The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 10 – Part 3

The woman had just exchanged those few moves with Liang Ziweng and was more winded than ever. She coughed for a while, then said in a hoarse voice, “Why did that old monster want to kill you?”

Guo Jing replied, “Daoist Elder Wang was injured and needed medicine, so I came to the prince’s estate…” Then it suddenly struck him, This woman lives inside the Prince of Zhao’s estate. Could she be one of Wanyan Honglie’s people? He stopped short.

The woman said, “Hmm, so you stole the old monster’s medicine. I hear he has studied the properties of herbs in great depth. What you took must be some wonder drug, then.”

Guo Jing said, “I took some of his medicine for healing internal injuries. He flew into a rage and swore he would kill me. Are you injured, Senior? I have plenty of medicine here. Five of them are cinnabar, notoginseng, dragon’s blood, bear gall and myrrh. Daoist Elder Wang won’t need so much. If you, Senior…”

The woman snapped, “Injured? Me? Who asked you to curry favour?”

Rebuffed, Guo Jing said hastily, “Yes, yes.”

After a moment, hearing her pant and pant, he felt sorry for her and added, “Senior, if walking is hard for you, let this junior carry your venerable self out.”

The woman cursed, “Who’s old? How would a muddle-headed boy like you know I’m an old woman?”

Guo Jing murmured his assent and kept quiet. He thought of leaving her there, but it did not sit easily with him. Steeling himself, he asked again, “Do you need anything? I can go and fetch it for you.”

The woman sneered, “Fussing like an old granny. Such a kind heart.” She reached out her left hand, seized his shoulder and pulled. Guo Jing felt a searing pain in his shoulder and was dragged helplessly before her. Then something icy touched his neck. The woman’s right arm had locked around his throat. He heard her bark, “Carry me out.”

Guo Jing thought, I was going to carry you out anyway. He turned, bent down and carried her out of the tunnel on his back.

The woman said, “I forced you to carry me. I won’t have anyone doing me favours.”

Only now did Guo Jing understand. The woman was fiercely proud and would not accept obligation from a junior. When he reached the tunnel-mouth and looked up to see the stars in the sky, he could not help letting out a long breath, and thought, That was a narrow escape from death just now. Who would think that down in this black hole someone was waiting to save my life? When I tell Rong-er, I doubt she’ll believe me. He had grown accustomed to scaling cliffs with Ma Yu, and though the shaft was deep as a well, he climbed out without difficulty.

Once they were out of the hole, the woman demanded, “Who taught you your qinggong? Speak!” Her arm tightened, and with his throat choked he could barely breathe. Frightened, he quickly channelled his neili¹ to resist.

The woman was deliberately testing his neili and squeezed still harder. After a while she gradually loosened her grip and cried, “Heh. Who’d have thought it to look at you? The muddle-headed boy knows the orthodox neigong of the Xuanmen.² You said Daoist Elder Wang was injured. What is his name?”

Guo Jing thought, You saved my life. If you want to ask, I won’t hide anything. Why use force? He answered, “Daoist Elder Wang is called Wang Chuyi. People call him Yuyangzi.”

Suddenly he felt the woman’s body jolt upon his back. Then he heard her say, panting, “You are a disciple of the Quanzhen Order? That… that is very good indeed.” There was a delight in her voice she could not hold back. She asked again, “What is Wang Chuyi to you? Why do you call him Daoist Elder and not shifu, shishu, or shibo?”

Guo Jing said, “I am not a disciple of the Quanzhen Order. But Danyangzi, Daoist Elder Ma Yu, did teach me some breathing exercises.”

The woman said, “Hmm. You have studied the neigong of the Quanzhen Order. Very good.” After a pause she asked, “Then who is your shifu?”

Guo Jing replied, “I have seven shifus. People call them the Seven Xias of Jiangnan. My first shifu, the Flying Bat, is surnamed Ke.”

The woman coughed violently for several moments, then said, “That is Ke Zhen’e!” Her voice was bitter.

Guo Jing said, “Yes.”

The woman asked, “You came from Mongolia?”

Guo Jing again answered, “Yes,” and wondered, How does she know I came from Mongolia?

The woman said slowly, “Your name is Yang Kang, isn’t it?” There was something more sinister than ever in her voice.

Guo Jing said, “No. My surname is Guo.”

The woman was silent for a moment, then said, “Sit on the ground.”

Guo Jing sat down as he was told. The woman reached into her bosom, took something out and laid it on the ground. It glittered in the faint starlight, and he saw with a start that it was a short jian. It looked very familiar to Guo Jing. He picked it up. The blade gleamed cold, and carved on the hilt were the two characters Yang Kang. It was the very weapon he had used that night to stab Chen Xuanfeng the Copper Corpse to death.

