by Jin Yong
“You think I’d address a learned man in the same way I do a Khwarazm dog. Start again. This letter must be long, respectful, polite.”
The scrivener was unfamiliar with Chinese writing, so he sent for a Han clerk, relaying the Khan’s instructions, and soon Genghis Khan was presented with a parchment filled with columns of neat calligraphy.
The heavens look askance at the tendency for haughty extravagance among those of the Central Plains, and I, who live in the northern wilderness, harbor no such sensual passions, but wish to return to honest simplicity and to forswear luxury for frugality. My every garment and my every meal are the same as that of a herdsman or a stableboy. I see the people as my own children, I nurture talents as if they were my own brothers, seeking harmony in our principles and abundance in our gratitude. In drills, I step out first before divisions of ten thousand; on the field, I have survived more than a hundred confrontations and never lagged back. In seven years, I have succeeded in my great endeavor, uniting all between the heavens and earth and within the four breaths of the wind.
It is not my behavior that is deemed virtuous, but that the Jin lack constancy in their governance, and thus I have been blessed by the heavens to inherit the empery supreme. To the south, Song of the Zhao clan; to the north, the Uyghurs; to the east, the Tanguts; to the west, petty barbarian tribes. They all pledge loyalty as clients. Such power has never been known to the many Khans who have led our kingdom for thousands of years and hundreds of generations.
Yet, as I strive to maintain this great and weighty responsibility, I fear I am lacking the ability to instill orderly rule. Just as men have known to carve wood into boats when they wish to cross a river, thus must one hire wise men and choose capable aides when one wishes to settle all under the heavens. Since my ascendance, I have put my heart into every aspect of governance, but the places of the three chancellors and the nine ministers are still to be filled.
From my inquiries, I have heard that Master Qiu lives in truth and walks with integrity, is learned and experienced and has studied the laws of the world in depth. As such, the Master is rich in virtue and the Way, with the lofty airs of upright men of old and the graceful demeanor of noble men untainted by guile; and, for a long time, the Master has lived in valleys of rocks, hiding his body and shielding his form.
I have also heard that the Master has been disseminating the teachings of his forebears, drawing men who have attained knowledge in the Way, gathering like clouds in numbers uncountable on the path to seek Immortality. It has come to my knowledge that, since the clash of shields and dagger-axes, the Master has continued to live in the same place of old in Shandong, and my heart has much admired and thought often of the Master.
After reading out what he had written, the Chinese clerk asked, “Is this letter long enough?”
Laughing, Genghis Khan replied, “Yes, it is! Just add that I will send the Han Chinese official Liu Zhonglu to escort him, and insist that he must come.”
The man touched his brush to the parchment again:
Of course, I am familiar with the lore of King Wen of Zhou finding Jiang Ziya fishing on the bank of the Wei River and bringing him back in his carriage to assist him at court, and the tale of Liu Bei visiting Zhuge Liang’s thatched hermitage thrice to invite the master tactician to aid him in winning the throne.
Frustrated by mountains towering and rivers wide, I am unable to perform the courtesy of bowing low and entreating you in person, but I have descended from the seat imperial and stood to the side, fasted and bathed, before sending my close and trusted officer Liu Zhonglu to travel with the swiftest horses and an unadorned carriage, undeterred by the distance of many thousands of li, to humbly invite the Master to grant us his Immortal steps for a time. Think not of the far-flung sandy desert, but of affairs concerning vast multitudes, and of the skills that would help me preserve this body.
I shall personally wait on your Immoral seat, in hope that the honorable Master will deign to spare a word for me between a cough and a hawk, and I shall be satisfied. And now, this letter merely represents not one ten-thousandth of my intent. I sincerely hope, since the Master is at the forefront of the Great Way, that he would respond always to kindness and oblige the wish of the multitude, and this is why I am sending this invitation.
Once Genghis Khan had heard the additional content, he bestowed on the clerk five taels of gold and ordered Guo Jing to write a personal note to add weight to the letter. And, that same night, Liu Zhonglu traveled south to seek out the Taoist.
