by Jin Yong
“Come, let’s play together,” Apothecary Huang said. The moment the xiao flute moved away from his lips, the compulsive dancing slowed.
“Cover your ears. Lord Huang and I shall play a duet,” Viper Ouyang announced.
Gallant Ouyang had come prepared, and had stuffed cotton wool into his ears. His entourage tore strips of fabric from their clothes to make earplugs. They wound several layers of fabric around their heads to prevent any scrap of sound from finding its way into their ears.
“It’s a real honour that my father plays for you. How dare you insult him thus!” Lotus snarled at Gallant Ouyang.
“He is not being rude,” Apothecary Huang said to his daughter. “He has heard my song once; he is showing his self-awareness. And I am afraid you haven’t got the ability to appreciate Uncle Ouyang’s exceptional zither either.” He took a silk handkerchief from inside his shirt, tore it in two and covered her ears.
Guo Jing, his curiosity piqued, tiptoed closer, eager to hear Viper Ouyang’s playing.
“Your snakes cannot protect themselves,” Apothecary Huang said, as he gestured at a servant.
The man waved at the lead snake herder, indicating that they should follow him. With a nod from Viper Ouyang, the herders whistled and drove the snakes after the serving man, relieved to be moving out of earshot.
“I do hope dear Brother Apothecary will be understanding if my performance is not up to scratch.” Viper Ouyang sat cross-legged on a nearby boulder. He balanced the zither on his knees and closed his eyes to gather his qi. Then he plucked and strummed the first notes with his right hand.
The zheng was known for its melancholic twang, and this variety from the Western Regions was particularly mournful. Guo Jing had no ear for music, yet he noticed that each time a string rattled, his heart pulsed. As Viper Ouyang played faster, his heart throbbed along uncomfortably, as if it were about to burst out of his chest.
Realising he could die if the tempo increased further, he sat down to gather his spirit and still his thoughts in the Quanzhen way. As he channelled his internal energy around his body, his heartbeat slowed and soon he found he was no longer ensnared by the music.
Viper Ouyang’s playing had accelerated to the point where it was impossible to distinguish between individual notes. A wall of sound pressed into Guo Jing, as if ten thousand horses were galloping towards him or hundreds of battle drums were being beaten.
Now and again, a gentle crooning rose above the twang of the zither, growing more confident and persistent. It brought a flush to Guo Jing’s face and a flutter in his chest, prompting him to turn his focus back to controlling his senses.
However loud the zheng was, it failed to drown out the murmur of the xiao. Each Master held firm to his own tune. Together, they produced a raucous discordance.
The iron zither was the call of monkeys and apes in a remote mountain range, the hoot of owls in a dark wood. The jade flute was songs under the spring sun, whispers in a maiden’s chamber. Fierce grief against the softly sensual.
When one tune rose in pitch, the other descended. When one reached a crescendo, the other fell all but silent. Neither succeeded in dominating the other.
With the silk handkerchief in her ears, Lotus Huang watched the silent display with amusement. Then she saw her father paced in the coordinates of the Eight Trigrams. He only did that while he was working on advanced internal kung fu. Now, she understood the music making was an intense contest and Viper Ouyang a formidable opponent.
She turned her eyes to the Venom. It seemed he was also putting everything he had into the music. Wisps of vapour rose from the crown of his head, like a steamer on the boil. His sleeves flapped in the wind as he pressed and plucked the zither’s strings with both hands.
Guo Jing also sensed the competition between the two Masters, but he could not work out how music related to the martial arts, nor what made these tunes so seductive. Focusing on guarding his heart and spirit, soon he felt he had regained full control of himself. He turned his attention to the tone and colour of the musical instruments. After a while, he decided that one embodied the qualities of yin and the other those of yang, as they ebbed and flowed between attack and defence. As if two martial masters were sparring . . .
It’s a contest of internal kung fu!
With that realisation, the opposing pull of the zheng and the xiao no longer bothered Guo Jing. The music could not take hold of his senses or emotions. He closed his eyes and let the finer details of the duel come to his ears.
