The Legend of the Condor Heroes Chapter 38 – Part 2

Once Ouyang Feng’s qinggong¹ was given full play, over a stretch of several li² he was truly faster than a galloping horse. Guo Jing heard the crunch of snow behind him and, whipping his head around, saw that Ouyang Feng was no more than several dozen feet from the horse’s tail. Startled, he urged the horse harder.

The man on foot and the man on horseback covered more than ten li in moments. Guo Jing kept on calling, “Rong-er!” But as the sky darkened, the chance of Huang Rong’s reappearance grew ever slimmer. His shouts went from hoarse to raw, from choked to wailing. The little red horse had long since sensed the danger. The softer the ground underfoot, the faster she ran, until at last her four hooves seemed to fly, as if she were riding the wind through the air. With the sweat-blood horse³ racing on at such lightning speed, Ouyang Feng’s qinggong, however fine, could not hold out for long. In the end his breath came short, the strength ebbed from his legs, and little by little his pace slackened.

The little red horse was drenched in sweat too. Crimson beads of sweat spattered across the snow, vivid in the extreme, so that beside every hoofprint it was as if peach blossoms had been scattered.

Not until full nightfall did the red horse burst clear of the marsh, leaving Ouyang Feng so far behind that he was lost to sight. Guo Jing thought, Rong-er’s horse is nothing like as fine as this one. Before it had gone half a li it would be stuck fast in the marsh. I must find some way to save her, even if it costs me my life. He knew well that Huang Rong had been missing a long time already, and that if she had sunk into the mud, even if he pulled her out there would be no calling her soul back. The thought was only a hollow comfort he offered himself.

He dismounted to let the little red horse rest a moment, and stroked her back, crying, “Little horse, little horse, don’t grudge the toil today. We must risk our lives for one more run.”

He vaulted into the saddle and turned the horse back. The little red horse shrank from the soft mud and would not step into it, but under Guo Jing’s constant urging she at last let out a long neigh and plunged back into the marsh, hooves splashing. Knowing the way ahead was still long, she summoned all her mettle and ran faster and faster.

They were racing on when all at once they heard Ouyang Feng cry out, “Help, help.”

Guo Jing galloped over. In the faint light reflected from the snow he saw that more than half of Ouyang Feng’s body had sunk into the mud. Both hands were raised high, clawing wildly at the air. The mud was creeping slowly upwards and was already level with his chest. Once it reached his mouth and nose, he would suffocate.

Guo Jing saw his wretched state and thought of Huang Rong, who must have struggled just as piteously in her extremity. Hot blood surged in his chest. He almost flung himself from the saddle to sink into the mud alongside.

Ouyang Feng cried, “Save me, quickly!”

Guo Jing ground his teeth. “You killed my honoured shifu,⁴ and you killed Miss Huang. You want me to save you? Don’t even think of it.”

Ouyang Feng snapped, “We struck palms and swore an oath: you must spare me three times. This is the third. Will you cast honour and good faith to the winds?”

Guo Jing’s tears fell. “Miss Huang is no longer of this world. What use is our oath now?”

Ouyang Feng broke into a stream of foul curses. Guo Jing ignored him and rode away. He had gone several hundred feet when the man’s ghastly wailing came drifting after him. He could not bear it. Sighing, he wheeled the horse back. The mud had risen to Ouyang Feng’s neck.

Guo Jing said, “All right, I’ll save you. But if two of us ride the horse, she will be carrying too much weight, and she is bound to sink into the bog.”

Ouyang Feng said, “Drag me with a rope.”

Guo Jing had no rope. On the spur of the moment he stripped off his long robe, seized one end, and galloped past Ouyang Feng. Ouyang Feng caught the other end of the robe. Guo Jing clamped his legs hard against the horse and gave a great shout. The little red horse lunged forward with all her might. With a sucking pop, Ouyang Feng was torn bodily from the soft mud and dragged across the snow.

Had they headed east, they would soon have cleared the marsh. But Guo Jing’s thoughts were all for Huang Rong. How could he give up now? He spurred the horse west. Ouyang Feng lay on his back in the snow, skimming along at speed, seizing the chance to catch his breath and circulate his neili.⁵ The little red horse galloped on at full tilt, and before full daylight they had crossed the marsh once more.

There in the snow were hoofprints, dot after dot, the very tracks Huang Rong had left coming. Yet the prints remained, and she was gone. Where had her spirit flown?

Guo Jing dismounted and stood staring blankly at the hoofprints.

So deep was his grief that he forgot the deadly enemy at his back. He stood in the snow, the reins in his left hand and the sable coat over his right arm, gazing into the distance. His mind wandered. Then he felt a faint touch against his back. By the time he realised his peril and tried to turn, Ouyang Feng’s palm was already pressed against his Taodao acupoint.⁶

Ouyang Feng had once been seized in just this manner when he crawled from the sand-pit that day. Now he gave Guo Jing a taste of his own medicine, and could not help laughing aloud.

