A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  “What about me?” Jade Han called, and with the tap of her right foot she flew up into the air like a swallow. In an instant she had jumped over the censer, lowered her head and drunk from it, before landing nimbly on the window ledge. She was a master of lightness qinggong kung fu and swordsmanship, but she was not the strongest and realised it would have been beyond her to catch the censer and launch it back at the Taoist.

  The censer, meanwhile, flew past Jade, through the window and out onto the crowded street. Alarmed, Qiu Chuji raced out to stop it, but with a whoosh! and a whistle, Ryder Han swept past the Taoist, calling his horse round onto the street. Everyone gathered upstairs ran to the window to watch Ryder Han career into the censer, knocking them both onto the back of his horse. The horse lurched forward and steadied itself, then turned back towards the tavern and started climbing the steps. The treads creaked and cracked under its weight, but somehow it made it upstairs.

  Ryder Han was in fact balanced beneath the horse’s belly, his left foot caught in a stirrup and his hands holding the censer on the saddle. The horse was fast and steady on the stairs. Once at the summit, Ryder Han flipped back onto the horse’s back, leaned down and drank from the censer, before pushing it off the horse with his left arm. He then snorted, cracked his whip and jumped out of the window, landing the beast with ease on the street outside. Ryder Han then dismounted and walked back up the stairs, arm in arm with Zhu Cong.

  “The Seven Heroes of the South are worthy of their reputation indeed,” Qiu Chuji responded. “I am humbled by your skills. As long as Venerable Monk Scorched Wood vows to release the women, I will trouble him no further and leave.”

  “Elder Eternal Spring,” Ke Zhen’e replied, “in this matter you are mistaken. Venerable Monk Scorched Wood has spent decades living a life free from bodily temptations, he is a virtuous and devout Buddhist whom we have long admired. Fahua Temple is also one of Jiaxing’s most sacred Buddhist sites. How could he be hiding respectable women inside?”

  “There are always those who claim good reputations falsely,” Qiu Chuji declared.

  “Elder Eternal Spring believes us to be lying?” Ryder Han was struggling to control his fury.

  “I choose to believe my own eyes.”

  “So what is Elder Eternal Spring going to do now?” Ryder Han bellowed. The power of his voice more than made up for his short stature.

  “This matter did not concern the Seven Heroes to begin with, but as you insist upon getting involved, you must be confident in your skills. I am a mere novice, so I can only suggest we fight it out. If I lose, the Seven Heroes may decide how the matter is to be settled.”

  “If this is Elder Eternal Spring’s desired recourse, please lay out the rules,” Ke Zhen’e said.

  Qiu Chuji hesitated, then spoke. “There is no feeling of enmity between us and I have always admired the Seven Heroes of the South. To take up weapons or use our fists will only harm our friendship. We will do it like this . . . Innkeeper!” he called out. “Bring us fourteen large bowls!”

  The innkeeper had been hiding downstairs, but as all was quiet upstairs he went to fetch the bowls.

  Qiu Chuji instructed him to fill them from the censer. “A drinking competition,” he said, turning to the Seven Freaks. “For every bowl you drink, I will have one, until we have our winner. How about that?”

  Ryder Han and Zhang Asheng were drinkers, so they agreed.

  “But this is one against seven,” Ke Zhen’e contended. “It could never be an honourable win for us. Could Elder Eternal Spring devise another contest?”

  “What makes you so sure you’ll win?”

  “Fine! Then I’ll start!” Jade Han retorted. She was forthright by nature, particularly for a young woman. “I have never known anyone to treat us with such disrespect.” She grabbed a bowl of wine and gulped it down in one, her snowy cheeks blooming cherry red.

  “Miss Han is quite the brave young squire!” Qiu Chuji exclaimed. “Men, please!”

  The other men each picked up a bowl and drank. Qiu Chuji downed bowl after bowl as each was emptied. The innkeeper was now in higher spirits and cheerfully refilled the bowls. Within moments, they had been drained again.

  By the third round of drinks, Jade Han’s hands were shaking so much she could not lift the bowl to her lips. Zhang Asheng took the bowl from her: “Sister, I will finish for you.”

  “Elder Qiu, is that acceptable?” she asked.

  “Of course, I don’t mind who drinks.”

  They drank another round before Gilden Quan was also forced to stop.

