by Jin Yong
Khojin’s mother chuckled. “The wedding is just days away, and he can’t get through a few hours without seeing you.”
The young woman blushed. “Ma!”
“Fine. Off you go!”
Beaming, Khojin headed out of the tent.
“Guo Jing.” Her voice was softer than usual.
“Sister, I need to speak to you.”
Guo Jing led the way. They walked westward for several li, until they were some distance from the camp, then sat down on the ground. Khojin shuffled close and leaned against Guo Jing.
“I have something to say to you too,” she said under her breath.
“Ah, you know?” Guo Jing gasped. Perhaps he would be spared the burden of delivering his heavy message?
“Know what? I wanted to tell you … I am not the Great Khan’s daughter.”
“Huh?”
Khojin turned her face skywards and gazed at the crescent moon that had risen above the horizon while they were walking. “Once we are married –” for once, she was taking her time over her words—“I will forget that I am Genghis Khan’s daughter. I will just be Guo Jing’s wife. If you wish to beat me, berate me, you can do as you wish. You don’t have to hold back because the Great Khan is my father.”
Guo Jing’s chest tightened at her words. He could feel blood surging through his veins, and the heat that went with it. “Sister, you’ve been very good to me, but I fear I’m not good enough for you.”
“No! You’re the best in the world. Only Papa is better than you. My four brothers aren’t even half the man you are.”
Hearing this, Guo Jing realized that his lips would not be able to form the words he had come to say—that he was leaving Mongolia for the South first thing in the morning.
“I’m so happy,” Khojin went on, unaware of the storm churning inside Guo Jing. “When I heard you had died, I just wanted to kill myself so I could be with you, but Tolui made me put the sword down. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here to marry you … Guo Jing, if I can’t be your wife, I’d rather be dead.”
He sighed, thinking of Lotus. He knew he would never hear Lotus speak to him in this way …
“Why are you sighing?”
“… Nothing.”
“I know Big Brother and Second Brother don’t like you. But I’ll keep reminding Papa that they’re not to be trusted. And I’ll say nice things about Third Brother and Fourth Brother, because they’re fond of you. You have nothing to worry about.”
A self-satisfied grin spread on Khojin’s face. Guo Jing’s confusion was clear to see. He did not understand why she had shifted the conversation on to her brothers. “Mama says that Papa has been thinking about his heir because he’s getting old. Who do you think he’ll name?”
“Jochi, surely? He’s the eldest, and he’s won the most battles.”
Khojin shook her head. “I don’t think so. Most likely, it’ll be Third Brother. And, if not, then it’ll be Fourth Brother.”
“The Great Khan won’t change his mind because of a few words from you, will he?” Guo Jing was not convinced by Khojin’s predictions. He knew all four Princes. Jochi, the firstborn, was a fierce warrior, indomitable on the field, and Chagatai, the Khan’s second son, was astute and capable—it was hard to say who had the greater potential. They were always in competition, each trying to outshine the other. The third son, Ogedai, was a drinker and a hunter, generous and easygoing. It was widely held that either Jochi or Chagatai would succeed, though it was common knowledge that the youngest, Tolui, was the Khan’s favorite. As such, Ogedai knew that it was unlikely the title of the Great Khan would be passed on to him. Since he was no threat to them, he was able to maintain a close relationship with all his brothers.
“I don’t know,” Khojin replied. “It’s just my guess. But, even if Big Brother or Second Brother becomes the Great Khan, there’s no need to worry. If they make trouble for you, I’ll take a blade to them myself.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Guo Jing smiled. He knew it was no empty promise. She was dearest to Genghis Khan’s heart, and even her battle-hardened brothers let her have her way.
“True, we can always run away to the South.”
“I’m going south,” Guo Jing blurted out.
Taken aback, Khojin said after a pause, “Papa and Mama won’t let me—”
“It’s just me…”
“But I’ll always do what you want me to. If you say we’re going to the South, that’s where I’ll go. If Pa and Ma try to stop us, we’ll run.”
