The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 36 – Part 5
Translation by Jenxi Seow
Huazheng froze. “I only fear that Father and Mother cannot bear to part with me.”
Guo Jing said, “It’s just me…”
Huazheng said, “Mm, I shall always do as you say. If you say we go south, then I’ll go with you. If Father and Mother won’t allow it, we’ll slip away in secret.”
Guo Jing could contain himself no longer. He leapt to his feet and cried, “It is Mother and I who are returning south.”
At these words, one standing, one sitting, they stared at each other, and suddenly both seemed carved from clay or hewn from wood. Huazheng’s face was blank with bewilderment. For a moment she did not understand what he meant.
Guo Jing said, “Little sister, I have wronged you! I cannot marry you.”
Huazheng said in distress, “What have I done wrong? Are you angry that I did not kill myself for you?”
Guo Jing cried, “No, no, it is not your fault. I do not know who is to blame. I have thought and thought, and it must be I who am at fault.” Then he told her the whole story, concealing nothing of the bond between Huang Rong and himself. When he came to how Huang Rong had been captured by Ouyang Feng, and how he had searched for her the better part of a year without finding her, Huazheng heard the passion in his voice and could not help but shed tears.
Guo Jing said, “Little sister, forget me. I must go and find her.”
Huazheng said, “After you have found her, will you still come and see me?”
Guo Jing said, “If she is safe and well, I shall certainly return north. If you still want me and do not despise me, then I shall marry you. I shall not go back on my word.”
Huazheng said slowly, “You need not say such things. You know I shall always want to marry you. Go and find her. Search for ten years, search for twenty. So long as I live, I shall always be here on the grasslands, waiting for you.”
Guo Jing’s heart was stirred. He said, “Yes. If it takes ten years, if it takes twenty, I must go and find her. And for ten years, for twenty, I shall remember every moment that you are waiting for me on these grasslands.”
Huazheng sprang up and threw herself into his arms, weeping aloud. Guo Jing held her gently, and his own eyes grew red.
The two leaned against each other and spoke no more. Both knew that things were as they were, and any further words would only bring sorrow.
After a long while, they saw four riders galloping urgently from the west. They swept past the pair and raced straight for the Golden Tent. One horse, within a few hundred feet of the tent, suddenly collapsed to the ground and could rise no more. It had been ridden to exhaustion and died of spent strength. Its rider rolled clear and leapt to his feet without so much as a glance at the dead beast. He ran on towards the Golden Tent without pause.
Within moments, ten horn-blowers ran out of the Golden Tent, took their stations to the east, south, west and north, and blew a long, wailing call.
Guo Jing knew this was Genghis Khan’s most urgent summons for his generals. Even a prince or favoured commander, if he had not arrived by the time the Great Khan had bent all ten fingers, would be beheaded at once without mercy. He cried, “The Great Khan is mustering his generals!” Without another word to Huazheng, he sprinted towards the Golden Tent. From every direction came the thunder of hooves.
When Guo Jing reached the tent, Genghis Khan had bent only three fingers. By the time he bent his eighth, all the princes and generals had arrived. Then he heard Genghis Khan shout, “Has that dog of a king, Muhammad, such swift princes as these? Such valiant generals?”
The princes and generals cried as one, “The dog-king has none.”
Genghis Khan beat his chest and cried, “Look, these are the guards of the envoy I sent to Khwarezm.1 What has that dog-king Muhammad done to my faithful servants?”
The generals followed the Great Khan’s pointing finger and saw several Mongols, their faces swollen and bruised, their beards burned clean away. A beard was a Mongol warrior’s pride. Merely to have it touched by another was a grievous insult, so how much worse to have it burned off altogether? At the sight, the generals roared with fury.
Genghis Khan cried, “Khwarezm may be vast and populous. Do we fear them? It was only because our hearts were set on attacking the Jin dogs that we bore with him in every way. Jochi, my son, tell them all how that dog-king Muhammad has treated us.”
Jochi stepped forward and cried aloud, “That year, Father Khan commanded me to campaign against the cursed Merkit tribe.2 We prevailed and were returning in triumph. That dog-king Muhammad sent a great army to attack the Merkits as well. When our forces met, I sent an envoy to offer friendship, saying Father Khan wished to be at peace with Khwarezm. But that red-bearded dog-king replied, ‘Though Genghis Khan has commanded you not to strike me, God commands me to strike you.’ A fierce battle was joined. We won the field, but the enemy outnumbered us ten to one, and we withdrew under cover of night.”
Boroqul said, “Even so, the Great Khan still showed that dog-king every courtesy. We sent a merchant caravan, and the dog-king seized their goods and killed the merchants. This time we sent an envoy to make peace, but that dog-king, egged on by the Jin dog-prince Wanyan Honglie,3 put the Great Khan’s loyal and valiant envoy to death. Half the envoy’s guard was killed, and the other half had their beards burned off and were sent back.”
When Guo Jing heard the name Wanyan Honglie, his heart gave a lurch. He asked, “Is Wanyan Honglie in Khwarezm too?”
