The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 15 – Part 8

The two of them stood frozen for a moment. Then Cheng Ying, hearing the commotion, came out as well. “When did you notice these?” she asked. Lu Wushuang said, “I saw them before dawn.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her face flushed bright red. It turned out she had been missing Yang Guo and had been lingering beneath his window since early morning. Cheng Ying pretended not to notice and said, “Fortunately, we didn’t run into her. Now that the sun is about to rise, the witch won’t come today. We can take our time thinking of a plan, no need to rush.” The three of them went into Yang Guo’s room to discuss.

Lu Wushuang said, “That day she got a taste of Shagu’s fire-poker technique. How come she’s not afraid anymore?” Cheng Ying said, “Shijie’s poker moves, coming and going, are only those few. After going back and thinking it over carefully, she must have figured out how to counter them.” Lu Wushuang said, “But the Fool’s wounds are healed now. If the two fools join forces, won’t their power be limitless?”

Yang Guo burst out laughing. “A fool plus a Shagu, one muddled mess. What power could there be?”

The three talked for a while but came up with no brilliant plan. Still, they reasoned that with four of them working together, even if they could not win, they could at least defend themselves. They would just have to fight her with all their strength the next day. Yang Guo said, “The two of us fools will face her head-on, working together. You two cousins will attack from the flanks. Let’s go find Shagu and rehearse first.”

But when they called for Shagu, there was no answer. She had vanished without a trace. All three grew worried and split up to search the front and back of the mountain. After searching for a while, Cheng Ying suddenly found Shagu lying in a pile of rubble, her breathing barely a thread. Horrified, Cheng Ying opened her clothing to examine her and saw a faint blood-coloured palm print on her back, she had indeed been struck by Li Mochou’s Scarlet Serpent Divine Palm. She quickly called Yang Guo and Lu Wushuang over, then took out her shifu’s wondrous medicine, the Nine Flower Jade Dew Pills,¹ and gave them to Shagu. Yang Guo remembered the antidote method recorded in the Secret Manual of the Five Venoms for treating this venomous palm and urgently circulated his neili to massage her acupoints.

Shagu giggled foolishly. “Bad woman. Behind me. Hit me. Shagu. Backhand. Hit her.” Shagu’s backhand palm was one of the three moves Huang Yaoshi had taught her. Though Li Mochou had succeeded in her sneak attack, she had also been struck on the forearm by Shagu’s backhand. Her arm bone had nearly been shattered. In shock and pain, she had fled at once, not daring to follow through and take Shagu’s life.

The three of them saved Shagu and sat facing one another in gloom. Of the four, they had lost one of their best fighters. Tomorrow’s battle would be even harder to withstand. Shagu was gravely wounded. If they tried to protect her while fleeing, Li Mochou would surely catch them. Yang Guo looked at Cheng Ying, then at Lu Wushuang. He casually picked up a silk thread from the sewing basket and snipped it into pieces with a pair of scissors. Shagu, lying on the cot, suddenly shouted, “Snip! The bad woman’s broom! Snip the broom!” She did not know the word “horsetail whisk,” so she called it a “broom.”

A thought stirred in Yang Guo’s mind. That witch’s whisk is a soft, flexible weapon, and she wields it with supernatural skill. No treasured saber or sharp sword can harm it. But if we really had a giant pair of scissors as a weapon and, snip!, cut it in two, that would be perfect. At this thought, he took the silk thread in his left hand and flicked it as though it were a whisk striking. His right hand brought the scissors forward and cut the thread in two. Then, imagining the whisk’s various trajectories, he pursued with the scissors, inventing techniques as he went.

