A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  Lotus jumped back several feet. Fear grasped the room. Everyone present, apart from the Sixth Prince of Zhao, Wanyan Honglie, knew about the fearsome might of Twice Foul Dark Wind. Even Tiger Peng, who had killed hundreds without the merest pang of remorse, was scared to touch her now.

  Lotus pushed him away and steadied herself. Every part of her ached and her arms were numb. But before she could say anything, a cry pierced the night sky. Guo Jing! He sounded like he was in danger. The blood drained from her cheeks.

  11

  OLD LIANG HAD GUO JING PINNED TO THE GROUND SO THAT he was unable to move a muscle. The young man watched as his opponent strained towards his throat, teeth bared.

  But just at that moment, a strange surge of power pulsed through his body, and he performed a Jumping Carp, flipping the old man off him and landing on his feet. But Old Liang responded immediately with another attack, and despite Guo Jing’s attempts to get away, he felt a heavy thump to his back.

  It felt like the old man’s meaty fist had penetrated his flesh and had entered his spine. Wanyan Kang’s punches had been nothing compared to this. Guo Jing pressed forward, mobilising what he could of his lightness technique, as he dodged and threaded through the palace gardens. Old Liang could not keep up.

  After a while, Guo Jing gasped and came to a halt. He inspected the back of his robe. A large hole had been torn through it. He felt for the large, bloody wound where a chunk of flesh had been torn from his back.

  He needed somewhere to hide. The Consort’s cottage! It was just up ahead. He ran round the back, hoping they would not think to look there, allowing him to escape later. He found a spot by the wall at the rear, and there he lay, waiting.

  Soon, he heard Old Liang and Wanyan Kang calling to each other. They were drawing near. He could hear the anger in Old Liang’s voice.

  They’ll find me if I stay here, Guo Jing thought. If the Consort finds me, however, she may take pity on me.

  Given the gravity of the situation, he had no time to stop and really consider the merits of this plan, and instead slipped inside the small house. He saw only a lit candle placed in the middle of a table. The Consort must be in another room. He looked around and spotted a wooden cupboard in the corner. He ran over and slid inside. He pulled the door shut, leaving just a crack so that he could keep watch. He removed his golden dagger and let himself relax a little.

  At that moment, he heard footsteps as the Consort entered the room. She sat down at the table and seemed to stare at the candle. Not long after that, Wanyan Kang appeared at the door. “Mother, did a young man come past here?”

  The Consort shook her head, and Wanyan Kang left to continue his search with Old Liang.

  The Consort closed the door and started to prepare for bed.

  I’ll slip out through the window just as soon as she’s blown out the candle, Guo Jing thought. No, I’d better wait, in case I meet the Prince and Old Liang. Guo Jing’s thoughts began to turn back to the fight, and his opponent’s strange kung fu. He tried to bite me! I must ask my shifus about that when I see them next; I’ve never heard them mention biting as an appropriate way to fight. And what about Lotus? She must be gone by now. I’d better make my escape soon, or she’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.

  Just then the window opened and a man leapt in. Guo Jing and the Consort froze in shock. To his even greater surprise, Guo Jing realised almost at once that it was Mu Yi. He had assumed the old man and his daughter had already fled the palace.

  The Consort too recognised him. “Quick, please. Before they find you.”

  “I must express my gratitude for the Consort’s concern. Had I not come here in person to thank you myself, I would have regretted it until my dying day.” Yet a hint of bitterness and sarcasm could be heard in his voice.

  “Never mind that. My son wronged you and your daughter.”

  Ironheart Yang cast his eyes around the room. A cupboard, lamp and bed – that was it. The furniture was worn, but familiar. A well of sadness grew inside him, and a tear gathered in one eye and spilled down his cheek. He wiped it away with his sleeve and walked over to where a spear was fastened to the wall. He unhooked it and saw that the iron tip was russet in colour from lack of care. He could still make out the characters carved on the shaft: Ironheart Yang.

  He caressed it and sighed. “The tip is rusty. It hasn’t been used in a while.”

  “Please don’t touch that,” the Consort said softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because it is my most precious possession.”