One of the guards whose beard had been burned said, “I recognised him. He sat beside the dog-king, whispering in his ear without ceasing.”
Genghis Khan cried, “The Jin dogs have joined with Khwarezm to attack us from both sides. Are we afraid?”
The generals cried as one, “Our Great Khan has no equal under heaven. Lead us against Khwarezm, to break their cities, burn their houses, kill all their men and carry off their women and livestock!”
Genghis Khan cried, “We must catch Muhammad, and we must catch Wanyan Honglie.”
The generals roared as one. The roar rolled far out across the great desert, and the candle flames in the tent shook and flickered.
Genghis Khan drew the dao at his side, slashed once at the empty air before him, ran out of the tent and vaulted onto his horse. The generals poured out behind him and mounted in pursuit. Genghis Khan rode several li and galloped up a hill. The generals knew he wished to be alone with his thoughts. They stayed below and formed a ring around the hill.
Genghis Khan saw Guo Jing not far away and called, “Come here, child.”
Guo Jing rode up the slope.
Genghis Khan gazed at the starlike campfires scattered across the grassland. He raised his whip and said, “Child, do you remember what I told you that day, when Senggum and Jamukha had us trapped on the hill?”
Guo Jing said, “I remember. The Great Khan said that we Mongols have so many brave men, and that if only we stopped killing one another and stood together, we could make the whole world pasture for the Mongols.”
Genghis Khan swung his whip, and it cracked once in the air. He cried, “Yes. Now the Mongols are united. We shall take that Wanyan Honglie.”
Guo Jing had already resolved to go south the next day. But now this had suddenly come up, and how could he leave his father’s murder unavenged? He thought too of how generously the Great Khan had treated him and his mother. Here was the very chance to serve him and repay that kindness. He cried, “This time I’ll catch that traitorous dog Wanyan Honglie for certain.”
Genghis Khan said, “Khwarezm boasts a million elite troops. I would say six or seven hundred thousand at the least. We have but two hundred thousand, and must leave tens of thousands behind to guard against the Jin dogs. A hundred and fifty thousand against seven hundred thousand. Tell me, can we win?”
Guo Jing understood nothing of battle and strategy. But he was young and high-spirited, and he had never shrunk from difficulty. Hearing the Great Khan ask him this, he answered proudly, “Of course we can!”
Genghis Khan cried, “Certainly we can. That day I said I would treat you as my own son. What Temüjin has spoken, he never forgets. Come with me on the western campaign. When we have taken Muhammad and Wanyan Honglie, you shall return and marry my daughter.”
These words suited Guo Jing’s intentions exactly. He agreed at once.
Genghis Khan galloped down the hill, crying, “Muster the troops!”
His bodyguards blew their horns, and Genghis Khan raced back. All along the way figures darted to and fro and warhorses galloped, yet not a single human voice was to be heard. By the time he reached the Golden Tent, three tumen had already drawn up in perfect order upon the grassland. The bright moon shone on row upon row of long daos, and all the plain glittered with silver light.
Genghis Khan entered the Golden Tent and summoned his scribe. He commanded him to draft a declaration of war. The scribe wrote a long passage upon a great sheet of parchment, then knelt and read it aloud to the Great Khan.
“Heaven has set Us as Great Khan over all the tribes. Our domains stretch ten thousand li, and We have destroyed countless kingdoms. Since the dawn of time, no virtue and glory have risen so high as Ours. When We strike like thunder, can you withstand it? Whether your kingdom stands or falls is decided this day. Consider it well, and think again. Unless you submit in good faith and pay tribute, you shall soon see the great Mongol army…”
Genghis Khan grew angrier with every word. He lashed out with a kick and sent the white-bearded scribe tumbling. “Who do you think you’re writing to? Does Genghis Khan need to waffle like this to that dog-king?” He raised his riding whip and lashed him about the head a dozen times and more. “Listen well. I shall dictate, and you shall write exactly as I say.”
The scribe scrambled to his feet, trembling. He took a fresh sheet of parchment, knelt, and watched the Great Khan’s lips.
Genghis Khan gazed out through the open flap of the tent at the thirty thousand crack riders beyond it and was lost in thought for a while. Then he said in a low voice, “Write this. Six words only.” He paused, then cried aloud, “If you want war, then come!”
The scribe was taken aback, thinking that this was no way at all to write a dispatch. But his head and face still smarted from all those lashes, and he dared not speak a word against it. He did as he was told and wrote those six words large upon the parchment.
Genghis Khan said, “Seal it with the golden seal and send it at once.”
Muqali stepped forward and affixed the seal. A mingghan commander was sent at the head of his men to deliver it.
When the generals learned that the Great Khan’s dispatch held only those six words, their spirits soared. They listened as the messenger’s hoofbeats faded across the grassland, and then suddenly, with one accord, they cried, “If you want war, then come!”
The thirty thousand soldiers beyond the tent took up the shout. “Aghu, aghu!” It was the war-cry of the Mongol cavalry when they charged into battle. The warhorses heard their masters shouting and neighed in answer.