Preface (Third Edition)

This Preface accompanies the Third Edition of Jin Yong’s novels, also known as the New Revised Edition. The Second Edition came with a different Preface.

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This novel is written for humans to read. The novel is about humans.

Novels portray the character and feelings of an individual, several people, a group, or thousands of people. Their personalities and emotions are revealed through the horizontal plane of their environment, the vertical plane of their experiences, and through their interactions and relationships with others.

Among long novels, it seems only Robinson Crusoe depicts a single person, exploring his relationship with nature—though even there, the servant Friday eventually appears.

Short stories more commonly focus on a single character, particularly in modern and contemporary fiction. These works reveal both the external world and the inner realm¹ through the protagonist’s encounters with their environment, with special emphasis on the internal landscape.

Some novels feature animals, celestial beings, ghosts, and demons, yet these too are portrayed essentially as human characters.

Traditional Western literary theory analyzes works through three aspects: setting, characters, and plot. Authors, shaped by their distinct personalities and talents, often with different emphasis on these elements.

Fundamentally, wuxia novels resemble other forms of fiction. They too are about people, merely set in antiquity, featuring protagonists skilled in martial arts, with plots centered on intense conflict.

Every genre of novel has its particular focus. Romance novels explore the emotional and physical relationships between men and women. Realist fiction depicts the environment and characters of a specific era. Works like The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin chronicle the struggles of large casts of characters. Contemporary novels often emphasize their characters’ psychological processes.

Novels are a form of art. The essential content of art is human emotion and life, with beauty as its primary form—beauty in both its broad and aesthetic senses. In novels, this manifests as the beauty of language and structure. The key lies in how characters’ inner worlds are expressed through various means: whether through the author’s subjective analysis, objective narrative, or through the characters’ actions and dialogue.

When readers engage with a novel, they merge its content with their own psychological state. The same novel might profoundly move some while boring others. When readers’ personalities and emotions encounter those portrayed in the novel, a “chemical reaction” occurs.

Wuxia novels are simply a particular form of expressing human relationships. A composer or musician might express a mood through piano, violin, symphony, or song. A painter might choose oils, watercolours, ink, or woodcuts. The question isn’t which form to use, but whether the expression succeeds—whether it communicates with readers’, listeners’, or viewers’ hearts and resonates with them. Novels are an artistic form, and like all art, they can be executed well or poorly.

Good or bad in art belongs to the realm of beauty, not truth or morality. Beauty is judged by aesthetic standards and emotional response, not by scientific veracity (such as whether martial arts techniques are physiologically possible), moral virtue, economic value, or political utility to rulers.

Of course, any artwork can influence society, and may be evaluated by its social impact—but that’s a different kind of assessment.

Christianity’s influence was all-encompassing in Medieval Europe. Thus, when we visit European and American museums, we see that all medieval paintings take biblical stories as their subjects, and female figures must be portrayed through the image of the Virgin Mary.

Only after the Renaissance did the portrayal of ordinary mortals emerge in painting and literature. The Renaissance represented a revival of Greek and Roman artistic focus on human subjects, rather than exclusively depicting gods and saints.

Chinese artistic perspective has long held to the principle of “literature as a vehicle for moral principles”²—sharing the same outlook as Dark Age in Medieval Europe artistic thought, using “good and evil” as the standard for judging art and literature.

The love songs in the Classic of Poetry³ were forcibly interpreted as criticisms of rulers or praise of empresses. Tao Yuanming’s⁴ Leisure Ode⁵ the romantic ci poetry⁶ of Sima Guang,⁷ Ouyang Xiu,⁸ and Yan Shu⁹ were either regretfully dismissed as flaws in otherwise perfect jade or kindly explained away as having alternative meanings. They refused to accept that art could express emotion, believing instead that words’ sole function was to serve political or social values.

I write wuxia novels simply to create characters and depict their experiences within a specific wuxia setting (ancient China without rule of law, an unreasonable society where disputes are resolved through violence). While that society differs greatly from our modern world, human nature and emotions have not changed much. The joys and sorrows, the pleasures and pains of ancient people can still evoke similar emotions in modern readers.

