The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 11 – Part 2

The pressure on the Five Uglies vanished. They swayed unsteadily, as though drunk. The internal energies of these two great masters had hammered them from both front and back. Their internal organs were severely damaged, their sinews softened and bones loosened. They were now cripples, and even a seven- or eight-year-old child could defeat them. Hong Qigong barked, “Five villains, it seems your time has not yet come. Since you can never harm anyone again, get out of my sight. And remember: go back and tell your grandmaster, the Golden Wheel National Preceptor, to come to the Central Plains quickly and test himself against me.” Ouyang Feng added, “And test himself against me too.” The Five Uglies of Sichuan stammered their agreement and stumbled away, leaning on each other, scrambling down the peak in utter disarray.

Ouyang Feng flipped upright and eyed Hong Qigong askance. A faint recognition stirred. “Hey,” he barked, “your martial arts are very good. What is your name?” Hong Qigong saw the bewildered look on his face and knew that the madness that had seized him more than ten years ago had never fully healed. “My name is Ouyang Feng,” he said. “What is yours?” Ouyang Feng felt a jolt. He remembered Yang Guo telling him that “Ouyang Feng” was his own name. He shook his head. “Wrong. I am Ouyang Feng.” Hong Qigong burst out laughing. “Wrong! Your name is Stinking Toad.” The word “toad”¹ was deeply familiar to Ouyang Feng. It sounded almost right, yet when he thought about it carefully, it was not.

He and Hong Qigong had been mortal enemies for decades. Hatred was etched deep into his mind. Though he could not now grasp the reason, the mere sight of the man stirred his anger. Hong Qigong saw him standing dumbly, a murderous glint suddenly flashing in his eyes, and steeled himself. Sure enough, Ouyang Feng let out a great roar and charged at him ferociously. Hong Qigong did not dare hold back and launched straight into the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing. The two men, robes catching the northern wind, feet treading the frozen ice, each gave everything to their art on this narrow ledge barely a foot wide. On one side yawned a bottomless abyss, and the slightest misstep meant being smashed to pieces. Compared to fighting on level ground, the peril was doubled.

Though age had sapped their physical vigour, their martial attainment had reached a state of pure perfection. Their techniques were profound and exquisite, possessing a richness and stability that came only from mastery. After a mere dozen exchanges, both could not help but feel deep admiration. Ouyang Feng cried, “The old fellow is formidable indeed!” Hong Qigong laughed. “The Stinking Toad is not bad himself.”

Yang Guo watched the treacherous terrain with dread, terrified that Ouyang Feng would fall into the valley. Yet sometimes, when he saw Hong Qigong in a tight spot, he found himself unconsciously hoping the old beggar would turn danger to safety. Ouyang Feng was his sworn father, and their bond ran deep. But Hong Qigong’s magnanimity, his heroic spirit, the great chivalrous bearing that seemed to emanate from his very being, and Yang Guo had been captivated the moment he laid eyes on him. Through cold and hunger, he had risked great peril to endure three days and three nights for Hong Qigong’s sake. Though not a single word had passed between them during those three days, in Yang Guo’s heart it felt as though they had already shared a thousand trials of life and death together.

After several dozen more exchanges, Yang Guo noticed that the two men always turned the most perilous moments into safety. He stopped worrying about their safety and concentrated solely on studying their martial arts. His knowledge of the Nine Yin Manual was limited to scattered fragments, yet time and again he saw the techniques they used harmonise with the Manual’s essential principles, and sometimes his sworn father would use something that ran completely contrary to them. He marvelled, thinking: A single ordinary sentence from the Manual can give rise to so many variations and elaborations.

They fought on until they had exchanged well over a thousand moves. Neither man’s martial arts were exhausted, but they were old now, and both felt their hearts pounding and their breath shortening. Their hands and feet could not help slowing. Yang Guo called out, “You two have been fighting half the day. You must be hungry by now. How about everyone eats their fill before continuing?” The moment Hong Qigong heard the word “eat”, he immediately pulled back, saying over and over, “Excellent! Excellent!” Yang Guo had already spotted the large basket of cold provisions the Five Uglies had brought. He ran over and opened it. Inside were frozen chicken, frozen meat, white liquor, and cold rice, and everything one could want. Hong Qigong was overjoyed. He snatched a frozen chicken and bit into it ravenously, crunching noisily.

Yang Guo picked up a piece of frozen meat and offered it to Ouyang Feng. Softly, he said, “Papa, where have you been all this time?” Ouyang Feng glared at him. “I have been looking for you.” A pang shot through Yang Guo’s chest. So there is, after all, someone in this world who truly loves me. He took his sworn father’s arm and said, “Papa, you are Ouyang Feng. This Elder Hong, Hong Qigong, is a good man. Do not fight with him anymore.” Ouyang Feng pointed at Hong Qigong and declared, “He is Hong Qigong. I am Ouyang Feng.” He looked at Hong Qigong, then at Yang Guo, his eyes fixed and unblinking, straining to remember.

Yang Guo helped Ouyang Feng eat some food, then stood and said to Hong Qigong, “Elder Hong, he is my sworn father. Please take pity on him. He suffers from a grave illness and his mind is confused. Do not make things difficult for him.”

