The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 18 – Part 6

Huang Yaoshi smiled and said, “With Seventh Brother and Brother Feng here, I shall only make a fool of myself before the experts.” He raised the jade flute to his lips and began to play, the notes low and mournful. This time he infused not a trace of neili¹ into the music, so that it sounded no different from an ordinary man playing the flute.

Ouyang Ke listened to the pitch and parsed the mode, matching each note as it came, tapping out the rhythm without the slightest error. Guo Jing had no idea what to do. He held the bamboo stick raised in the air and never once dared to bring it down. Huang Yaoshi played for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, and Guo Jing did not strike a single beat.

Uncle and nephew were both delighted with themselves. Each thought this round was as good as won, and since the third round would be a test of letters as well, victory was all but certain.

Huang Rong was beside herself with anxiety. She tapped her right-hand fingers lightly against her left wrist, beat by beat, hoping Guo Jing would follow her example and strike in time. But he was looking up at the sky, lost in a daze, and did not see her gestures at all.

Huang Yaoshi played on for another while. Then suddenly Guo Jing raised his hand and brought the bamboo stick down. It made a hollow knock and landed exactly between two beats. Ouyang Ke burst out laughing, thinking to himself, This fool bungles the moment he moves. Guo Jing struck again, once more between the beats. He hit four times in succession, and every one was wrong.

Huang Rong shook her head, thinking, My silly gege knows nothing of music at all. Father should never have tested him this way. Resentful, she was trying to think of some way to disrupt the proceedings and turn the contest into a draw, when she glanced at her father and saw surprise on his face.

Guo Jing struck several more times in rapid succession. The flute music faltered for the briefest instant before returning to its melody. Guo Jing’s bamboo stick kept striking, every blow landing just before or just after the beat, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, now rushing ahead, now falling behind. Several times the flute’s melody nearly collapsed into chaos under his assault. At this, not only did Huang Yaoshi grow alert, but Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng too were both astonished.

Listening a little earlier to the three masters’ battle of flute, zither and whistle, Guo Jing had grasped the ways of attack and defence in music. He knew nothing whatever of rhythm and beat, and when he heard Huang Yaoshi’s flute, he supposed the test was how to resist it, so he beat his bamboo stick to throw the tune off. The stick knocked hollowly on the dry bamboo, and for all the perfection of Huang Yaoshi’s self-mastery, several times his flute very nearly followed that harsh, jarring, clattering beat. Huang Yaoshi’s spirits rose, and he thought, So the boy has this in him after all. The tune changed, and slowly grew soft and seductive beyond words.

Ouyang Ke had listened for only a short while before he found his hand raising the bamboo stick of its own accord, his body swaying in dance. Ouyang Feng sighed and darted forward to seize the pulse-gate at his nephew’s wrist. He took out a silk handkerchief and stuffed Ouyang Ke’s ears with it, and only when the young man’s mind had steadied did he release him.

Huang Rong had grown up hearing her father play the Azure Sea Surging Melody,² and he had once explained its every variation to her in detail. Father and daughter shared a single mind, so the music could not harm her. But she knew her father’s flute carried enormous power of enchantment, and she feared Guo Jing could not withstand it. The piece imitated the boundless ocean, not a ripple for ten thousand li, then a distant tide rolling slowly in, faster as it came nearer, until great waves surged and white breakers rose like mountains. Fish leapt and whales surfaced in the tide, the wind howled and gulls flew over the sea, and then came water sprites and sea monsters, a host of demons sporting with the tide, now an iceberg drifting near, now a hot sea boiling, every change and wonder imaginable. In the tide, sprites male and female floated and played in the water, embracing and coupling, which is what is meant by “fish and dragons running riot” and “fish swimming in spring water”, for water is soft and sensuous by nature, more so even than land. And when the tide ebbed, the sea lay smooth as a mirror, while beneath it dark currents raced, danger lurking in the silence that drew the listener unawares into its ambush, the hardest of all to guard against.

Guo Jing sat cross-legged on the ground. On one hand he circulated the Quanzhen Order’s neigong,³ shutting out distraction and steadying his spirit to resist the melody’s allure. On the other he struck the bamboo stick to disrupt the flute. When Huang Yaoshi, Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng had matched their artistry in music, each had attacked and defended in turn. Each needed to hold his own core whole and his purpose still, yet continually seized every opening to assault the others’ minds. Guo Jing’s neili was far below that of the three masters, so he only defended and never attacked, guarding himself closely and nothing more. He had no power to strike back, yet Huang Yaoshi shifted the melody through several changes and still could not subdue him.

He played on for another long while. The flute grew ever fainter, until it was nearly inaudible. Guo Jing stopped his stick and listened hard. But this was precisely where Huang Yaoshi’s art lay: the lighter the sound, the greater its power of enticement. As Guo Jing concentrated on listening, the rhythm in his heart gradually fell in step with the flute. Had it been anyone else, they would by now have passed beyond rescue, unable ever to break free. But Guo Jing had trained in Ambidextrous Self-Combat⁴ and could employ his mind in two purposes at once. He recognised the danger, and by sheer force of will split his consciousness apart. His left hand pulled off the shoe on his left foot and began knocking thud, thud, thud against the hollow bamboo.

