A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  “It’s the Taoist!”

  Qiu Chuji bowed quickly and then sha, sha, sha! slashed his sword through the whipping wind, knocking another two men from their horses. Yang watched in awe, trying to follow the movement of the Master’s sword. Qiu Chuji had obviously held back during their duel; if he had not, Yang would be dead by now.

  Qiu Chuji moved as if he were being carried by the wind as he bounced and hopped between the horses, branches and the ground. His next opponent was the commanding officer, who continued to bark orders at his men. He had a certain gift for fighting, but Guo and Yang could tell Qiu Chuji was deliberately prolonging the duel so as to use breaks in their fight to outmanoeuvre the other men. If he killed the leader before he managed to kill his men, they might run.

  By now there were only six men left. The officer knew they could never defeat the Taoist, so he turned his horse and tried to escape. Qiu Chuji reached out with his left hand and grabbed the horse’s tail. Pulling on it lightly, Qiu Chuji lifted himself from the ground. Before he had landed on the horse’s back, he had already sliced his sword straight through the officer’s back to the base of his spine. Qiu Chuji threw the body from the horse, grabbed hold of the reins, and started to chase the others, his blade dancing silver against the grey-white of the storm. Screams were swallowed by the wind as one body after another fell to the ground and plumes of blood decorated the snow.

  Qiu Chuji stopped and looked around him. The only sound came from the three riderless horses galloping into the distance, their hooves pounding at the softly packed snow. He rode back to where Guo and Yang stood by the door, waved, and called, “How did you like that?”

  Guo and Yang opened the front door and stepped slowly out. “Your Reverence, who were they?” Guo asked, still in shock.

  “We’ll know when we search them.”

  Guo walked over to the commanding officer’s body and leaned down to take a look. His torso was sliced in two, and lay in a pond of blood. Guo reached for a leather pouch still fastened around the man’s waist, and removed an official-looking document. It was from Magistrate Zhao, and stated that an order had come from the Jin ambassador that Song government troops were to assist them in capturing Wang Daoqian’s murderer. Guo’s hands shook with rage as he rose to his feet. He was just about to show the document to the other two men when Yang called out. He had found some tags written in the Jurchen language on some of the bodies. There were Jin soldiers among these men.

  “Our government has now given free rein to enemy soldiers to capture and kill patriots within our own borders?” Guo exclaimed. “Song officials now take orders from the Jin?”

  “Even our Emperor must refer to himself as an official of the Jin.” Yang sighed. “Our officials and generals are now no more than their slaves.”

  “We monks are supposed to be merciful and good in heart and action, we are not supposed to harm any living being,” Qiu Chuji added bitterly. “But I could no longer withhold my anger, not when faced with traitors and enemies who do nothing but torture our people.”

  “You were right to kill them!” Yang said.

  “They deserved to die!” Guo added.

  Ox Village was small, and in a snowstorm like this everyone kept to their homes. If there had been any witnesses it was doubtful they would come out and ask questions. Yang went to fetch two shovels and a hoe, and the three men buried the bodies. Lily Li and Charity fetched brooms and began sweeping the bloodstained snow until the stench began to make Charity retch. A white mist descended in front of her eyes and with a gasp she fell to her knees.

  Yang dropped his shovel and ran over to her. “What’s the matter?”

  But Charity closed her eyes and did not answer. Her face and hands were now as white as the snow that fell upon them.

  Qiu Chuji hurried over, took hold of Charity’s wrist and felt her pulse. A smile burst across his face. “Congratulations!” Yang looked aghast as Qiu Chuji grabbed his hand.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Charity came to with a faint grunt. The three men were standing above her. Feeling shy, she scrambled to her feet, and with Lily’s help went inside, where her friend poured her a cup of tea.

  “Your wife is pregnant.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am master of nothing and can claim to know a little of only three things. Of these little kung fu tricks I am a mere novice, and as for poetry I am able to write a few couplets, but no more. But I can safely say that if I can lay claim to any expertise, it is in the field of medicine.”