  A pulse of anger surged within him. “Is that so?” Ironheart Yang paused, and then continued, “This spear used to be one of a pair.”

  Surprise was evident on the Consort’s face, but Ironheart did not explain and instead placed it back on the wall. “The tip is worn,” he murmured, still staring at it. “Someone should go to see Carpenter Zhang tomorrow to see if he can fix it.”

  The Consort felt a bolt of lightning flash through her. “Who are you?” she managed eventually.

  “Someone should go to see Carpenter Zhang tomorrow to see if he can fix it,” Ironheart repeated, looking the Consort in the eyes.

  The Consort felt her knees going weak. “Who are you?” she stammered again. “Why are you saying that? My husband said exactly the same words the night he died.”

  The Consort was none other than Charity Bao, Ironheart Yang’s wife. She had saved Wanyan Honglie’s life, all those years ago, in Ox Village. The Prince of Zhao had been unable to forget her, and so had bribed Justice Duan and his men to fake an attack on the village so that he might go back and “save” the young woman and bring her back to his palace. With her friends and family dead, she would have no-one else to turn to, and he would be her hero. He had been sure that she would agree to marry him eventually, at least once she had given up hope of ever being able to return south.

  She had barely aged at all, having lived these eighteen years in luxury in the palace. His face was scarred by hardship and his travels across China looking for her, so much so that she had not recognised him. And now they were reunited, but under such dangerous circumstances that it did not seem real.

  Ironheart made no reply, but walked over to the table and pulled open a drawer. There they were: two blue cotton shirts, just like the ones he used to wear. “You shouldn’t have wasted your energy sewing them. You were pregnant,” he said, lifting one up to examine it.

  Charity Bao ran to him and tugged at his sleeve. There it was: the scar! For eighteen years she had thought him dead, and here he was, her husband, standing before her, like a spirit reincarnated. She fell into his arms and clutched him tightly. “Quickly, you must take me with you. I will show you how to get out, no-one will see us. I am not afraid.”

  Ironheart held his wife in his arms and tears cleaned his cheeks. “Afraid? Why would you be afraid of me?” he said.

  “Even if you are a ghost, I will never leave your arms again,” she managed to say through her heavy sobs. “But how? All these years, you were still alive? Where were you?”

  Ironheart was about to reply when they heard Wanyan Kang’s voice from outside the window, startling them both. “Mother! Are you crying? Who are you talking to?”

  “No-one, it’s nothing!” Charity called back. “I was sleeping.”

  But Wanyan Kang had heard the sound of a man’s voice coming from inside the room. He walked round to the door and knocked gently. “Mother, I want to talk to you.”

  “Tomorrow, my boy,” she replied. “We can talk tomorrow. I’m very tired and I want to go back to sleep.”

  His suspicions only increased. “I will be quick and then I’ll go.”

  Ironheart Yang moved towards the window he had come through and pushed at the wooden shutter, but he could not open it. It had been locked from the outside! Charity continued talking to her son outside the door as she scoured the room for somewhere for her husband to hide. She pointed at a cupboard, but when Ironheart opened the door,
he found tucked inside it none other than Guo Jing.

  Charity yelped.

  Concerned for his mother’s safety, Wanyan Kang began bashing at the door with his shoulder. Guo Jing grabbed Ironheart and tugged him in, only just managing to pull the door shut as the iron bolt creaked and the door burst open.

  Wanyan Kang rushed in to find his mother crouched in the middle of the room, her pale cheeks wet with tears. “Mother, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

  Charity paused and looked up at her son, trying to steady herself. “Nothing, son. I am just feeling a bit unwell.”

  “Please, Mother,” he said, coming to her side. “I promise I won’t do anything like that ever again. I know I have been a bad son to make you worry so.”

  “Don’t worry, child. I’m just a little tired. I think I will go to bed; I need to sleep.”

  But Wanyan Kang could detect a slight quiver in her voice. “No-one has been in here, have they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two bandits entered the palace tonight.”

  “Is that so? You should really be going to bed yourself. Let the servants deal with it. It’s not for you to worry about.”

