by Jin Yong
Guided by the flame, Guo Jing stepped cautiously into the darkness. After following the tunnel through two turns, he arrived at an enormous chamber. A natural cave, it was ten times the size of the man-made entryway.
A dozen or so skeletons were dotted around the space. Some were sitting up, others lying supine. Each had made the journey into the world beyond in a different way. Some bones were scattered, others still maintained the outline of the human form. There were even relic urns and spirit tablets to commemorate the deceased. Swords, secret weapons, and other treasures clustered around each group of remains.
These were the great heroes of yesterday, Guo Jing thought, stirred by the scene. Today, they are nothing more than piles of bones. Still, at least they have each other’s company, here—much better than lying buried underground, all alone.
Weapons and antiques had never held Guo Jing’s interest. Right now, with Lotus on his mind, they were nigh on invisible. But, just as he turned to leave, a wooden casket caught his eye. It was sitting on a skeleton that was leaning against one wall of the cave.
There appeared to be an inscription on the lid. He crept over to take a closer look.
The Secret to Defeating the Jin.
Guo Jing mouthed the phrase to himself. Could this be General Yue Fei’s last writings?
Timidly, he reached out and took hold of the casket.
Craaaaaack!
The skeleton lunged at him.
Guo Jing leaped back. The bones clattered to the ground.
He bolted, running as fast as he could until he was back among the living. He planted the torch in a crack in the floor and helped Lotus up, so that she was leaning against him. Together, they opened the box.
Two thread-bound volumes.
Guo Jing started thumbing through the slimmer one. It contained petitions and memorials Yue Fei had written to the Emperor, calls to arms and declarations of war, essays and commentaries, as well as lyrics and poetry. Every page was an impassioned affirmation of his loyalty, faith, and devotion toward his homeland.
Guo Jing kept making noises in agreement and admiration as he read.
“Read them aloud to me,” Lotus murmured.
Guo Jing opened to a short text entitled “Pledge at the Temple of the Five Mountains”:
“Since the upheavals in the Central Plains, invasions came from the east and the north. I made my pledge in the lands beyond the Yellow River, rising up in Xiangtai. I enlisted in the army on the day I tied my hair and came of age, and have since fought in more than two hundred battles. Though I have yet to make it far into the eastern wilderness, to purge the nests and hideouts of our enemy, still, I have had the pleasure of avenging at least one of the ten thousand wrongs done to my country.
“Now, once more, I lead a lone brigade, marching out of Yixing. At the battle of Jiankang, we defeated our foe at one beat of the war drum. My sole regret was failing to crush them outright, so not a single horse of theirs could retreat. For now, I train my troops and rest my soldiers, kindling our fighting spirit and steeling our hearts for the next encounter.
“Forward we look to the next battle, the next chance to win honor for our country, to traverse north across the vast sands, to bathe our nemesis’ court in blood, to slaughter every invader of our people, to welcome the return of our two Emperors through the gates of our capital, to take back our lands, to forge a new territorial map. Forward we look to our Imperial Court ruling without concern, our lord and ruler reposing at ease. Such is my hope.
“Penned by Yue Fei who was born in the lands beyond the Yellow River.”
Though Guo Jing mispronounced some characters he did not recognize, he delivered the passage from the heart. These few lines contained a lifetime’s worth of hopes for the patriotic general, and that very same fire was burning in his chest, just reading them, now.
In any other situation, Qiu Qianzhang would have made some snide remark. Yue Fei’s blind—nay, pig-headed—loyalty had always grated on him. Such foolishness to stand against the changing tide of history, he thought. Well, it’s not a mistake I’d ever make.
And yet, he bit his tongue and instead nodded as if in vehement agreement. “Excellently written. Excellently read. A hero’s words from a hero’s lips. Excellent! Excellent!”
In his immobile state, he would say anything to keep Guo Jing in good humor, anything to keep the young man from tapping his Heaven’s Vent again.