He felt a bright sense of detachment forming within. The twist and turn of each note now appeared clear and distinct. Somehow, he was applying the essence of the Luminous Hollow Fist as he listened, putting its mantra, “From hollowness, luminosity glows,” into practice.
He could not compete with the two Masters, because they had decades of internal-strength training over him. But what he had learned from Zhou Botong was enough to keep him removed from the clamour and help him understand this fight from a position of heightened mental clarity. He was living out the saying, “Looking on from the sidelines,” with his ears.
Nonetheless, he still could not fathom why Zhou Botong, with his far superior kung fu, was so affected by the flute song. He did not know that his sworn brother had been haunted by a romantic entanglement most of his adult life. It was that very demon that the music was feeding. For it was not the level of his kung fu, but the purity of a heart unburdened by desires and regrets that helped Guo Jing resist the music.
Guo Jing had at first thought that the thunderous strumming of the zheng would obscure the airy whistle of the xiao. The flute darted up and down its registers, struggling to find its place. Gradually, it began to pick out gaps between each pluck of the strings. Its sound began to shine through and grew bright, projecting heroic grace, while the zither seemed to flag and fade. But, when the flute reached the ascending qingyu half tone – clang! – the zither reclaimed its might with a metallic rattle.
“The firm cannot endure, the supple cannot defend.”
A line from the mnemonic verse explaining the Luminous Hollow Fist came to Guo Jing. The words no longer seemed so cryptic.
As he listened to the greatest martial artists of the age duel with music, he noticed that their tactics matched the theory behind Zhou Botong’s invented kung fu. Guo Jing was delighted with this new-found understanding. After all, he could barely comprehend one-tenth of all the martial sayings he had crammed into his head, and verbalising abstract concepts was not the Hoary Urchin’s forte.
Guo Jing also sensed that the new text he had just learned bore some relation to this musical contest. However, his sworn brother had yet to explain those complicated theories. And, when Guo Jing dwelled on them now, the pressure of the music began to weigh heavy on him. He shut his mind from that line of thinking. If he let his concentration lapse for even a split second, he would be caught in the music’s snare.
Guo Jing felt Apothecary Huang was close to winning on several occasions. He just needed a few extra coloratura flourishes. He also noticed the opportunities Viper Ouyang failed to seize. These misses confused him. Perhaps the Masters were holding back out of politeness?
By now, they had been playing for more than an hour. He had come to understand their tactics and could discern a curious pattern. Whenever the Masters’ choice diverged from the concepts underlying the Luminous Hollow Fist, they missed the chance to deal the winning blow.
Could Zhou Botong’s invention be superior to these two Masters’ kung fu?
Guo Jing dismissed this idea as improbable. His sworn brother would not still be stuck in his cave if he could beat Apothecary Huang.
Presently, the flute began to creep higher and higher up its register, bringing Guo Jing’s attention back to the contest.
If he plays just a little higher, Viper Ouyang will lose! He began to will the flute to climb higher, but it seemed to be stuck at this one particular note.
Why doesn’t he go higher? Guo Jin
g laughed at his stupidity as the answer flashed across his mind. He’s reached the flute’s limit. He can’t go any higher! If I could pack the force of ten thousand jin into a punch, I could smash anything with my fist. But can I muster such strength? Clearly not! Fourth Shifu used to tell me that people made carrying heavy parcels with a shoulder pole look effortless. Yet, if I tried to do the same, my back would snap in an instant. A lot of things are easier said than done. And that’s especially true when it comes to advanced kung fu!
2
THE MUSICAL DUEL WAS NOW MORE INTENSE THAN EVER. THE Venom and the Heretic were fighting blade-on-flesh in this metaphorical hand-to-hand combat. A winner was bound to emerge soon.
At this decisive point, a whistle wafted in from the sea.
It sent a shockwave through the two Masters and their music faltered for a moment. The whistler must be on a boat nearing the island.
Viper Ouyang struck the zheng twice, sending forth a tremolo so violent that it could tear cloth. The newcomer accepted the challenge by skipping effortlessly to a very high note.
