The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 10 – Part 8

The man, seeing him suddenly burst into tears, was momentarily taken aback. The more Yang Guo wept, the more heartbroken he became, and the stranger the man found it. When he saw that the weeping showed no sign of stopping, the man abruptly threw back his head and let out a long, ringing laugh. The sounds of weeping and laughter collided and reverberated through the valley, shaking great chunks of snow loose from the mountainside.

Hearing the man laugh, Yang Guo’s tears stopped instantly. “What are you laughing at?” he demanded angrily.

The man laughed. “What are you crying about?”

Yang Guo was about to answer with harsh words, but then he remembered this man’s unfathomable martial prowess and immediately suppressed his anger. He bowed deeply and said, “This humble one is Yang Guo. I pay my respects to you, Elder.”

The man held a bamboo staff. He tapped it lightly against Yang Guo’s arm, and before Yang Guo felt any great force, his body was sent flying backward. By all rights, this throw should have left him sprawled on the ground, unable to rise. But Yang Guo had trained in the inverted internal skill of circulating energy while standing on his head. In mid-air, he rode the momentum into a somersault and landed squarely on his feet.

Both men were caught off guard. At Yang Guo’s current level of martial arts, for anyone to throw him into a somersault with a single move, even Li Mochou or Qiu Chuji could never manage it. And the man, seeing that after a backward somersault the youth could still stand firm, could not help looking at him with new eyes. “What were you crying about?” he asked again.

Yang Guo studied him. He was an old man with a white beard and white hair, his clothing tattered and torn, he seemed to be a beggar. Though it was night, the white snow on the ground reflected enough light to show his face glowing ruddy and full of vitality. Yang Guo felt a surge of reverence. “I am a man of bitter fate,” he answered. “Living in this world is truly superfluous. Better to die and be done with it.”

The old beggar heard the sour grief in his words, the bellyful of resentment, and nodded. “Who has bullied you? Tell your old grandpa all about it.”

Yang Guo said, “My father was murdered, but I do not know who killed him. Then my mother died of illness. In this world, no one pities me, no one cherishes me.”

The old beggar made an mm sound. “That is truly pitiable. Who is your martial arts master?”

Yang Guo thought, Aunt Guo is my master in name, but she never taught me a single iota of martial arts. The stinking Daoists of Quanzhen, just thinking of them makes me furious. Ouyang Feng¹ is my sworn father, not my master. Gugu taught me my martial arts, but she said she wants to be my wife, if I say she is my master, she will be angry. Patriarch² Wang Chongyang and Granny Lin taught me in the stone chamber, but how can I call them my masters? I have many masters, yet not one I can name. The old beggar’s question had touched a raw nerve, and suddenly Yang Guo burst into loud sobs again. “I have no master! I have no master!” he cried.

The old beggar said, “All right, all right. If you won’t say, then forget it.”

Yang Guo wept, “It’s not that I won’t say, it’s that I have none.”

The old beggar said, “None is none. Is that worth crying over? Do you know the Five Ugly Men of Sichuan?”

Yang Guo said, “I do not.”

The old beggar said, “When I saw you walking alone in the night, I thought you were an accomplice of the Five Ugly Men of Sichuan. Since you are not, that is very good.”

This man was none other than the Nine-Fingered Divine Beggar, Hong Qigong.³ After passing the position of Beggars’ Guild chief to Huang Rong, he had wandered alone, east and west, searching out the world’s rarest delicacies. Guangdong’s climate was warm, and its treasury of exotic recipes the richest. After arriving in Lingnan,⁴ he had found his paradise and had not returned north of the Central Plains for over ten years. In the land of the Hundred Yue, they made soup of venomous snakes, stewed old cats in double-boilers, served spotted fish that resembled mice and giant prawns called dragons, braised fat oysters with aged ginger, steamed water beetles with rice-worm larvae, sourced shark fin from the Xisha Islands and conch named for the east wind, roasted suckling pig until the skin crackled, and simmered masked palm civets until the meat glowed red. To Hong Qigong, it was like ascending to the realm of the immortals, joy beyond measure.

Whenever he chanced upon an injustice, he would secretly aid the distressed and destroy the wicked. At his current level of skill, no one ever discovered his comings and goings. Sometimes he would eavesdrop on Beggars’ Guild disciples’ conversations and learn that under Huang Rong and Lu Youjiao’s⁵ leadership, the guild was at peace, internally, the conflict between the Dirty Clothes and Clean Clothes factions⁶ had been resolved. Externally, the threats of the Jin remnants and the Iron Palm Gang⁷ had been eliminated. With nothing to tie him down, the old man spent his days simply opening his mouth wide to devour and opening his throat to swallow.

