The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 2 – Part 7

How was Jiaomu to know that the companion his visitor had brought along was actually a woman? Since he carried a letter from his shixiong, Jiaomu took them in. Yet who could have guessed that Qiu Chuji, having traced their whereabouts, would come pursuing them to Fahua Monastery? Peering into the back garden from outside the temple wall, Qiu Chuji spotted Duan Tiande dragging Li Ping along while she cursed him and struggled. Recognising her as Guo Xiaotian’s widow, he leapt into the garden to rescue her, only to find that Duan Tiande had already hauled her down into the cellar. Assuming Bao Xiruo must also be hidden within the temple, Qiu Chuji searched everywhere and found nothing. He demanded that Jiaomu hand the people over. He had seen it with his own eyes, and no matter how Jiaomu explained, he would not be convinced. The more they spoke, the more entrenched they became. When Qiu Chuji gave a display of his skill, Jiaomu knew he was no match for him. Since he was on good terms with the Seven Eccentrics of Jiangnan, he invited Qiu Chuji to meet them at the Drunken Immortal Wineshop. The great bronze vat Qiu Chuji carried had been taken from Fahua Monastery. And when he ran into the Jin soldiers at the top of the Drunken Immortal Wineshop, Qiu Chuji’s misunderstanding grew deeper still.

Of the truth of the matter, Jiaomu knew precious little. After leaving the wineshop with the Seven Eccentrics, he returned to Fahua Monastery and told them how his shixiong, Chan Master Kumu, had sent two people to him. He added, “I have long heard that the Seven Zis of Quanzhen are formidable in martial arts, having received the true transmission of Chongyang the Perfected One himself. Among them the Changchunzi stands out above the rest, and indeed he lives up to his reputation. The man is reckless, to be sure, but he does not seem the sort to make trouble without cause. There is no grudge or enmity between him and this old monk, so there must be some grave misunderstanding at the bottom of it.”

Nan Xiren said, “We had best bring out the two men your shixiong recommended and question them thoroughly.”

Jiaomu said, “Quite so. I have not even properly interrogated them myself.” He was about to send someone to fetch Duan Tiande when Ke Zhen’e spoke. “That Qiu Chuji has a violent temper. He came on like a storm from the first, as though we men of the Jiangnan wulin were nothing in his eyes. His Quanzhen Order may lord it in the north, but it shall not bully its way through the south as well. That will not do. If this misunderstanding can’t be cleared up, we shall have to settle it by force of arms. But if we fight him one on one, none of us can withstand him. A friend would not come like this, and one who comes like this is no friend…”

Zhu Cong said, “Then we all rush him at once!”

Han Baoju said, “Eight against one? That would hardly make us brave men.”

Quan Jinfa said, “We have no intention of taking his life. We only want to force him to listen calmly while Great Master Jiaomu sets the matter straight.”

Han Xiaoying said, “If word gets out in the jianghu¹ that Great Master Jiaomu and the Seven Eccentrics of Jiangnan are ganging up on one man, would that not ruin our reputations?”

The eight of them were still debating when a tremendous crash rang out from the main hall, as though two giant bells had been smashed together. The sound set their ears ringing for a long moment. Ke Zhen’e leapt to his feet and cried, “He’s here!”

The eight of them rushed to the main hall. Another crash rang out, accompanied by the ring of shattering metal. They saw Qiu Chuji holding up the bronze vat and battering it against the iron bell suspended in the hall. After several strikes, the bronze vat had already begun to crack. The Daoist’s beard bristled, his eyes round with uncontainable fury. The Seven Eccentrics did not know that Qiu Chuji was not by nature so unreasonable. It was only that after days of searching for Duan Tiande in vain, his anger had grown daily, compounded by the hatred he bore the Jin soldiers. The seven eccentrics, however, believed him to be a bully relying on strength to oppress the weak, and they were resolved to fight him to the finish. The greater the fame of the Seven Zis of Quanzhen, the less the seven eccentrics were willing to yield. Had Qiu Chuji been some unknown nobody, the matter might have been easier to explain.

Han Baoju shouted, “Seventh Sister, you and I shall go first.” He was Han Xiaoying’s cousin, and of all of them the most hot-tempered. With a swish, the Golden Dragon Whip² at his waist was in his hand, and with a stroke of Wind Sweeping Cloud he lashed it swiftly at the wrist of the right hand in which Qiu Chuji held the vat. Han Xiaoying drew her long jian and thrust straight at Qiu Chuji’s back.

Qiu Chuji, attacked from both front and rear, swung his right hand back. With a clang, the Golden Dragon Whip struck the bronze vat, while at the same time he shifted his body slightly and dodged the jian aimed at his back.

