by Jin Yong
Guo Jing turned his tear-filled eyes on their host, beseeching her to stop stinging them with her cruel words.
For more than a decade, Madam Ying had been curdling in shattered dreams of lost love, growing ever more embittered and spiteful. She was in fact thrilled to have the chance to bear witness to the catastrophe that was befalling these young sweethearts and she had many more scathing remarks in store for them.
Yet, that despondent look reminded her of … Wait … Had the heavens sent them here to deliver her revenge?
“Yes, it must be so,” she muttered to herself. “At last! At last…”
3
The yelling and shouting grew louder again. After trekking round and round the forest all night, the Iron Palm Gang remained convinced that the young couple had taken refuge somewhere within it, but they were too disorientated by the landscape to tell left from right.
“Qiu Qianren, the Leader of the Iron Palm Gang, seeks an audience with Madam Ying, the Supreme Reckoner.” A stream of powerful neigong carried his voice inside the hut, against the howling of the wind.
Madam Ying headed to a window and paused to gather her qi at the Elixir Field in her lower belly. “Pardon me, Leader Qiu, I do not receive visitors from the outside world. Death awaits those who venture into my black swamp.” She sent her rejoinder far into the night.
“Madam, I am certain a boy and a girl have entered this swamp of yours. Allow me to deal with them.”
“You have grossly underestimated my craft with that assumption.”
A hollow laugh rang out, then the clamor of the Iron Palm Gang grew dim and distant.
Madam Ying turned to Guo Jing. “Do you want her to live?”
Caught out by the question, he stood gaping, then fell onto his knees. “If the senior Elder would offer help—”
“Am I so old as that?” A thick frost descended on Madam Ying’s face, cold and hard.
“No, no, no, not at all.”
Her eyes softened and her attention drifted over to the window. “‘Not at all’ … Still, I have grown old,” she said in muted tones.
Guo Jing was now fretting over his clumsy attempt to show respect, which had clearly offended their host. Would she rescind her offer? He was desperate to explain himself, to let her know how much they would appreciate her assistance, but he had never felt more tongue-tied.
Madam Ying marked the mounting fluster in the boy, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, which gathered speed as they rolled down. She sighed. If he had shown me even one-tenth of the affection this dolt is demonstrating now, she thought, this life of mine would not have been wasted. Then she began to hum:
“For the fourth time the loom is ready,
To weave a pair of lovebirds so they can take flight.
Pity the hair that grows gray before its time!
The ripples of spring among green grass,
The chill of dawn lurking in the deep,
In each other scarlet feather bathe.”
The lyric poem sounded very familiar to Guo Jing, but he could not think where he had first heard it. His second shifu Zhu Cong? Lotus?
“Do you know who wrote that?” he asked under his breath. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard it before.” Lotus shook her head. “‘Pity the hair that grows gray before its time.’ What a great line! Lovebirds, you know, mandarin ducks, have a streak of white on their heads…” She sneaked a peek at Madam Ying, awed by how her locks matched her song.
Then where did I hear it? And from whom? Questions whirled in Guo Jing’s mind. Not Lotus’s father. Or Squire Lu when we were at Roaming Cloud Manor. Yet, I know it … Why am I troubling myself over a poem when Lotus’s life is at stake? The Master must know a way to save her. Why else would she pose that question? I will do whatever she asks, if it gives us hope.
Madam Ying had also retreated into her past—rapturous moments, heartsore encounters … Conflicting emotions bubbled in her chest. Joy and sorrow flitted across her features. Suddenly, she snapped out of her reverie and looked Guo Jing in the eye.
“Only one person in this world can treat her injury.”
“Please, Elder—no, no—please, Master, please help her. We shall be forever grateful.” He made three heartfelt kowtows.
“Don’t bow to me. Do you think I’d be in this damp and dank place if I had the skill to revive her?”
Guo Jing had learned from his mistake and kept his mouth shut.
