by Jin Yong
Two years ago, when Guo Jing first started training under Ma Yu, the Taoist would gently massage this pressure point, channelling warmth through his palm, when Guo Jing’s mind strayed and his spirit grew restless. It prevented the young man’s qi from misfiring into the demonic way and causing damage to his mind and body.
Guo Jing tried to do the same. His internal kung fu was not sufficiently cultivated to help the stranger resist the music, but he had managed to light upon the very spot that would allow the bearded man to quash the noise within. The agitation was gone. The stranger propelled his energy around his body in peace, with his eyes closed. His breathing grew even and smooth.
Happy with the result of his intervention, Guo Jing then heard “Little bastard!” muttered behind him. The flute song had come to a sudden halt.
He turned. The voice sounded like Apothecary Huang’s. But, of course, he could not make out so much as a shadow.
Helping the man must have angered Lotus’s papa further. What if he is evil? I really have made a big mess.
And, with that thought, his mood sank.
5
SINCE HE HAD NOWHERE TO GO AND NOTHING TO DO, GUO Jing sat down facing the bearded man and started to work on his own internal energy. He closed his eyes and turned his sight inwards. Before long, all worries were purged from his mind and he entered a state where neither he nor the world existed. By the time he opened his eyes again, the morning dew had formed on his clothes and stars were fading in the dawn twilight.
The sun shone through the canopy of flowers and leaves, painting the stranger’s face with blossom-shaped shadows. Guo Jing could finally get a good look at him.
It must have been years since the man had groomed his hair and beard. They were long and straggly, and bristled, like a wild creature. Curiously, they were jet black, without a speck of grey.
“Which of the Seven Disciples of Quanzhen is your shifu?” The stranger smiled, his eyes twinkling brightly.
Startled, Guo Jing shot to his feet. But the man seemed kindly enough, so he bowed. “Your student Guo Jing pays respect to the Elder. The Seven Heroes of the South are my teachers.”
“The Seven Heroes of the South? Ke Zhen’e and his gang? How could they teach you Quanzhen neigong?”
“Elder Ma Yu the Scarlet Sun instructed me on internal kung fu techniques for two years, but I was not initiated into the Quanzhen Sect officially.”
The man roared with laughter and made a face – the kind of expression a child would make after pulling a prank. “Aha! What brings you to Peach Blossom Island?”
“I came here at the command of the Lord of Peach Blossom Island.”
“Why?” His countenance darkened.
“I offended Lord Huang and now I am here to receive my death.”
“You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good!” The bearded man nodded. “There’s no need for you to die, really. Sit down.”
Guo Jing obeyed, perching on a rock. He now realised the man was sitting in a cave in a hillside.
“Who else has taught you?”
“The Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers—”
“Count Seven Hong?” The man flashed a half-smile.
“Yes, Master Hong taught me the Dragon-Subduing Palm.”
“Wow! You know that? It’s an amazing technique!” Envy and enthusiasm poured forth. “Teach me! I’ll kowtow and call you Shifu.” Then he shook his head, vigorously. “No! That won’t work! That Old Beggar and I are the same age. I wonder if I’m older or he . . .? I can’t be his martial grandson. That wouldn’t be right!”
He turned once more to Guo Jing. “Did the Beggar teach you neigong?”
“No, sir.”
“Even if he started training in his mother’s belly,” the man mumbled to the clouds, “he’d still only have been doing it eighteen or nineteen years. Why can he resist the flute song, when I can’t?”
He scrutinised Guo Jing from head to toe and back again, before holding up his right hand. “Push against my palm. Show me your kung fu.”
Obediently, Guo Jing touched his palm against the man’s.
“Let your qi sink to the Elixir Field, then channel your energy.”
Guo Jing did as he was told.
“Good! Now, watch out!”
The man drew back slightly, then thrust. A potent force gushed forth.
Guo Jing could not hold his ground. His left hand darted up instinctively to swat at the bearded man’s arm, hoping to break the palms’ contact. Yet the man twirled his hand, and stopped the strike, placing four fingers on the back of Guo Jing’s wrist. He followed up with a casual backhand flick. Immediately, Guo Jing’s footing was lost.
