A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  “Move,” Mu Yi said, pushing aside his daughter. “It’s either him or me!”

  “Father, let him go, he’s too nasty!”

  The onlookers were disgusted that the rich young man’s actions should result in the spilling of blood and even the rougher elements of the crowd were indignant. By now, everyone was in agreement that he was a most disagreeable young man.

  The Prince rubbed at a spot of blood that had been splattered on his clothes and turned once again to mount his horse. Guo Jing could no longer stand by and do nothing. He pushed through the crowd, and out into the open space before the crowd. “You! Your behaviour is a disgrace!”

  The Prince was momentarily affected by these words, but then brushed them off. “A disgrace?”

  His servants were much amused by their master’s mocking version of this peasant boy’s southern accent, but Guo Jing did not understand their joke. “Yes. You should marry this young lady!”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Why did you take part in the contest if you had no intention of marrying her? It’s written clearly on the banner.”

  “Why are you sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted?”

  “This fair maiden is not only beautiful, but is in possession of the most excellent kung fu. Why won’t you marry her? Don’t you see how you have offended her?”

  “You’re too dull to understand. I’m not wasting my breath on the likes of you.” The Prince turned, but Guo Jing stopped him.

  “You can’t just leave.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You must marry this young lady.”

  The Prince laughed and turned again.

  What a nice, if rather naïve young man, Mu Yi thought. “Young sir, don’t worry. As long as there is still breath in these lungs, I will have my revenge for this insult.” Then, turning to the Prince, he said, “At least tell me your name!”

  “I told you, I am never going to call you Father, so why do you need to know?”

  Furious, Guo Jing rushed forward. “Give her back her shoe!”

  “Mind your own business. Have you taken a liking to the young girl?”

  “No! I just think you should give it back.”

  The Prince punched Guo Jing on the ear. Stunned, Guo Jing crossed his hands and seized the Prince’s wrists.

  “Do you want a beating too?” the Prince shouted as he leapt up and kicked Guo Jing in the abdomen.

  Guo Jing pushed at him while still in mid-air, but the Prince had good lightness technique, and instead of falling, corrected himself and landed on his feet.

  “Come on then, little peasant boy, let me see what you can do!” The Prince removed his brocade coat.

  “Why would I want to fight you?” Guo Jing said. “I just think you should give the lady back her shoe!”

  But the crowd wanted the show to continue, so they goaded from the sidelines:

  “He’s all talk!”

  “A hero fights!”

  The Prince could see that Guo Jing too was accomplished in the martial arts, and, in particular, possessed considerable internal strength. He would rather not fight, but neither could he return the shoe without losing face. So he picked up his coat and made for his horse, laughing. But Guo Jing grabbed at his clothes. “Are you just going to leave?”

  The young man had a sudden thought. He threw his coat over Guo Jing’s head. Blackness descended, and Guo Jing felt a heavy blow to his chest. He tried to suck in air and shrink back, but two fists cracked against his ribs. Luckily the years of training with Ma Yu ensured that, as hard as the Prince’s punches were, they did him no injury. Guo Jing kicked out nine times in rapid succession in a Mandarin Duck Drill, a move Ryder Han had taught him. It had served his shifu well over the years. Having not practised hard enough, however, and being unable to see, Guo Jing’s aim was not quite true and the Prince avoided all but the last two blows.

  The two young men leapt back. Guo Jing threw away the coat. It had been a treacherous move. His Masters had warned him about such fighters, but he had never come across one himself. He was rather too innocent and trusting to believe they could exist. Sometimes his shifus’ warnings came across as amusing fireside stories. Having been so isolated from the wulin, he had not been able to appreciate the truth behind their words.

  Enraged by the two kicks he had received, the Prince advanced with his fists raised in an Angled Whip. Guo Jing tried to block the punches aimed at his head, but felt another pain in his chest. He tried to fight back but was beaten once more to the ground. The Prince’s retinue burst into laugher, and their master puffed his chest in pride. “You think your three-legged cat technique can beat me? Go back to your shifu’s wife and ask for another twenty years of instruction, maybe then you can fight me!”