  By now Qiu Chuji had downed twenty-eight bowls, and to the surprise of the Seven Freaks, he appeared entirely sober. Wanyan Honglie was still watching and was even more shocked. I hope they get this Taoist drunk and finish him off, he said to himself.

  Gilden Quan calculated there were still Five Freaks left, each capable of drinking for two men, and good for at least another three, maybe four, rounds. Could the Taoist really take another twenty bowls of wine in his belly? The volume alone would be too much; victory had to be theirs. But at that moment, he happened to glance down at Qiu Chuji’s feet, where a large puddle had formed.

  “Second Brother,” he whispered in Zhu Cong’s ear. “Look!” He pointed down at the floor.

  Zhu Cong glanced down. “This isn’t good. He’s using his inner strength to force the wine out through his feet.”

  “Amazing. What now?”

  Zhu Cong paused to think. “With this little trick, he could drink a hundred more bowls. We need another contest.”

  He stepped back and without warning dropped through the hole in the floorboards he had created earlier. “I’m so drunk!” he called as he fell. They started another round, but by now the floor beneath Qiu Chuji’s feet was soaked through as if a spring had appeared underneath the boards. Woodcutter Nan, Ryder Han and the others had also noticed, and were applauding such an amazing feat of inner strength, while Zhu Cong climbed back to join them.

  Ryder Han placed his bowl back on the table, ready to admit defeat. But Zhu Cong looked at him meaningfully and turned to Qiu Chuji. “Elder Eternal Spring’s display of inner strength is quite remarkable, we are indeed much in admiration. But we are still five against one. It does not seem an honourable fight.”

  This surprised Qiu Chuji. “Then what does Second Brother Zhu suggest?”

  “Let me take you on, one on one,” Zhu Cong said, smiling.

  The others were puzzled. Zhu Cong was clearly the most drunk; why would he take the Taoist on by himself? But they also knew that, while their brother liked to appear the fool, in actual fact he had a belly full of tricks. He always had the best plan in any given situation.

  “The Seven Heroes are competitive, that’s for certain.” Qiu Chuji chuckled. “How about this: if Second Brother Zhu and I can finish what’s left of the wine, and neither passes out, then we’ll say it is I who has lost.”

  The censer was still half full; they would have to have bellies like two laughing Buddhas to be able to finish it. But Zhu Cong was unconcerned. “I may not be famed for holding my liquor, but I did once drink a few sturdy men under the table while on my travels,” he said, fluttering his fan in his right hand and waving the sleeve of his left. “In one!” he cried, and drank.

  Together they drained bowl after bowl. “What a drinker!” Qiu Chuji exclaimed.

  “I once went to India, where the king challenged me to a drinking competition with a water buffalo. They never determined who won.”

  Qiu Chuji knew he was being made fun of, but he didn’t care. He did notice, however, that despite the nonsense and the wild gesticulating, Zhu Cong was keeping pace. He did not seem to be expelling the liquid by the use of inner strength, and his belly had swollen in size. Was he able to expand it with just the force of his mind?

  “Two years ago I went to Siam,” Zhu Cong continued. “That was even crazier. The Chancellor brought out an elephant to see who would win. The idiot drank seven barrels. How
many do you think I had?”

  Qiu Chuji knew Zhu Cong was making it up, but he could not help himself. “How many?”

  Zhu Cong’s tone suddenly turned solemn and, lowering his voice, he hissed, “Nine.” Then, raising his voice again, he cried, “That’s it, drink up!”

  Zhu Cong’s movements were growing ever wilder as he oscillated between drunk and crazy, but together they finished the wine. The other Freaks had no idea Zhu Cong could drink so much, but they were happy, if a little uneasy.

  “Brother, what a feat. I salute you!” Qiu Chuji said, genuflecting in admiration.

  Zhu Cong laughed. “Elder Eternal Spring used his inner strength, but I had to resort to external skills. Take a look!” He flipped backwards and landed, holding a wooden bucket. A quick swirl released the sweet aroma of Blushing Maiden rice wine. Only Ke Zhen’e knew what his martial brother had been doing, and Zhu Cong’s stomach was now perfectly flat. The Seven Freaks of the South convulsed with laughter. Qiu Chuji’s cheeks went pale.