He stumbled back seven or eight steps, until his back smacked into a tree. Luckily, he had followed Count Seven Hong’s training and held back some of his strength. With the reserved energy, he was able to stand firm again.
“Not bad, but nothing special either. How did he resist the ‘Ode to the Billowing Tide’?” The man was talking out loud to himself again.
Guo Jing inhaled deeply to calm the blood and energy rushing around his torso.
This man’s martial skill is on the same level as Count Seven and Apothecary Huang. Could he be . . .?
The idea that this man could be the Venom of the West sent a chill through Guo Jing. He lifted his hand towards the light to check for signs of poison – no angry swelling, no black streaks – and heaved a sigh of relief.
The bearded stranger grinned. “Do you know who I am?”
“I have heard that there are five supreme martial masters in the world. Immortal Wang, the Leader of the Quanzhen Sect, has already passed on. I’ve had the honour of meeting Count Seven Hong, the Divine Vagrant Nine Fingers, as well as the Lord of Peach Blossom Island. Could the Elder be Master Ouyang or His Majesty the King of the South?”
“You think I’m a match for the Heretic of the East and the Beggar of the North?”
“Your student is a novice and has seen very little of the martial world. Yet, of the martial masters I have had the honour of meeting, other than Count Seven and Lord Huang, I cannot think of any who could have equalled the Master a moment ago.”
The man was extremely pleased. A childlike joy radiated from his unkempt face.
“No, no, I’m not the old Viper and I’m not a king. Try again.”
“I have also met a man called Qiu Qianren. He had us believe he was on the same level as Count Seven, but his claims were without substance, his kung fu average. I’m afraid I am very thick and cannot even guess at the Master’s great name.”
“I’ll give you a hint.” He chuckled. “My last name is Zhou.”
“Zhou Botong!” Guo Jing blurted out. He bowed deeply in embarrassment. “Your student begs the Elder’s pardon.”
“Correct! That’s me, Zhou Botong.” The man was still chuckling. “Zhou Botong is my name, and you called me by my name. What’s there to pardon? Double Sun Wang Chongyang was my elder martial brother, and Ma Yu, Qiu Chuji and the rest are my martial nephews. But you’re not in the Quanzhen Sect, so there’s no need to be so long-winded with all these elders and masters and what not – just call me by my name.”
Was he suggesting they throw all the social hierarchies and codes of behaviour of the age out of the window? Flabbergasted, Guo Jing took some time to mumble a limp, “I wouldn’t dare,” in reply.
Meanwhile, an even more outlandish idea had hatched in Zhou Botong’s brain. He had been bored senseless living in isolation on Peach Blossom Island all these years. The young man’s sudden appearance meant that, at long last, he had someone to talk to, someone to amuse him!
“Little one, what do you say if we become sworn brothers?”
Guo Jing’s jaw dropped at the proposal. He did not mean it, surely! But the man looked very serious, nothing in his demeanour suggested that it was a joke.
After a stunned silence, Guo Jing answered weakly, “Your stu
dent is a junior to Elder Ma and Elder Qiu. I should address you as Grandmaster.”
Zhou Botong swatted the answer away with both hands. “Why do we need to make such a fuss between generations? My martial brother taught me all my kung fu, and I’m not that much older than Ma Yu and Qiu Chuji. They don’t treat me as an elder, anyway, because I don’t act like one. I know that you are most likely not my son, and I fear I am not your child, so—”
Footsteps cut him short. An aged servant approached with a tiffin.
“Food!” Zhou Botong announced, visibly excited.
The servant laid out the meal on a rock before Zhou Botong – four dishes, two flasks of wine and a wooden bucket of rice – and stood meekly in waiting.
“Where is Miss Huang? Why hasn’t she come to visit?” Guo Jing asked.
The servant shook his head, pointed at his ears, then his mouth.
“Apothecary Huang pierced his eardrums,” Zhou Botong explained. “Tell him to open his mouth.”
Guo Jing signalled and the man opened his mouth. Half of his tongue was missing!
“All the servants here are the same. Now that you’re here, on Peach Blossom Island, if you survive, you’ll probably end up like him!”
How could Lotus’s father be so barbaric? Guo Jing was in shock.