Readers may find the execution crude, the technique immature, and the portrayal superficial—making these, from an aesthetic perspective, inferior works of art. Regardless, I do not aim to promote any particular ideology. While writing wuxia novels, I also wrote political commentary and pieces on history, philosophy, and religion—these are entirely different from my wuxia fiction.

Works involving intellectual content appeal to readers’ reason. Such writing invites judgment of right and wrong, true and false, leading readers to agree fully, partially, or disagree entirely.

I hope readers will simply say whether they like or dislike the novel, whether they were moved or bored. I am most pleased when readers love or hate certain characters in my novels, for such emotions indicate that my fictional characters have formed a connection with readers’ hearts. A novelist’s greatest aspiration is to create characters who come alive in readers’ minds as flesh-and-blood beings.

Art is creation. Music creates beautiful sounds, painting creates beautiful visual images, and novels aim to create characters, stories, and human inner worlds.

If we only sought to reflect external reality faithfully, why would we need music and painting when we have audio recorders and cameras? Why would we need novels when we have newspapers, history books, documentary films, social surveys, medical records, and personnel files from party offices and police stations?

Though wuxia novels are considered popular works emphasising mass appeal and entertainment, they inevitably influence many readers. The main principles I hope to convey are: love and respect for one’s own country and people while respecting those of others; peace and friendship; mutual assistance; valuing justice and righteousness while opposing self-serving behavior at others’ expense; emphasis on good faith; celebration of genuine love and friendship; praise for selfless struggle for justice; and contempt for power struggles and selfish, despicable thoughts and actions.

Wuxia novels do not merely allow readers to daydream while reading, immersing themselves in fantasies of great success. Rather, they hope that during such fantasies, readers imagine themselves as good people striving to do all manner of good deeds—imagining themselves as patriotic, community-minded individuals helping others achieve happiness. Through their good deeds and positive contributions, they earn the admiration and affection of those they love.

Wuxia novels are not works of realism. Many critics insist that literary realism is the only acceptable school, and all others must be rejected. This is akin to saying: Shaolin martial arts are excellent, therefore all others—Wudang, Kongtong, Taiji Fist,¹⁰ Bagua Palm,[^baguazhang] Springing Legs,¹¹ White Crane style,¹² Karate,¹³ Taekwondo,¹⁴ Judo,¹⁵ boxing,¹⁶ Muay Thai,¹⁷ and more–—should be abolished.

We advocate pluralism. While we respect Shaolin martial arts as the preeminent school, we see no harm in other smaller schools coexisting. They may not surpass the Shaolin school, but each has its own concepts and innovations.

Those who love Cantonese cuisine need not advocate banning Beijing¹⁸, Sichuan¹⁹, Shandong²⁰, Anhui²¹, Hunan²², Weiyang²³, Hangzhou²⁴, French, Italian, or other styles of cooking. As the saying goes, “Radishes and greens, each has its admirers.”

There’s no need to elevate wuxia novels above their proper station, nor to dismiss them entirely. Everything in its proper measure is sufficient.

I wrote this thirty-six volume Collection of Works between 1955 and 1972, spanning thirteen to fourteen years. The collection comprises twelve novels, two novellas, one short story, a critical biography of a historical figure, and several pieces of historical textual criticism. The publication process was rather peculiar.

Whether in Hong Kong, Taiwan, overseas regions, or mainland China, various unauthorised copies and editions were published before the release of authentic versions that I had verified and authorised. Prior to this Third Edition, only Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House was authorised by me to publish The Book and the Sword in mainland China.

They were meticulous in their printing and honoured the contractual royalties. I paid income tax in accordance with the law and donated the remainder to several literary institutions and weiqi²⁵ activities. This was a gratifying experience. All other editions were unauthorised until the official authorisation was given to Beijing Joint Publishing.

