and Lotus were being forced, one step at a time, toward the abyss.
Guo Jing looked down. “I’ll carry you.” He had climbed higher and more treacherous cliff faces when he was learning internal neigong with Ma Yu, in Mongolia.
Lotus sighed. “They’ll throw rocks.”
“The Nine Yin Manual mentions something called Soul Switching.” Guo Jing did not know why the passage had come to mind in that moment. “It might also involve … mind entrapment … We won’t give up without a fight. If we fall, we’ll all fall.”
“But the
y are loyal followers of our shifu, their chief. Why would we want—?”
He cut her off by lifting her into his arms.
“Run!” He breathed the word into her ear and brushed his lips against her cheek.
Summoning a lifetime’s worth of strength, Guo Jing threw her.
Lotus soared, borne by the clouds and ushered forth by the mist.
He’s going to face them alone. The thought gripped her heart.
Bending her knees slightly, she alighted on the Terrace of the Yellow Emperor.
No one seemed to have noticed her, not even Yang Kang, who was standing a short distance away, in a corner, waving and shouting commands at the beggars attacking Guo Jing.
This is my chance, Lotus told herself. She touched her feet lightly against the ground and leaped up again.
By the time Yang Kang was aware of her, Lotus’s fingertips were resting on the end of his green bamboo cane.
He yanked his end, hoping to pull it out of her grasp.
Lotus aimed two fingers, like the prongs of a fork, at his eyes. In the same instant, she swung her foot up, resting it on the shaft of the cane, which was still firmly in her grip.
Snatch from the Mastiff’s Jaw: an indispensable move from the Dog-Beating repertoire. She had learned it from Count Seven Hong when he named her his successor. It was designed to recover the cane from any opponent, without fail, even if they were a superior fighter.
In this case, Yang Kang was, for certain, the lesser martial artist. And yet, in her haste, Lotus had poked him in the eyes, when she had only meant the move to be a feint to force him back.
Blackness descended over Yang Kang’s field of vision. He let go of the cane, stumbled back, and fell from the Terrace.
6
“Hark, my beggar brethren! stop!” Lotus raised the cane high with both hands and projected her voice using internal-strength kung fu. “Chief Hong is alive and well. This pretender has lied to you!”
The beggars paused, unsure what to believe. It is, after all, human nature to prefer good news to bad. They turned to the young girl.
“Brethren, come! Chief Hong is safe and sound. He has been feasting on three whole chickens cooked in the beggar’s style every day!”
