The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 16 – Part 4

The two waited until the boat drew close, then leapt ashore. The Little Red Horse¹ bounded after them onto the island. The boatman had heard many tales of Peach Blossom Island,² that the Island Master killed without blinking and loved nothing better than to dig out men’s hearts and livers, lungs and guts. The moment he saw the two of them ashore, he put the tiller over and turned the boat about, meaning to get as far away as he could. Huang Rong took out a ten-liang³ ingot of silver and flung it after him. It landed on the bow with a clang. “We’ll be coming back,” she called. “There’s more for you then.” The boatman had not dreamed of such a reward. Delighted beyond his hopes, he shouted back that he would, though he still did not dare stay close to the island.

Huang Rong was back in the place of her childhood, and her joy was beyond words. She shouted at the top of her voice, “Papa, Papa, Rong-er’s home!” She beckoned to Guo Jing and ran on ahead. Guo Jing watched her weave between the flower-laden trees, turning now here, now there, and in an instant she was gone. He hurried after her, but he had gone no more than a hundred feet or so when he lost all sense of direction. Paths ran off to the east, south, west and north, and he had no idea which to take.

He walked on for a time and seemed to find himself back where he had started. He remembered how Huang Rong had told him at Returning Clouds Manor⁴ that strange as the manor’s layout was, it could not compare with the wonders of Peach Blossom Island, where yin and yang opened and closed and heaven and earth were turned upside down. Now that he was lost, if he blundered about at random he would only make things worse and worse. So he sat down beneath a peach tree and waited for Huang Rong to come and fetch him.

But he waited more than a shichen,⁵ and Huang Rong did not come. All about him was silent. Not a soul was to be seen.

Anxiety seized him. He sprang to the treetop and gazed in every direction. To the south lay the sea. To the west, bare and barren rock. To the east and north there were flowering trees, a riot of colour stretching away without end, until the sight of them made his head swim. Among the trees there were no white walls or black tiles, no smoke from kitchen fires, no barking dogs, and the silence was uncanny. Suddenly he was afraid. He ran wildly along the treetops and plunged deeper still into the grove. Then a thought struck him, and he cried inwardly, This is bad! If I blunder about like this, even Rong-er won’t be able to find me. He tried to retrace his steps, but whereas before he had merely gone round and round without leaving the same spot, now the more he tried to return, the further he seemed to drift from where he had begun.

The Little Red Horse had been close behind, but after he had climbed the tree and run about, when he came down again the horse too was gone. The light was failing. There was nothing for it, and Guo Jing sat down on the ground to wait quietly for Huang Rong. Luckily the grass grew thick everywhere, as soft as a cushion. After a while he grew very hungry, and when he thought of all the delicious dishes Huang Rong had cooked for Hong Qigong, he felt hungrier still. Suddenly it occurred to him, What if Rong-er’s father has locked her up and she can’t come to fetch me? Am I going to starve to death in this wood? Then he thought how his father was still unavenged, his debt to his shifus⁶ still unrepaid, and his mother all alone in the bitter cold of the desert. Who would she have to depend on in the years to come? He thought on until at last he fell into a heavy sleep.

He slept until the middle of the night. He was dreaming that he and Huang Rong were boating on a lake in Zhongdu, eating dainty cakes together, and Huang Rong was singing softly, when suddenly he heard someone playing a flute in accompaniment. He started awake. The flute still lingered in his ears. He steadied himself and looked up. The bright moon hung overhead. The scent of flowers and grass was thicker in the darkness, and the flute came from far away. It had been no dream.

Guo Jing was overjoyed. He followed the sound of the flute, winding and twisting along the paths. Sometimes the way ahead was blocked, but the flute still sounded before him. He had walked such winding, doubling paths at Returning Clouds Manor, so now he paid no attention to whether the way went through, and simply followed the flute. Where no path remained, he climbed into the trees and went on that way. After a time the flute grew clearer and brighter. He quickened his pace, rounded a bend, and before him lay a stretch of white blossoms, layer upon layer, which in the moonlight looked like a little lake made of heaped white flowers. In the middle of the white flowers something rose high above the rest.

The flute shifted high and low, now ahead, now behind. When he ran east at the sound, the flute was suddenly to the west. When he turned north, it sounded from the south, as though more than a dozen people were hidden all round him, signalling to one another, taking turns to tease him.

He ran round and round until his head spun. Then he paid the flute no more heed and ran towards the mound. It was a stone tomb, and on the tablet in front of it eleven great characters were carved: The Tomb Where the Fragrance of the Lady of Peach Blossom Island, née Feng, Lies Buried.⁷ Guo Jing thought, This must be Rong-er’s mother. Rong-er lost her mother when she was small. How pitiful. He knelt before the grave and bowed four times with the utmost reverence, then kowtowed several times. It was only because his love for Huang Rong was deep and earnest that his devotion at her mother’s grave was so sincere. As he bowed, the flute fell silent. All about was still. The moment he stood, the flute sounded again ahead of him. Guo Jing thought, Whatever fortune or misfortune awaits, I must follow. He went on into the trees.