Guo Jing was beyond caring whether he lived or died. Indifferently he said, “Kill me if you will. We made no oath that you must spare me.”

Ouyang Feng started. He had intended to torment Guo Jing at length before finishing him, yet here was a man with no wish to live. At once he understood, The silly boy and that wench were deeply devoted to each other. If I kill him, I only grant his wish to die for love. Then another thought came to him, Since the wench has drowned in the sand, it is on him that I must rely to decipher the text. He sealed Guo Jing’s acupoints, seized him by the arm, vaulted onto the horse, and the two of them rode together towards a valley to the south.

By the si hour,⁷ they came to a village beside the high road. Ouyang Feng spurred the horse into it. Everywhere lay corpses. In the cold the bodies had stayed whole, the horror of their deaths unchanged. Plainly they had all been slaughtered when the Mongol army passed through.

Ouyang Feng shouted several times. The village was silent, not a soul stirring. Only a few dozen cattle and sheep lowed and bleated in answer. Ouyang Feng was delighted. He marched Guo Jing into a stone house and said, “You are my prisoner now, but I shan’t kill you. If you can beat me, you may walk out.” He freed Guo Jing’s acupoints, fetched a sheep, slaughtered it, and cooked it in the kitchen.

Guo Jing watched his self-satisfied air and hated him more with every glance. Ouyang Feng tossed him a cooked mutton leg. “Eat your fill. Then we fight.”

Guo Jing flared. “Fight if you must. What need of a full belly?” He launched himself into the air and struck out, palm aimed at Ouyang Feng’s face. Ouyang Feng raised a hand to deflect it and returned a punch. In moments the stone house was a chaos of overturned tables and toppled stools.

After thirty-odd exchanges Guo Jing’s neili proved no match after all. Ouyang Feng stole in half a step, and his right palm wiped across to the flank below Guo Jing’s ribs. There was no dodging it, and Guo Jing could only stop and wait to die. But Ouyang Feng did not release his force. He smiled. “That’s enough for today. Practise a few moves from the manual, and we’ll fight again tomorrow.”

Guo Jing spat. He sat on an upturned stool, picked up the mutton leg, and bit into it, thinking, He wants to learn the manual’s secrets and hopes I’ll demonstrate them so he can copy. He means to make me his shifu. I won’t fall for it. If he wants to kill me, let him kill me… Hm, that wipe of his just now. How should I counter it? He ran through every fist and palm technique he had learnt, and not one of them could break it. Then he remembered that the manual set out a subtle force called Flying Cotton Force,⁸ which seemed able to dissolve that wipe into nothing.

He thought, If I practise it on my own, he won’t be able to learn it however much he wants to. He ate the mutton leg down to the bone, sat cross-legged on the ground, recalled the secret formulas from the manual and began to cultivate the method. Since mastering the Tendon-Transmuting Bone-Tempering Chapter⁹ his foundations were firm. Great Master Yideng’s teachings had made the manual’s core principles clear to him. A skill like Flying Cotton Force was a mere trifle beside them. In under two shichen he had it. Glancing sideways, he saw Ouyang Feng also seated in cultivation. Guo Jing called, “Watch this!” Before he was even upright he lashed out with a palm.

Ouyang Feng met it with his own palm. At the right moment in the fight he copied his earlier move and wiped his palm across to the flank below Guo Jing’s ribs. All at once his palm slid off and skidded aside, and in spite of himself he tipped slightly forward, and already Guo Jing’s left palm was chopping down at his neck, following the movement through.

Ouyang Feng was equal parts startled and delighted. He simply put more force into his lunge and carried himself past the chop, then turned and cried, “Fine skill. Is that from the manual? What’s it called?”

Guo Jing said, “Sha cha yi tui, ai mo qin er.”¹⁰

Ouyang Feng was taken aback, then realised these were the manual’s strange words. He thought, The silly boy is as stubborn as an ox. Only cunning will get it out of him. Forcing him is no use. He changed his palm, and they were locked in combat once more.

The two fought on without pause. Whenever Guo Jing lost, he stopped at once and went off to practise a new move. That night Guo Jing slept peacefully. Ouyang Feng was on tenterhooks, half afraid of a midnight attack, half afraid Guo Jing would flee in the dark.

So the two of them lived in the stone house for over a month, eating nearly half the village’s cattle and sheep between them. Through that time it was as though Ouyang Feng were driving Guo Jing to train. Ouyang Feng’s martial understanding was deep. Watching the difference in Guo Jing before and after each practice, he grasped much of the manual’s meaning. Yet when he tried to reconcile what he saw with the text he already possessed, the pieces would not fit. The more he puzzled, the tighter he squeezed Guo Jing, and so Guo Jing’s skill leapt forward in that month.