5
The following day, Genghis Khan gathered his princes and generals to discuss their campaign in the west. In the sight of his most loyal followers, he named Guo Jing Noyan and allocated him a division of ten thousand soldiers. The title was Mongolia’s highest official honor, granted only to those closest to and most trusted by the Great Khan.
Guo Jing might have been a capable martial artist, but he was a novice when it came to warfare. So, he turned to his sworn brother Tolui and the Generals Jebe, Subotai and Boroqul for help. He had never been a quick learner, and battle formations were full of subtleties and variations. How could he cram knowledge accrued over years of fighting on the field into a matter of days? Even organizational and administrative duties like inspecting soldiers, preparing provisions and selecting horses and weapons were beyond him. All he could do was to delegate work to the ten captains under his command, while Jebe and Tolui kept an eye on his progress and gave him advice and reminders along the way. After all, there was plenty to be done before one hundred and fifty thousand men were ready to march westward across frozen, barren landscape, and every man, whatever their rank, had their share of responsibility.
A month into the campaign, Guo Jing was feeling more and more uncertain in his role. He was under no illusions about his lack of strategic acumen, and, against an army of a million men, the eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms and the Nine Yin Manual would be no use at all. One ill-advised command could spell total defeat. Not only would he tarnish Genghis Khan’s good name, he would be personally accountable for the deaths of the ten thousand men under his banner. He resolved to resign his commission and fight instead as a regular soldier—a single rider breaking through the enemy lines to cause havoc. Just as he was about to head to Genghis Khan’s golden ger to give him the news, one of his guards reported that more than a thousand Han Chinese had come to seek an interview with him.
Excited that Qiu Chuji had arrived sooner than expected, Guo Jing rushed out of his tent to find a large group of men in patched rags.
Three stepped forward, each greeting him with a deep bow. Jian, Liang and Surefoot Lu—Elders of the Beggar Clan.
“Have you had any news of Lotus?” Guo Jing asked, after taking a moment to gather his wits.
“We have been searching, but have yet to find the Chief,” Surefoot Lu replied. “We are here to offer assistance on your campaign.”
“How do you know about it?”
“We heard it from the Quanzhen Sect. A herald from the Great Khan was in contact with them concerning an invitation for Reverend Qiu Chuji.”
Guo Jing stared at the wisps of white cloud in the south. The Beggar Clan has eyes and ears everywhere, he said to himself, and even they have no idea where Lotus might be. This can’t bode well. The rims of his eyes turned red at this thought, but he quickly mastered his emotions. He ordered his guards to help the beggars settle in, then he went to the golden ger to inform Genghis Khan of the new arrivals, who were given permission to serve under his banner. After a moment’s internal struggle, the young man broached the subject of his intention to step down.
“No one understands warfare from birth!” the Great Khan barked, clearly furious. “You’ll learn after a few battles. How can someone who grew up under my care be afraid of leading troops? How can Genghis Khan have a son-in-law who can’t cope with command?”
Guo Jing knew there was nothing more he could say on the matter and returned to his ger, weighed down by wo
rry. At nightfall, while posting sentries, he came across Surefoot Lu, and, when the beggar learned of his troubles, he said, “If I’d known, I would have brought a copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War or Grand Duke Jiang’s Six Secret Teachings from the South.” He offered a few more words of consolation, then took his leave.
The Beggar Clan Elder’s comment reminded Guo Jing that General Yue Fei’s final writings were in his possession. The Secret to Defeating the Jin. A military treatise! How could he have forgotten? He took the thread-bound volume from the small parcel of clothes and personal belongings he had brought with him from the South and read through the night until noon the next day.
Even though he felt a little tired, he was also invigorated, for the book discussed in detail every aspect of military action—devising strategies, analyzing situations, launching assaults, maintaining a defense, training soldiers, deploying captains, assigning formations and leading guerrilla operations. Whether one was on the march or stationary, or in a secure or precarious position, it offered tactics that could confound an opponent’s expectations. Guo Jing had leafed through the text when he was sailing down the Yuan River with Lotus; now that he had a use for it, he began to understand the true value of its contents.