After a time the tune of the flute changed abruptly. It was like soft laughter, like a low lament, like tender endearments, sweet and languorous beyond words. Guo Jing’s heart stirred, and his head grew a little muddled. He wondered, How can this tune be so lovely?

The flute grew ever more urgent, as though urging him to dance. Guo Jing listened a while longer, until his face and ears burned and the blood surged through every vessel. He sat down at once and, following the neigong⁸ secrets Ma Yu had taught him, emptied his mind of every thought and set his inner breath circulating. At first his heart still fluttered, and several times he was on the point of leaping up and dancing. But after a time his spirit calmed, and by and by his intent and his understanding met, until his mind was bright and clear, free of all thought. However the flute tempted him, it was no different from the sound of waves on the sea or wind in the treetops. He felt only a lively warmth in his dantian,⁹ ease through his whole body, and his hunger passed.

Reaching this state, he was proof against all outside disturbance. He opened his eyes slowly, and in the darkness, some twenty feet ahead, he saw a pair of eyes, bright green, glittering.

He started in alarm, and thought, What wild beast is that? He sprang up and leapt back several paces, and in a flash the eyes were gone. He thought, How very strange. Even the swiftest leopard or wildcat couldn’t vanish like that in the blink of an eye. Then he heard quick, laboured breathing ahead of him, and by the sound of it a man’s. Suddenly he understood, and thought, It’s a man! What glittered were his eyes. When he shut them, of course I couldn’t see him any more. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He felt very foolish, but not knowing whether the man was friend or foe, he dared not make a sound, and waited to see what would happen.

Now the flute drifted and wandered, lingering and winding, like a woman now sighing, now moaning, now murmuring endearments and calling softly. Guo Jing was still young, and had practised martial arts since childhood. He understood little of affairs between men and women, and the flute’s lure touched him lightly. Though the tune was now even more seductive than before, he gave it no mind. But the man opposite him was breathing ever more heavily. His gasps were plainly tormented, as though he were spending every last ounce of will to resist the flute’s temptation.

Guo Jing felt for the man, and moved slowly towards him. The trees were thick, and though the moon shone bright above, its light was filtered through the dense leaves. Only when he was a few feet from the stranger could he make out his face. The man sat cross-legged, his long hair trailing to the ground. His brows and beard were long, so that nose and mouth were hidden. His left hand rested on his chest. His right lay behind his back. Guo Jing recognised the posture: it was the stance for cultivating neigong, the same one Ma Yu the Danyangzi had taught him atop the cliff in Mongolia. It was the secret of reining in the mind. Once it was truly mastered, thunder could crash and lightning flash, rivers burst their banks and mountains fall, and you would neither hear nor see a thing. This man was no longer young, and he knew the supreme neigong of the orthodox Xuanmen.¹⁰ How could he be worse at it than Guo Jing himself, and so afraid of the flute?

The flute grew ever more frantic. The man jerked and trembled, unable to help himself. Several times he half-rose a foot or so before, with immense effort, forcing himself back to the cross-legged seat. Guo Jing saw that he would be still for a moment and then start up gleefully, and that the stillness grew shorter each time. He knew things were going badly, and was anxious on the man’s behalf. The flute played two soft, intricate flourishes, and the man cried, “Enough, enough!” He heaved a long sigh and gathered himself to leap up.

Seeing the crisis, Guo Jing did not stop to think. He dashed forward, clamped his left hand hard on the man’s right shoulder, and brought his right palm down on the Dazhui acupoint¹¹ at the back of the man’s neck. When Guo Jing had trained on the cliff in Mongolia, whenever his mind wandered and he could not still it, Ma Yu would lightly stroke his Dazhui acupoint, the warmth of his palm helping to steady him and avert qi deviation.¹² Guo Jing’s neigong was still shallow. He could not lend the man his neili¹³ to resist the flute. But his hand had come down on exactly the right spot, and the long-haired man’s mind grew still. He closed his eyes and began to circulate his neili on his own.

Guo Jing was quietly pleased. Then he heard someone behind him curse, “Little beast, you’ve wrecked my great plan!” The flute stopped dead.

Guo Jing started. He looked back, but saw no one. The voice sounded like Huang Yaoshi’s, and he was filled with dismay. He thought, Is this long-bearded man good or bad? I rushed in to save him without thinking. That’s bound to make Rong-er’s father even angrier. And if the man is some demonic villain, haven’t I made a mess of everything?

The long-bearded man’s breathing slowed and steadied. Guo Jing sat opposite him, closed his eyes and turned his gaze inward, setting to work himself. Before long his thoughts were stilled and he had forgotten both himself and the world, and so he sat until the morning stars faded and the cold dew soaked his clothes. Then he opened his eyes.

Sunlight fell through the flower-trees and dappled the long-bearded man’s face. Now Guo Jing could see him more clearly. His beard and hair were black as ink. Long though they were, not a single white strand could be seen. It must be an age since they had been combed, and they hung about him wild and shaggy, frightening to behold. Suddenly the man’s eyes sparkled. He smiled faintly and said, “Which of the Seven Zis of Quanzhen¹⁴ are you a disciple of?”