Huang Yaoshi was startled, and thought, The boy has some unusual art in him. I mustn’t underestimate him. His feet traced the positions of the Eight Trigrams as he walked and played. Guo Jing’s two hands struck the beats apart, every one of them in deliberate defiance of the flute’s rhythm. With both hands striking separately, it was as though two men were joining forces to resist Huang Yaoshi. Knock, knock, knock, thud, thud, thud, knock, knock, knock, thud, thud, thud, and at once his strength was doubled.

Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng each concentrated silently, holding their own core still. With neili like theirs, and defending without attacking, they coped with the flute easily enough, yet neither dared relax for a moment. If they showed any sign of exerting themselves against it, they would lose face before each other and before Huang Yaoshi.

The flute rose and fell, growing ever stranger in its transformations. Guo Jing held out for a while longer before he heard a chill emanating from within the melody. In an instant it was as though ice wrapped about him, and he could not help but tremble. The end-blown flute is prized for its soft, lilting tone, but now its music was harsh, sheer and deathly cold. Guo Jing felt the cold creeping into his bones and knew he was in trouble. He hurriedly turned part of his mind to the blazing sun overhead, to forging iron in the height of summer, to gripping great lumps of glowing charcoal, to stepping into a furnace, every scene of scorching heat he could think of. Sure enough, the cold relented.

Huang Yaoshi saw that the left half of Guo Jing’s body was rigid with cold while the right half streamed with sweat, and could not help but marvel inwardly. He changed the tune at once, as if harsh winter had just gone and high summer had come in an instant. Guo Jing had just begun to divert his mind against the new assault when his hand’s rhythm fell back into step with the flute. Huang Yaoshi thought, If he tries to hold out by force, he can last a little longer, but with all this swinging from cold to heat, he’s bound to fall gravely ill afterwards. A single trailing note drifted into the grove, and then the melody ended and the sound ceased.

Guo Jing exhaled a long breath and rose to his feet. He staggered and nearly sat down again. After he regulated his breathing and composed himself, he recognised that Huang Yaoshi had been deliberately lenient. He stepped forward to thank him, bowed and said, “Thank you, Island Master Huang, for your kind consideration. I am deeply grateful for your great generosity.”

Huang Rong saw that his left hand was still clutching a shoe and could not help laughing. “Jing gege,” she called, “put your shoe on.”

“Yes!” said Guo Jing, and only then put it on.

Huang Yaoshi suddenly thought, This boy is so young, yet his martial arts are so pure. Could it be that he plays the fool but is in truth supremely clever? If that is so, what harm in giving him my daughter? He smiled and said, “You did very well. Do you still mean to call me Island Master Huang?” The meaning was plain: of the three tests, he had already won two. Guo Jing might now call him “Honoured Father-in-law”.

But Guo Jing did not understand the drift of these words. “I… I…” he stammered, unable to continue. He looked at Huang Rong, his eyes begging for help.

Huang Rong’s heart glowed with secret joy. Her right thumb bent again and again, a sign that he should kowtow, and Guo Jing understood it. He dropped to the ground at once and kowtowed four times to Huang Yaoshi, saying nothing the while.

Huang Yaoshi laughed. “What are you kowtowing to me for?”

“Rong-er told me to,” said Guo Jing.

Huang Yaoshi sighed to himself, and thought, A silly boy is a silly boy after all. He reached over, pulled the silk from Ouyang Ke’s ears and said, “In neigong, my worthy nephew Guo is the stronger, but what I was testing just now was music, and there my worthy nephew Ouyang is far the better… Let us say this, then. This round is a draw. I shall set one more question, and let my two worthy nephews settle it.”

Ouyang Feng could see that his nephew had already lost. Knowing Huang Yaoshi meant to show favour, he said hastily, “Yes, yes. Another contest.”

Hong Qigong said nothing, seething, and thought, She’s your daughter, and if you want to give her to that dandy, no one else can stop you. This old beggar would gladly have a fight with you, but two fists are no match for four hands. I’ll go and ask Emperor Duan⁵ to lend me a hand, and then we’ll have this out properly.

Huang Yaoshi took from his robe a booklet of white paper, its cover old and worn. “My wife and I had only this one daughter. Alas, my wife died in childbirth. Now that Brother Feng and Seventh Brother have honoured me by seeking her hand, if my wife were still alive she would surely be overjoyed…”

Huang Rong’s eyes were already red by the time her father reached this point.