Apothecary Huang joined in. His flute flitted between grappling with the whistle and contending with the zither. The contest was now a fierce melee, much like the Competing Hands games Zhou Botong staged.
A third martial great had arrived.
Now the whistle came from the woods. Dipping and soaring, it roared with the might of tigers and lions, it neighed and brayed like a horse or a donkey. It was like the wind blowing through a forest, or a drizzle caressing petals. There was infinite variety to its tones.
The flute answered in a clear and gentle voice. The zither rattled and rasped with melancholic menace. Each Master stood firm. No-one could gain the upper hand.
“Wow!”
All music stopped.
It dawned on Guo Jing that he had cheered out loud. Just then, a whirl of green materialised before him.
“Come with me, lad.”
Guo Jing mumbled, “Lord Huang,” and trailed after his host, shamefaced.
Lotus burst into tears of joy at Guo Jing’s sudden appearance. She did not realise that he had interrupted the music making.
Pulling out her makeshift earplugs, she rushed towards him, grasped his hands and hugged him tightly.
“You’re here, at last . . .” Her voice betrayed a streak of sorrow that tainted her joy at their reunion.
Jealous rage burned in Gallant Ouyang at the sight of Guo Jing, and Lotus’s reaction fanned its fires. He lunged, his fist poised to strike. He was confident that he would give the odious whelp a black eye, perhaps even a broken nose. That would make him feel a lot better. He was the superior martial artist, with the element of surprise on his side. Little did he know that the boy’s kung fu was already so very different from the one he defeated at the Liu clan’s ancestral temple, just a few weeks before.
Though Lotus had Guo Jing’s full attention, he caught a glimpse of the punch from the corner of his eye.
Guo Jing turned slightly and evaded the blow with ease. He replied with two moves from the Dragon-Subduing Palm simultaneously: Wild Goose Approaches Land with his left hand and Haughty Dragon Repents with his right.
One of Count Seven Hong’s powerful palm strikes was hard enough to withstand. Now, Gallant Ouyang faced two simultaneously, thanks to Zhou Botong’s outlandish Competing Hands technique.
Apothecary Huang and Viper Ouyang were both proud of the breadth of their martial knowledge, yet neither had seen quick-fire attacks launched like this. Even the martial greats were taken aback by this unusual kung fu.
Gallant Ouyang felt Guo Jing’s left palm pressing close to his right flank.
Dragon-Subduing Palm – I can’t block this head on, he told himself.
So he swerved to the left. Yet this very act of self-preservation threw his body into the powerful move from Guo Jing’s right.
Thwack! A sickening crunch. A rib snapped.
Gallant Ouyang leapt back, then up onto the roof of the bamboo pavilion, riding the momentum of the blow. He did not care that it looked like a retreat.
If he stood his ground, his heart and lungs would suffer irreparable damage. Preserving his life was more important than saving face, right now.
He stumbled several steps before finding his footing. Then he jumped down and staggered over to his uncle, humiliated and hunched in pain.
Lotus cheered and clapped, but Guo Jing remained cautious. He kept his eyes trained on Gallant Ouyang, then took two steps back to put more distance between them, in case of a counter-attack.
Guo Jing thought his success was a fluke. Gallant Ouyang must have let his guard down. He did not realise how much his kung fu had improved since he had met Zhou Botong.
“Such a formidable disciple, Beggar Hong. My hearty congratulations!” Viper Ouyang projected his voice as he gave Guo Jing a sideways glare.
“Shifu!” Lotus ran into the bamboo thicket. The heavens had at last sent her someone to deliver her from this terrible bond!
Soon, the Beggar of the North emerged. His left hand held Lotus’s, and his right, a jade-green bamboo cane. On his back was slung his trusty red gourd.
Apothecary Huang extended his welcome to Count Seven Hong and exchanged the customary pleasantries, all the while desperate to ask his daughter one question: “What did you call Count Seven just now?”
“Count Seven has taken me as a disciple,” she explained. “I remember you often talked fondly of his martial ability and upright character. When I had the chance to call a man you have praised Shifu, I took it. I know I should’ve asked your permission, Papa, but I knew you’d be very happy for me. You don’t mind, do you, Papa?”