The copyright contract with Joint Publishing expired at the end of 2001, after which mainland publication rights were transferred to another publisher, primarily due to geographical proximity facilitating business communication.

The matter of unpaid royalties was secondary. Many editions were carelessly produced, rife with errors. Some even borrowed the name “Jin Yong” to write and publish wuxia novels. For those well-written, I dare not claim undue credit; as for those filled with tedious fight scenes and salacious descriptions, they inevitably caused distress.

Some publishers even reproduced works by other Hong Kong and Taiwanese authors under my pen name. I received countless letters from readers exposing these practices, expressing their indignation.

Some individuals also produced unauthorized commentaries and critiques of my work. Among these, only three scholars—Feng Qiyong,²⁶ Yan Jiayan,²⁷ and Chen Mo²⁸—demonstrated profound scholarly expertise and approached the work with appropriate academic rigour, something I’m deeply grateful for.

The remaining commentaries largely diverged from the author’s original intentions. Fortunately, such publications have now ceased, with the publishers having formally apologised, and these disputes have been resolved.

Some pirated editions even claimed that Gu Long, Ni Kuang and I jointly issued a couplet-matching challenge with the line “Ice is colder than iced water”—quite preposterous. Chinese couplets follow established rules: the final character of the first line typically carries an oblique tone,²⁹ allowing the second line to end with a level tone.³⁰ However, the word ‘bing’ has a rising tone, which is a level tone. We would never propose such a first line in a couplet match.

Many mainland readers sent me their attempts at matching lines—a regrettable waste of their time and effort.

To assist readers in authentication, I arranged the first characters of my fourteen novels and novellas into a couplet: “Shooting a white deer in the endless drifting snow; Smiling while writing of the divine hero beside his beautiful love”.

When writing my first novel, I had no notion of whether I would write a second. Whilst writing the second, I had not contemplated the theme for a third, let alone its title. Hence, this couplet can hardly be considered elegant—“drifting snow” cannot properly match “smiling while writing”, and both “white” and “beautiful” carry oblique tones.

Had I actually issued a couplet-matching challenge, I would have had complete freedom in character selection and would certainly have chosen more meaningful characters that adhered to the proper rules.

Many readers posed the same question in their letters: “Among your novels, which do you consider the finest? Which is your favourite?”

This question defies answer. When crafting these novels, I held one aspiration: “Never repeat characters, plots, emotions, or even details that I have written before.” Though my abilities might have limited the full realisation of this aim, I consistently strove in that direction.

Broadly speaking, these fifteen novels are distinctly different, each imbued with my emotions and thoughts—principally the emotions I held while writing them. I cherish the virtuous characters in every novel, finding joy or sorrow in their experiences, at times profound sorrow.

As for literary technique, I showed some improvement in later works. Yet technique is not paramount; what matters most is personality and emotion.

These novels have all been adapted into films and television series in Hong Kong and Taiwan, with some having three or four different versions. Beyond these, there have been stage plays, Beijing operas,³¹ Cantonese operas³² and other theatrical adaptations. This leads to the second common question: “Which film or television adaptation do you consider most successful? Which actors most accurately portrayed the original characters?”

The presentational forms of film and television differ fundamentally from novels, making comparison rather difficult. Television series, with their longer format, allow for greater narrative development, whilst films face more substantial constraints.

Moreover, reading a novel involves a process of character visualisation shared between author and reader. Many people reading the same novel might envision quite different protagonists, for beyond the words on the page, readers incorporate their personal experiences, personalities, emotions and preferences.

In your mind, you merge the protagonist with your own beloved, and naturally, others’ beloveds differ from yours. Film and television, however, fix character appearances, leaving audiences no room for imagination.

Wuxia novels inherit the lengthy tradition of Chinese classical novels. China’s earliest wuxia novels were likely the brilliant literary works among Tang dynasty legends, such as The Legend of Qiu Ranke,³³ Tale of Hongxian,³⁴ Nie Yinniang,³⁵ and The Slave of Kunlun.³⁶ These were followed by Water Margin,³⁷ The Three Heroes and Five Gallants,³⁸ Legend of the Heroic Sons and Daughters,³⁹ and others.