  He was Quick Hands Zhu Cong, sleight of hand was his forte. This was no new trick, it had been handed down from generation to generation. Always a flourish, always a back flip. One back flip, a gold fish. Another back flip, a bowl of water. It continues – another back flip, another bowl with a fish swimming inside. Audiences in raptures. Zhu Cong had fetched the bucket when he dropped through the hole in the floorboards, of course, and the mad gesticulating was designed to distract Qiu Chuji. A true magician’s illusions cannot be deduced even with hundreds of eyes watching, and Qiu Chuji had not the merest notion that Zhu Cong would devise such a scheme.

  “You call that drinking?” he said.

  “And what about you? My wine is in this bucket, yours is on the floor. What’s the difference?”

  And he paced up and down, slipping on the puddle of wine at Qiu Chuji’s feet. Qiu Chuji caught him. Zhu Cong jumped back and started walking in a circle. “Such a beautiful poem!” he cried out abruptly.

  “Since ancient times mid-autumn’s moon,

  Radiant, as icy winds clean the night;

  Heavy hangs the Milky Way

  As water dragons vault the seas.”

  He almost sang the lines, stretching out the words.

  Qiu Chuji was speechless. That’s the poem I started writing around Mid-Autumn Festival last year but did not finish, he thought to himself. I keep it on me at all times, as I can never think of the next four lines. But I have never shown it to anyone. He reached into his shirt, only to find the poem missing.

  Zhu Cong spread the poem out on the table, a smile unfolding across his face. “Elder Eternal Spring is not only a peerless master of the martial arts, but his poetry is quite exquisite. Wondrous!”

  I did not feel a thing, Qiu Chuji said to himself. What if he had tried stabbing me instead of merely stealing a poem? He could have killed me. But he showed mercy. This quelled his anxiety. “As Master Zhu finished the censer of wine with me, I will keep my word and admit defeat. Let it be known that, today, here in the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, Qiu Chuji was defeated by the Seven Heroes of the South.”

  “Please, please,” the Seven Freaks exclaimed politely. “It was all just a silly game.”

  “And Elder Eternal Spring displayed an inner strength none of us could ever hope to equal,” Zhu Cong added.

  “I may be admitting defeat,” Qiu Chuji replied, “but the fact remains, those two widows of my friends must be rescued.” He cupped his hands in a sign of respect and picked up the censer. “I’m going to Fahua Temple.”

  “But you have admitted defeat. How dare you continue to trouble Scorched Wood the Monk?” Ke Zhen’e was furious.

  “They are in grave danger. Victory, defeat, it’s all irrelevant. Great Hero Ke, if your friend was killed and his widow left to suffer all manner of insults, would you stand back and do nothing?” Suddenly his expression changed. There was a pause. “You called for backup? Even if you bring ten thousand men on ten thousand horses, I won’t give in!”

  “We are seven, no more,” Zhang Asheng said. “Why would we call on anyone else?”

  But Ke Zhen’e had also heard it. The clanging of metal. Men were approaching. “Everyone get back!”

  They all heard it now and reached for their weapons. Moments later there came a clattering from below.

  Men in Jin army regalia appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Qiu Chuji respected the way the Seven Freaks of the South conducted themselves and had assumed they were ignorant of Scorched Wood’s true nature. He had been careful not to offend them. But Jin soldiers? Rage surged inside him. “Scorched Wood!” he said. “Seven Freaks! Jin soldiers? How dare you claim to be righteous members of the wulin?”

  “Who called on the Jin?” Ryder Han cried back.

  These men formed part of Wanyan Honglie’s personal retinue. Rumours were spreading of a violent confrontation at the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, and Wanyan Honglie had not returned.

  “Excuse me if I don’t stay any longer! But this is not over.” Still carrying the censer, Qiu Chuji went towards the stairs.

  “Reverend Qiu, there’s been a misunderstanding!” Ke Zhen’e said, rising from his seat.

  Qiu Chuji did not stop. “A misunderstanding? You’re the heroes, you tell me why you called on Jin soldiers to help you.”

  “We didn’t,” Ke Zhen’e replied.

  “I’m not blind,” Qiu Chuji retorted.

  If there was one thing Ke Zhen’e could not abide, it was being laughed at for his impairment. “But I am, it’s true,” he snarled, planting his iron staff on the floor.

