The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 20 – Part 8

Guo Fu was cool and distant with him. “Big Brother Yang,” was all she said. Guo Jing rebuked her. “Fu’er, when State Preceptor Jinlun captured you before, if Big Brother Yang hadn’t risked his life to rescue you, never mind what would have become of you, even your mother would have met with disaster. Why haven’t you thanked Big Brother Yang properly?” Guo Fu stood up. “Thank you, Big Brother Yang, for rescuing me the other day.” “We’re all family,” said Yang Guo. “Why talk of thanks?” Guo Fu sat down without a word. All through the meal her brows were faintly knitted, as if she had a great deal on her mind, and the Wu brothers too seemed far away. But Lu Youjiao and Zhu Ziliu were in high spirits, talking on and on about the day’s great victory over the Tartars.

When the feast broke up it was already the first watch of the night. Guo Jing told his daughter to take Xiaolongnü inside to rest, and drew Yang Guo off to share his own bed. As Xiaolongnü went in, she gave Yang Guo a look full of tender love and endless concern, as if bidding him be careful above all things. Yang Guo, afraid of giving away what was in his heart, turned his head aside and dared not meet her eyes.

Guo Jing led Yang Guo by the hand to his bedchamber. He praised him for standing up to State Preceptor Jinlun, and for twice saving Huang Rong, Guo Fu and the Wu brothers, once in the wineshop and once in the stone formation, and then asked what had happened to him since they parted. Afraid that the more he said, the more likely he was to slip, Yang Guo said nothing at all of meeting Cheng Ying, Lu Wushuang,¹ Shagu² or Huang Yaoshi, and only said, “After I was wounded, I recovered in a deserted valley. Later I found my shifu again, and we came together to look for you, Uncle Guo.”

Undressing for bed, Guo Jing said, “Guoer, with a powerful enemy pressing on our borders, the Great Song realm is truly as precarious as a stack of eggs. Xiangyang is the shield of half the Great Song’s lands. If this city falls, I fear the tens of millions of our Great Song’s people will all become slaves of the Mongols. I have seen with my own eyes how the Mongols butcher other peoples, and it truly makes the blood boil.” Hearing this, Yang Guo remembered all the terrible, hateful scenes of Mongol cruelty and violence he had seen on the road, and he too ground his teeth till they rattled, his breast full of fury.

Guo Jing went on, “We who train in martial skill and study the martial arts, what is it all for? To act as xia, to uphold what is right and help people in their distress, that is our duty, of course, but that is only xia in its lesser form. The reason the jianghu³ honours me with the name ‘Guo daxia’⁴ is that they respect me for helping to defend Xiangyang for the country and the people without a thought for my own life. But my talents are limited, I cannot deliver the people from their hardship, and I am truly ashamed to bear the word ‘daxia’. You are ten times cleverer than I am, and you will certainly achieve far more than I ever have, that goes without saying. I only hope you will keep these eight words firmly in your heart: ‘For the country, for the people: that is xia at its greatest.’⁵ Then one day your name will be known throughout the world, and you will be a true daxia, revered by all the people.”

He spoke with such sincerity and earnestness that Yang Guo was deeply moved as he listened. Seeing the solemn dignity in Guo Jing’s face, he could not help feeling a surge of real respect, even though he knew this was the man who had killed his father. “Uncle Guo,” he answered, “after you are dead, I shall certainly remember what you have said tonight.”

Guo Jing never dreamed that Yang Guo meant to assassinate him that very night. He reached out and stroked Yang Guo’s head. “Yes. We give our all, until death. If the country falls, your Uncle Guo’s life will not be spared either. I hear Kublai is a skilled general. If he has retreated today, he is bound to come again, and in the next few days there will surely be a great battle. We shall fight it out gloriously. It’s late. Let’s sleep.”

“Yes,” said Yang Guo. He undressed for bed and hid the dagger he had brought out of Passionless Valley against his bare skin. When you’re sound asleep, he thought, I’ll give you one stab under the covers. Were your martial skill a hundred times greater, how could you dodge that?

Guo Jing had fought hard all day and was badly drained, and the moment his head touched the pillow he was sound asleep. But how could Yang Guo sleep, with so much on his mind? He lay on the inner side of the bed, head to Guo Jing’s feet, and listened to Guo Jing’s breathing, steady and even, each breath in and out a long while apart, and secretly he marvelled at the depth of his neigong. After a long time, when all around was utterly still but for the far-off beat of the garrison’s night watch, he sat up softly and drew the dagger from his clothes. Once I’ve stabbed him to death, he thought, I’ll go and kill Huang Rong. What can a woman about to give birth do to stop me? Once that’s done, Aunt and I can go to Passionless Valley together and get the other half of the pill. After that, she and I will live hidden in the ancient tomb and enjoy every quiet blessing life can give. What do I care whether the empire belongs to the Great Song or to Mongolia?

The thought pleased him immensely. Suddenly, in the house next door, a child began to wail loudly, then a mother’s voice soothed it, and little by little the child stopped crying and went to sleep. Yang Guo’s heart lurched. He remembered with a jolt what he had seen on the high road some days before: a Mongol warrior had slit open a baby’s belly with his long spear and held it up high in the air for sport, and the baby, not yet dead, was still screaming. To kill Guo Jing now would be as easy as lifting my hand, he thought. But once he’s dead, Xiangyang can’t be held, and then won’t all the thousands upon thousands of babies in this city be butchered by Mongol soldiers for their sport? To avenge my own wrong I’d be the death of countless people. Wouldn’t that be a great wrong?