  “Yes, Mother, I’m sure the guards have taken care of it, incompetent as they are. You must get some rest.”

  But just as he was about to leave, he spotted a piece of clothing sticking out from under the cupboard door. His suspicions were alerted again, but instead of saying anything, he went to the table, poured himself some tea and sat down. He sipped at the tea, contemplating the scene. Perhaps his mother was unaware that someone was hiding in the cupboard?

  After a few more sips, he got to his feet and sauntered over to where the spear had been fastened to the wall. “Mother, what did you think of my spear technique today?”

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t like you bullying people like that,” Charity chastised him.

  “Bullying? It was a competition, we were fighting fair and square.” Wanyan Kang’s tone was a little aggrieved. He reached for the spear and traced a Rising Phoenix Soaring Dragon through the air, the red tassel dancing behind him, until the point thrust forward, straight at the cupboard. Charity fainted, fully aware that Ironheart Yang and Guo Jing were in grave danger in their shared hiding place.

  So she knew! He leaned the spear against the wall and went to pick up his mother, his eyes fixed on the cupboard door all the while.

  Charity was only unconscious for a few seconds. Her eyes opened and searched immediately for the cupboard; the door was still intact. Her body flopped in relief. The events of the last hour or so had drained her to the point of collapse.

  “Mother, am I not your son?” Wanyan Kang demanded.

  “Of course, my dearest. Why would you ask?”

  “Then why do you keep so many secrets?”

  Charity knew she should tell him about the day’s events and let him be reunited with his real father. But this would also mean he would lose his mother, as she had not been loyal and chaste as widows were supposed to be. She had betrayed her husband by living with a Jin prince and lying to his son about who his real father was. She was not destined to be reunited with Ironheart Yang after all. Tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  Wanyan Kang was unsure what to make of his mother’s behaviour. He waited for her to speak.

  “You must take a seat and listen to me.”

  Wanyan Kang sat his mother down and took a seat beside the spear. But he did not take his eyes off the cupboard.

  “Do you see those characters written on the spear?” she said.

  “I asked you about them when I was a boy, but you wouldn’t tell me what they meant. Ironheart Yang,” he read aloud.

  “Now you shall know.”

  Ironheart could hear every word from where he was crouching in the darkness. But Charity was used to life in a Jin palace; how could she possibly return to him and live in a dirty hut? Go from Prince’s Consort to farmer’s wife again? Could she be about to reveal his identity? His son might kill him.

  He listened intently as she began.

  “This spear comes from Ox Village, a small hamlet on the outskirts of the Song capital Lin’an. I sent some men many li to fetch it for me. The plough, the table, lamp, bed and cupboard,” she said, pointing around the room, “all of it came from Ox Village.”

  “I’ve never understood your affection for these dingy farmhouse furnishings. You could have the finest comforts money can buy, but you won’t take them!”

  “To you they are dingy, but to me this is the most beautifully decorated room I could hope for. I pity you sometimes, my son, that you have never lived with your real mother and father in a place just as dingy as this.”

  Ironheart Yang could feel tears bubbling up inside him as he listened.

  But Wanyan Kang’s response was laughter. “Ma, you really are getting stranger and stranger. Why would Pa agree to live in a place like this?”

  “It is a shame indeed that he has not had the chance. He has spent the last eighteen years wandering the rivers and lakes of the south. A room such as this would have been more than enough for him.”

  “Mother, what are you saying?” There was a tremor in his voice now.

  “What do you think I’m saying? Do you know who your real father is?” Charity’s tone was sharper than she had intended.

  “My father is the Sixth Prince of Zhao, Wanyan Honglie. Mother, why are you asking me these questions?”

  Charity rose to her feet and took the spear in her hands. She cradled it to her bosom, and with the tears once again in full flow, she turned to her son. “My child, it is not your fault. I should have told you long ago. This spear . . . it belongs to your father. Your real father.” She traced her fingers along the characters carved into the shaft of the spear. “Ironheart Yang.”

  “Nonsense! Stop it, Ma! You’ve gone mad!” The young Prince’s body was shaking violently. “I shall call for the doctor.”