The more serious modern wuxia novels place greater emphasis on themes of justice, integrity, self-sacrifice, protection of the weak from the powerful, national spirit, and traditional Chinese ethical concepts.

Readers need not overly scrutinise the exaggerated descriptions of martial arts in these novels. Some elements are impossible in reality, merely conventions of Chinese wuxia literature. Nie Yinniang’s ability to shrink herself and enter another’s body, then leap from their mouth—no one would believe this possible, yet her story has delighted readers for roughly a millennium.

My early novels held a pronounced sense of Han dynasty legitimacy. In later years, the equality of all ethnicities within the Chinese nation became the predominant theme—a reflection of my advancing historical perspective. This is particularly evident in Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, White Horse Neighing in the West Wind, and The Deer and the Cauldron. Wei Xiaobao’s father could have been a Han,⁴⁰ Manchu,⁴¹ Mongol,⁴² Hui,⁴³ or Tibetan.[^tibetan] Even in my first novel The Book and the Sword, the protagonist Chen Jialuo ultimately converted to Islam.

Good and bad people exist within every ethnicity, religion, and profession. There were both corrupt and virtuous emperors, both dreadful officials and those who genuinely cared for the people. Among the Han, Manchu, Khitan, and Tibetan peoples in the novels… one finds both the virtuous and the villainous. Similarly, among monks, priests, lamas, scholars, and warriors, one encounters all manner of personalities and moral dispositions.

Some readers are inclined to divide people into strictly good and bad categories, extrapolating from individuals to entire groups. This was decidedly not the author’s intention.

Historical events and figures must be viewed within their contemporary context. There were fierce conflicts along the borders between Song and Liao, Yuan and Ming, Ming and Qing, Han and other peoples such as the Khitan, Mongol, and Manchu.

The Mongols and Manchus employed religion as a political instrument. The novels depicted the perspectives and mentalities of people of those times; they cannot be judged through the lens of subsequent generations or modern sensibilities.

My purpose in writing novels is to portray characters and explore human emotions. The novels do not serve as allegories. If they contain any criticism, it is directed at the base and dark aspects of human nature. Whilst political viewpoints and social ideologies constantly shift, human nature remains remarkably constant.

In Liu Zaifu’s⁴⁴ Letters From Two Places (Journey to Understanding the Human World),⁴⁵ written with his daughter Liu Jianmei,⁴⁶ Jianmei mentions a conversation with Mr Li Tuo.⁴⁷ Li observed that writing novels is like playing the piano—there are no shortcuts. One must progress step by step, through daily practice and accumulation. Without extensive reading, it’s impossible to succeed.

I strongly agree with this perspective. I read at least four to five hours daily without fail, and after retiring from my position at the newspaper company, I continued my studies diligently at various Chinese and foreign universities.

While my knowledge, understanding, and insights have improved over the years, my natural talent hasn’t grown. Thus, despite three revisions, I suspect many readers will still find these novels wanting. It’s like a pianist practicing twenty hours a day—–if the innate talent is insufficient, one can never become a Chopin, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, or Paderewski, nor even achieve the level of Rubinstein, Horowitz, Ashkenazy, Liu Shikun, or Fu Cong.

This third revision corrects numerous typographical errors and omissions, most identified through reader feedback. Several longer passages have been revised or supplemented, incorporating insights from critics and academic discussions. Many obvious deficiencies remain beyond remedy, limited by the author’s abilities–—this is unavoidable.

I hope readers will continue to write to me about any remaining errors or inadequacies in the text. I regard every reader as a friend. Naturally, I always welcome the insights and support of friends.

