by Jin Yong
“I have an idea.” She broke into giggles. “We’ll stay on Peach Blossom Island. They can come looking for us, if they wish, but they’ll never find you, if you don’t want to be found. They’ll never work out the labyrinthine layout Papa designed.”
Guo Jing was about to protest that it would be disrespectful to hide from his elders, when he heard the sound of distant footsteps. Two men, a dozen zhang or so south of them, hurrying northward with the aid of lightness kung fu.
CHAPTER FIVE
CALAMITIES TO COME
1
Just as the young couple had agreed, without a word spoken, to enjoy their moment together and resist their natural curiousity, they heard snatches of conversation drifting over from the martial strangers:
“… Urchin … duped by Brother Peng … nothing to fear…”
Could they mean the Hoary Urchin? Guo Jing and Lotus leaped into action.
The men’s kung fu was average at best, so they were oblivious to the travel companions they had gained. The landscape grew hillier as they followed the men farther and farther from the market town. After five or six li, they arrived at a valley where echoes of obscenities and insults could be heard ringing in the night.
A couple of torches flickered in the pitch-black wilderness, picking out a group of shadowy figures gathered around two men sitting crossed-legged on the ground. Guo Jing recognized Zhou Botong straight away in the half-light, but it took him a little longer to place the bulky form wrapped in crimson vestments … Lama Supreme Wisdom! The two sat facing each other, stiff and catatonic, without the slightest hint of movement. Nothing to suggest that either man was still breathing.
Never had Guo Jing seen the Hoary Urchin so still … so corpse-like. His appearance, along with the exchange they had overheard earlier, led the young man to assume the worst. He tensed, ready to jump to his sworn brother’s aid, but Lotus seized his arm and yanked him back down behind a rock.
“Wait,” she said quietly. “Just watch.”
The slurs they had overheard were being hurled from the mouth of a cave to the left of Zhou Botong. The opening was so small that an adult man would have to bend double to venture inside, and yet the foul-mouthed men kept their distance, visibly wary of what was lurking within.
It took some time for Guo Jing and Lotus to pick out the detail of what they were seeing in the gloom, and, when they did, they could hardly believe their eyes. So many familiar faces: the Ginseng Codger Graybeard Liang; Hector Sha, Dragon King of the Daemon Sect; Tiger Peng, Butcher of a Thousand Hands; Browbeater Hou the Three-Horned Dragon, who had lost an arm and gained three more cysts on his forehead since they had last come across him, in Ox Village, a month before.
The group was completed by the two men who had unknowingly guided the young couple to this valley. When they turned toward the firelight, Guo Jing recognized them as Old Liang’s students, one of whom he had sent flying with a Haughty Dragon Repents when he had first learned the Dragon-Subduing Palm.
A sense of unease gnawed at Lotus as she peered around, trying to make out if anyone else was skulking in the darkness.
How come they’ve got the Urchin in their power? she asked herself. He could handle this lot with one hand tied behind his back. For a Master like him, they’re mere playthings.
“I think Viper Ouyang is here,” she whispered into Guo Jing’s ear.
She was trying to think of a way to confirm her suspicions when she heard the guttural growls of Tiger Peng:
“Come into the open, dog, or we’ll smoke you out!”
“Go on, do your reeking worst!” came the booming retort.
A voice Guo Jing knew well. His first martial teacher, Ke Zhen’e, the eldest of the Freaks.
“Shifu, I’m here!”
Guo Jing darted out of his hiding place, without a care for Viper Ouyang or anyone else who might be lurking nearby, for protecting his Master was his only concern. He grabbed the man nearest to him—Browbeater Hou—and tossed him aside.
Though taken by surprise, Hector Sha and Tiger Peng were the quickest to recover and react. They pounced as one, while Graybeard Liang sneaked into position behind Guo Jing a moment later, poised to deal a stealthly knockout blow. But, before he could raise his hand, he sensed the air near his back parting and he ducked.
Ke Zhen’e had heard, from inside the cave, the sound of footsteps circling his disciple and let fly a poisoned devilnut.
