The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 15 – Part 2

The words “my wife”, when Yang Guo had thought of them recently, they referred only to Xiaolongnü. But this young woman was clearly speaking of the lame girl he had rescued from Li Mochou¹ on the Chang’an road, someone he had not thought of in a long time. Hearing her mention it, he quickly said, “She is not my wife. She called me ‘fool,’ so I called her ‘wife’, it was a joke, nothing serious. Is Miss Lu safe? Have her wounds healed completely?” The young woman said, “Thank you for your concern. Her wounds have healed. You haven’t forgotten her.” Yang Guo heard in her tone a close familiarity with Lu Wushuang and asked, “May I ask how you and Miss Lu are related?”

The young woman did not answer. She smiled faintly and said, “You needn’t call me Jiejie this and Jiejie that. I am not older than you.” She paused, then laughed. “You called someone ‘Gugu’ quite a few times already. Changing the way you address her now. I fear it may be too late.”

Yang Guo’s face reddened. He guessed that during his feverish stupor he must have mistaken her for Xiaolongnü and kept calling her “Gugu.” Perhaps he had even said intimate things, committed improprieties. The more he thought, the more uneasy he grew. Stammering, he said, “You… you aren’t offended, are you?” The young woman laughed. “Of course I’m not offended. Rest here and recover in peace. Once your wounds heal, go find your Gugu.” She added, “Don’t worry too much. You will find her in the end.” These words were gentle and considerate, carrying three parts kindness mixed with three parts respect, calming and cheering at once. She was unlike any other woman he had known. She was not sharp and playful like Lu Wushuang, nor arrogant and willful like Guo Fu. Yelü Yan² was forthright and unrestrained. Wanyan Ping³ was delicate and pitiable. As for Xiaolongnü, at first she was cold as frost, utterly indifferent, and later wholly devoted, willing to live or die for love, a personality of extremes. Only this young woman in green was gentle and refined, warm and attentive. Knowing he longed for his “Gugu,” she urged him to rest well and recover so he could go find her. Being with her, he felt everything was calm and peaceful.

After saying these few words, she picked up her brush and resumed writing. Yang Guo said, “Jiejie, what is your honourable surname?” The young woman said, “Don’t ask this and that. Just lie quietly and don’t let your mind wander, your internal injuries will heal faster.” Yang Guo said, “Very well. Though I knew it was pointless to ask. You won’t even let me see your face, so of course you won’t tell me your name.”

The young woman sighed. “My face is very ugly. You’ve seen it yourself.” Yang Guo said, “No, no! That was a human-skin mask you wore.” The young woman said, “If I were as beautiful as your Gugu, why would I need to wear a mask?” Hearing her praise Xiaolongnü’s beauty, Yang Guo was immensely pleased. He asked, “How do you know my Gugu is beautiful? Have you seen her?” The young woman said, “I have not. But since you long for her so deeply, body and soul, she must be the most beautiful woman under heaven.” Yang Guo sighed. “I long for her not because of her beauty. Even if she were the ugliest woman in the world, I would still long for her the same. Still… if you met her, you would surely praise her.”

If Guo Fu or Lu Wushuang had heard these words, they would have made some cutting remark. But this young woman only said, “It must be so. She is not only beautiful but treats you better than anyone could.” With that, she bent over her desk and continued writing.

Yang Guo stared at the bed canopy for a while, lost in thought, then could not resist turning his head again to gaze at her slender form. “Jiejie,” he asked, “what are you writing that is so important?” The young woman said, “I am practising calligraphy.” Yang Guo asked, “Which master’s calligraphy model are you copying?”⁴ The young woman said, “My characters are terribly ugly. How could I speak of copying a master’s model?” Yang Guo said, “You are too modest. I am certain they must be excellent.” The young woman laughed. “Now that is strange. How can you be so sure?” Yang Guo said, “With such a refined and elegant nature as yours, your calligraphy must also be refined and elegant. Jiejie, let me see what you’ve written, won’t you?”

The young woman laughed softly again. “My writing is not fit for others to see. When your wounds heal, I shall ask you to teach me.” Yang Guo thought to himself with shame how fortunate he was that Huang Rong had taught him to read and write on Peach Blossom Island. Without those days of diligent study, he would not even be able to tell good calligraphy from bad, let alone recognise the characters others wrote.