Then he thought again, But if I don’t kill him, how will I ever get Qiu Qianchi to give me the other half of the Passion Severing Pill? And if I die, Aunt won’t live either. His love for Xiaolongnü was greater than anything else in the world, and he hardened his heart. Enough, enough. What do I care about the people of Xiangyang, or the Great Song’s rivers and mountains? When I was suffering, who but Aunt ever truly pitied me? The world has never loved me. Why should I love the world? He raised the dagger, sent his strength through his right arm, and levelled the point at Guo Jing’s chest.

The candle in the room had long since gone out, but Yang Guo could see in the dark and could make things out, dimly. Just as the dagger was about to plunge down, he looked at Guo Jing’s face. It was kindly and gentle, calm and untroubled, and he slept on deeply and sweetly. Suddenly all the care and protection Guo Jing had given him as a boy came flooding back: how warmly Guo Jing had treated him on Peach Blossom Island, how he had travelled a thousand li to take him to Mount Zhongnan to study the martial arts, how he had wanted to betroth his only daughter to him. He could not help thinking, Uncle Guo has been upright all his life, open and honourable, truly a loyal and generous elder. A man like him couldn’t have killed my father. Could it be that Shagu, with her wits astray, was talking nonsense? I struck palms with Sister Cheng Ying and swore that before I raised my hand to kill Guo Jing, I would think three times and think it through clearly. Have I really thought it through? If I drive this blade home and it turns out I’ve killed a good man, ten thousand deaths won’t atone for it. Wait. I must find out the truth of this first.

So he slowly drew the dagger back, and one by one he turned over in his mind everything that had happened since he first met Guo Jing and his wife. He remembered how Huang Rong had so often looked at him with displeasure, and how several times, when husband and wife were talking of something, they had changed the subject the moment they saw him. That the two of them were hiding something important from him, there could be no doubt at all. Then he thought, Why did Aunt Guo, when she took me as her pupil, teach me only to read books and refuse to pass on the least scrap of martial skill? Uncle Guo is so good to me. Isn’t that because he killed my father and his conscience gives him no peace, so he treats me a little better to make amends? But if he really did kill my father, how could he be so utterly off his guard with me, sharing a bed with me, leaving me free to stab him dead with one thrust? He stared up at the bed curtains, his thoughts surging like the tide, restless and tormented.

Guo Jing’s neigong was of the highest order, and even in sleep he sensed that Yang Guo’s breathing had turned quick and strange. He opened his eyes at once, awake. “Guoer, what’s wrong? Can’t you sleep?” Yang Guo gave a slight start. “It’s nothing.” Guo Jing laughed. “If you’re not used to sharing a bed, I’ll sleep on the table.” “No, no, it’s all right,” Yang Guo said hastily. “Good,” said Guo Jing, “then go to sleep. Those who study the martial arts must above all learn to gather in and steady the mind.” “Yes,” said Yang Guo.

After a little while Yang Guo could bear it no longer. “Uncle Guo,” he said, “that year you sent me to study at Chongyang Palace, I asked you something in a temple at the foot of Mount Zhongnan.” “What of it?” said Guo Jing. “You struck a stone tablet in anger then,” said Yang Guo, “and the Quanzhen Daoists misunderstood. Do you still remember what I asked you?” Guo Jing thought back a moment. “Yes. That day you asked me how your father died.” Yang Guo raised his head and stared at him. “No. I asked you who it was that killed my father.” “How do you know your father was killed by anyone?” said Guo Jing. Yang Guo said hoarsely, “Are you telling me my father died a natural death?”

Guo Jing was silent. After a long while he heaved a deep sigh. “His death was a sad one indeed, but no one brought it about. He brought it on himself.” Yang Guo sat up, shaken to the core. “You’re lying to me! How can anyone in the world be the death of himself? Even if my father took his own life, there was someone who drove him to it.”

Grief welled up in Guo Jing, and tears ran down his face. Slowly he said, “Guoer, your grandfather and my father were sworn brothers, as close as flesh and blood, and your father and I swore brotherhood too. If your father had died wrongfully, how could I fail to avenge him?”

Yang Guo trembled all over. The words were on the tip of his tongue: “You killed him yourself. How could you avenge him?” But he knew that if he said it, Guo Jing would be on his guard, and it would be far harder to kill him. So he only nodded and said nothing.

Guo Jing said, “The story of your father is a long and tangled one. It can’t be told in a word. When you asked me back then, you were still young and couldn’t have understood how things stood, so I didn’t tell you. Now you’re grown, and you can tell right from wrong, black from white, perfectly clearly. Once we’ve beaten off the Tartars, I’ll tell you the whole story from the beginning.” With that he laid his head on the pillow again and slept.

Yang Guo had always known Guo Jing to be a man whose word was his bond, who never told a lie, and hearing this, he was torn again between belief and doubt. He cursed himself in silence. Yang Guo, Yang Guo, you’ve always pressed straight on, bold and decisive. Why are you so timid and faint-hearted today? Can it be that deep down you’re afraid of his martial skill? If you dither and dally tonight and lose your chance, and tomorrow Huang Rong sees through you, even Aunt may die with no ground to be buried in. The thought of Xiaolongnü put fresh heart into him. He reached inside his clothes and felt the dagger. The blade lay against his skin, and it had grown warm.

Footnotes

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

2. 曲傻姑 – Qū Shǎgū. Daughter of Qu Lingfeng; mentally impaired but possesses formidable martial arts taught by Huang Yaoshi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 江湖 – jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. Itinerant world beyond settled society and official reach, holding not only martial artists but the trades that travel with them, including pedlars, physicians, fortune-tellers, entertainers, boatmen, beggars, outlaws and the like. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 大侠 – dàxiá. Literally great xia. Honorific for a martial artist of great renown and chivalrous conduct. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 为国为民，侠之大者 – Wèi Guó Wèi Mín, Xiá zhī Dà Zhě. Literally “For the country, for the people, this is the greatest of xia.” ↩