In ancient times the states of Wu and Yue had been bitter enemies. King Goujian of Yue, enduring hardship and tasting gall, plotted against the state of Wu. Under the great general Wu Zixu and the military adviser Sun Wu, the King of Wu had drilled troops of extraordinary quality and led them with such skill that the forces of Yue could not prevail. Then one day a beautiful young maiden appeared in Yue, whose swordsmanship was exquisite. The Yue minister Fan Li engaged her to instruct the Yue soldiers in the jian, and thus in the end Yue destroyed Wu. Jiaxing had been the land where Wu and Yue clashed, and the Yue Maiden Swordplay³ had been passed down there ever since. The jian techniques the Yue Maiden taught the soldiers of old were devised for victory on the battlefield, and were well suited to cutting down generals and stabbing horses, but when matched against the renowned martial artists of the jianghu, they lacked the nimble agility such encounters demanded. Towards the end of the Tang Dynasty, a master swordsman arose in Jiaxing who, building on the principles of the ancient art, added new inventions of his own, so that intricate variations lay hidden within its keen attack. Han Xiaoying had learned this routine from her shifu, and though her mastery was far from complete, the moves themselves were already remarkable. Her sobriquet, the Yue Maiden Swordswoman, came from the name of the jian technique itself.

After a few exchanges, Qiu Chuji perceived the subtlety of her swordsmanship and matched speed with speed. Her blade moved fast, but Qiu Chuji’s responses were faster still. In moments, Han Xiaoying found herself pressed by a dangerous move and forced back against a Buddha statue.

The Southern Woodcutter Nan Xiren and the Laughing Buddha Zhang Asheng now joined the fray, one wielding a solid steel carrying pole, the other thrusting forward with a butcher’s knife. In the thick of combat, Qiu Chuji suddenly shot out his left palm, cleaving towards Zhang Asheng’s face. Zhang Asheng leaned back to dodge, not realising that the strike was a feint. Qiu Chuji’s right foot flew out instead. Zhang Asheng felt a sharp pain in his wrist, and his knife went spinning from his grasp. In unarmed combat his skill far surpassed his weapon work, so even with his knife gone he showed no concern. He dropped his weight a little on his left leg, feinted with his right palm, and with a whoosh, drove his left fist out in a fierce and rapid blow.

“Good!” cried Qiu Chuji. He swayed aside to avoid it, calling out, “A pity! A pity!”

Zhang Asheng demanded, “What is there to pity?”

Qiu Chuji said, “It’s a pity that a man with such fine skill as yours should sink so low of his own accord, keeping company with an evil monk and running as a lackey for the Jin soldiers.”

Zhang Asheng flew into a rage and roared, “You thieving Daoist, you won’t listen to reason, and it’s you who are the Jin soldiers’ lackey!” He punched out three blows in rapid succession: hoo, hoo, hoo.

Qiu Chuji drew back, tilting the bronze vat sideways. With two clangs, Zhang Asheng’s next two punches struck the vat instead.

Seeing that their four against one still left them at a disadvantage, Zhu Cong beckoned to Quan Jinfa, and the two attacked from either flank. Quan Jinfa wielded a great iron steelyard. The shaft was used in the manner of a spear or staff, the hook could fly out to catch an opponent like a grappling claw, and the weight on its chain served as a chain hammer. One weapon served three purposes. Zhu Cong specialised in acupoint-seizing techniques, and the ribs of his oil-paper fan were forged of steel. He used the fan as an acupoint prod, searching for openings in the tangle of flying weapons to strike at Qiu Chuji’s acupoints.

But Qiu Chuji swung the bronze vat round and about, turning it into a great shield before him. How could their weapons penetrate that defence? His left hand seized and struck, exploiting every gap to counter-attack. The heavy bronze vat might have hampered his footwork, yet against so many opponents it served to block every incoming blow, its advantages far outweighing its drawbacks.

Seeing the fight growing ever more fierce, Jiaomu feared that if it went on, both sides would suffer grave injuries. He cried out, “Stop, all of you, and hear what I have to say.” But the fighters’ blood was up. How could they be brought to heel?

Qiu Chuji shouted, “You low creature, who’s going to listen to your lies? Watch this!” Suddenly his left hand unleashed a flurry of fists and palm strikes, their changes manifold, pressing home lethal blows. In the thick of combat, he launched a sudden palm strike aimed at Zhang Asheng’s shoulder. The blow, called Mountain Flying from Beyond the Sky, came at a strange angle and with extraordinary speed, and it was plain that Zhang Asheng could not avoid it.

Jiaomu cried, “Daoist Elder, do not press the killing blow!”

But Qiu Chuji, locked in combat with six opponents, each of them a skilled fighter, was already feeling the strain. If the fight dragged on, he feared he would not be able to hold out. Moreover, two more of their number still watched from the sidelines like tigers, ready to rush in at any moment. By then, he feared he would meet his end in this ancient Jiangnan temple. Now that he had found an opening in his enemy’s defence, how could he show mercy? He poured his full strength into that palm strike.