“Papa always wished to have been born a few decades earlier, so he could have met this great hero…” Lotus trailed off, remembering their last exchange. “Can you read some of his poems?”
Guo Jing turned a leaf and read out loud “River Run Red” and “Layered Hills,” which she knew well, of course. Then he turned to “Temple of Jade Brilliance” and “For Zhang Yuan,” both of which were new to her.
The young couple were deaf to the shouting and cursing outside. By the light of the flickering torch, Guo Jing read out Yue Fei’s last poems. Lotus listened, her head resting on Guo Jing’s lap.
“This one is called ‘The Dragon-Dwelling Temple of Poyang.’
“The temple at the Hill of Soaring Rocks,
Where the woods are tranquil and the springs serene.
Coats of precious gold, the likeness of buddhas,
Caps of snowy white, the heads of aged monks.
Over the pond, the moon’s chill grows.
Among the pine, autumn with the night blows.
With these words I come to bid the dragon,
Bring forth the rain to wash the people’s woes.”
Lotus thought she could hear the wind rustling and birds calling above the racket outside, and a chill engulfed her body. She snuggled up to Guo Jing—gently, lest the Hedgehog Chainmail prick her beloved.
“General Yue never, for one moment, forgot the suffering of the common people. Truly, a great hero!” Guo Jing said, to no one in particular.
“What’s in that one?” Lotus asked.
Guo Jing picked up the other volume and read the first few lines. “This is…” His voice wavered in excitement. “Battle strategies! This must be what Wanyan Honglie was trying so hard to find. Thank the heavens it didn’t fall into his hands.”
The book opened with six lines:
Cautious with recruitment and appointment
Diligent with drilling and training
Just with punishment and reward
Clear with commands and orders
Strict in discipline and rules
United in triumph and hardship
Just when Guo Jing was ready to turn to the next page, he realized the only sound to be heard was the whistle of the wind between the crags.
The shouting had ceased.
For the first time since they had taken shelter inside the cave, an eerie silence had descended.
6
A series of cracks and pops began to break this short-lived stillness, drowning out the murmuring of the night breeze. It was a noise they all knew well.
The splatter and splutter of wood catching fire.
“Thank you, little ones, for a painful death!” Qiu Qianzhang lashed out. He had quite forgotten that he had been honoring them as heroes only moments before.
Guo Jing laid Lotus carefully on the floor and hurried to the entrance of the cave.
He stood looking out, gobsmacked.
Fire.
Walls of glowing hot flames. Pressing in on them. Engulfing every tree and shrub in its path.
Everything was ablaze.
They’re going to burn us alive! Guo Jing realized with horror.
He crammed Yue Fei’s papers back into the casket and stuffed it inside his shirt, before lifting Lotus into his arms.
On his way out, he kicked the cursing Qiu Qianzhang in the midriff to release the bind on his pressure point and thus restore his mobility.
There was only one way open to him—the summit.
Guo Jing scaled the several hundred feet to the peak with ease. Qiu Qianzhang
scampered after him, since he too had nowhere else to turn.
Guo Jing set Lotus down and sighed.
The flames licked and lapped at everything in their way. It was only a matter of time before they reached them.
“General Yue’s name, Fei, means ‘to soar,’” Lotus said, out of the blue. “His courtesy name was Pengju, ‘lifted by the winged peng.’ We could instead be ‘lifted by the condors’?”
“Huh?”
“The condors. They could carry us down.”
“Brilliant!” Guo Jing hopped to his feet. “I hope they’re strong enough.”
“Better to die trying…”
Sitting down cross-legged, Guo Jing calmed his mind and pooled his qi. He let the energy circle in his Elixir Field, in his lower abdomen.
Moments later, he let out a whistle. It shot far into the distance—a powerful demonstration of the Quanzhen Sect neigong he had learned from Ma Yu, now fortified by lessons from the Nine Yin Manual.