April 2004 in Hong Kong

Footnotes

1. 内心世界 – nèixīn shìjiè. The term inner realm in Chinese is literally world in the heart or internal world, making it a nice contrast with the aforementioned external world. ↩

2. 文学为载道之器 – Wénxué wéi zàidào zhīqì. A fundamental concept in Chinese literary theory that literature should serve as a vehicle for moral and philosophical principles. ↩

3. 诗经 – Shījīng. The oldest existing collection of Chinese poetry, dating from the 11th to 7th centuries BCE. See Wikipedia. ↩

4. 陶渊明 – Táoyuānmíng. See Wikipedia. ↩

5. 闲情赋 – Xiánqíngfù. See Wikipedia. ↩

6. 词 – Cí. See Wikipedia. ↩

7. 司马光 – Sīmǎguāng. See Wikipedia. ↩

8. 欧阳修 – Ōuyángxiū. See Wikipedia. ↩

9. 颜叔 – Yánshū. See Wikipedia. ↩

10. 太极拳 – Tàijíquán. See Wikipedia. ↩

11. 弹腿 – Dàntuǐ. See Wikipedia. ↩

12. 白鹤拳 – Báihèquán. See Wikipedia. ↩

13. 空手道 – Kōzukai. See Wikipedia. ↩

14. 跆拳道 – Tàiquándào. See Wikipedia. ↩

15. 柔道 – Róudào. See Wikipedia. ↩

16. 拳击 – Quánjī. See Wikipedia. ↩

17. 泰拳 – Tàiquán. See Wikipedia. ↩

18. 京菜 – Jīngcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

19. 川菜 – Chuāncài. See Wikipedia. ↩

20. 山东菜 – Shāndōngcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

21. 安徽菜 – Ānhuīcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

22. 湘菜 – Xiāngcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

23. 淮扬菜 – Huáiyángcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

24. 浙江菜 – Zhèjiāngcài. See Wikipedia. ↩

25. 围棋 – Wéiqí. See Wikipedia. ↩

26. 冯其庸 – Féng Qíyōng. See Wikipedia (Chinese). ↩

27. 严家炎 – Yán Jiāyán. See Baidu Baike (Chinese). ↩

28. 陈墨 – Chénmò. See Baidu Baike (Chinese). ↩

29. 仄 - See Wikipedia. ↩

30. 平 - See Wikipedia. ↩

31. 京剧 – Jīngjù. See Wikipedia. ↩

32. 粤剧 – Yuèjù. See Wikipedia. ↩

33. 虬髯客传 – Qiúránkèzhuàn. See Wikipedia (Chinese). ↩

34. 红线 – Hóngxiàn. See Wikipedia. ↩

35. 聂隐娘 – Niě Yǐnnáng. See Wikipedia. ↩

36. 昆仑奴 – Kūnlún nú. See Wikipedia. ↩

37. 水浒传 – Shuǐhǔzhuàn. See Wikipedia. ↩

38. 三侠五义 – Sānxiángwǔyì. This was initially published as the The Tale of Loyal Heroes and Righteous Gallants, before it was renamed The Three Heroes and Five Gallants. The novel was later revised and published under the title The Seven Heroes and Five Gallant. See Wikipedia. ↩

39. 儿女英雄传 – Ērn yìngxióngzhuàn. See Wikipedia. ↩

40. 汉族 – Hànzú. The largest ethnic group in China and the world. See Wikipedia. ↩

41. 满族 – Mǎnzú. A Tungusic ethnic group native to Manchuria. See Wikipedia. ↩

42. 蒙古族 – Měnggǔzú. An ethnic group native to Mongolia, and the Buryatia and Kalmykia republics of Russia. See Wikipedia. ↩

43. 回族 – Huízú. An ethnoreligious group consisting of Muslims in China. See Wikipedia. ↩

44. 刘再复 – Liú Zàifù. See Wikipedia. ↩

45. Letters From Two Places – Lùxiàng cóng liǎng gé. See Douban (Chinese). ↩

46. 刘剑梅 – Liú Jiànméi. See Baidu Baike (Chinese). ↩

47. 李拓 – Lǐ Tuò. See Baidu Baike (Chinese). ↩