“Well, I must say you’re blessed by the heavens,” Madam Ying went on. “First, you stumbled upon me. And I happen to know of this healer and his whereabouts. And, as luck would have it, he lives within three days’ journey of here. Whether he is willing to help … that, I cannot say.”
“I’ll beg him on my knees! Surely he won’t stand by and let her die.”
“It’s human nature to stand by and do nothing. Any fool can beg. Is that enough to secure help? What can you offer him? Why does he have to help you?” Madam Ying’s tone was full of bile.
Guo Jing bit his lips and nodded. He was afraid that he might speak out of turn again and crush this one chance Lotus had.
Madam Ying indicated a doorway to her left. “She can rest over there.”
Thanking their host, Guo Jing helped Lotus into the side chamber and lifted her onto a bamboo daybed. The woman headed into the square room and sat down at the desk to write. She prepared three notes, wrapped them individually in cloth and sewed them shut with thread.
“Once you’re out of the forest, head northeast for Peach Spring. I expect the Iron Palm Gang are waiting in ambush. If you manage to get away, open this white pouch when you get to the town. It has instructions on what to do next. You must not look into any of the pouches before the appointed time.”
Promising to follow her instructions to the letter, Guo Jing reached out, but Madam Ying drew back. “Not so hasty. If he refuses to help, I won’t ask anything in return, but if she lives—”
“We shall of course repay the gift of life,” Guo Jing pledged.
“You must return within one moon’s time,” Madam Ying said to Lotus, “and live with me for one year.”
“Why?” There was a trace of tension in Guo Jing’s tone.
“It’s got nothing to do with you!” she snapped. “It’s her I’m asking.”
“You want me to teach you the principles of the Mysterious Gates. I accept, of course. I give you my word.”
Madam Ying handed the pouches to Guo Jing, one white, one yellow, one red. With gratitude, he tucked them into his inside shirt pocket for safekeeping and got down on his knees to kowtow, but Madam Ying hopped out of the way.
“No need to thank me. We don’t know each other. We share no kinship. I have no need to help you. I wouldn’t have spent all this energy even if we were acquainted. Let me be perfectly plain. I don’t want your gratitude. I am doing this because it serves me. Only the self-seeking endure.”
Her words grated against every fiber of Guo Jing’s being. He gritted his teeth and put up with it for Lotus’s sake, hoping his face did not betray him. He knew full well that this would not be the time to debate ethics, even if he had been born with a gifted tongue.
“You must be hungry. I’ll bring you some congee.” Madam Ying retreated from the room again.
Lotus was half dozing on the daybed, trying to conserve energy. Guo Jing sat next to her, besieged by a thousand thoughts. Madam Ying returned shortly with a wooden tray bearing two bowls of steaming hot sinica-rice porridge, a large plate of sliced guinea fowl and a small dish of cured fish.
Ever since he had realized there was hope yet for Lotus, Guo Jing had been aware of his grumbling stomach, and now the sight of food made his mouth water. He thanked their host and touched Lotus’s hand. “Will you eat something?”
She parted her eyelids a fraction and shook her head. “I don’t want to eat. My chest hurts.”
“My pill would have helped.”
Ignoring
Madam Ying’s provocation, Lotus said to Guo Jing, “Give me another Dew of Nine Flowers.”
The precious panacea had been a parting gift from Zephyr Lu after their stay at Roaming Cloud Manor. Lotus had since kept them close to her person in an inside pocket. Though the pills had no healing power, they were effective in dulling pain and calming the nerves, helping both Count Seven Hong and Guo Jing when they were injured by Viper Ouyang.
Guo Jing removed a ceramic bottle from her robe, unscrewed its cap and took out one pill with great care.
“Is that the Dew of Nine Flowers? Let me see!”
Madam Ying’s eyes were fixed on the crimson pills. Neither Guo Jing nor Lotus had noticed the tremor that passed through her when the restorative was first mentioned.
Alarmed by her cutting tone and the malicious glint in her eyes, Guo Jing handed the whole vial over to Madam Ying. A sweet scent drifted to her nose. The fragrance alone brought a sense of calm and coolness to the body.