Huang Yaoshi went on, “This booklet was written in my wife’s own hand. It was the labour of her heart. I lost it and recovered it but recently. It is a precious thing of the Huang house, and I hold it very dear. Now I ask my two worthy nephews to read it through together, then recite it from memory. Whoever recites the most, with the fewest errors, shall have my daughter.” He paused, and seeing Hong Qigong smiling coldly at his side, added, “By rights, my worthy nephew Guo is already a round ahead. But this book has had a great bearing on my whole life, and my wife died because of it. Now I silently pray to her spirit in heaven to choose her son-in-law herself, and to watch over whichever of my worthy nephews is to win.”

Hong Qigong could contain himself no longer. He barked, “Old Heretic Huang,⁶ who listens to your pack of nonsense? You know full well my disciple is a simpleton who knows nothing of poetry and books, yet you set him to recite a book, and drag in your dead wife to frighten us besides. Have you no shame!” With a sweep of his broad sleeve he turned and strode away.

Huang Yaoshi gave a cold laugh. “Seventh Brother, if you mean to throw your weight about on Peach Blossom Island, you’ll need a few more years of training first.”

Hong Qigong stopped and turned, his brows rising. “What, then? You mean to fight? You mean to keep me here?”

Huang Yaoshi said, “You know nothing of the arts of the Strange Gates and Five Elements. Without my permission, you can forget about getting off this island.”

Hong Qigong snapped, “I’ll burn every stinking flower and stinking tree you’ve got.”

Huang Yaoshi smiled coldly. “If you have the skill, go ahead and try.”

Guo Jing saw that the two were on the verge of fighting. He knew the layouts of Peach Blossom Island were unfathomably intricate, and feared his shifu⁷ too might become trapped. He stepped forward hastily and said, “Island Master Huang, Shifu, I’ll compete with Big Brother Ouyang at reciting the book. I’m slow-witted and will most likely lose, but that can’t be helped.” He thought, If Shifu can get away safely, Rong-er and I will leap into the sea together and swim until we are spent, and die in the waves.

Hong Qigong said, “Fine! If you insist on making a fool of yourself, go ahead and embarrass us all. Go on, then, go on!” Why compete, he thought, in something you are sure to lose? He had meant to bring things to a head with Huang Yaoshi, so that in the confusion shifu and disciples could fight their way out, all three of them, seize a boat at the shore and get off the island. But this stupid disciple could not adapt to circumstances, and there was truly nothing to be done.

Huang Yaoshi said to his daughter, “You sit there nicely and don’t try any tricks.”

Huang Rong said nothing. She expected Guo Jing to lose this round for certain. Her father had said it was her late mother who would choose the son-in-law, so whatever Guo Jing had won in the first two rounds no longer counted. And even if all three were tallied, the second round Guo Jing had clearly won but been ruled a draw. If the other two were split one each, Father would only set yet another question, and so on until Ouyang Ke won. She turned her mind to plotting an escape from Peach Blossom Island with Guo Jing.

Huang Yaoshi had Ouyang Ke and Guo Jing sit side by side on a rock, then held the booklet before their eyes. It was bound of plain white paper, the corners all crumpled and creased, clearly weathered by long years of wind and rain. The white cover had yellowed, bearing many fingerprints and blotches of water, whether tears or tea, no one could say. Several prints seemed to have been left in blood, and though the marks had darkened to purple-black, they still struck dread into the heart.

Ouyang Ke saw six characters on the cover written in seal script: Lower Volume of the Nine Yin Manual.⁸ At once he was overjoyed, and thought, The Nine Yin Manual is the supreme martial arts treatise in the world. My father-in-law wishes to show me favour and let me read this marvellous book.

Guo Jing saw the same six seal-script characters and could not read a single one. He thought, He’s making it hard for me on purpose. How am I supposed to read these squiggly tadpole characters? I’ll just concede.

Huang Yaoshi opened the first page. The paper was torn and crumpled, but someone had mended it with new paper pasted over the damage. The text within was written in regular script, the handwriting delicate and graceful, plainly a woman’s hand.

Guo Jing glanced at the first line, and his heart gave a leap. The first line read, “The Way of Heaven takes from what is in excess and gives to what is deficient. Therefore the void overcomes the solid, and deficiency overcomes excess.” It was exactly the passage Zhou Botong had taught him to memorise. He read on, and every line was one he knew so well it ran off his tongue unbidden.

Huang Yaoshi waited a time, calculating that the two should have finished reading, and turned the page. On the second leaf Guo Jing found the line “That the weak overcomes the strong and the soft overcomes the hard, all the world knows, yet none can practise”, which Zhou Botong had taught him, and another, “The softest thing in the world gallops over the hardest thing in the world.” He could not read the character for “gallops”, but when he fitted in the line Zhou Botong had made him learn by heart, it matched the words he could read after it, “the hardest thing in the world”, perfectly.

Footnotes

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

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

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

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

5. 段皇爷 — Duàn Huángyé. Literally Imperial Lord Duan. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 黄老邪 — Huáng Lǎoxié. Literally old heretic Huang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

8. 九阴真经下卷 — Jiǔyīn Zhēnjīng Xiàjuàn. The second of the manual’s two volumes. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