He drifted in thought for a while, feeling a dull ache in his chest. He quietly circulated his neili, channelling it through the hundred acupoints, and gradually felt more at ease and comfortable, until he sank into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the sky had darkened. The young woman had placed dishes on a low table and brought them to his bed, attending to him as he ate. Bamboo chopsticks, earthenware bowls, simple vessels, but all brand new. Even the smallest object seemed chosen with care.

The dishes too were ordinary fare: greens and beancurd, eggs and small fish, yet they were cooked with exquisite flavor. Yang Guo ate three large bowls of rice in one breath and praised the food without ceasing. Though the young woman’s mask concealed any expression of joy or displeasure, a happy light shone from her clear, bright eyes.

The next day Yang Guo’s injuries had improved further. The young woman moved a chair to his bedside and sat mending his clothes, patching up a tattered long gown until it was whole again. She held up the gown and said, “A person of your quality, why do you deliberately dress in such rags?” She went out and returned carrying a bolt of blue cloth, then began cutting it to the pattern of Yang Guo’s original garment.

From her voice and figure, she could not be more than seventeen or eighteen years old, yet the way she cared for Yang Guo was not merely that of an elder sister to a younger brother but almost the tender kindness of a mother. Yang Guo had lost his mother long ago. Now, in these moments, he felt as though he were a child once more. His heart was filled with gratitude and wonder. He could not help asking, “Jiejie, why are you so good to me? I truly do not deserve it.” The young woman said, “Making a garment, what goodness is there in that? What is truly difficult is risking your life to save others.”

The morning passed quietly. In the afternoon, the young woman again sat at the desk writing. Yang Guo desperately wanted to see what she was writing, but though he asked several times, she always refused. She wrote for about a shichen,⁵ writing a sheet, staring into space for a while, then tearing it up, then writing another. It seemed she was never satisfied, tearing up each sheet as she went. Clearly she was not copying some martial arts manual. Finally she sighed, stopped writing, and asked, “What would you like to eat? I’ll make it for you.”

An idea struck Yang Guo. “Only I fear it would be too much trouble,” he said. The young woman said, “What is it? Tell me.” Yang Guo said, “I would like to eat zongzi.”⁶ The young woman paused, then said, “Wrapping a few zongzi, what trouble is that? I’ve been wanting some myself. Do you prefer sweet or savory?” Yang Guo said, “Either is fine. Just having some to eat would satisfy me completely. How could I be so picky?” That evening, the young woman indeed wrapped several zongzi for him as a snack, sweet ones with lard and sweet bean paste, savory ones with ham and fresh pork. They were truly delicious beyond compare. Yang Guo ate and praised them without pause.

The young woman sighed. “You are truly clever. You finally guessed my background.” Yang Guo was bewildered. I didn’t guess anything! How did I guess your background? But aloud he said, “How did you know?” The young woman said, “The zongzi of my homeland, Jiangnan, are famous throughout the land. You didn’t ask for anything else, you specifically asked for zongzi.” Yang Guo cast his mind back to the events of years past: meeting Guo Jing⁷ and his wife in western Zhejiang, battling Li Mochou, being adopted as Ouyang Feng⁸’s godson, a chain of incidents, yet he could not place who this young woman was.

His request for zongzi, however, had a hidden purpose. Just as he finished eating, while the young woman was not looking, he secretly kept a piece in his palm. When she went out to clear the dishes, he quickly took a length of thread left over from her sewing, stuck a bit of zongzi to one end, and cast it out to snag one of the torn scraps of paper. He reeled it in and looked, then froze. On the paper were written eight characters: “Ji jian junzi, yun hu bu xi.”⁹ These were two lines from the Book of Songs. Years ago, Huang Rong had taught him to read them and explained their meaning: “Now that I have seen this virtuous gentleman, how could I not be glad?” Yang Guo cast out the thread again and reeled in another scrap. The same eight characters were written on it, though the first character, ji (“now that”), had been half torn away. He cast and reeled, cast and reeled, retrieving more than a dozen torn scraps. On every one, written over and over in every direction, were those same eight characters. He pondered their deeper meaning and could not help falling into a daze.

Suddenly he heard footsteps, the young woman was returning. Yang Guo hastily hid the scraps under his blanket. The young woman gathered the remaining torn paper into a ball, took it outside, and burned it.