“Where did you get these? From Peach Blossom Island? Tell me! Tell me!” She gave Guo Jing a deathly stare as she rasped in a voice hoarse with emotion.
Did she get tangled up with one of Papa’s disciples? Lotus wondered. That would explain why she wants to learn the Mysterious Gates and the Five Elements.
“She is the daughter of the Lord of Peach Blossom Island,” Guo Jing said.
“Old Heretic Huang’s child?” Madam Ying jumped up, her eyes flashing with spite, ready to lunge.
Nodding, Guo Jing shifted over to shield Lotus.
“Give the pouches back to her,” Lotus said. “We won’t have anything to do with Papa’s foe.”
But Guo Jing could not bring himself to hand them over.
“Put them down, Guo Jing. I might yet live. And if I die, so what?”
Guo Jing set the life-saving instructions on the side table, for he would never presume to defy Lotus, but he could not hold back the flood of tears pouring down his face.
Madam Ying paid the young couple no heed. Gazing out of the window, she muttered “Heavens!” to herself again and again. Abruptly, she snatched up the pouches and rushed into the next room, still holding the bottle of Dew of Nine Flowers tight in her other hand. She scrabbled about for a while, keeping her back to the doorway, so Guo Jing and Lotus could not see what she was doing.
“Let’s go. I can’t bear the sight of her,” Lotus said just as Madam Ying returned.
“I’ve been studying the art of reckoning so I can make my way across Peach Blossom Island.” The woman seemed to be talking more to herself than to them. “But it’s all been in vain—I could work at it for another hundred years and still I wouldn’t be able to catch up, not even with the Old Heretic’s daughter. I’ll accept this as my lot and I shall not complain. Take them and go!”
She stuffed her instructions and the pill bottle into Guo Jing’s hands. Then she looked Lotus in the eye.
“The Dew of Nine Flowers is harmful in your current state. Don’t take them, and don’t forget your promise. Your father ruined my life. I’d rather let the dogs eat this.” She tossed the food out of the window.
Insulted as never before, Lotus could not let this crone have the last word. Then, an idea came to her, better than any retort. She took Guo Jing’s arm, pulled herself onto her feet and wrote three reckoning questions in the sand with the Dog-Beating Cane.
The first was: “The Sindhu written calculation of the seven brilliances and nine luminaries,” which included the sun, the moon and the stars—Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, Earth, Rahu and Ketu.
The second was: “The problem of distributing silver and issuing rice to soldiers whose numbers are conscripted in cubic multiples.”
The last one was the Problem of the Ghost Valley Sage:
Here are objects whose number is unknown: counted by threes two remains, counted by fives three remains, counted by sevens two again remains. How many are there?
Once Lotus had set down these cryptic words, she shuffled out of the hut, leaning on Guo Jing’s arm. When Guo Jing got to the perimeter wall, he turned to take one last look at their eccentric host. She stood staring at the ground, clutching the counting rods. He then lifted Lotus onto his back and picked his way through the swamp and the woods at her promptings, placing his feet with care as he kept a tally under his breath.
“What did you draw on the sand?” he asked when they were clear of the strange landscape surrounding Madam Ying’s huts.
“I’ve given her three problems to solve.” A spark of the old, mischievous Lotus. “Which, I dare say, will take her more than six months to figure out. By then, all her hair will have turned white! Serves her right for being so rude!”
“Why does she bear such a grudge against your father?”
“Papa’s never mentioned her … She must have been very beautiful when she was younger. Don’t you think?”
Lotus wondered if there could be a romantic link. Maybe Madam Ying wanted to marry Papa! She snickered inside. That must be it. What a hare-brained woman. If he doesn’t like you, throwing a hissy fit won’t make him change his mind!
“Beautiful or not, I don’t care. As long as she doesn’t have second thoughts and come after us for the instructions.”
“Let’s take a look! I doubt she means us well.”
“No! She said we have to wait until we get to Peach Spring.” Guo Jing was adamant that they should obey Madam Ying’s strictures and Lotus soon relented.
