The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 11 – Part 4

One day he came to a stretch of wilderness in southern Henan. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but withered trees and dead grass, and a bleak north wind set the long grass heaving. Suddenly hoofbeats sounded faintly from the west and dust rose, and before long several dozen wild horses came stampeding eastwards, sweeping past about a li¹ away. Watching the wild horses gallop across the open plain, free and unbridled, Yang Guo felt his own heart lift. He gazed out over the flat land as the horses raced into the distance, and felt that heaven and earth were wide indeed, with nothing to hem him in. He was revelling in it when he heard a horse give a mournful whinny behind him.

He turned and saw a scrawny yellow horse dragging a cartload of firewood slowly along the high road. No doubt it had seen its own kind galloping free over the wild hills while it slaved away, and had cried out in grief. The horse was so thin that the ribs stood out high on its chest, and its four long legs had wasted away to dry sticks. Its coat was patchy and covered in mange, and its whole body was caked in mud and streaked with countless bloody whip weals. A lout sat on the cart and, finding the horse too slow, lashed it without stopping.

Yang Guo had been bullied often enough himself. Seeing the scrawny horse in such misery, he felt every lash as though it fell on his own back. His chest ached, and tears all but sprang from his eyes. He planted his hands on his hips, stood in the middle of the road and shouted angrily, “You there! What are you whipping that horse for?” The lout saw a ragged youth who looked like a beggar blocking his way, and he raised his whip. “Get out of the way,” he barked. “Tired of living, are you?” With that the whip came down again, hard on the horse’s back. Yang Guo flew into a rage. “Hit that horse again,” he shouted, “and I’ll kill you.” The lout roared with laughter and swung his whip at Yang Guo’s head.

Yang Guo snatched it out of his hand and turned it round. With a crack he whirled the whip through the air in a loop that caught the lout round the neck, hauled him down off the cart, and gave him a sound thrashing about the head and face.

Ugly as it was, the scrawny horse seemed to have a good deal of sense. Seeing the lout beaten, it whinnied loudly for joy and stretched its head over to rub against Yang Guo’s leg, very affectionate. Yang Guo snapped the traces that bound it to the cart, patted its back and pointed to the dust the wild horses had left behind in the distance. “Off you go,” he said. “No one will ever bully you again.”

The horse reared up on its hind legs, gave a long neigh and charged straight ahead. But it was weak and had gone hungry for a long time, and the sudden gallop drained the last of its strength. It had run only a little over a hundred feet when its forelegs gave way and it sank to its knees. Yang Guo could not bear the sight. He ran over, put his hands under its belly, shouted “Up!” and lifted the horse onto its feet. When the lout saw such strength, he was so terrified that he left his cart and firewood behind, scrambled up and took to his heels. Only when he was half a li away did he start yelling, “Bandits! They’re stealing my horse! They’re stealing my firewood!”

Yang Guo found it funny. He pulled up some green grass and fed it to the scrawny horse. Seeing how hard the beast’s lot had been, he felt for it as one sufferer feels for another. He stroked its back and said, “Horse, oh horse, from now on you can stay with me.” He led it slowly by the reins to a market town and bought beans and wheat for it until it had eaten its fill. Only the next day, when he saw the horse in good heart, did he ride it, and then at a gentle pace.

At first the mangy horse tottered along, forever stumbling or tripping, but it went better and better, and after seven or eight days, with plentiful feed and its strength restored, it fairly flew along. Yang Guo was delighted beyond words and took extra care over its feeding.

One day he stopped for a bite at a small wineshop, and the mangy horse suddenly came up to the table and stared at a bowl of wine on the next table, whinnying again and again as if it wanted a drink. Yang Guo’s curiosity was roused. He had the serving boy fetch a big bowl of wine, set it on the table and stroked the horse’s head a few times. The horse drained the bowl in one gulp and swished its tail and stamped its hooves, very pleased. Yang Guo thought this great fun and called for more. The horse drank more than ten bowls one after another and still wanted more. When Yang Guo called for more again, the serving boy, seeing his ragged clothes and afraid he could not pay, made the excuse that there was no wine left.

After the meal Yang Guo mounted. Warmed by the wine, the mangy horse struck out at a great stride and ran as if it had gone mad, the trees by the road flying past behind them at astonishing speed. But where an ordinary fine horse runs both fast and steady, this mangy horse, fast as it was, pitched up and down, bucking and jolting, and anyone without Yang Guo’s superb qinggong could never have stayed on its back. The horse had another oddity. Whenever it saw a beast on the road ahead, it had to overtake it, ox or horse, mule or donkey, and it would not rest until it had got its head in front. When it came upon a fast horse, it raced to pass it as if its life depended on it, flying like the wind and lightning, never stopping until it had won. And its legs were truly remarkable. However fast the other horse, it always won. This swaggering, must-win temper seemed to come from a lifetime of bullying and humiliation. Yang Guo thought that this thousand-li steed² had been held down in a peasant’s hands, worn out by wind, dust and hardship, and had spent half its life in misery. Now, given the chance at last to stretch its fine legs, of course it wanted to fly.