  “Your Reverence, if yours are only ‘little kung fu tricks’, then we are merely children playing.”

  Having finished burying the bodies, the men collected their tools and went inside to celebrate.

  Yang could not stop smiling. If Qiu Chuji wrote poetry, he reasoned, he would be the perfect person to name his child, as well as Guo’s. “My brother Skyfury’s wife is pregnant as well. Could we trouble Your Reverence to think of two names for our children?”

  Qiu Chuji sipped from his bowl of rice wine and thought for a while. “For Master Guo’s child I suggest Guo Jing, meaning ‘Serenity’, and for Master Yang’s child, Yang Kang, meaning ‘Vitality’. This will remind them of the humiliation of the year Jingkang, when Kaifeng was sacked and the Emperor captured by the Jin. These names can be used for girls just as well as boys.”

  He reached into his shirt, removed two daggers, and put them on the table. They were identical in every way, each with a green leather sheath, a gold cross guard and an ebony handle. He picked up one of the daggers and on the handle swiftly carved the characters for “Serenity Guo” as if writing with brush and ink. Then he carved “Vitality Yang” on the handle of the other. He turned to the two fathers-to-be and said, “I don’t have anything else suitable with me, only this pair of daggers. For the children.”

  The two men received them and thanked him. Yang unsheathed his. The blade was cold in his palm, and sharp.

  “I came to possess these daggers quite by accident. They are extremely sharp, but they are too small for me to use. They would be perfect for the children. In ten years’ time, if I am still lucky enough to be of this world, I will return to Ox Village and teach them some kung fu.”

  The two men were delighted and thanked the Reverend repeatedly.

  “The Jin are occupying the north and torturing the people there,” Qiu Chuji went on as he took his last gulps of rice wine. “The situation cannot continue for long. Gentlemen, please take care of yourselves.” Then he stood up and made for the door. Guo and Yang jumped to their feet and tried to make him stay, but he had already slipped out into the storm.

  “Masters like him come and go like the wind.” Guo sighed. “We were lucky to meet him today. I was hoping to talk to him some more, but alas it was not to be.”

  Yang smiled. “Brother, at least we witnessed Master Eternal Spring killing Jin soldiers.” He held up the dagger and unsheathed it again. Gently stroking the blade, he suddenly looked up at his friend. “Brother, I’ve just had a foolish idea. Tell me what you think of it.”

  “What is it?”

  “If our children are boys, they will be sworn brothers. If they are girls, they will be sworn sisters—”

  “And if we have one boy and one girl, they shall be married,” Guo cut in. The men laughed and embraced.

  At that moment, Lily Li and Charity emerged from the back room. “Why are you so happy?” Yang repeated their agreement and they blushed, happy their families would forever be united.

  “Let’s swap the daggers now as our pledge,” Yang suggested. “If they turn out to be sworn brothers or sisters, we can switch back. If they are to be married—”

  “Then apologies, but both daggers will belong to my family,” Guo interrupted.

  Charity laughed. “You never know. Maybe we will be the ones to have a boy.”

  The men swapped daggers and gave them to their wives for safekeeping.

  3

&nbs
p; YANG WAS SLUMPED AT THE TABLE, PLAYING WITH THE DAGGER, more drunk than he had realised. Charity helped her husband into bed and collected the dishes. The navy blue sky was dotted with stars, but there was still enough light for her to go outside and collect the chicken cages. Just as she was pulling the back door shut, however, she caught sight of some blood on the snow only a few metres from the house. I must clean it up right away, or else there could be trouble. She hurried to collect her broom and stepped out again into the icy night.

  But the blood did not stop there. She followed it with her broom all the way to the pine trees behind the house. The snow had also been disturbed; someone had clearly dragged themselves through it towards the woods. There, by an old grave tucked in between the trees, she spotted a large black mound on the snow.