Years before, Guo Xiaotian and Yang Tiexin had each received a short jian from Qiu Chuji the Changchunzi.³ The two men had made a pact: if their wives bore sons, the boys would become sworn brothers. If daughters, sworn sisters. If one of each, they would be husband and wife. They had exchanged the short jians as tokens, and so the blade inscribed “Yang Kang” had come into Guo Jing’s keeping. He had been too young then to read the two characters Yang Kang, but he had known the shape of the short jian since he was small. He thought, Yang Kang? Yang Kang? His wits were slow, and for the moment he could not remember that he had heard the Princess speak the name only a little while ago.

While he was still puzzling, the woman snatched the short jian from his hand and cried, “You recognise this jian, don’t you?”

Had Guo Jing been even a little quicker, the shrill, terrible sound of her voice would have made him turn and glance at her. But he was thinking of the debt he owed her for his life. Whoever had saved his life, he supposed, must be a thoroughly good person, and he had not the faintest suspicion. He answered truthfully at once, “Yes! When I was small I killed a wicked man with this short jian. Then all of a sudden the wicked man vanished, and even the short jian…”

He had got no further when the grip on his neck tightened and at once he could not breathe. In his extremity he bent his arm and thrust his wrist backwards, but the woman’s left hand seized his wrist in an instant.

The woman released her right arm. Her body slid down and she sat upon the ground, crying, “Look at me. Who am I?”

Guo Jing had been choked until sparks danced before his eyes. When his eyes cleared, he saw her long hair hanging loose over her shoulders and her face as white as paper. It was Mei Chaofeng, the Iron Corpse of the Twin Evils of Dark Wind. The shock scattered his wits. He struggled with his left hand, but her five claws had already sunk into his flesh, and there was no breaking free. All was confusion in his head, and he thought, How can it be her? She saved my life? It can’t be! But it really is Mei Chaofeng!

Mei Chaofeng sat on the ground, her right hand still locked about Guo Jing’s throat. The enemy who had killed her husband, whom she had hunted in vain for more than ten years, had suddenly come knocking at her door of his own accord. She thought, Is my rogue of a husband’s spirit at work down below, leading his killer into my hands? Her hair fell across her face. She raised her head towards the sky. She ought to have seen the stars overhead, but before her eyes all was darkness. She tried to stand, but there was no strength at all in the lower half of her body, and she thought, My inner breath must have strayed off its course. One casual word of guidance from Shifu, and I’d be well at once. In Mongolia I met the Seven Zis of Quanzhen. Ma Yu taught me just one secret formula of neigong, and when my questions came to the crucial point he refused to say more. If I were at Shifu’s side now, I could ask a thousand questions, ten thousand, and he would teach me. Shifu… Shifu, if I held your hand again, would you… would you still teach me? In that instant she was overwhelmed with joy, and overwhelmed with grief as well. The whole of her past came crowding in on her, scene after scene flashing through her mind.

I was a carefree, innocent little girl who played all day long, and my father and mother loved me as the apple of their eye. My name then was Mei Ruohua. Then, by ill luck, my parents died one after the other, and my uncle and aunt took me in to bring me up. The year I was eleven, they sold me to a rich family as a maid for fifty liang⁴ of silver. That was in Jiang Family Village in Shangyu County, and the family was named Jiang. Master Jiang was kind enough to me, but Madam Jiang was a vicious woman.

The year I was twelve, I was washing clothes by the well when Master Jiang came over and stroked my face. He said, beaming, “The little girl grows more comely by the day. Before you’re sixteen, you’ll be a proper beauty.” I turned my head away and ignored him. Then suddenly he reached for my breast. I was angry. I pushed him away, but my hands were slick with soapberry suds, and I smeared foam all across his beard. I thought it funny and was laughing when, thwack, a terrible pain burst in my head. I had been clubbed, and I nearly fainted. I heard Madam Jiang screaming, “Little fox spirit, not grown yet and already seducing men. What will you be when you’re grown!” She cursed as she beat me, bringing the wooden club down on my head again and again. I turned and ran, but Madam Jiang caught up, seized my hair, yanked my head back and raised the club to beat my face, screaming, “Little hussy, I’ll smash your filthy face and gouge out your eyes. Let’s see you play the fox spirit then!” She dug her nails at my eyes. I was terrified. I gave a scream and shoved her away, and she sat down hard on the floor.

The vicious woman was angrier than ever. She called three of the older maids to seize my arms and legs, and they dragged me into the kitchen and held me down on the floor. She heated a pair of fire-tongs red-hot in the stove and shouted, “I’ll burn two holes in your filthy face, then burn your eyes out. I’ll make you a blind, ugly freak!”

I screamed and begged for mercy, “Madam, I won’t do it again, please, please spare me!”

Madam Jiang raised the fire-tongs and thrust them at my eyes!