The projectile whizzed by, passing just above the crown of the Ginseng Immortal’s head, scorching his skin. In one great leap, Graybeard Liang distanced himself more than a zhang from the fight and examined his scalp gingerly. He heaved a sigh of relief. No blood, but the brush with danger had shaken him—his undershirt was drenched in sweat. The memory of Tiger Peng falling victim to the potent poison delivered by the blind man’s secret weapon was fresh in his mind.
Not one to let an affront pass, he pulled several Bone-Piercing Needles from his robe and tiptoed over to the cave. He extended his arm across the entrance, taking care not to make a sound, and readied himself for sweet vengeance.
A numb spot appeared on his wrist. Needles clinked as they hit the ground.
Girlish giggles. “On your knees, or taste the cane.”
Old Liang snapped round and found Lotus grinning at him, bamboo stick in hand. Growling, he thrust his left hand at her shoulder and grabbed her weapon with his right. She veered away from the palm strike, but did not shift the cane, so he was able to wrap his fingers around its tip.
Ha! Let go, little girl, or I’ll pull you in too! he thought with glee.
He tugged, drawing her weapon toward him. The instant he thought he had taken control of it, the bamboo cane juddered to life and slipped from his grip. Rattled, he flapped his arms to bat it away, but it was a futile gesture, for he had brought her weapon inside his circle of defense himself. All he could do was to follow with his eyes an emerald blur he had no hope of catching, for the tip of the cane was closer to his core than his hands. Thwack! A crack on the head.
He let his legs buckle, then tucked himself into a roll, going along with the force of the clout out of instinct. Once he had pulled away by ten paces or so, he sprang to his feet and gaped at the bright-eyed girl who had just made a fool of him—his head smarting, his mind a whirl, his body awash with shame.
“You’ve been graced by my cane technique, now tell me what that makes you,” Lotus said, beaming. “I know you’re familiar with the name of this kung fu.”
Beaten like a mangy cur … Graybeard Liang thought as he rubbed his sore head. His body convulsed at the reminder of his mortifying treatment at the hands of Count Seven Hong and that very same Dog-Beating Cane.
“We shall give Chief Hong face and retreat.” He signaled to his disciples and the three of them melted away into the darkness.
Guo Jing, meanwhile, was having no trouble repelling the joint assault from Hector Sha and Tiger Peng. A jab of his left elbow, and Sha shrank three steps back. Guo Jing, riding the impetus of that attack, then swung his forearm out, aiming for Peng.
Tiger Peng dodged the blade-like edge of the flying palm and shifted his stance for a counterattack, but Guo Jing was faster. A hook of his right wrist, and he had the Butcher of a Thousand Hands hoisted up by the back of his collar.
The stout man’s legs dangled in the air. He punched and kicked, but his blows contained no sting. His strength seemed to be blunted by the way he was being held up and he could do nothing but watch as Guo Jing’s fist fell like a hammer blow on his chest.
This is it … He braced himself as he squealed, “What day is it today?”
“Huh?”
“Aren’t you a man of your word?”
“What do you mean?” Guo Jing’s fist hovered above Peng’s sternum, but he was not ready to let him touch firm ground just yet.
“Is it Moon Festival today? Are we in Jiaxing? Have you forgotten our contest? We agreed to test each other’s kung fu on the fifteenth day of the eight
h moon, at the Tower of Mist and Rain, in Jiaxing. How can you hurt me now, before the appointed day and time?”
There was a logic to his argument that Guo Jing could not dispute. He was about to set the Butcher down when the fragments of conversation that had brought him here surfaced in his mind.
“What did you do to Brother Zhou?”
“Nothing. The Urchin made a wager with the lama. The first to move loses.”
Guo Jing regarded his sworn brother with relief and called into the cave, “First Shifu, I trust you are safe and well.”
All he got in reply was a grunt.
He flung Tiger Peng ten paces away from him, so the mean-spirited man could not deliver a sneaky kick to his abdomen.
But Peng was in no mood to prolong their scuffle.