  Charity approached to get a better look. A body! One of the men Qiu Chuji had been fighting earlier. She was about to go and wake her husband to ask him to bury it when it struck her that someone could come past at any moment and see the body. No, it would be better to pull it into a nearby bush and then go and tell her husband. She edged towards it and, summoning all her strength, she took hold of its black clothes and pulled.

  Suddenly the body twitched and groaned.

  Was it a ghost? Fear paralysed her. She watched it for a minute or so, but it did not move. Reaching for her broom, she gently poked it. The body groaned again, only this time the sound was much quieter. He was still alive. She approached and peered over the body. There, embedded in the back of his shoulder, was a large wolf-fang arrow. The snow was still falling, albeit much lighter now, and a thin layer of snowflakes had settled on the young man’s face. He would soon freeze to death out here.

  Charity had always been exceptionally kind-hearted, ever since she was a young girl. She was forever bringing home injured sparrows, frogs and even insects, which she would nurse back to health, and those she could not save she would bury, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her father, a country scholar from Red Plum Village, had named her for this unusual sensitivity, and her mother was never allowed to slaughter any of their roosters or hens. Any chicken served at the Bao family table for dinner had to be brought home from the market. Indeed, Charity had not changed much as she grew older, and this was one of the things Ironheart Yang loved about her. Their backyard was still a sanctuary for chickens, ducks and every other sort of small creature that chose to make its home there.

  There was no way she could let this man die in the snow. She knew he must be bad, but she could not leave him here. She scrambled to her feet and ran back to the house to discuss it with her husband. But Yang had fallen into a deep sleep, and no matter how she shook him, he would not wake up.

  Deciding that she should save the man first and worry about the consequences later, she ran to the herbal medicine cabinet and fetched her husband’s blood-clotting powder, and then found a small knife and some pieces of cloth. She grabbed the jug of warm wine that was still on the stove, and ran back outside. He had not moved. Charity helped him sit up and she trickled the leftover wine into his mouth. She knew a bit of basic medicine. The arrow sat deep in his flesh, and pulling it out might cause him to lose a lot of blood. But if she did not remove it, there would be no way of caring for the wound. So she took a breath, cut around the arrowhead, and tugged as hard as she could. The man screamed and instantly passed out. Blood spurted from the wound, covering her shirt in bright red splashes. Her heart was thumping in her chest but, steadying her shaking hands, she sprinkled the blood-clotting powder over the sore and bandaged it as tight as she could with the scraps of cloth. After a short time he began to regain consciousness.

  Charity was so frightened her arms could barely muster the strength to hold the man up, let alone move him. But she had an idea. She went to the small barn by the side of the house and found a loose wooden plank. She pushed the plank under the man and shunted him onto it, and then dragged the plank through the snow back to the barn, as if pulling a sled.

  Knowing he was safely sheltered, she crept back inside the house to change out of her bloodied shirt and wash her face and hands. She then ladled a bowl of leftover chicken soup, lit a candle and went back to the barn. His breathing was now steady, if weak. Charity approached the man and urged him to sit up again so that she could feed him the soup.

  She held the bowl to the man’s lips with her right hand, and in her left she moved the candle so that the warm glow highlighted his sculpted features and elegant nose. This was the first time she had been able to take a good look at his face and she almost gasped. He was so handsome. The blood rose in her cheeks and her hand began to tremble, splashing a drop of candle wax onto his smooth forehead.

  He winced, and for the first time looked up at her. There, before him, was a face as delicate as a flower, two cheeks flushed pink like rose petals, and a pair of kind eyes sparkling like stars reflected in a river.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Charity whispered. “Here, drink the rest of the soup.” The man tried to take the bowl in his hands, but he was too weak and nearly spilled the hot broth on himself. Charity quickly took the bowl back and continued to feed him, one spoonful at a time.

  By the time he finished the bowl, some colour had returned to his cheeks. He looked up at the heavenly creature nursing him with such care, but Charity squirmed under his gaze. Hastily she clambered to her feet, and fetched an armful of straw to keep him warm. Taking the candle with her, she slipped out of the barn and back inside the house.

