The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 3 – Part 3

By now Li Ping’s belly was growing bigger and bigger, and trudging along under her load left her so weary she could have died. But she was set on killing her enemy with her own hand, and all the way she did her utmost to keep the Jin soldiers from seeing through her. Luckily she had worked the fields since she was a girl and was used to hardship, and she was strong and sturdy besides. Ready to stake her life on it, she forced herself on. For dozens of days they marched through nothing but cold, barren desert.

Though it was only the tenth month, the north was bitterly cold, and that day snow came drifting down from the whole sky. Yellow sand stretched without limit, and there was nowhere to shelter from the wind and storm. Three hundred-odd men marched in single file across the vast, boundless plain. As they marched, faint shouting suddenly came from the north, and through the flying dust countless horsemen could be seen charging towards them.

While the column was still in a panic, the great mass of horsemen was upon them, and they turned out to be a routed army. The men wore fur coats, and there was no telling what tribe of the northern desert they were, but their ranks were in utter disorder. They were flinging away bows and spears and fleeing pell-mell, each trying to outrun the next, terror on every face. Some had lost their horses and ran on foot, only to be overrun by the riders behind them, and in a heartbeat they lay crushed beneath the hooves.

Seeing how great the routed host was, the Jin officers and soldiers scattered in every direction at once. Li Ping had been marching alongside Duan Tiande, but the routed soldiers surged forward like a tide, and in the chaos Duan Tiande vanished, none could say where. Li Ping dropped her load and fled desperately towards the thinnest part of the crowd. Luckily every man was concerned only with saving his own skin, and no one stopped to harm her.

She ran for a while until pain after pain gripped her belly and she could go no further. She fell down behind a sand dune, and with a great surge of agony in her belly she fainted away.

After a long while she came slowly back to consciousness. Through her stupor she heard a baby crying, on and on. She was still dazed, not knowing whether she had gone down to the underworld or was still among the living. But the crying grew louder and louder, and when she stirred, she felt something warm between her thighs. It was the middle of the night. The heavy snow had just stopped, and a bright moon had slipped out from among the clouds. All at once she understood, and burst out sobbing. The child in her womb had been born, there in the midst of her flight and misery.

She sat up quickly and took the baby in her arms. It was a boy, and she wept for joy. She bit through the cord with her teeth and held him inside her clothes against her skin. In the moonlight she saw his thick brows and big eyes, and heard how lustily he cried, and his face had something of her dead husband’s look. Giving birth in the snow, she should by rights have died, but the moment she saw her child, a strength came to her from she knew not where. She struggled to her feet and crept into a shallow hollow beside the dune, out of the wind and cold. She gazed at the infant, thought of her dead husband, and grief and joy mingled in her until she could not help but wail aloud.

She hid in the hollow all night. At noon the next day, hearing no sound anywhere, she plucked up her courage and went out. Dead men and dead horses lay everywhere, and daos and spears, bows and arrows were strewn all over the yellow sand and white snow. She looked all round her, and there was not a living soul in sight.

She found dry rations in the dead soldiers’ packs and ate them, and on one of the bodies she found a fire-steel and flint, so she cut a piece of horsemeat and roasted it over a fire. She stripped fur coats from the dead, wrapped the child in one and put another on herself. Luckily it was so cold that the bodies did not rot. Living on horsemeat, she held out on the battlefield for some ten days, feeding the baby at her breast, and the two of them actually survived.

As her strength slowly returned, she took the child in her arms and wandered eastward into the sun. The baby she held now was her own, and Duan Tiande, whom she hated to the bone, had vanished, who knew where. The grief and fury that had filled her heart turned at once to tenderness and love. The wind-blown sand of the great desert cut like a knife, and she asked only that it should not sting her baby’s face. For herself, she thought nothing of the hardship.