* * *
AS THE new day dawned, Guo Jing climbed a tree to check for any signs of the Iron Palm Gang. It appeared that they had given up. Relieved, he whistled several times, and soon he heard the beating of Ulaan’s hooves. Not long after that, the condors were sighted on the horizon, winging their way toward them.
Just as Guo Jing had finished helping Lotus onto the Fergana horse, a clutch of trees not far away burst into life. Dozens of black-clad men jumped down from the branches. They had lain in wait all night, but Qiu Qianren was not among them.
“Fare ye well!”
A gentle squeeze from Guo Jing’s legs and the colt took flight. He felt as if they were airborne, the wind rushing past his ears. In no time at all, the Iron Palm Gang were nothing but a smudge on the horizon.
4
By midday, Ulaan had covered more than a hundred li. Guo Jing stopped at a small roadside stall for a snack. The chest pains were still troubling Lotus and she could barely manage half a bowl of thin congee. Somehow, eating made her breathing short and shallow. She collapsed without warning.
Panic seized Guo Jing. He knew they could not travel with Lotus in this state, so he asked the stall keeper for a room.
“Sir, for years our soil has been depleted and our crops have failed. Poor country folks like us can barely keep a roof over our heads. If you go five li farther, you’ll find a rice merchant. His shop is big, he may have a bed if you offer him silver.”
Thanking him, Guo Jing carried the unconscious Lotus over to Ulaan. Before long, they arrived at a row of three sizeable houses behind a high brick wall. Wheelbarrows stood by an open main gate, one loaded with a dozen or so sacks of rice, one with firewood and black coal, and the last with vegetables, meat, sweet potatoes and seasonings.
Guo Jing approached the entrance and found an old man inside, drinking tea on a bench. Around sixty or seventy years of age, he had a kindly face and a headful of silver hair, but his cheeks and chin were perfectly smooth, unmarked by a single whisker.
“Master, we are travelers and my sister has been struck by a sudden illness. Might we beg a room to rest for the night? We can pay for our stay.” He took out a large sycee ingot from his robe and presented it with both hands.
“Of course, I am happy to provide what I can, but this is too much.”
“We are forever grateful, Master.” Guo Jing set the silver down with a great show of courtesy. “Please take this for now. When we depart tomorrow, we shall present you with another to thank you.” The stall keeper’s words had stayed with
Guo Jing, and he thought that, since the old man was a trader, surely the more money he offered, the more likely he was to find a bed in this place.
“Might I ask your name, sir?” the old man said.
“My surname is Guo, my martial sister’s is Huang. How should we address you, Master?”
“Yang is my name. Please, have some tea,” he said as he prepared the cups for his visitors.
While Guo Jing helped Lotus onto the bench and checked on her breathing, Old Yang took note of the mud caked on his trousers. It was much darker than the dust and earth staining his shoes and ankles.
“It is no mean feat to come through the forest at night without getting lost,” the elderly man observed.
“We were lucky.” Guo Jing was too preoccupied to notice the wheels of the handcarts were coated in the same black peat as his trousers.
“We supply food and other necessities to the people living in the forest,” Old Yang explained.
Guo Jing nodded, realizing for the first time that Madam Ying might not be self-sufficient. He held a cup to Lotus’s lips, helping her drink, before gulping down some tea himself.
The old man led them to a guest room, which was modestly appointed with an unvarnished wooden table and some chairs. Two beds were neatly made up, each with its own gauze canopy, straw mat and thin quilt.
Guo Jing supported Lotus as she lay down, keeping his palm on her back between the shoulder blades over the Spirit Tower pressure point, smoothing her qi slowly and gently. He carefully avoided using the healing method from the Nine Yin Manual, afraid that he might make her cough up blood again.
Some time later, a serving man came in with a simple meal of steamed rice and thin congee accompanied by cured fish and meat. Guo Jing fed Lotus some of the liquid from the gruel. With difficulty, she managed to swallow a few mouthfuls, but she could not bring herself to eat the other dishes.