“The Heretic tortures me every night with that song, but I refuse to admit defeat. And yet, if it hadn’t been for you, last night, he’d have broken me.” Zhou Botong rambled on without stopping to draw breath. “Ten years of resolve, gone in a puff of smoke! Come, come, come, little brother, we’ve got food and drink, here. Let’s pledge to the heavens and become brothers. From this moment on, we shall share our blessings and bear each other’s troubles.
“I remember Wang Chongyang found all kinds of excuses to refuse my invitation, back then, too . . . What? You really don’t want to? My brother didn’t want to swear brotherhood because his kung fu was much stronger. Are you stronger than me? I don’t think so!”
“My skill is too insignificant for me to be your sworn brother.”
“If only people with the same level of kung fu can swear brotherhood, are you saying I should be brothers with the Heretic or the Venom? They’re nasty, nasty people – I won’t do it! Are you saying I should be brothers with that deaf-mute fellow?” He waved his left hand and sent the servant flying in a somersault. Then he started pulling at his beard, yanking his hair and stamping his feet on the ground. Just like a toddler having a tantrum.
Guo Jing tried to explain. “Your student is two generations the Master’s junior. If I do as the Elder instructs, I shall be laughed out of the martial world. And when I meet Elder Ma, Elder Qiu and Elder Wang again, would it not be very awkward for me?”
“Only you have so many qualms! I know you don’t want to be my brother because you think I’m too old. My beard is long, but actually, in age, I am not so old . . .” Zhou Botong wailed into his hands. “I’ll pluck out my beard, then I will look younger!” He yanked out a fistful of facial hair.
“Your student shall do as the Elder commands.”
“Nay!” Zhou Botong shouted through his tears. “You’re still calling me Elder! You’re only saying yes because I’ve made you do it! If people ask, you’ll blame me. No, no, no. I know you don’t want me as your sworn brother.”
Zhou Botong picked up a plate of food and hurled it to the ground. He sank further into the tantrum, refusing to eat. The servant picked up the debris in evident panic, unable to fathom the older man’s mood swing.
Amused by the absurdity of the situation, Guo Jing realised he must play along.
“It was rude of me to refuse this honour from Brother,” he said with as much gravity as he could muster. “Shall we make our pledge of brotherhood here and now?”
“The Heretic and I have a pact. I can’t leave this cave until I’ve beaten him. Except when nature calls, of course!” Zhou Botong giggled merrily, but his beard was still glistening with tears. “I’ll kowtow from inside and you do it out there.”
Guo Jing got down on his knees, wondering if this eccentric man would end up living in the cave his whole life. But, in the short time he had known Zhou Botong, he had already learned that some questions should never be asked.
Zhou Botong, too, sank to his knees. “I, Zhou Botong the Hoary Urchin, pledge to be a brother to Guo Jing from this day forward, to share all my blessings and to bear all his troubles. If I break my word, may I lose all my martial skills, leaving me incapable of fighting a puppy or a kitten.”
Guo Jing could not help chuckling at the man’s strange title and bizarre vows.
“What are you laughing at? Your turn!”
Guo Jing solemnly promised to be a brother to Zhou Botong the Hoary Urchin. If he broke his word, he would not be able to fight a baby mouse or an infant turtle. They poured wine on the ground and Guo Jing kowtowed to his elder brother.
“On your feet!” Zhou laughed heartily and poured himself a cup of wine. “The Old Heretic is such a miser. His wine tastes like water. A pretty girl came here once, and she brought a delicious vintage. Such a shame she hasn’t been back since.”
Guo Jing remembered Lotus telling him of this encounter and its aftermath, how her father’s reprimand had led her to run away from the island in a fit of anger. Looks like Brother knows nothing about that, he told himself, and the thought of Lotus consumed him as he wolfed down five bowls of rice. After all, it had been a whole day since he last ate.
6
AFTER THE SERVANT HAD PACKED UP THE LEFTOVERS AND DISAPPEARED into the forest, Zhou Botong said, “How did you offend the Heretic?”
Guo Jing began to explain his childhood encounter with Hurricane Chen, how he had accidentally killed this feared man of the wulin in Mongolia, before moving on to his encounter with Apothecary Huang at Roaming Cloud Manor. He also described the fight with Cyclone Mei, and Apothecary Huang’s determination to intimidate his shifus, the Six Freaks of the South. Then he described how he had offered to come to Peach Blossom Island to meet his death.