Whenever he reached a section he could not comprehend, he would invite Surefoot Lu to his ger and seek his opinion. Each time, the Beggar Clan Elder would say, “I don’t have an answer, right now. Let me think on it,” and take his leave. Yet, moments later, he would return with a lucid, thorough explanation. Delighted, Guo Jing would ask the beggar follow-up questions, and the same thing would happen again. Surefoot Lu never had a response on the spot, but, once he had stepped outside to consider the issue, he was guaranteed to return with solutions, as though he had an extra store of intellectual power beyond Guo Jing’s tent. At first, the young man thought little of it, but, when the same interaction recurred time and again over the next few days, even he sensed that there was something peculiar at work.
One night, Guo Jing pointed out a character he did not recognize. Surefoot Lu glanced at it and said he would step outside to consider the matter.
How odd, Guo Jing said to himself. You either know a character or you don’t! How can you work out its meaning by just thinking about it? This isn’t a question on the book’s content.
Driven by the curiosity common to young men of his age, this commander of ten thousand soldiers sneaked out the back of his ger the instant Surefoot Lu left through the main entrance. He lay flat among the tall grass to spy on the beggar, determined to find out the source of his secret knowledge.
The older man scuttled into a nearby small tent, emerging again just moments later. Guo Jing rushed back to his ger and pretended that he had never left it.
“I recall now,” Surefoot Lu said, and he stated the character’s pronunciation and meaning.
“Elder Lu, why don’t we invite your teacher to join us?” Guo Jing said with a chuckle.
The reply came a beat too slow. “I have no teacher.”
“Let’s see, eh?”
Grinning, Guo Jing took the Beggar Clan Elder by the arm and led him to the tent he had just ducked in and out of. The two Clan members standing guard by the entrance coughed as one the moment they saw Surefoot Lu was not alone. Recognizing it was a warning to whoever was inside, Guo Jing ran ahead and flung the tent open, but found it empty. He caught a slight movement of the felt on the far end and lifted the material to look outside. Just grass. Not a soul in sight in the gloom. Guo Jing fixed Surefoot Lu with a suspicious look, but the beggar insisted that he was the sole occupier of the ger.
Unconvinced, Guo Jing raised another question about General Yue Fei’s writings in hope that he could lure out this mysterious fount of knowledge, but Surefoot Lu replied that it was one he would have to consider overnight. When Guo Jing received the answer the next morning, the only information he could glean from it was that this teacher was most likely a learned man of the jianghu, and that they held no ill intent toward him. He had decided to respect their wish to remain anonymous, and, since there was still much to be done to get his troops in order, he soon put the matter out of his mind.
Every night, Guo Jing studied the military tract, and through the day he drilled his soldiers using the methods described in its pages. The Mongol cavalry had always charged in a free-flowing, irregular horde and were unaccustomed to formal battle arrays, but they followed their commander’s orders without complaint. In a little more than a month, the supplies for the whole army were ready, and the ten thousand men led by Guo Jing had also learned eight key tactical formations: Shielding Sky, Embracing Earth, Rising Wind, Hanging Cloud, Soaring Dragon, Winged Tiger, Gliding Bird and Coiling Snake. These combat arrangements were invented by the military strategist Zhuge Liang, based on ancient patterns, and General Yue Fei had enhanced them with his own interpretations.
In The Secret to Defeating the Jin, General Yue not only explained these formations in detail, he also gave an account of how he had come to appreciate their value on the field. In his early career, he had demonstrated a preference for guerrilla tactics, but his superior Zong Ze warned him: “You are as courageous, wise and talented as the great generals of old, but a fondness for irregular battle plans makes you vulnerable.”