Cheng Ying and Lu Wushuang watched for a while and grasped his intent. Their faces lit up with joy. Cheng Ying said, “About seven or eight li north of here, there is a blacksmith’s shop…” Lu Wushuang broke in, “Right! Let’s go have the blacksmith forge a giant pair of scissors.” Yang Guo thought, Forged in such haste, this weapon will be extremely difficult to master. But I’ll adapt as the fight unfolds, it’s still a hundred times easier than mastering the Jade Flute Swordplay. Anyway, there’s no other option. We might as well try. He also realised that if he went alone to the blacksmith’s shop to place the order and Li Mochou attacked suddenly, the danger would be extreme. At this moment, the four of them could not be separated for even an instant. So Cheng Ying and Lu Wushuang padded the horse’s back with bedding, laid Shagu across it, and all of them went to the blacksmith’s shop together.

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After the Mongols conquered the Jin, their cavalry had pushed into Song territory. This region lay at the northern frontier of the Great Song, and the towns were mostly occupied by Mongol troops, everywhere lay in ruins. The blacksmith’s shop was extremely crude. Right inside the entrance stood a large anvil, the floor covered in coal dust and iron scraps. On the walls hung a few plowshares and sickles. The place was silent and deserted.

Yang Guo looked at the scene and thought, A place like this, what kind of weapon could they possibly forge? He called out loudly, “Is the master smith at home?” After a long pause, an old man emerged from a side room. His beard and hair were grey-white. He appeared to be about fifty. Years of bending over the forge had given him a hunched back. His eyes, red and narrow from smoke and fire, were rimmed with yellowish discharge. His left leg was crippled, and he supported himself with a crutch wedged under his shoulder. “What are your orders, honoured guests?” he asked.

Yang Guo was about to answer when he heard the sound of hoofbeats. Two riders charged up to the shop door. One was a Mongol squad leader. The other a Han Chinese, either an interpreter or a local constable. The Han man shouted, “Old Feng the blacksmith! Come out and receive your orders.” The old blacksmith stepped forward and bowed. “This humble one is he,” he said. The man said, “Orders from the commander: all blacksmiths in the town are to report to the county seat within three days, to be assigned to military service. You will report to the county seat tomorrow. Do you hear?” Old Feng said, “This humble one is so old…” The Mongol squad leader raised his riding crop and struck him across the head, growling something unintelligible. The Han man said, “If you’re not there tomorrow, watch your head roll.” The two riders galloped off.

Old Feng let out a long sigh and stood there, staring blankly. Cheng Ying, seeing how pitiful the old man was, placed ten liang of silver on the table. “Master Feng,” she said, “at your age, and with difficulty walking besides, being conscripted into the Mongol army would be throwing your life away for nothing. Take this silver and flee for your life.” Old Feng sighed. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss. An old blacksmith who has lived to this age, life or death means little. What is lamentable is that the millions of souls south of the Yangtze are about to suffer a great calamity.” In truth, he was not so very old, only in his fifties, but his demeanor was so listless and feeble, his back so bent, that he appeared twice as aged.

All three were startled. “Why do you say that?” they asked together. Old Feng said, “The Mongol commander is conscripting blacksmiths, clearly to forge weapons. The Mongol army has always had ample weapons and equipment. If they need to manufacture large quantities now, they must be preparing to attack the Great Song southward.” The three were impressed by his eloquence and the soundness of his reasoning. They were about to ask more when Old Feng said, “What did the three of you wish to have forged?”

Yang Guo said, “Master Feng, you have urgent business of your own, and we should not trouble you. But our need is pressing, so we must impose upon your skill.” He then described the style and dimensions of the giant scissors. The object was peculiar indeed, but to their surprise, Old Feng showed no astonishment after hearing the description. He merely nodded, pulled the bellows to stoke the furnace, and placed two pieces of fine steel into the coals to smelt. Yang Guo asked, “Can it be finished tonight?” Old Feng said, “This humble one will work as quickly as possible.” With that, he pulled the bellows furiously, heating the coals in the furnace to a blazing red. They were now near the north, yet Old Feng’s speech carried a Jiangnan accent.