“It’s just me and my ma.” Guo Jing hopped to his feet in agitation. “The two of us. Going home.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. One standing, the other sitting. Neither made the slightest movement, as if they were sculptures fashioned from wood or clay.
Confusion flooded Khojin’s features. She could not understand his words.
“I’m sorry, Sister. I cannot marry you.”
“Have I done something wrong? Are you upset that I didn’t kill myself for you?”
“No, no, no, it’s not you. You’ve done nothing. I don’t know who’s in the wrong. I suppose it’s me.”
He opened up to her about Lotus, telling her that she had been captured by Viper Ouyang more than six months ago, and that he had failed to find any trace of her. The Mongolian Princess was moved to tears by the grief in his voice.
“Forget me. I have to look for her.”
“Will you come to see me when you’ve found her?”
“If she’s safe and unharmed, I’ll come back. If you’ll still have me then, we’ll get married. I won’t break my word.”
“I know you always keep your word. You should know that I’ve only ever wanted to marry you. Go find her. Ten years, twenty, as long as I’m alive, I’ll be waiting for you here on the steppes.”
Sobbing, Khojin leaped up to embrace him. Guo Jing folded his arms lightly over her body, his eyes red-rimmed. They held one another in silence. They both knew anything they said now would only inflict further pain.
4
Four horses charged past Guo Jing and Khojin, galloping toward the camp. One of the beasts collapsed ten zhang from Genghis Khan’s golden ger. The rider scrambled to his feet and ran into the tent without casting a glance at the animal, which had dropped dead from exhaustion.
A moment later, ten buglers emerged and arranged themselves in formation to face all four directions, sending steady blasts of their horns out to the furthest reaches of the camp. This unrelenting alarum was Genghis Khan’s most urgent summons. All Princes and generals were required to be present. Any who failed to attend or arrived late would be beheaded, with no exceptions.
“The Great Khan’s call!” Guo Jing rushed back to the camp, using his fastest lightness kung fu, without bidding Khojin farewell, the thunder of galloping hooves sounding all around him.
Though he had strayed far from the camp, Guo Jing was not the last to enter the golden ger. And, before long, all those expected to attend were gathered before the Great Khan.
“Does that dog Ala ad-Din Muhammad have such fleet-footed princes? Such brave generals?” the conqueror asked with pride.
“No!” the men roared as one.
The Great Khan thumped his chest, pleased with the enthusiastic response then, in a furious tone, he cried, “Look how that dog treated my loyal servants! Look at the men I sent to protect our emissary to Khwarazm!”
Every eye turned in the direction he was indicating and howls of fury erupted as a knot of soldiers entered the ger. Lush beards should have adorned their faces, but all that was left of them was burned stubble that could not conceal the disfiguring swellings and bruises on the skin. Facial hair was a symbol of a Mongol warrior’s dignity—it was considered a great insult to touch another man’s beard. This was an unforgiveable affront.
“Khwarazm may be large, with a powerful army, but do they intimidate us? We left them alone because we were busy thrashing the Jin dogs. Jochi, my son,
tell us what that cur has done.”
Jochi stepped forward and said in his booming voice, “Some years ago, Father sent me to quell the cursed Merkits. On our return, flushed with victory, we came across a sizeable army sent by that Khwarazm dog to fight these same Merkits. Our forces met, and I sent a herald to convey Father’s wish to establish an alliance, but that red-bearded dog refused, saying, ‘Genghis Khan ordered you not to fight us, but Allah demands we fight you.’ It was a fierce battle. We had the better of it, but they outnumbered us ten to one, so we had to retreat under the cover of darkness.”
“Despite this provocation, the Great Khan continued to be courteous,” Boroqul added. “When they robbed and murdered our merchants, we sent an envoy to repair relations, but that dog Muhammad is doing the Jin mongrel Wanyan Honglie’s bidding. He had our brave ambassador killed, together with half his guards, then he scorched the beards of the rest of the men and sent them back to us.”