Though Guo Jing was several li above sea level, his voice traveled down the mountain with ease. Almost at once, two white dots appeared in the night sky.
Borne on the wind and illuminated by the light of the moon, the condors had recognized their master’s call, which was still echoing between the crags.
Guo Jing helped Lotus take off the Hedgehog Chainmail and lifted her onto the back of the female condor. He then undid one of the long sashes tying her dress together and wound it around the bird, in case Lotus was too weak to cling on.
Once satisfied that Lotus was secure, he mounted the male condor and looped his arms around the bird’s neck.
Guo Jing gave the signal and the condors spread their wings.
Seconds later, they were airborne, gliding smoothly through the night sky.
Guo Jing’s fear that they would be too heavy for these magnificent creatures was unfounded.
In spite of the pain she was suffering, Lotus was not ready to pass up a chance to taunt Qiu Qianzhang.
Pressing lightly on the condor’s neck, she directed the bird to fly just meters above the desperate man, to give him an eyeful of their fantastic escape.
“My lady, take me, please!” Panic, awe, envy. “Save me!”
“She’s not strong enough to bear two. Ask your little brother for help. You’ve got three thousand feet over him, after all.”
Giggling quietly, she gave the condor a tap and away they flew.
“But all these treasures will burn with me!” Qiu Qianzhang cried.
Curiosity got the better of Lotus.
The bird swooped down close and Qiu Qianzhang cast himself off the peak. It was his only chance of survival.
He knew that, if by some miracle he managed to descend through the fire unscathed, he would still be walking straight into death’s embrace, for he had set foot in the Iron Palm Gang’s sacred site, where no living soul was allowed—he had broken the Iron Palm Gang’s hallowed rule that even the leader, his own twin brother, could not defy.
The fire had, by now, blocked the entrance to the cave.
Jump. Get on the condor … It was all he could think. He grabbed at Lotus.
The extra weight sent all three into free fall.
The condor beat her wings in desperation. But she kept falling.
Qiu Qianzhang tried to peel Lotus’s arms from the condor to take the bird for himself, but he had no idea she was bound to it.
Lotus fought back with what little strength she had, her movement limited by the very sash keeping her secure.
Seconds before they crashed into the valley, moments before they plummeted to certain death, they heard the call of the male condor. He swooped, diving head first alongside his mate, his steel-hard beak pecking at the crown of Qiu Qianzhang’s head.
The old man flung his arms up to bat away the attacking bird. The next thing he knew, he was tumbling through the air, until all that remained of him was a desperate wail as he plunged into the depths of the valley.
The female condor cawed with joy at the lightened load. She arched her pinions and, before long, the condors were gliding wing-to-wing, soaring north, their masters clinging firmly to their backs.
APPENDIX
NOTES ON THE TEXT
GRINDING HIS INK
Traditionally, ink in China is formed into sticks or cakes, using soot, animal glue and sometimes also incense to create a perfume. These are then ground against special smoothed and carved pieces of stone, along with a few drops of water. According to Chinese literati culture, the ink stick, ink stone, brush, and paper form the so-called Four Treasures of the Study. The earliest examples of ink made this way appear to date back to the twelfth century B.C.
JADE EMPEROR
The Jade Emperor is the supreme deity in the Chinese tradition, a representation of mortality, but, importantly, not the creator of life. No such creator-God exists in Chinese thinking. In Taoist practice in particular, the Jade Emperor commands the other gods in the pantheon, rewarding and punishing their actions every year, as if holding court in a palace on earth.
IN ARTIFICE THERE IS SUBSTANCE, IN SUBSTANCE THERE IS ARTIFICE
This comes from the standard gloss on Sun Tzu’s The Art of War and echoes the Taoist and Buddhist dichotomy between fullness and hollowness and the nature of the Void. And yet, Sun Tzu is also committed to the importance of lying and trickery in warfare. Elsewhere, Sun Tzu writes, “He will conquer who has learned the artifice of deviation. Such is the art of maneuvering.”