I struggled with all my strength but could not move, so I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt the heat coming closer, and then there was a smack, and the heat was gone. A man’s voice rang out, “You vicious woman, have you no conscience at all?” The hands holding me let go, and I scrambled to my feet. A man in a dark robe had seized Madam Jiang by the back of her collar with his left hand and was holding her up in the air. In his right hand he held the red-hot fire-tongs, right in front of her eyes. She squealed like a pig at the slaughter, “Help, help, robbers, murder!”

Several of the Jiangs’ hired hands came running with staves and iron forks to rescue her. The man kicked them out of the kitchen one by one, a kick apiece, and they went sprawling into the courtyard.

Madam Jiang bawled, “Master, spare my life, Master, spare my life, I’ll never dare again!”

The man asked, “Will you dare to bully this little maid again?”

Madam Jiang cried, “Never again. If you don’t believe me, Master, come back in a few days and see for yourself!”

The man sneered, “As if I have time to keep inspecting your household affairs. First I’ll scorch both your eyes blind.”

Madam Jiang begged, “Master, please take the little maid away with you. We don’t want her. She’s yours, Master, a gift. Only spare me this once.”

The man let go with his left hand, and Madam Jiang fell to the floor. She kowtowed. “Thank you, Master, for sparing my life. The little maid is yours, Master. We paid fifty liang of silver for her, and we don’t want that back either.”

The man drew a great ingot of silver from his purse and flung it to the ground, crying, “Who wants your gift! If I didn’t save this little girl, sooner or later you’d torment her to death. This is a hundred liang of silver. Go and fetch her deed of sale!”

Madam Jiang, tears and snot streaming down her face, ran off to the front hall and soon came back with a document on white paper, dragging Master Jiang along with her left hand. Both his cheeks were red and swollen. She must have slapped his face a good many times to vent her temper.

I knelt and kowtowed to the man, to thank him for saving my life. The man was lean, his expression stern. He said, “No need for thanks. Get up. From now on, follow me.”

I kowtowed again and said, “Ruohua will serve you with all her heart and strength, Master.”

The man smiled faintly. “You won’t be my maidservant. You’ll be my disciple.”

And so I followed Shifu to Peach Blossom Island and became his disciple. My shifu was Huang Yaoshi, the Master of Peach Blossom Island. He already had a first disciple, Qu Lingfeng, and a second, Chen Xuanfeng, as well as several disciples a little younger than me, Lu Chengfeng, Wu Gangfeng and Feng Mofeng. Shifu changed my name to Mei Chaofeng.

Shifu taught me martial arts, and he taught me to read and write. When Shifu was busy, he would have my eldest shige⁵ teach in his stead. My eldest shige, Qu Lingfeng, was accomplished in letters and martial arts alike, and he could paint as well. He taught me to read poems and lyrics, and explained what they meant.

I grew older day by day. That year I was nearly fifteen. I had been Shifu’s disciple for more than three years, and had learned a good deal of poetry, letters and martial arts. I had grown taller, and my hair was long. Sometimes I looked at myself in the water, and I really was rather pretty. Sometimes my eldest shige would gaze at me without taking his eyes away, until I felt terribly shy. My eldest shige was thirty, twice my age, and very tall, though lean. He somewhat resembled Shifu, and like Shifu he wore a perpetual frown and was rarely merry. Only when he was with me would he tell a jest or two to make me laugh. He often taught me from the old poems and lyrics Shifu had copied out.

“Tossing coins upon the steps, then running down below. Even then, when we met, my heart took note. How much more now.” These lines were written in Shifu’s elegant, lean, hard-edged hand, in pale ink on a sheet of white notepaper. Qu shige laid it without a word beside the sheet I was practising my characters on. I turned and saw a strange look on his face, and a stranger look still in his eyes. I asked softly, “Did Shifu write this?” He nodded, and laid another sheet of white notepaper over the first, again in Shifu’s flowing, elegant hand.

“Willow of Jiangnan, its leaves too small yet to give shade. At fourteen or fifteen, idly she comes seeking, her pipa in her arms. Even then, when we met, my heart took note. How much more now.”

My face burned. My heart began to pound wildly. Flustered, I stood up to run away, but Qu shige said, “Little shimei, sit down.”

I asked softly again, “Did Shifu make up this lyric?”

Qu shige said, “Shifu wrote it out. It’s a lyric by Ouyang Xiu, not one Shifu made.”

I let out a breath and relaxed.

Footnotes

1. 内力 — nèilì. Literally internal force. The kinetic manifestation of cultivated qi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 玄门 — Xuánmén. Literally mysterious gate. A name for Daoism, drawn from the Daodejing. ↩

3. 丘处机 — Qiū Chǔjī. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 两 — liǎng. A traditional unit of weight, one-sixteenth of a jin, and the unit in which silver was reckoned. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 师哥 — shīgē. Male senior, the colloquial form of shixiong. Both apprenticed to the same shifu. Shī means teacher. Gē means older brother. ↩