  Guo Jing scrambled to his feet, panting. He was circulating the qi around his body to relieve the pain.

  “My shifu isn’t married,” he retorted.

  “Then tell him it’s about time.”

  “In fact, I have six shifus,” Guo Jing called as the Prince turned to leave. He ran at him with his fist high.

  The Prince ducked, Guo Jing’s left hook missed, and his right was then blocked. They stood facing each other, their arms locked, each marshalling the best of his internal energy to overpower the other. Guo Jing’s was just a little stronger, but his opponent’s technique was more advanced. There was little to choose between them.

  Guo Jing reached deeper and pressed just as the other young man relaxed the pressure, causing Guo Jing to stumble forward. A punch to the back followed. Guo Jing landed on his elbow and bounced back up, spinning in the air and kicking with his left.

  This remarkable recovery was met with delighted whoops and shouts from the crowd.

  The Prince launched forward with both palms, the first in a false move designed to distract. Guo Jing replied with a Split Muscles Lock Bones move, striking rapidly at various points across the Prince’s body. The Prince echoed the same technique back.

  But Guo Jing’s was an unorthodox version invented by Zhu Cong. At first glance it looked the same as the technique practised in the Central Plains, but in actual fact he was aiming all along for the Tend the Aged pressure point on the wrist, whereas the Prince was trying to clutch at Guo Jing’s knuckles. They continued like this for at least forty moves, but neither triumphed over the other.

  Large flakes of snow continued to fall, forming a thin white blanket over the heads and shoulders of the gathered crowd.

  Just then Guo Jing realised the Prince had left his chest exposed. He reached for the pressure point in its centre, known as the Turtledove Tail, but at the last moment he hesitated. There is no real emnity between us, it would be wrong to use such a deadly move on him, he said to himself. Instead, he pressed to the side of it, a move that had no effect at all. The Prince grabbed his wrist, hooked his foot, and in a flash, Guo Jing was once more in the dirt.

  Mu Yi, his hand now bandaged by his daughter, was still watching the fight. This was the third time Guo Jing had fallen. He ran over to the kind young boy and tried to pull him to his feet. “Young man, forget it. We mustn’t waste our energy on such scoundrels.”

  But Guo Jing was too furious to listen and made another rush on the Prince, his hands a blur.

  The Prince was surprised at the young man’s persistence. “Don’t you know when you’re beaten?”

  But Guo Jing did not answer and merely continued his attack.

  “If you don’t stop, I am going to be forced to kill you,” the Prince snarled.

  “And I will kill you if you don’t return the shoe.”

  “Why are you acting like an overprotective older brother?”

  This was in fact a standard insult in the area and the onlookers burst into laughter, but Guo Jing did not understand what he meant.

  “I don’t even know her,” Guo Jing said.

  The Prince did not know if he should laugh or cry. “Alright, idiot, watch this!”

  The
fight resumed. Guo Jing was now more cautious of his opponent’s tricks. He knew that the rich young man’s kung fu was more accomplished, but Guo Jing had a persistence honed in the harsh environment of the northern steppe. Tusakha’s gang had given him his first lesson in this regard. His Fourth Shifu may have told him it was better to run in the face of an enemy he could not defeat, but Guo Jing, in his heart, preferred to stand firm.

  The spectacle was drawing an ever-greater crowd and people were crammed into every corner of the market square, despite the intensity of the wind and snow.

  Mu Yi knew well that, if the fight continued, the crowds would alert the authorities. The last thing he wanted was to get into trouble, but how could they walk away when this young man was trying to help them? He looked out nervously at the crowd and noticed a group of men who looked like they, too, might be wandering martial arts men of the rivers and lakes.

  Mu Yi edged closer to where the rich young man’s servants were gathered. Three of them also looked like they might practise kung fu. Among them was an exceptionally tall lama dressed in scarlet robes and a yellow hat. Another was shorter, rounder, his head crested with a mane of silver hair; his skin was smooth and his face dressed in a wide smile. He too was in robes, but Mu Yi was not sure if his outfit indicated he belonged to a Taoist sect. The third man was short, with a neat moustache and piercing, bloodshot eyes.