A chill went through Guo Jing’s heart at the mention of his father’s murderer. “Wanyan Honglie is in Khwarazm?”
Growling, one of the survivors answered, “I saw him sitting next to the Shah, whispering in his ear.”
“The Jin are working with Khwarazm. To trap us between their armies. But are we afraid?” Genghis Khan asked.
“No!” A collective cry, then one of the generals spoke up. “Invincible is our Great Khan. We will take the fight to Khwarazm, capture their cities, torch their houses, slaughter their men and seize their women and livestock!”
“We’ll take Shah Muhammad! We’ll take Wanyan Honglie!” Genghis Khan declared, and the generals chanted as one, filling the grasslands with their battle cry and making the candles in the ger flicker.
Genghis Khan unsheathed his saber and brandished the blade, then rushed outside and vaulted onto his steed. The generals followed suit and together they rode until they reached a hill several li away. The Khan galloped to its crest, but his men stayed put at its base to give their leader the space to think in solitude, forming a circle around the mound instead.
Spotting Guo Jing down below, the conqueror called out, “Come here, son.”
When the young man reined in next to him, Genghis Khan pointed his horsewhip at the view before them. The entire camp of the Mongolian army. By each ger, a fire was burning. They twinkled on the steppe like stars in the sky.
“My boy, remember what I said to you on that day when we were surrounded by Senggum and Jamuka on the hill.”
“Yes, you said we Mongols have many brave men, and, if we were united, we could make all the world’s grasslands ours.”
Genghis Khan waved his whip over his head. A sharp crack sounded in agreement. “And now, we Mongols are united, and we will catch Wanyan Honglie.”
Although Guo Jing had made up his mind to return to the South the next morning, he knew he could not let a chance to avenge his father pass him by. And he would also be eliminating one of Mongolia’s enemies, thereby repaying some of the kindness the Great Khan had shown him and his mother over the years.
“We’ll catch the Jin dog, this time!”
“Khwarazm claims to have a host one million strong, but I think they only have six or seven hundred thousand men. Still, that is a sizeable number. Our whole army amounts to two hundred thousand, and I have to keep some men back to fight the Jin. Now, do you think one hundred and fifty thousand of us can beat seven hundred thousand of them?”
“Yes!” Guo Jing was unfamiliar with the art of war, but he had the headstrong boldness of youth and he could not imagine shrinking from adversity.
“Indeed, we will triumph.” Genghis Khan was infected by the young man’s conviction. “That day on the hill, I said I’d treat you as my own son, and Temujin always remembers the promises he makes. Ride west with me. We will take Muhammad and Wanyan Honglie together. And, when we return victorious, you can marry my daughter.”
Genghis Khan spurred his horse downhill, his voice booming in the night: “Muster the troops!”
A blast of bugles passed on his command.
As Guo Jing rode back by Genghis Khan’s side, he saw soldiers rushing by and warhorses racing ahead, but there was not a hint of chatter or confusion—men and beasts prepared for the Great Khan’s inspection with exemplary discipline and efficiency. Three divisions of ten thousand cavalrymen, sabers glistening in the moonlight, had arranged themselves in neat rows on the grassy plain in the short time it took the conqueror and his generals to return to the golden ger.
* * *
GENGHIS KHAN sent for his scribe. He was ready to declare war on the Shah of Khwarazm. The clerk selected a sizeable piece of lambskin parchment and set down a long message. When he finished, he read it aloud on his knees.
“Appointed by the heavens above to rule over the tribes of the earth, the Great Khan hath claimed lands stretching ten thousand li and conquered kingdoms beyond number. No sovereign hath since time immemorial reigned over an empery as vast and glorious as does the Great Khan. When the Great Khan strikes, he dazzles like thunder and lightning, and none living can withstand his fury.
“The fate of thy state, whether mercy or desolation, depends upon thy resolve today. Think thrice with care. For, if thou wilt not submit and pay tribute, the great Mongolian troops thou shalt face…”
Wrath spread over Genghis Khan’s face as he listened. He gave the white-whiskered man a taste of his boot, sending him flipping over in a sprawling roll.