That year, the Second Ugly Man of the Five Ugly Men of Sichuan had gone on a killing spree in Guangdong, murdering many innocent people. Hong Qigong, who hated evil as fiercely as he hated a personal enemy, had originally planned to dispose of him casually. But he realised that killing one man was easy, finding the remaining four would be hard. So he had secretly followed, waiting for all five to gather so he could wipe them out in one stroke. He had never imagined that this pursuit would lead him from the south to the north, across a thousand li, all the way up Mount Hua. Now four of the five had assembled, with only the First Ugly Man still to arrive, and here, in the snowy night, he had encountered Yang Guo.

Hong Qigong said, “Let us set that aside for now. I can see your belly is hungry too. We will talk more after we have eaten.” He brushed aside the snow, gathered some dry branches and dead twigs, and built a fire. Yang Guo helped him collect kindling. “What are we cooking?” he asked.

Hong Qigong said, “Centipedes!”

Yang Guo assumed he was joking and only smiled faintly, asking nothing further. Hong Qigong laughed. “I have laboured so hard, chasing the Five Ugly Men of Sichuan all the way from Lingnan to Mount Hua. If I do not find a few exotic flavours to eat, how can I face myself?” He patted his belly as he spoke. Yang Guo noticed that although the old man’s entire frame was lean and hard, this great belly of his was plump and somewhat cumbersome. Hong Qigong continued, “The northern face of Mount Hua is the coldest, most yin⁸ place under heaven. The centipedes it produces are the plumpest and most tender. In Guangdong, the weather is hot and everything grows fast, the pork is too fatty, the greens too stringy, and the centipede meat is coarse.” Yang Guo, hearing him speak with such earnestness, as if this were no joke, was thoroughly perplexed.

Hong Qigong placed four stones around the fire, then took a small iron pot from his back and set it on the stones. He scooped up two handfuls of snow and dropped them into the pot. “Come with me to gather centipedes,” he said. In a few bounds, he had leapt onto a cliff face two zhang high. Yang Guo saw how steep the cliff was and did not dare jump up. Hong Qigong called, “Useless boy, get up here!” What Yang Guo hated most was being looked down upon. Hearing these words, he clenched his teeth, summoned his energy, and leapt straight up. What is there to fear? he thought. If I fall and die, I fall and die. With his courage thus stoked, his lightness skill flowed more smoothly than ever. He stayed close behind Hong Qigong, and even on the most treacherous, slippery sections, he managed to scramble up.

In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the two had scaled a remote peak untouched by human feet. Seeing the boy’s daring and lightness skill, Hong Qigong felt a surge of fondness. With his breadth of experience, he could not identify the origins of this youth’s martial arts. He wanted to question him, but his mind was on fine food. He walked to a large boulder, scooped away the earth around it, and soon uncovered a dead rooster. Yang Guo was astonished. “Yi? How is there a big rooster here?” Then he understood. “Ah, you hid it here, Elder.”

Hong Qigong smiled faintly and lifted the rooster. In the reflected light of the snow, Yang Guo saw clearly: the rooster’s body was covered with over a hundred enormous centipedes, each seven or eight inches long, banded in red and black with brilliant patterns, all of them still squirming. Yang Guo had roamed the jianghu since childhood and was not normally afraid of venomous creatures, but seeing so many giant centipedes at once, he could not suppress a shudder. Hong Qigong was extremely pleased with himself. “Centipedes and chickens are natural enemies,” he said. “Yesterday I buried a dead rooster here, and sure enough, it drew every centipede for miles around.” He took out a coarse cloth bundle, wrapped up the chicken and centipedes together, and slid down the peak in high spirits.

Yang Guo followed, his heart crawling. Is he really going to eat centipedes? Looking at his expression, he does not seem to be trying to frighten me. By now the pot of snow water was boiling furiously. Hong Qigong opened his bundle, grasped the centipedes by their tails, and tossed them one by one into the pot. The centipedes struggled briefly, then were all scalded to death. Hong Qigong said, “When centipedes die, they expel every drop of their venom and urine. This pot of snow water is lethally poisonous.” Yang Guo poured the toxic water into the deep valley.

Hong Qigong took out a small knife, sliced off each centipede’s head and tail, and with a light pinch, the shell came away in his hand, revealing the flesh beneath, snow-white and translucent, like prawn meat, remarkably beautiful. Yang Guo thought, Prepared like this, perhaps it really is edible after all. Hong Qigong boiled two more pots of snow water and rinsed the centipede meat again, removing every last trace of venom. Then he brought out seven or eight iron boxes of various sizes from his pack, filled with oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and the like. He heated the oil, tossed in the centipede meat, and fried it. Instantly, a rich fragrance rushed into the nostrils. Yang Guo watched him swallow great mouthfuls of drool, his greedy expression fully revealed, and could not help feeling both astonished and amused.

When the centipedes were fried to a pale gold, Hong Qigong added his seasonings and mixed everything together. He reached into the pot, plucked out one centipede, and put it in his mouth. He chewed lightly a few times, his eyes half-closed, and let out a long sigh. In all the world, he felt, there was no pleasure greater than this. He set down the wine gourd he carried on his back and said, “When eating centipedes, do not drink wine, otherwise the tongue goes numb and you waste the flavour.” He ate over ten in one breath, then turned to Yang Guo. “Eat! What are you being polite for?”