  She did not sleep well that night. Her husband was plunging his spear through the man’s chest. The man lunged at her husband with his sabre. The man chased her between the pine trees. Every few hours she woke from a new nightmare, damp with sweat. As the sun warmed her eyelids, she began to stir, and she turned to discover that the other side of the bed was empty. She sat up. Had her husband found the man? She climbed down, folded the quilt, put on her outer robe and hurried into the front room. He was sitting at the table, sharpening the head of his spear. She nodded, before slipping outside towards the barn and pushing open the door. But she saw no-one there, just a messy pile of straw. The man had gone.

  There, beyond the barn, a fresh trail in the snow led out towards the pine trees behind the house. For a minute or so she was lost in her thoughts as she stared out in the direction in which the man had left. A gust of icy wind rushed at her cheeks, and as if wakening her to her body, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and her legs buckled. She stumbled back inside, where her husband greeted her with a proud grin: “I made you and the baby some rice porridge.”

  She smiled weakly, and sat. He would only get angry and jealous if he knew about the events of the previous night, so, she reasoned, she would have to keep them to herself.

  WINTER GASPED its last breath and spring returned. Charity’s belly had ballooned, and preparations for the baby’s arrival had pushed almost all thoughts of the man in black from her mind.

  The Yang family had just finished dinner, and Charity was huddled by the small pool of light cast by their lamp, sewing new clothes for her husband. Yang was hanging up the two pairs of straw sandals he had just finished weaving, ready for the spring.

  “I’m going to see Carpenter Zhang tomorrow to see if he can fix the plough I broke this morning.” Yang looked over at his wife. “Please don’t make me any more clothes. Rest, my dear. Think of the baby.”

  Charity looked up at her husband and smiled, her fingers still moving the needle swiftly through the cloth. Yang walked over to where she was sitting, and took the sewing from her. Charity stretched, blew out the lamp, and together they went to bed.

  At midnight, Charity was suddenly snapped out of her dreams by her husband sitting up in bed. In the distance, to the west, came a faint sound of hooves drumming against the dirt. Before long it could be heard from all directions.

  “Why are there so many horses?”

  Yang jumped down from the bed and started dressing. The drumming was growing louder; a neigh
bour’s dog started barking. “We’re being surrounded.”

  “What’s happening?” Charity’s voice was trembling.

  “I have no idea,” her husband replied, handing her the dagger Qiu Chuji had given them. “Take this, to protect yourself!” He unhooked his spear from the wall.

  By now the sound of hooves had subsided into an intermittent clatter, largely drowned out by the horses neighing and their masters shouting. Yang opened one of the shutters at the front of the house and looked outside. A company of soldiers had surrounded the entire village, the light from their torches illuminating his neighbours’ cottages. Some of the riders were struggling to still their excited horses as they rode among the houses.

  “Find the traitors,” the man in charge shouted to his men. “They must not get away!”

  Were they here for Qu San? Yang had not seen the tavern keeper since before winter had come and gone. Even he would struggle to fight off so many men.

  Suddenly one of the soldiers shouted something that made Yang’s heart freeze in his chest. “Skyfury Guo! Ironheart Yang! Come out now and face the consequences of your treacherous actions!”

  Charity had joined her husband by the window. These words made the blood drain from her cheeks.

  “They come chasing innocent citizens when the traitors are among their own ranks!” Ironheart said. “Skyfury and I can’t possibly fight so many men at once. Our only option is to run. Don’t worry, I will protect you with my spear.” He fetched a bow, slung it across his back and wedged some arrows in his belt. He then reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “I’ll pack,” she replied.

  “Pack? We’re leaving everything.”

  “But . . . our home?” A tear had crept from the corner of her eye and was making its way down her cheek.

  “We’ve got to focus on getting away first. We can start another home elsewhere.”

  “But what about the chickens? And the cats?”

  “Silly girl, thinking about them at a time like this?” He paused and then continued. “What would they do with your chickens and cats?”