“Who are you writing to? Does Genghis Khan waste his words on a Khwarazm dog?” The conqueror picked up his horsewhip and lashed the scrivener over the head a dozen times. “Listen well. Write down my exact words.”
Quaking in pain and fear, the man scrambled into a more dignified kneeling position and produced a second parchment, his eyes trained on his liege’s lips.
The Great Khan gazed at the thirty thousand soldiers visible through the open flap of his ger and spoke in a deep bass: “Just six words.”
He paused and declared in a voice loud and clear: “You want war. Here we come.”
The startled scribe had never imagined penning a message for the conqueror so lacking in decorum, but he had suffered enough from the whip and his face was still burning from its sting. He held his tongue and set down the blunt words in his largest hand, filling the whole parchment.
“Put my gold seal on this and have it delivered right away.”
Muqali stamped the letter with the symbol of Genghis Khan’s authority and beckoned over the commander of a thousand-strong battalion, who he ordered to act as courier. The bold message roused the spirit of the warriors inside the ger, and, as they listened to the beating of hooves speeding westward across the open country, they chanted in one voice:
“You want war. Here we come.”
“Ho-hu! Ho-hu!” The thirty thousand soldiers outside answered with the Mongol rider’s war whoop. Horses huffed and neighed in excitement.
The battle call shook the grasslands and rattled the heavens, as though the fighting had already begun.
* * *
FROM HIS golden throne, Genghis Khan dismissed his generals, and, in their absence, he was soon lost to his memories. The ornate chair was once the Jin Emperor’s personal possession, a prize the Khan had seized when his riders entered Zhongdu. On its back, carved dragons chased after a pearl. The conqueror rested his elbow on an armrest adorned by a fearsome tiger and cupped his chin in his hand. He thought of his youth, those distant days of hardships and trials. He thought of his mother, his first wife, his four sons and his beloved daughter. He thought of his countless concubines, his undefeated armies, his vast empire and the mighty enemy he was about to face.
He might have been getting on in years, but his hearing was still keen. He picked up the cry of a horse in distress in the distance and the lifeless silence that followed it. He was familiar with the scenario that had just played out. An aged horse, an incurable ailment, one hack of a saber to end all suffering.
I too am growing o
ld, he admitted with a sigh. Will I come back from this campaign? If I die in the field, will my four sons turn the realm upside down fighting over this throne?… Can I escape the clutches of death?
He had always been fearless, indomitable, a great hero, but the days of waning strength were looming and thoughts of death were never far away, bringing a shiver to his heart. His mind turned to a group of people from the South that he had heard about. Taoists, they were called. It was said that they had ways of becoming an Immortal, of living forever without growing old. Could this be true?
Genghis Khan clapped twice and ordered a guard to send for Guo Jing, so he could ask the young man about the matter.
“I don’t know if what you describe is possible,” Guo Jing answered. “But lengthening one’s life by training the qi and controlling your breathing—that can be done.”
“Are you acquainted with anyone with such skills? Find them for me.”
“Those who possess such knowledge are not easily summoned.”
“True … I can send a high-ranking official with gifts to entice them north. But who should I approach?”
Guo Jing pondered the question. The Quanzhen Sect was the most orthodox school, and Reverend Qiu was not only the most skilled among his five martial siblings, but also the most interested in worldly matters. Maybe he could be persuaded?
Delighted by Guo Jing’s suggestion, Genghis Khan called the scribe into his ger again, instructing him to write to Qiu Chuji the Eternal Spring Immortal inviting him to visit Mongolia. The man thought hard about how to word this letter, his skin still hot from the beating earlier. He decided to model it on his last composition and set down seven simple words:
I seek your knowledge. Come at once.
The man was confident the note would please the Great Khan by emulating his forthright style, but the moment the words came out of his mouth, he felt the horsewhip again.