Zhou Botong was engrossed. He loved nothing more than a good story. He listened with his eyes half closed, his head cocked to one side. When he felt Guo Jing had been sparing with the details, he would probe him further, until his curiosity was satisfied.
After Guo Jing had described how he arrived on the island, Zhou Botong asked, “And then what happened?”
“Then I came here.”
“So the pretty girl was the Heretic’s daughter,” Zhou Botong said, after a pause. “Why did she disappear after you arrived on the island? There must be a reason. The Old Heretic must have locked her up.”
“Your student thinks so too . . .” Guo Jing frowned, sick with worry.
“What did you just call yourself?” Zhou Botong barked.
“Brother, it was a slip of the tongue. Please forgive me.”
“You must never make that mistake again. It’s unforgiveable! If we were in a play, it would be terribly confusing, like calling me wife when I’m in fact your mama or daughter!”
Eventually, Zhou Botong was satisfied with Guo Jing’s apologies. “Now, guess why I’m here?” He began his tale before Guo Jing could answer: “Well, it’s a long story. You know about the martial contest at the summit of Mount Hua? Between the Five Greats – the Heretic of the East, the Venom of the West, the King of the South, the Beggar of the North and Central Divinity.”
“I have heard it mentioned.” Guo Jing nodded.
“It was the depths of winter – at the year’s rump – and snow lay everywhere. Indeed, there was so much snow that all roads up and down the mountain were inaccessible. The five men sparred and debated for seven days and seven nights in the blizzard. In the end, everyone agreed my martial brother Wang Chongyang was the Greatest Martial Master Under the Heavens. Do you know why there was a contest?”
“No, I don’t.”
“It was for a martial manual—”
“The Nine Yin Manual?” Guo Jing was think
ing aloud.
“That’s right! Little brother, you may be young, but you have heard rather a lot about the martial world. Do you know the Manual’s history?”
“Not at all . . .”
Zhou Botong tugged at a lock of hair by his ear, looking rather pleased with himself. “Well, you told me a rather exciting story just now—”
“It wasn’t a story! It’s all true!”
“As long as they’re amusing, what’s the difference between real events and good stories? A lot of people spend their whole life eating, sleeping, defecating and doing nothing else. If you told me every little thing they did, every chicken feather or garlic peel in their pointless, boring lives, every vegetable and chunk of tofu, their every pee and poo, you’d bore the Hoary Urchin to death.”
Guo Jing nodded, knowing his brother would always have the last word on any matter. “You’re right, brother. Please tell me the story of the Nine Yin Manual.”
“Our Great Song once had an Emperor called Huizong. He reigned about a hundred years ago. A devout believer of Taoism. During the Zhenghe regnal era, he collected every single Taoist tract in existence and had them carved into woodblocks, then printed as The Taoist Canon of Ten Thousand Longevities. There were, altogether, five thousand, four hundred and eighty-one volumes. A man called Huang Shang was appointed by the Emperor to carve—”
“His name is Huang too,” Guo Jing said, under his breath.
“Pah! What do you mean? That man has nothing to do with Apothecary Huang! Don’t get funny ideas! There are plenty of things named Huang in the world. The yellow dog is named Huang. So is the yellow cow!”
Guo Jing knew the character “Huang” meant “yellow”, but he doubted that dogs and cows had last names. Nonetheless, he was well aware of the consequences of arguing with his brother, the Hoary Urchin.
“So, this Huang Shang, who had nothing to do with Old Heretic Huang,” Zhou Botong continued, “was incredibly clever.”
Guo Jing nearly blurted out, “He was incredibly clever too?” Luckily, he managed to hold his tongue.
“He was terrified of making mistakes. Because, if he carved a single character wrong and the Emperor found out, his head would not long remain attached to his neck. So he checked each volume carefully. After a few years, he became an expert in Taoist ideas and sorcery, and, from there, absorbed profound martial theories as if they were part of his being. He didn’t have a shifu. He learned it all by himself, cultivating exceptional skills internally as well as externally. A true martial master. I know I am definitely not as smart as Huang Shang, and I’m sure he’s much cleverer than you.”