“I am most grateful that Brother Seven has deemed my daughter worthy. She is naughty and disobedient; I hope you will help me discipline her.” Apothecary Huang was genuinely pleased and he bowed deeply.
Honoured by the generous response, the Beggar said, “It would take her more than a lifetime to absorb Brother Apothecary’s knowledge. I must confess, I took her on for purely selfish reasons, so she would always lavish her culinary magic on me. There is no need to thank me.” The two martial greats broke out into hearty laughter.
“Papa, if Count Seven hadn’t saved me from that villain –” Lotus jabbed a finger at Gallant Ouyang – “you’d have never seen your Lotus again.”
“Nonsense! Why would he want to hurt you?”
“I’ll get him to tell you.” Lotus turned to Gallant Ouyang. “Swear you will speak the truth, or else . . . your uncle’s strange snakes will be your death.”
Her words drained the blood from the faces of the Ouyangs. As masters of poisonous creatures, Lotus’s casual words had hit upon their greatest fear.
Two such snakes were housed at that very moment in Viper Ouyang’s staff. The tip of this weapon could be flipped open to reveal two small cavities. In there dwelled two small serpents.
Viper Ouyang had spent more than a decade breeding these vipers by crossing many varieties of the most deadly species. He used these snakes on his opponents during combat, as well as to punish anyone who dared to cross him. The poison began as an intense itch all over the body, swiftly resulting in death.
Though Viper Ouyang had developed an antidote, the venom was so strong and fast-acting that it would still cause great suffering and prevent the victim from practising the martial arts again.
“I would never dream of lying to my father-in-law,” Gallant Ouyang said through gritted teeth.
“I’ll box your ears if you call him that again! We first met at the Prince of Zhao’s palace in the Jin capital, did we not?”
Gallant Ouyang nodded. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. He had managed to suppress the pain from his injuries with internal kung fu. But, the moment he opened his mouth, his attention was split and a savage onslaught of pain all but floored him. He knew, if he uttered another word, his suffering would be plain for all to see. He could not live with such a serious loss of face.
“That night, you allied yourself with Hector Sha, Tiger Peng, Greybeard Liang and Lama Supreme Wisdom to attack me, did you not?”
“No . . . I did not . . .” He started to defend himself, but the pain choked off the words in his throat.
“You don’t need to speak. Just nod or shake your head. I’ll ask you again: Hector Sha, Tiger Peng, Greybeard Liang and Lama Supreme Wisdom were picking on me, were they not?”
He nodded.
“They tried to capture me, but they failed. And you were on their side, were you not?”
He could not deny it. Feebly, he moved his head up and down.
“I was all alone in the banqueting hall at the Prince of Zhao’s residence. No-one was there to help me. Papa didn’t know where I was, so he couldn’t help me, even if he’d wanted to. Is this not true?”
Gallant Ouyang knew she was trying to turn her father against him. But he could not deny what had actually happened and so he nodded again.
Lotus reached out for her father’s hand. “Pa, see! You wouldn’t treat me like this if Mama were still around . . .”
Apothecary Huang’s heart tightened at the thought of his late wife, and he put his arm protectively around Lotus.
“Miss Huang, these established martial artists failed to detain you because you inherited your father’s extraordinary kung fu. Is it not so?”
Lotus nodded with a grin. Apothecary Huang smiled at Viper Ouyang’s praise.
The Venom continued, “Brother Apothecary, that was when my nephew saw your daughter’s great talent and came fervently to admire her. It was under the spell of such passion that he sent word by the fastest pigeon to White Camel Mount, begging me to traverse thousands of miles to ask for your daughter’s hand on his behalf. No-one else in the world could induce me to make such a long journey.”
“I am most obliged.” Apothecary Huang was indeed flattered by Viper Ouyang’s presence.
“Brother Seven, I wonder why our admiration for Peach Blossom Island has seemed so unpalatable to you that you would physically confront a junior. My nephew would have perished under your Skyful of Petals technique had he not been blessed with such resilience.”