Shagu lay slumped across the table, half-sitting, half-lying. Yang Guo and the two young women all hailed from Jiangnan. Though they had left home young, hearing that their homeland was about to suffer calamity filled them all with somber concern. The three of them gazed at the furnace fire, each thinking that in such chaotic times, human life was cheap, and misery and hardship were everywhere. Tomorrow they would face danger of their own, but since the whole world was in the same plight, their fear and dread diminished somewhat.

After more than a shichen, Old Feng finished smelting the iron. His left hand used tongs to lift the glowing iron bar onto the anvil. His right hand raised a great iron hammer and struck. Old though he was, his arm strength was considerable. He swung the hammer as though it cost him no effort at all. He hammered for a long time. They watched as he bent the two iron bars into the rough shape of a giant pair of scissors, gradually taking form. Lu Wushuang said happily, “Fool, we can get it finished tonight after all.”

Suddenly, they heard a cold voice behind them: “Forging a giant pair of scissors, to cut my whisk, is it?” The three were horrified. Turning, they saw Li Mochou standing in the doorway, gently flicking her whisk.

The weapon was not yet forged, and the deadly enemy had arrived. Cheng Ying and Lu Wushuang each drew their longswords. Yang Guo spotted an iron bar beside the furnace, ready to snatch it up the moment the enemy struck.

Li Mochou sneered. “Forging giant scissors to cut my whisk, what a clever idea, you little brats. I’ll just sit here and wait until your scissors are finished before we fight. No rush.” She dragged a bench over and sat down, as though the three of them were not even worth noticing.

Yang Guo said, “Nothing could be better. I suspect that whisk of yours is destined to be snipped in two.”

Li Mochou saw Shagu slumped over the table, her back slightly rising and falling, and thought, This woman took a direct hit from my palm and can still sit up, she is formidable indeed. She asked coldly, “Where is Huang Yaoshi?” Old Feng, hearing the name “Huang Yaoshi,” jolted. He lifted his head and glanced at her, then immediately lowered it and continued hammering. Cheng Ying said, “You know perfectly well my shifu is not here. Why ask? If you knew he had not yet left, you wouldn’t dare come, not with ten times the courage.”

Li Mochou gave a cold snort and drew a sheet of white paper from her bosom. “Huang Yaoshi deceives the world with an empty name, relying on nothing more than taking many disciples and overwhelming opponents with numbers. Hah! And among all those disciples, which one is truly worth anything?” With a flick of her wrist, she sent the paper flying. A slight movement of her arm followed, and a silver needle shot out, pinning the paper to a pillar. “Let this remain as evidence,” she said. “When Huang the Old Heretic returns, he will know who killed his two precious disciples.” She turned to Old Feng and barked, “Hurry up and finish. I haven’t the patience to wait long.”

Old Feng squinted at the white paper with his reddened eyes and read the sixteen characters: “Peach Blossom Island Master, disciples in great number, five against one, the laughingstock of the jianghu!” He raised his head and stared at the rafters, lost in thought. Li Mochou snapped, “Are you going to hurry up or not?” Old Feng lowered his head and said, “Yes, yes. Almost done, almost done.” His left hand reached out with the tongs and seized both needle and paper together, then cast them into the roaring furnace. The white paper instantly burned to ashes.

Everyone was utterly astonished. Li Mochou was enraged. She raised her whisk, about to strike him on the crown of the head, but then thought, An old blacksmith in this small town, yet so audacious, could he be someone extraordinary? She had already risen. Now she slowly sat back down. “Who are you?” she demanded. Old Feng said, “Can’t you see? I’m an old blacksmith.” Li Mochou said, “Why did you burn my paper?” Old Feng said, “What was written on it was incorrect. Better not to have it nailed up in my shop.” Li Mochou demanded harshly, “What was incorrect about it?”

Footnotes

1. 九花玉露丸 – Jiǔhuā Yùlù Wán. Peach Blossom Island healing medicine. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