  “Nonsense is it? Son, you are no Jin prince, you are Chinese. Your real name is Yang Kang.”

  “I will ask my father!” He turned to leave the room.

  “He’s here,” Charity cried. “Your father is here.” She opened the cupboard door, reached for her husband’s hand and pulled him out of the darkness and into the room.

  “You!” Wanyan Kang grabbed the spear and aimed it at Ironheart’s throat.

  “But he’s your father, don’t you understand?” Charity ran towards her husband and then fell to the floor.

  Wanyan Kang froze, lurched a few steps and pulled the spear back. She was covered in blood. Had he killed his own mother? He stood watching, helpless.

  Ironheart Yang scooped his wife into his arms and ran for the door.

  “Put her down!” the young Prince cried out, launching into a Wild Goose Leaves the Flock, thrusting his spear at Ironheart’s back.

  Ironheart heard the rush of air and reached back, seizing the spear five inches from the tip with his left hand. His Yang Family Spear technique was unrivalled. He thrust backwards in a Returning Horse, a move unique to the Yang family. Usually he would have spun round and grabbed with his right too, but he was still holding Charity in his arms. “This is a move we Yang men teach our sons, but your shifu won’t have taught it to you.”

  The force pushing from both ends snapped the old spear in half.

  “He’s your own flesh and blood! Your father!” Guo Jing, who could bear to watch no longer, rushed forward. “Why do you disrespect him in this manner?”

  The Prince hesitated.

  Ironheart Yang dropped his end of the spear, and holding his beloved wife tight to his chest, stumbled out of the room. Following her directions, he supported her as they ran through the complex to where Mercy was waiting outside the palace walls. She helped them climb down the other side, and together they fled.

  Appendix I

  A Note on the use of the Terms “Martial Arts”, “Kung Fu” etc.

  “MARTIAL ARTS”, AS A T
ERM IN ENGLISH, WAS FIRST USED TO describe the combat systems of Europe during the Renaissance, “martial” being derived from the Roman God of War, Mars. Nowadays, the phrase in English instantly evokes the combat practices of east Asia, which according to legend are said to have their origins in the Xia Dynasty, over four thousand years ago. Some contend that Chinese martial arts were not military in origin or purpose, but the Chinese word wushu suggests that they were, as it literally means “military” or “martial” and “art” or “skill”, and has been in common use for nearly two millennia. Over the course of these two thousand or so years, the Chinese martial arts have incorporated influences from Indian combat styles and have in turn spread out all over eastern Asia, developing into the distinctive fighting traditions that can be found across Japan, Korea etc.

  The Chinese word gongfu, of which “kung fu” is a Romanisation, actually refers to any practice or achievement that takes time and dedicated study. This could be playing the violin just as much as learning how to perform a Lazy Donkey Roll.

  There are hundreds of styles of Chinese combat, all with their own distinctive moves, ideas and names. Categorisation of these styles can be geographical – northern versus southern, for example, or even down to the province or town. In this volume, if you remember, Jade Han’s Yue Sword technique is identified as local to Jiaxing, where many centuries previously the two kingdoms of Wu and Yue had fought a bitter war. Fighting styles are often also divided into either “external” (waigong) or “internal” (neigong) forms, that is, concentrating on physiological technique or on mental strength and the movement of qi around the body through breathing or other meditative practices. In reality, however, this distinction is often blurred and styles frequently contain elements of both.

  Chinese martial arts have a strong connection to the various ancient philosophies and religions of the region, primarily through the idea of self-cultivation. In the popular mind in both the east and west, the most famous example would be the “kung fu monks” of the Shaolin temple in Henan Province, established in the late fifth century. The temple’s first preacher was an Indian monk by the name of Buddhabhadra, and along with another fellow Indian monk, Bodhidharma, and their first Chinese disciples, he was said to have given birth to a new Buddhism that, by the Tang dynasty (A.D. 618– 907), would develop into Zen. Given its emphasis on the breath and the mind, the links to martial arts fighting is not at once obvious. But, as monasteries and temples both Buddhist and Taoist owned land and other wealth, they came frequently under attack, which has led some historians to postulate that monks practised martial arts as a form of self-defense.