“The winner of this fight shall be decided on the fifteenth, in Jiaxing,” he said after jumping farther back. Then he cupped his hands in farewell and took off with the help of his fastest lightness qinggong. As he cursed Hector Sha and Graybeard Liang for deserting him, he wondered what it was that was making the young upstart’s kung fu improve by leaps and bounds each time they met. Could he have uncovered some magical elixir? Perhaps there was sorcery at play …
2
Lotus stood between Zhou Botong and Lama Supreme Wisdom, desperate to know why the lama had not made off with the rest of his cronies. They were glaring at each other. Not so much as a flicker of recognition or a flutter of their eyelids as her face loomed over theirs.
Duped by Brother Peng … The words echoed in her head.
This must be Tiger Peng’s ploy to deprive the Old Urchin of his martial abilities, she said to herself. How else could the lama and his lackluster skills hold the legendary Zhou Botong the Hoary Urchin back—all on his own—giving the others the chance to harass Ke Zhen’e? The Urchin, being the Urchin, must have regarded it as an amusing game. He would never have guessed their nefarious motives. That must have been the reason why, when the brawl broke out just now, he sat as steady as Mount Tai and did not deign to lift even his little finger.
“Holla! Urchin!” Lotus bellowed into Zhou Botong’s face.
Of course, he could see her and hear her very well, but he could not picture a fate more tragic than losing a wager.
“Isn’t it tedious, just sitting there? We’re still hours from declaring a winner. Let me make this more exciting. I’ll tickle your laughter pressure points. And I’ll be fair, triggering them at the same time, with the same force. Who laughs first, loses. Agreed?”
Lotus’s suggestion could not have come at a better time for the Hoary Urchin. Sitting still for so long had stretched his patience to breaking point. He was desperate to shout in agreement, but, after some fierce mental wrestling, he managed to suppress the urge.
Not expecting a reply, Lotus sat on her haunches halfway between the two men, set down the Dog-Beating Cane and extended her arms, aiming her index fingers at the acupoints on their waists. For once, she managed to be impartial and let an equal amount of internal energy flow into each hand. She knew the Old Urchin’s neigong was far superior and would be able to withstand her probing, yet she was mystified as to why she was unable to elicit even a hint of reaction from the lama.
If I were in his place, I’d be bent double and howling in hysterics by now. Eyeing the monk with grudging respect, she channeled more power into her fingers.
Zhou Botong bore down with all his inner strength, but Lotus was poking her fingers into the very base of his rib cage where the muscles were the softest, and, as a result, the least receptive to his inner power. He could push out his midriff a touch as a countermeasure, but what if he misjudged the minute adjustment and ended up shifting his whole torso? He could not risk losing the wager that way. The only option left to him was to gird his mind against the onslaught, but his young friend would not ease off, piling on more and more force.
At last, the Urchin could tolerate it no more and flexed his tummy, bouncing Lotus’s finger away. He sprang to his feet with a guffaw.
“Fat monk, you’ve trounced the Hoary Urchin!”
Lamenting her uncharacteristic impartiality, Lotus straightened up and turned to Lama Supreme Wisdom. “You’ve won. We won’t make trouble for you, this time. Off you go!”
No response. No movement.
She gave him a tap on the shoulder. “Get up!”
It was a light push, without any internal strength, and yet it was enough to topple his hefty bulk over. As he lay on his back, facing the heavens, the monk’s hands were touched together as before, and his legs were still crossed midair, as if he were a painted clay statue of the Buddha.
Did he suffocate himself keeping his pressure points sealed? Lotus put a finger under his nose. She could feel his breath.
“Urchin, oh Urchin, you’ve been tricked.”
“What?” Zhou Botong’s eyes bulged at the news.
“Unbind him and I’ll tell you all about it.”
It took the Old Urchin a few moments to comprehend her words. He bent down to feel the lama’s body. Eight major acupressure points had been bound.
“It doesn’t count! It doesn’t count!” Zhou Botong yelled, hopping from foot to foot. “Those scoundrels locked his movement when he sat down. The fat monk could stay like that for another three days and three nights!” He squatted on his heels and called to the lama. “Come, come, come, let’s do it again!” But the man was still stuck on his back in the same position, unable to move, unable to respond. Muttering about a rematch, the Old Urchin worked to remove the binds, his hands flitting over the monk’s pressure points.
Lotus’s eyes followed him as he bustled about. “Hey, what happened to my shifu? What did you do with him?”