KONG MENG DONG SONG
These characters, when put together in Chinese, sound just as comical and nonsensical as they do in English. The fact that each line consists of rhyming sounds makes a mockery of Chinese poetic tradition, using the four characters per line and four lines per verse model, which is one of the standard building blocks of Chinese prosody.
A SIGN CARVED IN WOOD
The Chinese have, since ancient times, viewed a person’s penmanship to be revealing of their character as well as their artistry. As such, the calligraphy of significant people has been preserved for millennia by tracing them onto pieces of wood or stone, carving out the characters and, in some cases, painting them in a solid color so that they might be read more easily. In this way, a tablet or sign could contain the work of two significant figures: the person who composed the text and the person who literally wrote it using brush and ink. This ancient practice does in fact still persist in contemporary China, and it is not at all unusual to see examples of the calligraphy of Chairman Mao or Deng Xiaoping gracing the entrance to university campuses or other official buildings.
ZHONG KUI, THE JUDGE OF THE UNDERWORLD, THE KITCHEN GOD AND THE EARTH GOD
Zhong Kui is known as the vanquisher of ghosts and demons, having been given the role by Yanluo, the ruler of the underworld. He is reputed to keep order over some eighty thousand ghosts.
After death, the Chinese believed that one’s soul would face judgment. The Judge of the Underworld, here, is one of the deities believed capable of carrying out such judgment.
The Kitchen God is the most important of the domestic gods in the Chinese tradition. On the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month, just before Chinese New Year, the Kitchen God returns to the heavens to report on every household’s activities. The Jade Emperor then uses this information to decide who he will reward or punish over the coming year. Appeasing the Kitchen God, therefore, is of utmost importance.
The Earth God—literally “the Lord of the Earth and Soil” in Chinese—is a heavenly protector of a community. Each locality will have its own Earth God, and local inhabitants will bring him offerings and even stage birthday celebrations for him to enjoy.
HORSETAIL WHISK
The horsetail whisk is a weapon made by tying hair from a horse’s tail to a longish handle. Originally designed to whisk away insects without hurting them, it is in fact supposed to be a compassionate weapon, fully in keeping with the Taoist and Buddhist belief that one should not harm living creatures. Traditionally
, when a Taoist disciple left their temple to live as a wandering monk, their master would gift them a horsetail whisk. Should they be tempted to return to a secular life, the whisk would remind them of their spiritual calling.
BLACK APOTHECARY
The surname Huang can be literally translated as “yellow,” so calling himself the Black Apothecary is a play on his own name.
UNBRIDLED HEART I AM NOT WEIGHED, BY EITHER SHAME OR GLORY
These lines come from a poem written by the real historical figure Qiu Chuji.
SOME SPEND YEARS IN ISOLATION
This poem has been slightly adapted by Jin Yong from the original, written by Yuan Dynasty poet Cheng Tinggui (A.D. 1289 to approx. A.D. 1362) for his friend, a Taoist, who had been living alone for decades on a boat. Many interpret the first two lines, “Some spend years in isolation, cultivating only unkempt hair and eccentricity,” as a dig made by the Quanzhen Sect Taoists at Cyclone Mei, or even at her master, Apothecary Huang.
THE WAY IS FOUND NOT IN BEADS OR BRUSH. NATURE’S MUSIC COMES NOT FROM THE FLUTE
These lines also come from an original poem written by the real historical figure Qiu Chuji.
FIVE MOUNTAINS
China’s five most culturally significant mountains are Mount Tai 泰山 in the east, Mount Heng 衡山 in the south, Mount Hua 華山 in the west, Mount Heng 恆山 in the north, and Mount Song 嵩山 in the Central Plains. They have been the locations for imperial pilgrimage, and are each associated with one of the five cosmic deities of Chinese religion. Mount Hua is the very same mountain upon which the martial greats had their Contest, and Mount Song is home to the Shaolin Temple.
COURTESY NAME