Ouyang Feng could not help fretting to himself, At this rate, before I have fathomed the manual’s meaning, I shan’t be a match for the silly boy in a fight.

In the first days Guo Jing was consumed with hatred. As the fighting wore on, however, the desire to beat his foe took root. He was resolved to fight it out with him to the last and, when all was done, to kill him by real skill. He knew it would be extremely hard, yet he was not in the least disheartened. His anger cooled a little, and his resolve grew all the firmer.

Ouyang Feng’s true strength lay in the Toad Skill’s¹¹ neili, and neigong cultivation depends entirely on long accumulation, which no handful of clever tricks can achieve. Guo Jing’s martial art advanced, but his neili still fell short. One day he found an iron jian¹² beside a corpse in the village and set to training with the blade, matching Ouyang Feng’s iron staff.¹³

Ouyang Feng had formerly fought with a snake-staff, but in his bout with Hong Qigong on the boat it had sunk in the sea. Later he had a steel staff forged and sent capable men of his own to Tibet to find strange snakes, which he then trained. After he was trapped in the ice pillar, the steel staff and its little snakes had been taken by Lu Youjiao¹⁴ and destroyed. What he wielded now was an ordinary iron staff, with no strange snakes to lend it menace. Yet his techniques were uncanny, his changes endless, and he kept knocking Guo Jing’s iron jian from his grip. Had there been snakes on the staff, Guo Jing would have found it harder still to hold his own.

Outside they could hear Genghis Khan’s great army heading east for home, the clamour of men and horses lasting days. The two fought on, heedless of it. That night the last of the army went by, and all was quiet.

Guo Jing stood with his jian levelled, thinking, Tonight I still cannot beat you, but whatever you do, your iron staff will never knock my jian away again. Eager to try his new technique, he waited for Ouyang Feng to strike first.

Suddenly a voice outside roared, “You treacherous villain, where do you think you’re running?”

It was unmistakably the voice of Old Wild Child Zhou Botong.

Ouyang Feng and Guo Jing stared at each other in astonishment, both thinking, How has he come ten thousand li to the Western Regions?

Before either could speak, footsteps approached: two people, one after the other, running towards the stone house. Of all the village buildings, only this one showed lamplight. Ouyang Feng waved his left hand. A blast of force shot out and snuffed the lamp.

At that moment the door creaked open. One man rushed in, and the other came chasing in after him. That, of course, was Zhou Botong.

Both sets of footsteps were extraordinarily light. The martial prowess of the first man seemed no less than Zhou Botong’s own. Ouyang Feng was deeply alarmed, thinking, This man has actually got away from Old Wild Child. In the world today, those who could do that can be counted on one’s fingers. If it’s Huang Yaoshi or Hong Qigong, Old Venom is in a very bad way. He began at once to plan his escape.

The first man leapt up and sat on the roof beam.

Zhou Botong laughed. “Playing hide-and-seek with me? Old Wild Child loves that best of all. But I won’t let you slip away again.” In the dark they heard him push the door shut and heave the big stone beside it up against the back of the door. He called, “Oi, stinking thief, where are you?” He prowled about, groping in corners.

Guo Jing was about to call out that the enemy was on the beam, when suddenly Zhou Botong leapt high with a great laugh and snatched at the figure above. Plainly he had heard the man climb up long before, and had pretended to blunder about the room so that his target would lower its guard, then struck without warning.

Footnotes

1. 轻功 — qīnggōng. The martial art of body lightness. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

3. 汗血宝马 — hànxuè bǎomǎ. A legendary breed of the Western Regions, said to sweat blood at the gallop. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

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

6. 陶道穴 — Táodào Xué. An acupoint on the Governing Vessel, on the upper back. ↩

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

8. 飞絮劲 — Fēixù Jìn. Literally drifting-catkin force. A soft force that turns aside an attack. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 易筋锻骨章 — Yìjīn Duàngǔ Zhāng. Internal cultivation method from the Nine Yin Manual. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

10. 沙察以推，爱末琴儿 — Shā chá yǐ tuī, ài mò qín ér. A phrase from the passage of the Nine Yin Manual written in Chinese characters used for their sound alone. ↩

11. 蛤蟆功 — Háma Gōng. Ouyang Feng’s hereditary art, practised crouching like a toad. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 剑 — jiàn. A straight, double-edged blade. ↩

13. 铁棍 — tiě gùn. An iron staff. ↩

14. 鲁有脚 — Lǔ Yǒujiǎo. His name meaning “has feet”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