This bad temper of the horse’s suited Yang Guo very well, and man and horse became something like good friends. He had been sunk in gloom, but he amused himself training the horse along the way, and being young, within a few days he was in good spirits again. From there he went south all the way until he came to the banks of the Huai River.³ As he rode, he remembered how he had teased Lu Wushuang⁴ and made fools of Li Mochou⁵ and her disciple, and he could not help laughing to himself in the saddle. But when he thought of Xiaolongnü,⁶ and wondered where she was and when he would ever see her again, his heart twisted a hundred ways and longing wound itself round it.

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One day, as noon came on, he kept meeting beggars along the road, and from the look of them a good many knew martial arts. He turned it over in his mind. Could my wife⁷ still be tangled up with the Beggars’ Guild? Or has the Beggars’ Guild gathered in force to have it out with Li Mochou? That would be a show not to be missed. He had never thought much of the Beggars’ Guild, but because he admired Hong Qigong, he could not help feeling a certain warmth towards them, and he decided that so long as these beggars were not out to make trouble for Lu Wushuang, he would tell them of Hong Qigong’s death. He rode on a while, and the beggars on the road grew more and more numerous. They all looked at Yang Guo in some surprise. His clothes and appearance were no different from a beggar’s, but members of the Beggars’ Guild never rode a horse unless the matter was truly urgent. Yang Guo paid them no attention and rode on at an easy pace.

Towards the hour of Shen,⁸ he heard eagles screaming overhead, and two white eagles swept past and swooped down ahead of him. Then he heard one beggar say, “Guild Chief Huang has arrived. Nine chances in ten there’s a gathering tonight.” “I wonder whether Guo daxia will come?” said another. “Those two are like a steelyard and its weight,” said the first. “Never the steelyard without the weight, never the weight without the steelyard…” Then he caught sight of Yang Guo reining in his horse to listen, shot him a glare and said no more.

At the names of Guo Jing and Huang Rong, Yang Guo gave a slight start, then laughed coldly to himself. I used to idle about your house eating your rice, and you looked down on me and made sport of me. I was young and helpless then, and I suffered plenty. Now the whole world is my home. What do I need you for? Then a new thought came to him. Why don’t I pretend to be down and out, go and throw myself on their charity, and see how they treat me?

So he found a quiet spot, tore his hair into a wild tangle, punched himself hard in the left eye and clawed at his cheeks a few times, so that at once his left eye was black and swollen and his face scored with bloody scratches. His clothes were ragged enough already. Now he tore them to shreds and rolled a few times in the mud and dust, and with that ugly horse covered in mangy sores, he looked every inch a man at the end of his road, half dead. His disguise complete, he limped back to the high road. He did not ride the horse any more but walked along with the beggars. He did not lead it by the reins either, yet the ugly horse followed behind him of its own accord. Some of the Beggars’ Guild men asked him in their cant whether he was going to the great feast. Yang Guo did not know the cant, and only stared and said nothing, mingling with the beggars, now at the front, now at the back.

The procession wound on, and as dusk came down they arrived at a large, dilapidated temple. The two white eagles were perched in a pine in front of it. The Wu brothers⁹ were feeding them, one holding a platter while the other took chunks of meat from it and tossed them up to the birds. A few days earlier, when the two brothers had fought Li Mochou alongside Guo Fu,¹⁰ Yang Guo had looked them over from nearby, but his eyes had been on Guo Fu the whole time and he had paid the brothers little heed. Now, watching them sidelong, he saw that Wu Dunru¹¹ had a bold, fierce air and was full of vigour in every movement, while Wu Xiuwen¹² was quick and nimble, darting this way and that, never still for a moment. Wu Dunru wore a robe of dark purple pongee, Wu Xiuwen a robe of sapphire-blue Shandong silk, and both had embroidered brocade hero sashes at their waists. They were young heroes indeed, two outstanding young men.

Yang Guo stepped forward and bowed. “Gr… greetings, Brothers Wu,” he stammered. “Have you… have you been well since we parted?” By now the ground before and behind the temple was crowded with beggars, every one of them in patched rags, so that for all the dust on his face, Yang Guo did not stand out among them. Wu Dunru returned the bow and looked Yang Guo up and down, but did not recognise him. “Forgive my poor eyes,” he said. “Who might you be, sir?” “My humble name is not worth mentioning,” said Yang Guo. “I… I would like to see Guild Chief Huang.”