“Oh!” The Urchin shot to his feet and scampered into the cave, almost running straight into Guo Jing, who was guiding Ke Zhen’e out. Once the youth had heard his sworn brother prattling away in boisterous spirits, evidently unharmed by the antics of the night, he had slipped inside to check on his teacher.
When they were outside, Guo Jing was shocked to see in the gloom that the First Freak was donned in mourning white, with a strip of cloth the same color wound around his head.
“Master, did someone pass away in your family? Where are my other shifus?”
Ke twisted his face toward the heavens. Two streams of tears coursed down his withered cheeks. Guo Jing had never seen his mentor so distraught and he swallowed his follow-up questions.
Just then, Zhou Botong emerged with someone else on his arm, who had a drinking gourd in one hand and a half-eaten chicken in the other.
“Shifu!” Guo Jing and Lotus cried in unison, and they rushed over to greet Count Seven Hong.
The Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers nodded at his students, grinning through the chicken thigh clamped between his teeth.
Darkness descended over Ke Zhen’e’s features. He swung his metal staff down, swift and savage. The Exorcist’s Staff technique he had perfected in Mongolia as a means to tackle Cyclone Mei. Designed to bludgeon with blistering, ferocious force, it made a terrifying sound as it descended on its victims, but left them no time to evade its wrath—it was his wish that the blind woman would hear the coming of her end.
Needless to say, Lotus had let her guard down since Tiger Peng and his pack had fled the valley. Why would anybody here wish her harm? By the time she sensed the gust whipped up by the staff, it was already too late.
Guo Jing reached out without a second thought. He knocked the heavy weapon off target with one hand and grabbed it with the other. How could let it crush Lotus’s skull? He intercepted his mentor’s strike on instinct, not realizing how much his strength had improved in recent weeks, or that the simple move contained all the power of the Dragon-Subduing Palm.
A mighty wave of energy crashed into Ke Zhen’e. It tore the staff out of his hands and swept all anchorage from his feet, throwing him facedown to the ground.
“Shifu!” Guo Jing stooped to help his teacher. He felt
sick to see what he had inflicted upon a man he held in the highest regard.
Ke’s nose was bruised and swollen. His lips, bloodied. In his mouth, a dark gap where his two front teeth had been.
The sightless man shook off his student’s arms and spat into his open palm. “Yours!”
Guo Jing stared at the grim mess in his shifu’s hand and cast himself to his knees. “Your student deserves the harshest punishment!”
“Take them!” The eldest Freaks shoved his hand toward Guo Jing.
“Master!”
Guo Jing collapsed into panicked sobs, while Zhou Botong burst out laughing. “Shifu beating his disciple, a common sight. Student thrashing his teacher, a special treat!”
“Very well…” Ke Zhen’e tossed the teeth into his mouth and threw his head back, gulping them down.
The Hoary Urchin cheered, applauding the Freak’s literal demonstration of an age-old martial saying: Teeth smacked from the mouth, knock them back with blood.
Shaken to the core, Lotus shuffled over to Count Seven Hong to cling to his arm. She could not fathom why Ke Zhen’e wanted her dead, but she could sense the grief and bile seeping from every pore of his person.
Guo Jing was still kowtowing fervently. “I would never dream of striking you, Master. It was a sincere mistake. Please, chastise me.”
“Master? Who are you calling Master? Now that you’ve got the Lord of Peach Blossom Island for a father-in-law, you need no other! The tricks of the Seven Freaks of the South are too trifling for a great man like yourself, Lord Guo.”
Guo Jing knocked his head hard against the ground, but it did not soften the wrath of the man who had initiated him into the world of kung fu. The man whom he held in the same high esteem as his own father. The man who was his teacher, his mentor, his shifu.
“Great Hero Ke.” Count Seven Hong at last opened his mouth to speak. The chicken thigh he had been savoring fell from his lips and he caught it in the same hand that was holding the rest of the bird. “The boy is a novice. Students sometimes fail to control their strength and hurt their master. I taught him that move, so this Old Beggar is at fault too. Please accept my humble and heartfelt apologies.” He finished with a bow, bringing his gourd and the chicken carcass together in some rough semblance of a gesture of respect.