Hearing this, Hong Qigong nodded repeatedly. “Good lad,” he said. “So he is your sworn father.”

But Ouyang Feng suddenly leapt up and shouted, “Old Beggar, we cannot settle this with fists and feet. Let us compete with weapons!” Hearing himself called “Old Beggar”, Hong Qigong smiled faintly and shook his head. “No more. We will call it your victory.” Ouyang Feng said, “What do you mean, ‘call it’? I must kill you!” He turned, broke off a tree branch, stripped away its leaves to form a staff, and brought it crashing down toward Hong Qigong’s head. His Serpent Staff² had once dominated the jianghu with unmatched ferocity. Though the staff now had no snakes on its head, the strike was so powerful that the gale it stirred up, even before the staff arrived, made it hard for Yang Guo to breathe. Yang Guo hurriedly leapt clear. He looked at Hong Qigong and saw the old man pick up a branch from the ground to use as a short club. The two were locked in combat again. Hong Qigong’s Dog-Beating Staff Technique³ was unrivalled in the world, but he rarely used it lightly. Beyond it, he still possessed many other exquisite staff techniques, and now he deployed them one by one.

This battle was a completely different spectacle from the fist-and-palm contest that had preceded it. Staffs flew like coiling spirit snakes, clubs danced like soaring divine dragons, now a rainbow spanning the heavens, now a shooting star chasing the moon. Yang Guo watched with his heart pounding and his spirit enthralled, as though drunk and dreaming.

Staff met club, club met staff, and they fought on until evening without a victor. Yang Guo saw how treacherous the terrain was, how slippery the mountain was with ice and snow everywhere, and how neither man was young. If they kept fighting, a mishap was likely. He shouted repeatedly, urging them to stop. But Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng were deep in the heat of battle. How could they stop now? Yang Guo remembered Hong Qigong’s gluttonous expression when eating and thought that if he could lure them with delicious food, it might work. So he dug up wild yams and cassava roots from the mountainside and roasted them over a fire until their fragrance filled the air.

Hong Qigong caught the scent. “Stinking Toad,” he called, “I am done fighting with you. Eating comes first!” He rushed to Yang Guo’s side, grabbed two roasted yams, and began devouring them, scalding his mouth so badly it hurt, yet still mumbling praise through the pain. Ouyang Feng came charging after him and brought his wooden staff down toward Hong Qigong’s head. Hong Qigong did not even bother to dodge. He picked up a yam and tossed it to him, saying, “Eat!” Ouyang Feng paused, caught it, and ate, completely forgetting the vicious battle of moments before.

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That night, the three of them slept in a rock cave. Yang Guo wanted to help his sworn father recover his memory and brought up various events from the past. Ouyang Feng just stared blankly without answering. Sometimes he pounded his own head with his fists, straining to remember, but could find no thread to follow, growing more and more distressed. Afraid he would drive himself even madder, Yang Guo urged him to sleep. But Yang Guo himself tossed and turned, unable to rest, turning over the two men’s fist techniques and palm techniques in his mind. The more he thought, the more excited he grew. Unable to resist, he rose and quietly practised the moves. The mysteries seemed inexhaustible. He trained half the night and only slept when exhaustion overtook him.

Early the next morning, before Yang Guo had even woken, he heard the howl of wind outside the cave, mixed with shouts and the sounds of leaping. He hurried out and found Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng already locked in fierce combat again. He sighed. These two old gentlemen have returned to childhood. What is there to gain from such fighting? He could only sit to one side and watch. Hong Qigong’s every move and stance was methodical and clear, while Ouyang Feng’s techniques were bizarre beyond imagination and impossible to predict. Time and again, Hong Qigong would gain the upper hand, only for Ouyang Feng to suddenly deploy a strange move and pull even again. But for Ouyang Feng to secure victory was equally impossible.

The two men fought by day and slept by night, continuing for four straight days. Both were exhausted in body and spirit, nearly at the point of collapse. Yet neither would yield so much as half a move.

Yang Guo thought, Tomorrow, whatever happens, I cannot let them fight again. That night, after Ouyang Feng had fallen asleep, he whispered to Hong Qigong, “Elder, would you kindly step outside the cave for a word?” Hong Qigong followed him out. When they were about ten zhang⁴ from the cave, Yang Guo suddenly dropped to his knees and kowtowed repeatedly, not saying a word. Hong Qigong was taken aback for a moment, then understood at once. He knew the boy was begging him to take pity on Ouyang Feng’s illness and concede defeat. He tilted his head back and laughed heartily. “So be it,” he said. Dragging his wooden club behind him, he started down the mountain.

He had gone no more than a few zhang when the sound of robes cutting through the air came from behind. Ouyang Feng burst from the cave and swept his staff across, roaring, “Old fellow, trying to run?” Hong Qigong yielded three moves, hoping to break free, but the wind of Ouyang Feng’s staff sealed off every direction of escape. He could not get away. In combat between masters, the slightest margin matters. With a mind set on conceding, Hong Qigong’s attacks lacked urgency, and he immediately fell to a disadvantage, stumbling in dire straits. Several times he barely escaped death beneath the staff. He saw Ouyang Feng thrust his staff forward, driving toward his lower abdomen, and knew this strike had a deadly follow-up. There was no dodging it. He raised his club horizontally to block, and suddenly felt a ferociously sharp neili transmitted through the staff. You want to contest neili with me? The thought had barely formed when the enemy’s neili was already pressing in. There was no option but to meet it with neili. He immediately circulated his power to resist.

