The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 18 – Part 2

Huang Yaoshi said to Ouyang Feng, “Your snakes cannot stop their ears.” He turned and made a sign to the mute old servant beside him. The old man nodded and waved to the head of the snake-drivers, signalling him to take his men out of the way. They were only too glad to make themselves scarce, and when Ouyang Feng nodded his consent, they hurried the snakes off along the path the mute servant pointed out and withdrew a long way off.

Ouyang Feng said, “Where my skill falls short, I beg Brother Yao to go easy on me.” He sat cross-legged on a large rock, closed his eyes and circulated his neili¹ for a moment. Then the five fingers of his right hand began to move, and he struck up a clanging, jangling music.

The zheng of Qin has always had a plaintive, stirring voice, and the music of this iron zither from the Western Regions was shriller and more harrowing still. Guo Jing knew nothing of music, yet every note of the zither kept time with his heart. With each note his heart gave a beat, and as the notes came faster his heart raced faster too, until his chest was thudding and he felt thoroughly unwell. A little longer, and his heart seemed ready to leap out of his body. With a jolt of alarm he thought, If his zither goes any faster, won’t it drive my heart until it kills me? He hurriedly sat down, calmed his spirit, emptied his mind and summoned the Quanzhen Order’s² Daoist neigong.³ His heartbeat slowed at once, and before long the zither’s sound could no longer move his heart.

The zither grew ever faster, until it was like gongs and drums sounding together and ten thousand horses at the gallop. Then all at once came a soft, delicate strain, a thread of flute-song stealing faintly in among the notes of the zither. Guo Jing felt a tremor of the heart, and his face grew hot, and he hurried to master himself again. Loud as the iron zither was, it could never drown the flute, and the two sounds mingled to exceedingly strange effect. The iron zither was like apes howling on a barren mountain or owls hooting in a deep forest. The jade flute⁴ was like voices raised together in song on a spring day, or secrets whispered in a secluded chamber. One was harrowing and desolate in the extreme, the other soft, seductive and lilting. When one rose, the other fell. When one advanced, the other withdrew, and neither would give way.

With silk stuffed in her ears, Huang Rong could hear nothing. She had been watching the two of them play with a smile on her face, but after a while she saw how grave they had become. Her father rose to his feet and played as he walked, his feet treading the positions of the Eight Trigrams. She knew this was the stance he used in his daily practice of the highest neigong, so his opponent must be formidable indeed for him to be bringing his full strength to bear. She looked at Ouyang Feng again. His head was steaming like a steamer basket, wisps of hot vapour rising straight up from it. Both his hands were at the zither, and his sleeves now billowed out as if filled with wind, now flung off gust after gust of air. By the look of him, he too dared not relax for an instant.

Guo Jing listened to their performance from within the bamboo grove, wondering what connection the jade flute and iron zither had to martial arts, and why these two sounds had such uncanny power to unsettle the heart. He gathered his spirit and held it fast so that the music could not move him, and then listened closely to flute and zither. After a while he sensed that one was soft and one hard, each surging against the other, now darting in to seize the advantage, now falling back to wait for the enemy, just like two masters in a duel. He thought it over for a long time, and at last he understood, and thought, That’s it. Island Master Huang and Ouyang Feng are pitting their supreme neigong against each other. Having grasped this point, he closed his eyes and listened to the duel.

Until now he had been circulating his neili to resist flute and zither at once, and it had been hard going. Now his mind was unencumbered. He stood outside the contest, listening calmly to see who would win, and the music no longer struck any chord in him. His mind felt wholly empty and clear, and he could hear every fine detail more plainly than before. Zhou Botong had taught him the Seventy-Two Paths of the Void Clarity Fist,⁵ whose essence lay in four words: “through emptiness, clarity”. Were he to fight Huang Yaoshi and Ouyang Feng on these principles, his neili was so much the weaker that he could hardly hope to win. But with his mind set outside the contest, its very clarity let him grasp the subtleties. As the saying goes, “watch with a cool eye from the sidelines”, and now he was listening with a cool ear from the sidelines. He had never understood how, with neili far inferior to Zhou Botong’s, he could resist the flute so much better. The reason was that on that night Zhou Botong had been inside the contest, and because of an ill-starred love long ago, the demon had risen from his own heart and the flute had found its way in. Guo Jing was as pure and innocent as a child, and it was not purely a matter of whose neili was greater.

Guo Jing now heard Ouyang Feng set out with the crushing weight of a thunderbolt to overwhelm Huang Yaoshi. The flute dodged east and west, but wherever the slightest gap opened in the zither’s music, it slipped through at once. After a while the zither began to slow, while the flute grew ever more heart-stirring. Guo Jing suddenly remembered two lines from the Void Clarity Fist verses Zhou Botong had made him learn by heart: “Hardness cannot endure, softness cannot hold.”⁶ Sure enough, just as the jade flute reached a high, clear note, a great clangour broke out and the iron zither came back in full force.