  Mu Yi listened to their conversation.

  “Your Eminent Holiness,” one of the young servants in the Prince’s retinue said to the lama, “you must put a stop to this stupidity. Go in and take the young boy. If the Prince gets injured, we’ll all be for the gallows.”

  He is a prince! Mu Yi said to himself in astonishment. These people are servants of the court, sent to assist the young man.

  The lama only smiled.

  “Supreme Wisdom Lobsang Choden Rinpoche is an eminent lama of Kokonor,” the old man with silver hair said with a smile. “How could he lower himself to intervene in a fight with a young hooligan?” Turning to the servant, he continued, “At most the Prince will have your legs broken. He can’t exactly have you killed.”

  “The Prince is a better fighter than this peasant boy,” the short man with the bloodshot eyes added. “What have you got to be scared about?”

  Everyone heard this and a chill ran through the crowd. They averted their eyes back to the fight, afraid to catch the short man’s lightning gaze.

  “The Prince has been training for so long,” the man with the silver hair continued, “he wishes to let the people see his skills. He would not be happy for us to intervene.”

  “Elder Liang,” the short man said, “what palm technique is it the Prince practises?”

  “Brother Peng, are you testing me?” The silver-haired man smiled. “He fights with speed and agility, indeed the moves show great complexity. Unless I am much mistaken, he has learned his kung fu with a Taoist of the Quanzhen Sect.”

  A disciple of the Quanzhen? Mu Yi almost jumped. And could this “Brother Peng” be Tiger Peng, Butcher of a Thousand Hands, one of China’s most famous bandits?

  “Elder Liang, you have a good eye. You have lived as a recluse at the foot of the Mountain of Eternal Snow, dedicating yourself to the art of alchemy. You rarely grace us with your presence here in the Central Plains, and yet you are so well acquainted with all the different schools of martial arts.”

  “You flatter me, Brother Peng,” the old man said with a smile.

  “And yet, while the Taoists of the Quanzhen Sect are an eccentric bunch, they are known for their loyalty to the Song. Why would they take a prince of the Jin as their disciple?”

  “You think the Prince is unable to persuade those he wishes to engage in service? You, for instance. You command the mountains east and west of the Yellow River, and yet are you not also part of the Prince’s household?”

  The short man nodded, and they turned their attention to the fight. Guo Jing was now fighting with slower, more deliberate moves which allowed him to maintain a strong defence. The Prince was unable to land any blows.

  “And what about the peasant boy?” the silver-haired man said to the short man.

  “His kung fu is mixed in style. I would guess he has more than one shifu.”

  “Master Peng is correct,” a voice interrupted. “He is a student of the Seven Heroes of the South.”

  Mu Yi examined this new character. He was thin, his cheeks darkened by the sun, and on his head three large cysts protruded. The Seven Heroes of the South? It had been so long since Mu Yi had heard them mentioned, he had assumed they were all dead.

  “You little rascal – found you at last!” The man with the cysts suddenly roared as he charged towards the two young men, clutching an iron club.

  Guo Jing turned and found the strange-looking man inches from his face. Browbeater Hou, close friend of the Four Daemons of the Yellow River. Guo Jing hesitated, not sure what to do, and the Prince struck him on the shoulder.

  The crowd began booing at what they felt to be an ignoble intervention.

  Mu Yi moved closer, ready to help Guo Jing. But the Prince appeared to have a great many fighters at his disposal.

  And yet Browbeater Hou did not stop to join the fight, and instead continued past Guo Jing and the Prince, and on to the other side of the crowd, where a young boy in rags turned and pushed his way back through the wall of people. Browbeater Hou ran after him, followed by another four men.

  Guo Jing saw that the boy was his friend Lotus.

  “One moment, please,” he said to the Prince. “I must attend to something before we can continue.”

  The Prince was in fact tired of fighting and was hoping for a way out. “If you admit defeat, we can stop.”