Zhang Asheng had trained his body in the Iron Cloth Shirt,⁴ a hard external discipline. In the slaughterhouse he would often strip bare and charge at the great bulls, wrestling them for sport. His whole body had grown coarse and hard, as though wrapped in a layer of ox-hide. He knew the strike descending upon him was no trifling matter, but since he could neither dodge nor block, he circulated his neili⁵ to his shoulder and roared, “Good!” He met the blow head-on. There came a crack, and his upper arm was snapped clean by a strike infused with the supreme neigong of the Quanzhen Order.

Zhu Cong, startled, thrust his iron-ribbed fan through the press of weapons and drove it straight at Qiu Chuji’s Xuanji acupoint, turning attack into defence lest the enemy press his advantage against their wounded fifth brother.

Qiu Chuji, his spirits lifted by having struck one down, renewed his assault. Amid the tangle of weapons his single hand struck again and again like an iron claw. With a cry of “Aiyo” from Quan Jinfa, the steelyard weight was already seized in Qiu Chuji’s grip. Qiu Chuji wrenched it back with sudden force. Quan Jinfa could not match his strength and was pulled two feet closer. Qiu Chuji swung the bronze vat to shield himself from Nan Xiren and Zhu Cong, then drove his left palm down with full force towards the crown of Quan Jinfa’s head.

Han Baoju and Han Xiaoying, horrified, leapt up together. Their two weapons came crashing down towards Qiu Chuji’s skull. Qiu Chuji was forced to dodge aside. Quan Jinfa seized the chance to scramble free. He had escaped death by a hair’s breadth, drenched in cold sweat, but a kick to the small of his back had left him in agonising pain. He rolled on the ground, unable to rise.

Jiaomu had not wished to involve himself, hoping only to clear up the misunderstanding with Qiu Chuji. But now he saw the friends he had invited lying wounded one after another. As the principal party, he could not stand aside. He rolled back his sleeves, thrust out a short length of charred black wood and jabbed it at an acupoint under Qiu Chuji’s arm. Qiu Chuji thought, So this monk is also skilled in acupoint-seizing. His technique is no ordinary thing. He braced himself to face him.

Hearing that his fifth and sixth brothers were gravely wounded, Ke Zhen’e gripped his iron staff and prepared to join the fight. Quan Jinfa called out, “Big Brother, throw the iron caltrops! Strike the Jin position, then the Xiao Guo!” Before his voice had faded, two hidden weapons flew out one after the other, aimed at Qiu Chuji’s brow and right hip.

Qiu Chuji was startled. He thought, A blind man who can throw hidden weapons, and place them so precisely. That is a thing I have hardly ever seen or heard of. Even with someone calling out the positions of Fuxi’s sixty-four hexagrams for him, it is no easy feat. He tilted the bronze vat sideways. With two clangs, both iron caltrops fell inside. These iron caltrops were Ke Zhen’e’s unique hidden weapon, four-sided like water caltrops, but with sharp points far unlike the hornless caltrops of his native South Lake. He had perfected this skill before losing his sight: the projectiles were heavy and his aim unerring. When he caught the two caltrops, the vat actually shook. He thought, What strength this blind man has in his hands!

By now Han Baoju, Han Xiaoying, Zhu Cong, and Nan Xiren had all drawn aside. Quan Jinfa kept calling out, “Strike Zhong Fu, strike the Li position!… Good, now the Daoist has stepped onto the Ming Yi…” He had drilled these positional calls with Ke Zhen’e over many long years, lending his sight as his sworn brother’s eyes. Of the other six, he alone could do it.

Ke Zhen’e launched his caltrops at the sound, as though he could see. In an instant he had hurled more than a dozen iron caltrops in rapid succession, forcing Qiu Chuji to retreat and parry without a moment to counter-attack. Yet he could not land a single hit.

Then an idea came to Ke Zhen’e. He thought, He can hear Sixth Brother calling, and he’s ready for it. No wonder I can’t hit him. By now Quan Jinfa’s voice was growing fainter, his cries interspersed with moans, suggesting his wounds were causing him great pain. Zhang Asheng, by contrast, had not uttered a single sound, and none could tell if he lived or died. Quan Jinfa gasped, “Strike… strike… him at… Tong Ren.” This time Ke Zhen’e did not obey. With a flick of both hands, he sent four iron caltrops flying at once, two aimed at the Jie and Sun positions to the right of Tong Ren, and two at the Feng and Li positions to its left.

Footnotes

1. 江湖 — jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. The world of martial artists, outside mainstream society. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 金龙鞭 — Jīnlóng Biān. Han Baoju’s whip. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 越女剑法 — Yuè Nǚ Jiànfǎ. Literally Yue maiden jian method, after the swordswoman of Yue in the Spring and Autumn Annals of Wu and Yue. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 铁布衫 — Tiěbùshān. External defensive martial art that hardens the body like iron cloth. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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