Seeing that his face was kindly, Guo Jing felt a little easier. He rose and bowed. “Guo Jing pays his respects to you, Senior. The shifus who taught me are the Seven Xias of Jiangnan.¹⁵”

The long-bearded man seemed sceptical. “The Seven Xias of Jiangnan? Ke Zhen’e’s lot? How could they teach you the neigong of the Quanzhen Order?”

“Daoist Elder Ma, Danyang the Perfected One,¹⁶ taught me neigong for two years, but he never took me into the Quanzhen Order.”

The long-bearded man laughed loudly, and pulled a face, looking as comical as a child playing a game, and said, “That explains it. How did you come to Peach Blossom Island?”

“Island Master Huang ordered me to come.”

The man’s face changed. “For what purpose?”

“I offended Island Master Huang, and I have come to accept my death.”

“You’re not lying?”

Guo Jing answered with respectful sincerity, “I would not dare deceive you.”

The long-bearded man nodded. “Very good. But there’s no need to actually die! Sit down.” Guo Jing obeyed and sat on a stone. Only now did he see clearly that the man was seated in a rocky cave in the hillside.

The long-bearded man asked again, “Who else has taught you martial arts?”

“The Nine-Fingered Divine Beggar, Hong shifu…”

The man’s face took on a peculiar expression, half a smile and half not, and he cut in, “Hong Qigong taught you martial arts too?”

“Yes. Hong shifu taught me the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing.¹⁷”

The man’s face lit up with unbounded envy. “You know the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing? That’s no ordinary skill. Teach me, won’t you? I’ll be your disciple.” Then he shook his head. “No, no! Old Beggar Hong and I are much of an age. Who knows which of us is older? Being his disciple’s disciple wouldn’t be right at all. Did Old Beggar Hong teach you neigong?”

“No.”

The long-bearded man tilted his head to the sky and muttered to himself, “Look at him, so young. Even if he’d started training in his mother’s belly, he’d have eighteen or nineteen years of practice at most. So how can he hold out against the flute when I can’t?” He could not work out why. His eyes travelled from head to foot and back again, studying Guo Jing twice over. Then he stretched out his right hand. “Push against my palm. I’ll test your skill.”

Guo Jing did as he was told and pressed his palm against the man’s right palm.

“Sink your qi to the dantian. Release your force.”

Guo Jing gathered his strength and pushed. The long-bearded man’s palm drew back slightly, then thrust forward. “Careful!” Guo Jing felt a torrent of neili, fierce beyond measure, surge against him. He could not hold. His left palm shot upwards to parry the man’s wrist. The long-bearded man reversed the motion and deflected it, and four fingers alighted on the back of Guo Jing’s wrist. With the strength of those four fingers alone, he sent Guo Jing flying. Guo Jing could not keep his footing and stumbled back seven or eight paces. Fortunately he always held something in reserve with every move he made, so when his back struck a tree he was able to stand firm.

The long-bearded man murmured to himself, “Not bad at all. But not so extraordinary either. How then can he stand against Old Heretic Huang’s Azure Sea Surging Melody?”¹⁸

Footnotes

1. 小红马 — xiǎo hóng mǎ. The red horse Guo Jing tames on the steppe, a sweat-blood steed. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 桃花岛 — Táohuā Dǎo. Huang Yaoshi’s island in the East China Sea. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

4. 归云庄 — Guīyún Zhuāng. Literally returning clouds manor. The Lu family manor on Lake Tai. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 时辰 — shíchén. Traditional Chinese unit of time equal to two hours; the day was divided into twelve shichen. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 师父 — shīfù. Teacher responsible for technical instruction and moral guidance. Shī means teacher. Fù means father. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 桃花岛女主冯氏埋香之冢 — Táohuā Dǎo Nǚzhǔ Féng Shì Mái Xiāng Zhī Zhǒng. Literally tomb where the fragrance of the Lady of Peach Blossom Island, née Feng, lies buried. To bury fragrance is a literary phrase for the burial of a woman. ↩

8. 内功 — nèigōng. Literally internal cultivation. The practice of developing neili through breathing and meditation. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 丹田 — dāntián. Literally cinnabar field. The primary energy centre below the navel in internal cultivation. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

11. 大椎穴 — Dàzhuī Xué. Literally great vertebra point. An acupoint at the base of the neck, below the most prominent vertebra. ↩

12. 走火入魔 — zǒuhuǒrùmó. Literally fire running wild and entering the demonic. The breakdown that follows faulty neigong practice, when zhenqi runs amok in the meridians. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

14. 全真七子 — Quánzhēn Qīzǐ. Literally the seven zi of Quanzhen, zi being an honorific for a master. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

15. 江南七侠 — Jiāngnán Qī Xiá. Literally seven xia of Jiangnan. ↩

16. 丹阳真人 — Dānyáng Zhēnrén. Literally Perfected One of Danyang. ↩

17. 降龙十八掌 — Xiánglóng Shíbā Zhǎng. Literally eighteen dragon-subduing palms. Hong Qigong’s palm technique. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

18. 碧海潮生曲 — Bìhǎi Cháoshēng Qǔ. Musical technique that can disturb opponents’ minds through qi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