  But at that moment Lotus Huang danced back into view again, this time laughing and clutching an old broken shoe above her head. Behind her, Browbeater Hou was trying to strike her with his club. Lotus dodged the man’s attacks with ease and was already threading her way through the gathered onlookers.

  Browbeater Hou stumbled into the centre of the crowd, two large blue-black bruises visible on his cheeks. He stopped, panting.

  “I will slice you up, as these people are my witness!” he cried out with rage.

  Lotus paused and waited for Hou to catch up, before running off again. The crowd howled with laughter just as three of the Daemons of the Yellow River came gasping into the arena. Only Qian the Hardy was missing.

  Guo Jing smiled. So my friend Lotus is also trained in kung fu? He must have been the one to lure this man away and hang the others in the trees.

  But Guo Jing was not the only one watching in surprise. “Master Liang, what about the young beggar?” the lama said. “To which school does he belong? He’s running rings around Browbeater Hou.”

  Old Liang was an alchemist of great fame, known across the south as the Ginseng Immortal, the white-haired Master of the Mountain of Eternal Snow. Since his youth, he had consumed great quantities of ginseng and other natural remedies, protecting him from the ravages of old age. But he did not recognise the beggar boy’s kung fu. He shook his head. “The Three-Horned Dragon outrun by a mere beggar boy? I thought his skills were better than that, but perhaps I have been away from the wulin for too long.”

  Tiger Peng could not explain it either. Browbeater Hou joined him often on raids; he knew full well the extent of his friend’s considerable fighting skill.

  The Prince, meanwhile, was thankful for the diversion, for all that he had the upper hand over his opponent. He untied the scarf he wore as a sash and mopped the sweat off his brow.

  Mu Yi approached Guo Jing and shook the young man’s hand, before going to pick up his banner. Just then Lotus broke through the crowd again, this time clutching two pieces of cloth torn from Browbeater Hou’s shirt. He was not far behind, his hairy chest exposed to the winter chill. Behind them, Wu and Ma ran heavily, stopping every few metres to catch their breath. Shen had been lost along the way. The spectacle brought yet more l
aughter from the crowd.

  Just then shouting echoed from the western side of the square. A squad of soldiers, carrying wicker canes, marched in, striking passers-by as they went. All to make way for a large red and gold sedan chair carried by six more of their men.

  “The Consort!” the servants cried.

  “Who had the impudence to tell my mother?” The Prince scowled. The servants did not dare reply and instead hastened to the sedan.

  “Fighting again?” A soft voice came from inside. “It’s snowing and you’re not wearing a coat. You’ll be sure to catch a cold.”

  The voice was like a bolt of lightning striking down on Mu Yi. How is this possible? She sounds just like . . . No, it’s impossible, she is a member of the Jin house. I miss my wife so much I’ve gone mad . . . But he could not stop himself from trying to get closer to the chair. A dainty hand holding a handkerchief appeared from inside to wipe the last of the sweat from the young Prince’s brow. Mu Yi continued to listen to their conversation.

  “But Ma, I’m having fun. I’m in no danger,” the young Prince said.

  “Put on your coat, we’re going home,” the Consort said.

  How could her voice sound so familiar? Mu Yi was still astonished. He watched her white hand disappear behind a silk curtain embroidered with golden peonies. He tried to peer in but he could not see past the colourful cloth.

  One of the servants picked up his master’s brocade coat. “Look what you’ve done to His Lordship’s coat! You animal!”

  One of the Consort’s guard raised his wicker cane and aimed it at Guo Jing’s head. Guo Jing jumped aside, seized the man’s wrist, and wrestled the cane from him before tripping him up. Guo Jing then dealt him two steady blows as he lay on the ground.

  “Who gave you the right to harass innocent men?” Guo Jing cried, and his words were met with cheers from the crowd. More soldiers charged in support, but Guo Jing began fighting them off in pairs.

  “How dare you assault my men?” the young Prince cried as he leapt at Guo Jing and they resumed their fight. The Consort shouted for her son to stop, but she instilled no fear in the young man. In fact, he still craved his mother’s praise and attention despite being old enough to know better, so he redoubled his efforts. Guo Jing stumbled twice under the force of the Prince’s attack.