Guo Jing knew the Void Clarity Fist verses by heart, but he was slow-witted by nature and Zhou Botong was poor at explaining, so he understood not a tenth of their meaning. Now, as he listened to two great masters contend in music, their attacks and parries, advances and retreats seemed to tally in secret with the verses he knew so well. After several bouts between the two strains, he began to see into some of the points he had never understood, and he could not help feeling glad. Then he had a dim sense that some lines of the martial formulas Big Brother Zhou had lately taught him might also have something in common with the zither and flute in his ears. But those formulas were deep and had never been explained to him in detail, and with the two strains crowding in on him, the moment he thought of their lines his mind fell into confusion. Knowing how perilous that was, he at once put them aside and dared not let his thoughts stray there again.

He listened a while longer, and suddenly noticed that in many places the ebb and flow of the two strains, the ways they attacked and closed, were quite unlike the formulas he had learned. He was puzzled and could not see why. Several times Huang Yaoshi clearly could have won. A few more turns of the flute and Ouyang Feng would surely have been unable to resist. Yet Ouyang Feng too had missed many opportunities.

At first Guo Jing had supposed the two were deferring to each other out of courtesy, but the longer he listened, the less it seemed so. Slow as he was, after nearly half a shichen⁷ of listening to the two men play, attack and parry over and over, he had come to understand something of the ways of attack and defence in flute and zither. He listened a while longer, then suddenly thought, By the principles of the Void Clarity Fist verses, both of them seem to have flaws and gaps in their attack and defence. Can the formulas Big Brother Zhou taught me really be greater than the martial arts of Island Master Huang and the Western Venom? Then he thought again, That can’t be right. If Big Brother Zhou’s martial arts were really greater than Island Master Huang’s, they must have fought more times than anyone could count in these fifteen years, so how could he still be trapped in that cave?

He sat lost in thought for a long while. The flute climbed higher and higher. A little higher still, and Ouyang Feng must lose, but there it reached its limit and could rise no further, whatever it did. At last it all came clear to him, and he could not help laughing silently at himself. He thought, What a complete fool I am! A man’s strength has its limits, and nine times out of ten what he has in mind can’t be done. I know that a punch with ten thousand jin⁸ of force behind it would smash any enemy to pieces, but how is my fist ever going to have ten thousand jin of force? Fourth Shifu always says, “Watch another man shoulder a load and you feel no strain. Shoulder it yourself and it breaks your back.” If that is true of carrying a load, how much truer of martial arts as deep as these.

The music on both sides grew ever faster, until the fight had come to close quarters, bare blades and hand-to-hand. A little longer, and one of them must prevail. Guo Jing was growing anxious for Huang Yaoshi when, all at once, the faint sound of a long whistle came from far out at sea.

Huang Yaoshi and Ouyang Feng both started, and at once flute and zither slackened. But the whistle came nearer and nearer, and someone was evidently approaching the island by boat. Ouyang Feng swept his hand across the zither and struck two notes that rang out like tearing silk. The distant whistle suddenly soared and joined battle with him. Before long Huang Yaoshi’s flute entered the fray too, now contending with the whistle, now grappling with the zither, and the three sounds rose and fell, locked in combat. Guo Jing had once played at four-way fighting with Zhou Botong and was no stranger to a three-cornered melee like this. He knew there must be another elder of the very highest skill on the island.

By now the whistler was close by, in the woods beside them. The whistle rose and fell, now like the roar of a tiger or a lion, now like the neigh of a horse or the bray of a donkey, now like a long wind shaking the forest, now like fine rain wetting the flowers, endlessly changing. The flute was clear and soft, the zither mournful and piercing, yet each displayed its marvellous sounds, neither yielding an inch. The three sounds tangled together, locked in a struggle impossible to resolve.

At one brilliant passage Guo Jing forgot himself and shouted aloud, “Bravo!” He realised what he had done the moment it was out, and he was about to run when a green shadow flickered and Huang Yaoshi was standing before him. All three sounds had stopped together. “Well, boy,” Huang Yaoshi said sharply under his breath. “Come with me.” Guo Jing could only say, “Island Master Huang,” and, steeling himself, followed him into the bamboo pavilion.

With the silk in her ears, Huang Rong had not heard him shout, and when he suddenly walked in she was astonished and overjoyed. She ran to him, seized both his hands and cried, “Jing gege, you’ve come at last…” Her face was joyful and grief-stricken at once, and before she could finish, the tears were running down her cheeks. She threw herself into his arms, and Guo Jing held her close.

The very sight of Guo Jing had set Ouyang Ke’s temper flaring, and to see Huang Rong so loving with him made him angrier still. He darted forward and threw a punch straight at Guo Jing’s face, only then shouting, “You stinking brat, so you’ve come too!”