After several days’ walking, grass and trees became more plentiful. One evening she saw two horsemen galloping towards her. Seeing the state she was in, the riders reined in to question her. With words and gestures she told them of the routed soldiers and of bearing her child in the snow. The two men were Mongol herders. Though they could not understand her speech, the Mongols are by nature hospitable, pitying the poor and tender towards the fatherless. Seeing the mother and child in such a plight, they brought her to their yurt, fed her well, and let her sleep soundly.

The Mongols are a nomadic people. They drive their herds east and west in pursuit of water and grass, and have no settled home. They pitch tents of felt against the wind and snow, and these are called yurts.¹ When the herders moved on, they left behind four lambs for her.

Through toil and hardship Li Ping raised her baby and survived in the great desert. She built a hut of branches near water and pasture, kept livestock, and spun the wool and wove felt to trade with the herders for grain. It was the Mongol tradition to treat travellers and strangers kindly, and taking pity on her they often brought her sheep’s milk, cheese and mutton.

The years slipped by, and the child was six years old. Following her husband’s last wishes, Li Ping had named him Guo Jing.² The boy was slow to learn to speak and rather dull-witted, and he did not talk at all until he was four, but he was sturdily built, with strong bones and sinews, and he could already herd the cattle and sheep on the grassland. Mother and son had only each other. They worked hard and diligently, their herds slowly grew and they lived a little better. Both had learned Mongolian, but between themselves they still spoke the dialect of their home in Lin’an. Li Ping would watch her son’s simple, earnest face as he talked of “the lambs” and “the horses”, all in her own soft Lin’an country accent, and time and again her heart would ache as she thought, Your father was a brave man of Shandong. You ought to speak the Shandong tongue. It is only a pity I was with your father too short a time to learn the way he curled his tongue when he spoke, and so I cannot teach you.

In the tenth month of that year, as the days were growing colder, Guo Jing rode out on a pony with a sheepdog to herd the sheep. Around midday a black eagle suddenly came flying out of the sky and swooped on the flock, and a frightened lamb bolted away eastward. Guo Jing shouted and called, but the lamb fled without so much as a glance back.

He hurried after it on his pony and chased it for seven or eight li³ before he caught up with it. He was about to lead it back when suddenly, from ahead, came a faint, rumbling sound. Guo Jing was startled. His small mind could not tell what it was, and he thought it might be thunder. The thunder grew louder and louder, and presently he heard, mixed in with the thunder, the clamour of men shouting and horses neighing.

He had never heard such a sound before, and it frightened him. He led his pony and the lamb up a low earthen hill and crawled into a clump of bushes, and once he was well hidden he poked his head out again. In the distance dust blotted out the sky, and countless horsemen came galloping up. At the commanders’ orders they drew up in formation, a troop here and a troop there, more than could be counted. Some of the soldiers had white cloths wound round their heads, and some wore plumes of many colours. Guo Jing was not frightened any more. He only thought it a splendid sight.

After a while horns sounded far off to the left, and several lines of horsemen came charging in. The officer at their head was a tall, lean young man in a red cloak, his long dao raised high as he led the charge. The two sides closed and fell to slaughter. The attackers were fewer, and before long they could hold out no longer and fell back, but reinforcements came up behind them at once, and the battle cries of both sides shook the heavens. Gradually the attackers were giving way, their soldiers falling one after another.

Suddenly dozens of horns blew all together, drums beat a rapid roll, and the attacking soldiers cheered loudly, “Temüjin the Great Khan⁴ is coming, the Great Khan is here!” The soldiers of both sides went on fighting, but kept turning their heads to look east.

Guo Jing followed their gaze. Through the yellow dust that blotted the sky, a troop of horsemen came riding hard. Among them a long pole was held high, and from it hung several tufts of white hair.⁵ The cheering drew nearer and nearer, the attackers’ courage rose a hundredfold, and the ranks of the troops who had held the field broke into disorder. The pole moved straight towards the earthen hill. Guo Jing shrank deeper into the scrub, but his bright little eyes still peered out.