Once Yue Fei had mastered the art of tactical deployment, he came to a conclusion that had Zong Ze nodding in approval: “It is standard practice to assume a formation before battle, but tactics are only as good as the men you command.” As General Yue gained experience fighting campaign after campaign, he realized that battles could not be won by simply deploying existing structures. He began to drill his soldiers relentlessly, until their familiarity with the maneuvers allowed them to adapt them as the situation required, giving them a tactical edge that all but ensured victory.
6
On a brisk, crisp morning, under a jade-blue sky stretching ten thousand li, fifteen divisions of ten thousand men lined up in neat rows on the steppe. Genghis Khan made offerings to the heavens and earth, and addressed his troops.
“Stones have no flesh, human life is finite,” he cried. “My hair and beard have grown white. I may not return from this campaign. So, today, I will name the son who will raise my banner after I am gone.”
The Khan’s generals stirred, eager for the announcement. Many had fought hundreds of battles at the conqueror’s side, giving their youth and blood to forge his empire, and for the most part they had likewise gone gray.
Genghis Khan continued: “Jochi, you are my firstborn. Who should I name as my heir?”
The Prince’s heart skipped a beat. It was not a question he was expecting and not one he could answer comfortably. Brave, warlike, the eldest son with the most battle honors, he had always assumed that he would be the natural choice to ascend the throne.
It was the fiery Chagatai who answered. “Huh! Let Jochi speak? Let this Merkit bastard rule over us?”
In Genghis Khan’s early days, when his followers were few, the Merkits had abducted his wife. By the time he rescued her, several years later, she had given birth to Jochi, but the Khan had raised him as his own blood.
Jochi threw himself at Chagatai and seized the front of his robe. “Father has never treated me as an outsider, and yet you insult me thus! You’re no better than me, you arrogant cur! I challenge you. If you best me at archery, I’ll hack off my thumb. If I lose in a duel, let me stay in the dirt forever.” He then turned to Genghis Khan. “Father, give us permission to fight!”
The brothers had always had a fractious relationship, and now, with each clutching a fistful of the other’s clothes, it seemed certain they would come to blows. The Khan’s generals rushed over to restrain the pair. Bogurchi took hold of Jochi’s arms, while Muqali dragged Chagatai back.
Genghis Khan was unusually subdued, reminded of how helpless he had been, so young and so weak that he could not even protect his own wife, thus sowing the seeds of the present discord. When he heard the generals chiding C
hagatai for his rash words, for bringing up painful, buried ghosts of the past, he issued a calm but firm command: “Let go, both of you. Jochi is my firstborn, and I have always loved and valued him. There is nothing more for anyone to say on this matter.”
Grudgingly, Chagatai released his brother. “It is known that Jochi is strong and capable, but he has none of Third Brother’s finer qualities. Let Ogedai be your heir.”
“Jochi, what say you?”
The question made it clear to Jochi that he would never be Khan. But he had always been friendly with Ogedai, and given the younger man’s charitable nature, he would not have to fear future plots against his life.
“Excellency, I concur,” he said, accepting his fate.
Tolui, the Fourth Prince, had no objection either, but Ogedai declined the honor.
“Do not refuse me,” Genghis Khan said to his third son. “You may not be as skilled in warfare as your older brothers, but you are kind and generous. When you are the Great Khan, you will keep the peace between your princes and generals. So long as we don’t turn against each other, we cannot be vanquished. Do not look so troubled. You are more than worthy.”
A feast was held to celebrate the naming of the Crown Prince and everyone drank late into the night. By the time he reached his ger, Guo Jing was himself a little tipsy, but, before he could undress for bed, one of his guards rushed in.
“General! The First Prince and Second Prince have called their men to arms!”
“Tell the Great Khan immediately!”
“We can’t wake him. He’s passed out from the wine.”
Jochi and Chagatai both had many loyal followers who had been fighting under their banners for years. If they were to meet in battle, it would do irreparable damage to the core force of the Mongolian army. The Princes had almost come to blows before the Great Khan during the day, and now, with their wits addled by drink, Guo Jing knew it was a clash he had little hope of averting. He paced around, slapping himself on the forehead and wishing he could think of a plan.