For two martial artists of their attainment, a contest of neili meant there was no room left for concession. In their previous encounters, each had feared the other’s prowess and, uncertain of victory, had never dared risk such a gambit. But Ouyang Feng, muddled and confused, after days of failing to win, suddenly attacked with neili.

More than ten years ago, Hong Qigong had indeed loathed the Western Venom for his evil deeds. But now he was old, and his fiery temper had cooled. Seeing that Ouyang Feng was mad, and with Yang Guo pleading repeatedly, he truly had no desire to kill him. He sank his qi⁵ to his dantian⁶ and focused solely on defence, waiting for his opponent’s neili to exhaust itself. But the enemy’s neili surged like the endless waves of the Yangtze River, one wave had barely passed before the next came crashing in. Not only was there no sign of weakening, but it grew fiercer and fiercer. Hong Qigong was confident in the depth of his neili, which had advanced steadily over the decades. Even if he could not defeat the Western Venom, defending with full strength should guarantee he would not lose. Yet after several exchanges, Ouyang Feng’s neili only grew stronger. Hong Qigong remembered how, when they had competed through the bodies of the Five Uglies, Ouyang Feng had driven his foot three times, each burst stronger than the last. Looking back now, it seemed that the first wave of attack had not yet dissipated before the second arrived, and the second still lingered when the third followed. If one merely defended, letting him push wave upon wave, force upon force, building up relentlessly, it would eventually become impossible to withstand. The only way was to seize an opening and strike back, forcing him to turn his power to his own defence so that the accumulation could not continue. The thought crystallised, and he immediately counter-attacked. Both men shuddered from head to toe.

Yang Guo watched their neili duel with growing alarm. If he attacked Hong Qigong from behind, he could help his sworn father win. But seeing the old beggar’s snow-white hair, his awe-inspiring dignity mixed with warmth and kindness, his righteous heroism joined with easygoing grace. Yang Guo could not help but be won over. Besides, the old man had already agreed to his plea and was willing to retreat. How could he bear to strike him?

The two men remained locked for some time longer. Threads of white vapour began seeping from the crown of Ouyang Feng’s head, growing denser and denser, like steam from a cooking pot. Hong Qigong defended with everything he had, no longer able to consider whether his opponent would live or die. Survival itself was already a stroke of luck.

From early morning they struggled until the chen hour,⁷ and from chen until noon. Hong Qigong gradually felt his neili draining, but his opponent’s force still surged like a raging tide. The old poison grows madder and stronger, he thought grimly. This old beggar’s life ends today. He knew this contest would be his last. The agony was that there was no way to retreat, he could only hold on with all his remaining strength. He did not know that Ouyang Feng, too, was exhausted and struggling just as desperately.

Another two shichen⁸ passed, into the hour of shen.⁹ Yang Guo saw both men’s faces change terribly. If this goes on much longer, he thought, they will surely perish together. If I step in to separate them, my own skill is far too far below theirs, most likely I would fail to break them apart and only throw away my own life. He hesitated for a long while, watching Ouyang Feng’s face turn ashen grey with an expression of anguish, and Hong Qigong gasping for each laboured breath. At last he resolved: Even at the risk of my life, I must save them. He broke off a tree trunk, sat cross-legged between the two men, circulated his neili to protect his whole body, gritted his teeth, and thrust the trunk between their staff and club to pry them apart.

Footnotes

1. Toad (蛤蟆). “Stinking Toad” (臭蛤蟆) was Hong Qigong’s derogatory nickname for Ouyang Feng, mocking his signature Toad Skill (蛤蟆功). Word triggers deep recognition in Ouyang Feng’s fractured mind because it is tied to his core martial identity. ↩

2. Serpent Staff (蛇杖). Ouyang Feng’s signature weapon. Steel staff with a cleft head, in which live venomous snakes were kept. Serpents could strike unexpectedly during combat. His staff techniques were ferocious and unpredictable. ↩

3. 打狗棒法 – Dǎgǒu Bàngfǎ. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 丈 – zhàng. Traditional Chinese unit of length, approximately 3.33 metres or 10.9 feet. ↩

5. 气 – qì. Literally breath or vital energy. Fundamental life force flowing through all living things, central to Chinese medicine and martial arts. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 丹田 – dāntián. Literally cinnabar field. Primary energy centre below the navel, where qi is stored and cultivated. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. Chen hour (辰时). Fifth of the twelve shichen in the traditional Chinese time system, corresponding to 7:00–9:00 AM. ↩

8. 时辰 – shíchen. Traditional Chinese double hour; one twelfth of a day, equal to two modern hours. ↩

9. Shen hour (申时). Ninth of the twelve shichen, corresponding to 3:00–5:00 PM. ↩