A tall, powerfully built man in middle age rode up the hill. He wore an iron helmet, a tuft of brown beard grew on his chin, and when his eyes moved they flashed with a piercing light. Guo Jing did not know, of course, that this was Temüjin, chief of the Mongol tribes, and even if he had known, he would not have understood what “Great Khan” meant. He only felt that the man had a commanding presence, and he was a little afraid of him.

Temüjin sat his horse and gazed down at the battle below. Beside him were a dozen or more mounted attendants. After a while, the young general in the red cloak galloped up the hill and called out, “Father, the enemy outnumbers us. Let us withdraw!”

Temüjin had by now taken the measure of both sides. He said in a low voice, “Take your men and fall back to the east!” His eyes never left the fighting below as he gave his orders. “Muqali,⁶ you and the Second Prince take your men and fall back to the west. Bo’orchu,⁷ you and Tchila’un⁸ fall back to the north. Hubilai,⁹ you and Subutai¹⁰ fall back to the south. When you see the great banner raised high here and the horns sound, turn back and attack as one.”

The generals answered with one voice, rode down the hill, and led their troops away. In moments the Mongol soldiers had scattered in every direction.

The enemy raised a great cheer. Seeing Temüjin’s white-tufted great banner still standing on the hill, they shouted on every side, “Take Temüjin alive, take Temüjin alive!” In dense masses they surged towards the earthen hill, each trying to be first, and paid no heed to the Mongol troops falling back all around. Ten thousand horses trampled the sand and raised the dust, and clouds of yellow haze billowed up all round the hill.

Temüjin stood on the top of the hill, unflinching. A dozen stalwart soldiers held up iron shields around him to fend off the arrows. His sworn brother Huduhu¹¹ and the fierce general Jelme¹² led three thousand picked troops in defence of the hill, shooting and hacking and holding their ground to the death.

Amid the flash of daos and the glint of spears, the battle cries shook the heavens. Guo Jing watched, thrilled and frightened at once.

The fierce fighting went on for more than half a shichen.¹³ Tens of thousands of the enemy charged in wave after wave. Of Temüjin’s three thousand picked troops more than four hundred had been killed or wounded, but they had killed or wounded over a thousand of the enemy. Temüjin looked out and saw enemy dead strewn across the plain and riderless horses running loose in every direction, yet the arrows the enemy shot still came with great force. The attack in the northeast corner was the fiercest, and the defenders there were gradually giving way.

Temüjin’s third son Ögedei¹⁴ was very anxious. “Father,” he asked, “may we raise the banner and sound the horns now?”

With eyes like a hawk’s, Temüjin watched the enemy below without blinking. He said in a low voice, “The enemy aren’t tired yet!”

Now the enemy massed heavy forces for a fierce assault on the northeast corner and set up three black banners there. Plainly three great generals were directing the attack. The Mongol soldiers were slowly driven back. Jelme ran up the hill and cried, “Great Khan, the lads can’t hold them!”

Temüjin said angrily, “Can’t hold them? And you call yourself a hero and a brave man?”

Jelme’s face changed. He snatched a great dao from a soldier’s hand and, roaring like a madman, charged into the enemy ranks and hacked a bloody path straight to the black banners. Seeing the fury of his onslaught, the enemy commander reined back out of his way. Jelme’s dao rose and fell, and he cut down the three burly banner-bearers one after another. The enemy were aghast at such ferocity. Jelme threw down his dao, gathered the three black banners in his arms, carried them back up the hill and planted them in the ground upside down. The Mongol troops cheered wildly, and the gap in the northeast was stopped.

The fighting went on for a long while. Then from the enemy host in the southwest a general in a black robe rode out ahead of the rest. His arrows never missed, and he shot down more than a dozen Mongol soldiers in quick succession. Two Mongol officers charged at him with their spears, but two arrows whistled out, and both of them fell from their horses.

Temüjin cried in admiration, “Fine shooting!”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the black-robed general had charged close to the hill. His bowstring twanged, and an arrow struck Temüjin full in the neck. Then came another, flying straight at Temüjin’s belly.