Yang Guo thought, She wrote “Now that I have seen this gentleman”, could this gentleman be me? I have barely exchanged a few words with her. What could she see in me that brings her such joy? Besides, I am such a mess, what kind of gentleman am I? But if it isn’t me, there is no one else here. In truth, in the Book of Songs, the word junzi simply means “a man”, it does not necessarily mean “a refined and virtuous gentleman.” But this was a nuance Yang Guo did not understand.

While he was lost in these thoughts, the young woman returned to the room. She stood quietly by the window for a moment, then blew out the candle. Pale moonlight streamed through the window and pooled on the floor. Yang Guo called, “Jiejie.” The young woman did not answer. Slowly, she walked out.

After a long while, the faint, melancholic sound of a flute drifted through the window. Yang Guo had seen her use her jade flute against Li Mochou and knew her martial skill was not weak. He had not expected her flute playing to be so beautiful as well. Back in the Ancient Tomb, when Xiaolongnü sometimes played the qin, he would sit beside her and listen as she explained the meaning of the music, so he had a rough understanding of musical principles. Now he recognised that she was playing in the Wushe Shang mode¹⁰, the piece was “Qi Ao” (“The River Bay”).¹¹ This qin melody was gentle and refined. Yang Guo had heard it a few times before and had never particularly liked it. But as he listened, he noticed she played only the first five phrases, over and over, now high, now low, now slow, now fast, always variations on those five lines, yet imbued with a lingering tenderness. Yang Guo remembered Xiaolongnü telling him that this piece praised a man, comparing him to carved ivory, so elegant, and to polished jade, so warm and smooth. But he could not recall the exact words.

She played a while longer, then slowly stopped and sighed. Softly, as though speaking to herself, she murmured, “Even if you really did call me Gugu… it wouldn’t be unreasonable…” Yang Guo said, “Miss…” The young woman did not answer. She simply left, and did not return that night.

The next morning, when the young woman brought in breakfast, she saw that Yang Guo was now wearing a human-skin mask. She stared, then laughed. “Why are you wearing one of those too?” Yang Guo said, “You gave it to me. Since you won’t reveal your true face, I’ll wear a mask as well.” The young woman said coolly, “That’s fine too.” After saying this, she set down the breakfast and turned to leave. She did not speak to him again all day. Yang Guo grew increasingly anxious, afraid he had offended her. He wanted to say something to make amends, but she never lingered in the room. That evening, when the young woman came to clear the dishes after he had finished eating, just as she was about to leave, Yang Guo said, “Jiejie, your flute playing is so beautiful. Won’t you play another piece?”

Footnotes

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

2. Yelu Yan (耶律燕). Sister of Yelu Qi, a young woman of Khitan aristocratic descent whom Yang Guo encountered during his travels. ↩

3. 完颜萍 – Wányán Píng. Her name meaning “duckweed”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 碑帖 – Calligraphy model. Literally “stele and copybook.” Traditional Chinese calligraphy is learned by copying from stone rubbing collections (bei) of famous calligraphers’ works or from handwritten copybooks (tie). Asking which model someone is copying is a cultured question that implies the person is studying calligraphy seriously. ↩

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

6. 粽子 – Zongzi. Glutinous rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo or reed leaves, a traditional food particularly associated with Jiangnan (the region south of the Yangtze River). Zongzi from Jiaxing (嘉兴) in Zhejiang province are especially famous. Cheng Ying’s reaction reveals her Jiangnan origins. ↩

7. 郭靖 – Guō Jìng. His name meaning “tranquillity” or “pacification”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

9. 既见君子，云胡不喜 – “Ji jian junzi, yun hu bu xi”. From the Book of Songs (诗经), specifically the poem “Wind and Rain” (风雨). Full stanza reads: “Wind and rain, gloom and darkness / The cock crows without cease / Now that I have seen this gentleman / How could I not be glad?” It expresses the joy of reunion with a loved one. Cheng Ying’s obsessive rewriting of these lines reveals her feelings for Yang Guo. ↩

10. 无射商 – Wushe Shang. One of the twelve standard pitches (shi’er lü) in traditional Chinese music. Wushe is the eleventh pitch; Shang is one of the five pentatonic modes. Combination designates both the keynote and the mode of the piece. ↩

11. 淇奥 – “Qi Ao”. Poem from the Book of Songs (诗经, “Guo Feng: Wei Feng”), praising a gentleman of virtue. Famous lines compare the gentleman to “carved and polished” ivory and “cut and filed” jade, metaphors for moral self-cultivation through diligent refinement. ↩