Yang Guo shook his head. “I won’t eat.”

Hong Qigong paused, then burst into loud laughter. “True enough. I have seen many heroes in my time, men who would not flinch at execution or bloodshed, but not one who dared eat a centipede with this old beggar. Heh heh. You, boy, are just a coward after all.”

Stung by the taunt, Yang Guo thought, I will close my eyes, swallow without chewing, and get a few down. I won’t let him look down on me. He used two thin twigs as chopsticks and fished out a fried centipede from the pot. Hong Qigong had already guessed his intention. “If you close your eyes and swallow a dozen without chewing,” he said, “that is not heroism, that is shameless cheating.”

Yang Guo said, “Eating poisonous insects counts as heroism?”

Hong Qigong said, “The world is full of men who boast and call themselves heroes, but you would be hard-pressed to find a single one who dares eat a centipede.”

Yang Guo thought, Apart from death, nothing truly matters. He put the centipede in his mouth and chewed. The moment his teeth closed on it, his mouth filled with an exquisite savour, crisp and fragrant, with a sweet, rich depth. In all his life, he had never tasted anything so extraordinary. He chewed a few more times, gulped it down, and reached for a second one. “Wonderful! Wonderful!” he exclaimed.

Seeing him eat with such relish, Hong Qigong was overjoyed, this boy was a kindred spirit. The two competed greedily and soon polished off every one of the hundred-plus giant centipedes. Hong Qigong ran his tongue around his lips to catch every last drop of juice, wishing he had another hundred centipedes to fill his belly. Yang Guo said, “I will bury the rooster again and lure more centipedes.”

Hong Qigong said, “It won’t work. First, the rooster’s potency is spent. Second, there are no more fat centipedes left nearby.” Suddenly he stretched, yawned, and toppled backward onto the snow. “I have been chasing those villains for five days and five nights without sleep. Now, having eaten such a fine meal, I intend to sleep soundly for three days. Even if the sky falls, do not wake me. Keep watch, and do not let any wild beast bite off half my head while I am unaware.” Yang Guo laughed. “As you command.” Hong Qigong closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

Yang Guo thought, This senior is truly an eccentric. Can he really sleep for three days? Real or not, I have nowhere to go anyway. I may as well wait three days for him. The Mount Hua centipedes were the coldest creatures under heaven. After eating them, Yang Guo felt a ball of coolness in his belly, just like when he had slept on the Cold Jade Bed.⁹ He found a boulder to sit on and circulated his neili for a long while, until his entire body felt perfectly at ease. The goose-feather snow continued to fall without pause. Hong Qigong’s head and body were soon covered in a layer of white, like a blanket of cotton. The human body naturally radiates heat, and snowflakes melt on contact, how could they accumulate on his face? Yang Guo was baffled at first, but then a thought struck him and he understood. Ah, when he sleeps, he is circulating a divine internal art, drawing all his body’s heat inward. A living man, asleep, yet as cold as a corpse. neili of this depth, truly awe-inspiring, truly enviable. Gugu made me sleep on the Cold Jade Bed precisely in the hope that I would one day develop such profound internal power. Ah, the Cold Jade Bed, the Cold Jade Bed!

Footnotes

1. 欧阳锋 – Ōuyáng Fēng. His name meaning “blade” or “cutting edge”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 祖师 – zǔshī. Rendered Patriarch. Founder of a school or tradition — the source of a lineage rather than a rung on it. Distinct from 师祖 (Grand Shifu), which is reckoned two generations up from whoever is speaking. ↩

3. 洪七公 – Hóng Qīgōng. Literally Hong the Seventh Lord; the numeral seven marks seniority among sworn brothers. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 岭南 – Lǐngnán. Region south of the Five Ridges, encompassing present-day Guangdong and Guangxi. ↩

5. 鲁有脚 – Lǔ Yǒujiǎo. His name meaning “having feet”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. Dirty Clothes and Clean Clothes Factions (污衣派/净衣派). Two internal factions within the Beggars’ Guild. Dirty Clothes faction insisted on maintaining traditional beggar customs including wearing filthy rags, while the Clean Clothes faction preferred to dress neatly despite being beggars. This ideological conflict was a major source of internal strife. ↩

7. 铁掌帮 – Tiězhǎng Bāng. Martial arts organisation based at Iron Palm Peak, known for the Iron Palm technique. ↩

8. Yin (阴). In Chinese cosmology, yin is the dark, cold, feminine principle that complements yang. Mount Hua’s northern face, perpetually shaded from the sun, is described as the most yin place under heaven — extremely cold, which produces centipedes of exceptional quality. ↩

9. 寒玉床 – Hán Yù Chuáng. Bed carved from rare deep-cold jade found by Lin Chaoying. Training on it greatly accelerates neili cultivation by forcing the practitioner to circulate qi constantly to resist the cold. ↩