With an arrow in the left side of his neck, Temüjin saw the next one coming and jerked the reins. His horse reared up, and the arrow, shot with terrible force, struck the horse in the chest and sank in up to the feathers. The horse crashed to the ground. Seeing their commander hit and fallen, the Mongol troops were aghast. The enemy roared and surged forward like a tide.

Ögedei pulled the arrow from his father’s neck and tore a strip from the front of his robe to bind the wound. Temüjin barked, “Never mind me. Hold the pass.” Ögedei obeyed, turned, and shot down two enemy soldiers with arrows of his own.

Huduhu had led his men against the enemy on the west side until their arrows were spent and their spears broken, and he had to fall back. Jelme’s eyes were red. “Huduhu, running away like a rabbit?”

Huduhu laughed. “Who’s running? I’ve no arrows left.”

Temüjin, sitting on the ground, pulled a handful of arrows from his quiver and threw them over. Huduhu caught them, his bowstring twanged again and again, and a general beneath a black banner opposite fell from his horse, hit. Huduhu charged down the hill, seized the general’s fine horse and rode back up.

Temüjin cried in praise, “Good brother, you’re a marvel!”

Huduhu was drenched in blood. In a low voice he said, “May we raise the banner and sound the horns now?”

Temüjin pressed his hand to the wound in his neck, and the blood streamed out between his fingers. “The enemy aren’t tired yet. Hold on a little longer.”

Huduhu knelt and pleaded, “We’ll gladly die fighting for you. But your life is what matters, Great Khan.”

Temüjin pulled a horse over and heaved himself into the saddle. “Hold fast, all of you!” He swung his long dao and cut down three enemy soldiers who had charged up the hill. Seeing Temüjin suddenly back on horseback, the enemy lost heart, fell back down the hill, and the assault slackened.

Seeing the enemy’s onslaught flag a little, Temüjin cried, “Raise the banner, sound the horns!”

Amid the roaring of the Mongol soldiers, a guard stood up on his horse’s back and raised the white-tufted great banner high, and the horns blew their long moaning call. Battle cries shook the heavens on every side, and from far off line after line of Mongol troops came charging in like rolling thunder.

The enemy had the greater numbers, but they had all massed around the hill to attack it. Once their outer ranks broke, those in the middle pushed and jostled one another in hopeless confusion.

Seeing the tide turn, the black-robed general shouted orders to hold his men together, but their ranks were broken and they had no stomach left for fighting. In less than half a shichen the great army had been smashed apart, the larger bodies retreating and the smaller ones scattering, and in moments it had crumbled away entirely. The black-robed general fled into the wilds on a black horse.

Temüjin shouted, “Three jin¹⁵ of gold to the man who catches that villain.”

Dozens of brave Mongol warriors gave chase with a great shout. But the black-robed general’s arrows never missed, and every man who came near him fell from his horse. He shot down more than a dozen of them in one burst, and the rest dared not close in on him. He urged his horse on at a gallop, and actually got away.

Footnotes

1. 蒙古包 — Měnggǔ bāo. Literally Mongol bundle. A portable felt tent of the nomadic Mongol peoples. ↩

2. 郭靖 — Guō Jìng. His name meaning “to pacify”; paired with Yang Kang’s 康 it recalls the Jingkang Shame of 1127. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 里 — lǐ. A traditional unit of distance, about 500 metres or one-third of a mile. ↩

4. 大汗 — dàhán. Literally great khan. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 白毛大纛 — bái máo dàdào. Literally great white-hair standard. A banner of supreme command, hung with tufts of white horsehair. ↩

6. 木华黎 — Mùhuálí. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 博尔朮 — Bó’ěrshù. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 赤老温 — Chìlǎowēn. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 忽必来 — Hūbìlái. ↩

10. 速不台 — Sùbùtái. ↩

11. 忽都虎 — Hūdūhǔ. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 者勒米 — Zhělèmǐ. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

14. 窝阔台 — Wōkuòtái. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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