He reckoned he was the better fighter to begin with, and there was something of a sneak attack in this punch. Striking without warning at an unready foe, he expected to blacken the boy’s eyes and split his nose and so vent some of his pent-up rage. But Guo Jing’s skill was now a very different thing from when they had traded blows in the Liu Family Ancestral Hall at Baoying. Seeing the punch arrive, Guo Jing shifted his body slightly and avoided it. Then his left hand launched Gradual Progress Upon the Land, and his right hand Proud Dragon Repents,⁹ each executing a superb technique from the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing.¹⁰ The subtlety of this palm technique was unmatched in the world. One palm was hard enough to resist, let alone two delivered simultaneously by the miracle of Zhou Botong’s Ambidextrous Self-Combat,¹¹ one person becoming two, attacking in coordination. Even with Huang Yaoshi and Ouyang Feng’s breadth of experience and depth of knowledge, they had never seen such a thing, and both could not help but start.

Ouyang Ke felt the left palm pressing toward his right flank and knew at once this was among the deadly techniques of the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing, to be avoided, not resisted. He dodged hastily to the left, straight into Guo Jing’s Proud Dragon Repents. It landed full on the left of his chest with a thud, there was a crack, and one of his ribs snapped. As the force of the palm reached his chest, he knew that if he met force with force, his heart and lungs might well be shattered, and he hurriedly let it carry him into a backward leap. The force of Guo Jing’s right palm and his own backward spring sent him flying up onto the roof of the bamboo pavilion, where he staggered several steps before he came down. Mortified, his chest in agony, he walked slowly back.

That blow astonished more than the Eastern Heretic and the Western Venom. Ouyang Ke was shocked and furious, and Huang Rong clapped her hands in delight, but even Guo Jing himself was taken utterly by surprise. He did not realise his martial arts had greatly advanced, but supposed Ouyang Ke had momentarily lapsed in attention, allowing him to catch the man off guard. Fearing a deadly counterattack, he stepped back two paces and gathered his spirit to await the enemy.

Ouyang Feng glared at him sidelong and called out loudly, “Old Beggar Hong, my congratulations on so fine a disciple.”

By now Huang Rong had removed the silk from her ears. When she heard Ouyang Feng’s shout, she knew Hong Qigong had come, a saviour sent down from heaven indeed, and she dashed out of the bamboo grove, calling loudly, “Shifu, Shifu.”

Huang Yaoshi was taken aback, and thought, Why is Rong-er calling the old beggar shifu? Then Hong Qigong came smiling into the bamboo grove, a great red gourd on his back, a bamboo staff in his right hand and Huang Rong’s hand in his left. Huang Yaoshi and Hong Qigong exchanged greetings and a few pleasantries, and then he asked his daughter, “Rong-er, what was that you called Qigong?”

Huang Rong said, “I’ve taken Qigong, the dear old man, as my shifu, and there was no time to ask your permission first. You’ve always praised Qigong for his great skill and his humanity and justice, and I’ve heard it so often I was sure you would approve. Father, your daughter was wrong not to consult you first. Please do not be offended!”

Huang Yaoshi was delighted. He said to Hong Qigong, “Seventh Brother, you have shown her great favour, and I am more grateful than I can say. Only, the girl is wild and wilful, and I hope you will keep her well in hand.” With that he bowed deeply.

Hong Qigong was pleased too, to hear from Huang Rong that her father always spoke well of him. He laughed. “Brother Yao, the martial learning you created yourself is vast and deep. This little minx couldn’t master it in a lifetime, so what need has she of my meddling? To tell the truth, I took her as a disciple with the sole aim of eating free meals, tricking her into cooking good dishes for me. There’s no need to thank me.” The two men looked at each other and roared with laughter.

Huang Rong pointed at Ouyang Ke. “Father, this wicked man bullied me. If Qigong hadn’t stepped in to save me out of regard for you, you would never have seen your Rong-er again.”

Huang Yaoshi said sharply, “Nonsense! Why would he bully you for no reason?”

Huang Rong said, “Father, if you don’t believe me, I’ll ask him myself.” She turned to Ouyang Ke. “First swear an oath. If there is a single lie in your answers to my father’s questions, may the strange snakes your uncle keeps bite you to death one day.”

The moment she spoke, Ouyang Feng and Ouyang Ke both changed colour.

Footnotes

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

2. 全真教 — Quánzhēn Jiào. Literally complete truth order. Daoist martial-monastic order founded by Wang Chongyang, one of the most influential orthodox factions. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

4. 玉箫 — yù xiāo. Huang Yaoshi’s jade xiao, a vertical flute he plays and fights with. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 空明拳 — Kōngmíng Quán. The softest fist art in the world, which Zhou Botong drew from the Daodejing. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 刚不可久，柔不可守 — gāng bù kě jiǔ, róu bù kě shǒu. Literally hardness cannot endure, softness cannot hold. A line of the Void Clarity Fist verses. ↩

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

8. 斤 — jīn. A unit of weight, about 590 grams in the Song dynasty. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 亢龙有悔 — Kàng Lóng Yǒu Huǐ. Literally the proud dragon has cause to repent. A move of the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing, named from a line of the Book of Changes. ↩

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

11. 双手互搏 — Shuāngshǒu Hùbó. Fighting technique where both hands operate independently, allowing each hand to perform different techniques simultaneously. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