Wu Dunru thought the voice sounded somewhat familiar, and he was about to question him when a voice like a silver bell called from the temple door, “Big Wu gege, I asked you to buy me a softer riding whip. Did you get it?” Wu Dunru dropped Yang Guo at once and hurried to meet her. “I bought it ages ago,” he said. “Try it and see if it suits your hand.” With that he took a riding whip out of the front of his robe.

Yang Guo turned his head and saw a girl in a pale green dress come hurrying out of the temple. Her eyebrows were gently arched and her small nose tilted up a little. Her face was like white jade, her complexion like morning flowers. It was Guo Fu. Her clothes were not particularly grand. Only a string of bright pearls hung at her neck, giving off a soft glow that made her look all the more as if she were moulded of powder and carved from jade. Yang Guo gave her one glance and felt himself shabby and unworthy beside her, and he turned his head away and did not look again. Wu Xiuwen hurried up too, and the two brothers did their utmost to curry favour with her.

After talking to Guo Fu for a while, Wu Dunru remembered Yang Guo and turned. “You’ve come for the Hero Assembly, I suppose?” Yang Guo had no idea what the Hero Assembly was, but he muttered yes. Wu Dunru beckoned to a beggar. “Look after this friend,” he said, “and take him to Dasheng Pass tomorrow.” With that he went back to talking to Guo Fu and paid him no more attention.

The beggar agreed, came over to look after him and asked his name. Yang Guo told him the truth. He was a nobody, so of course the beggar had never heard of him and thought nothing of it. The beggar said he was surnamed Wang and the thirteenth of his generation, Wang the Thirteenth,¹³ a two-bag disciple of the Beggars’ Guild. “Where have you come from, Brother Yang?” he asked. “From Shaanxi,” said Yang Guo. “Oh? Then you’re of the Quanzhen Order, Brother Yang?” said Wang the Thirteenth. The very words “Quanzhen Order” gave Yang Guo a headache. He shook his head quickly. “No.” “You’ll have your hero’s invitation with you, of course, Brother Yang?” said Wang the Thirteenth. Yang Guo was taken aback. “I’m down on my luck in the jianghu,” he said. “How could I be called any kind of hero? I only met your Guild Chief Huang once before, and I’ve come specially to see her, hoping to borrow a little money for the journey home.” Wang the Thirteenth frowned and thought it over for some time. “Guild Chief Huang is receiving heroes from all under heaven,” he said. “I’m afraid she won’t have time to see you.” Yang Guo had set out on purpose this time to look as wretched as he could. The more the other man looked down on him, the more pleased he was, so he begged all the more pitifully.

The members of the Beggars’ Guild all came from poverty themselves. They had always helped people in trouble and would never look down on the poor. Hearing how pitifully he spoke, Wang the Thirteenth said, “Little Brother Yang, have a good meal first, and tomorrow we’ll go to Dasheng Pass. I’ll report to the elders for you, they’ll pass it on to the Guild Chief, and we’ll see what she says. How’s that?” Wang the Thirteenth had called him Brother Yang at first, but now that he had heard Yang Guo was not one of the guests at the Hero Assembly, and since he himself was the older, he had switched to Little Brother Yang. Yang Guo thanked him again and again. Wang the Thirteenth invited him into the temple and brought out food to serve his guest. At that time the Dirty Clothes Faction held sway in the Beggars’ Guild, and even at a festive celebration the Guild’s own members would first make a mess of their chicken, fish, beef and mutton, like the leftovers of a meal, before they ate it, to show that they would never forget their roots. But guests were served proper food and wine.

Footnotes

1. 里 – lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately 500 metres or a third of a mile. ↩

2. 千里马 – qiānlǐmǎ. Literally thousand-li horse, a steed able to cover a thousand li in a day; also a figure for talent not yet recognised. ↩

3. 淮河 – Huái Hé. Major river in central China, traditionally marking the boundary between north and south. ↩

4. 陆无双 – Lù Wúshuāng. Her name meaning “peerless” or “without equal”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 李莫愁 – Lǐ Mòchóu. Her name meaning “do not sorrow”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 小龙女 – Xiǎolóngnǚ. Literally little dragon maiden. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 媳妇儿 – xífur. Literally wife. Yang Guo’s teasing name for Lu Wushuang. ↩

8. 时辰 – shíchén. Traditional Chinese unit of time equal to two hours; the day was divided into twelve shichen. The hour of Shen runs from three to five in the afternoon. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 武氏兄弟 – Wǔ shì xiōngdì. The Wu brothers, Wu Dunru and Wu Xiuwen, sons of Wu Santong and disciples of Guo Jing. ↩

10. 郭芙 – Guō Fú. Her name meaning “lotus”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

11. 武敦儒 – Wǔ Dūnrú. His name meaning “earnest scholar”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 武修文 – Wǔ Xiūwén. His name meaning “cultivate literature”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

13. 王十三 – Wáng Shísān. Literally Wang Thirteen; the number is his place in birth order among his generation. ↩