  Qiu Chuji said nothing, raised his left hand and struck his palm against the forehead of one of the Jin soldiers, killing him instantly. “That’s what I can do!” And with a flick of his wrist, he pushed him down the stairs.

  Horrified, the soldiers lunged at Qiu Chuji with their lances, but he flicked each one away without turning. The men were ready to charge when Wanyan Honglie called for them to stop.

  “This loathsome Taoist is beyond belief,” he said, turning to Ke Zhen’e. “Why don’t you all join me for a drink and we can discuss how to deal with him?”

  Ke Zhen’e was furious. “Get the hell out of here!”

  Wanyan Honglie was visibly taken aback.

  “Brother said, ‘Get the hell out’!” Ryder Han cried, shunting Wanyan Honglie in the left hip with his right shoulder. Wanyan Honglie stumbled a few steps backwards, as the Seven Freaks and Scorched Wood fled.

  Zhu Cong was last. He tapped Wanyan Honglie on the shoulder as he passed. “Have you sold the girl you kidnapped? Why not sell her to me?” Zhu Cong had not known who Wanyan Honglie was when they first met, but he had realised instantly Wanyan Honglie and Charity were not husband and wife. He had heard Wanyan boast of his wealth and decided to teach him a lesson. Now it transpired he was of some rank in the Jin army. Justice done then, surely?

  Wanyan Honglie reached into his shirt and, as expected, his gold was gone. He was relieved he had not approached Ryder Han about joining him in the north. Given their fighting skills, he had no desire to reveal to the Seven Freaks that Madam Bao was with him. He rushed back to the inn. They would leave for the Jin capital that night.

  3

  THE NIGHT QIU CHUJI CHANCED UPON SKYFURY GUO AND Ironheart Yang, he had travelled back to Lin’an in some distress. He spent the next few days resting by West Lake. At its north end towers Ge Peak, where the Taoist Ge Hong made his renowned immortality pills. Qiu Chuji’s mornings were spent sightseeing and his afternoons in the temple practising martial arts and reading from the Taoist canon.

  As he was strolling along Qinghefang Lane one day, he noticed a small group of soldiers staggering towards him, swinging their helmets and dragging their armour and broken weapons behind them. They had just been defeated in battle. We are not at war with the Jin at the moment, Qiu Chuji thought, and I have not heard talk of bandits lately. What battle have they been fighting? He a
sked people on the street but no-one knew. His curiosity piqued, he followed the soldiers back to their camp at Command Post Six.

  Late that night, Qiu Chuji crept into the camp. There he found a soldier and dragged him outside into a nearby alley for interrogation. The soldier, fast asleep only moments before, now had a blade at his throat. He told Qiu Chuji everything he knew about the events in Ox Village, including Skyfury Guo’s death and Ironheart Yang’s injuries. It was unlikely Ironheart had survived, but no-one knew of his whereabouts. The wives were captured, but their captors had been ambushed by another group of men while riding back. A bloody fight ensued and they lost many of their number.

  Qiu Chuji grew ever more furious as the story went on, but the soldier had just been following orders. There was no use getting angry with him. “Who is your commander?”

  “Justice Duan.”

  Early the next morning, a pole was erected in front of the camp, bearing a severed head. A warning. Qiu Chuji recognised it at once; it was Skyfury Guo. These men were descended from loyal patriots, he said to himself. They invited you to drink with them and yet you repaid their kindness by bringing death upon them and destroying their families. Picking up a stone, he flung it at the flagpole, splintering it.

  He waited until darkness, climbed the pole and took down Guo’s head. He then went to the shores of West Lake, where he buried it. Placing his palms together, he bowed, and with tears spilling down his cheeks he made a promise: “Brother Guo, Brother Yang, I swore I would pass my kung fu skills on to your children. When I make a promise, I keep it. If I don’t make martial arts heroes of them, I will not be fit to face you both in the afterlife.”

  First, he would find Justice Duan and kill him. Then he would rescue the widows and settle them somewhere safe so they could give birth and continue the Guo and Yang family lines.

  For two nights he searched Command Post Six, but Justice Duan was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he lived in luxury, rather than alongside his soldiers? On the third night, he made his way to the commander’s residence: “Justice Duan, I know you’re in there! Come out at once!”