The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 21 – Part 3

A thought stirred in Yang Guo’s heart. He silently repeated the words: Do not kill the innocent by mistake! How can the innocent be killed by mistake?

Guo Jing called out, “Brothers of the Beggars’ Gang and all friends of the wulin, follow me!”¹ He raced down from the city wall. Yang Guo followed. Guo Jing said, “You injured your qi training last night. You must not exert yourself today. Stay on the wall and watch over me.” Yang Guo had seen the Mongol soldiers butchering Han people as though they were pigs and dogs. He had intended to follow Guo Jing and cut a bloody swath through them. Hearing these words, he froze. He could not very well say that last night had not been a qi deviation at all. He had no choice but to return to the top of the wall.

Guo Jing led his men out through the west gate, charging forth in a wide arc to strike the Mongol flank. The Mongol troops herding the civilians immediately split off a force to engage them. The men Guo Jing led were mostly elite fighters of the Beggars’ Gang, with a smaller contingent of loyalist volunteers who had come from various regions. With a unified battle cry, they surged forward with reckless courage. The two forces clashed, and in moments, more than a hundred Mongol riders were cut down from their horses. But just as this Mongol battalion of a thousand began to waver, another thousand-man unit charged in from an angle, long sabres swinging, stabbing and hacking as they came. The Mongol army was forged through a hundred campaigns, fierce and battle-hardened. Though Guo Jing’s warriors all possessed martial skills, victory would not come easily. The civilians who had been driven toward the city saw that the Mongol soldiers were now fully occupied with combat and no longer forcing them forward. With a unified cry, they scattered in all directions.

Then, from the east, war horns blared. Hoofbeats thundered. Two more Mongol battalions of a thousand men each came charging at full speed. From the west, two more thousand-man units galloped in. Guo Jing and his men were surrounded at the centre.

From the city wall, Lü Wenhuan saw the terrifying might of the Mongol army. His heart and gall bladder nearly burst with terror. How could he possibly dare to split his forces and send a rescue?

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Yang Guo stood on the wall, watching the battle, Guo Jing’s words turning over and over in his mind: Do not kill the innocent by mistake! How can the innocent be killed by mistake? He watched Guo Jing trapped in the tightening encirclement and thought, From the wall, they only had to keep shooting arrows. Kill a few civilians, and the Mongol soldiers would never have been able to attack. Uncle Guo is in danger now precisely because he refused to kill the innocent by mistake. These commoners, he has never met them, has no connection to them whatsoever. Yet he risks his life to save them. How could he have murdered my father?

His eyes followed the brutal slaughter below the walls, but the thoughts in his mind circled endlessly around this impossible puzzle: He and my father swore an oath of brotherhood. Their bond could not have been ordinary. And yet, in the end, he killed him. Could my father truly have been an irredeemably evil man? Since childhood, he had imagined his father as a man of chivalry and generosity, brave and righteous, the finest of men under heaven. To suddenly admit that his father was a villain, he simply could not do it. Yet in the deepest recesses of his heart, he had long felt, however dimly, that his father fell far, far short of Uncle Guo. In the past, whenever such a thought stirred, he would crush it at once. Now, he could no longer stop himself from confronting it.

Below the walls, battle cries shook the heavens. Guo Jing and his men charged left and right but could not break through the encirclement. Zhu Ziliu led a contingent of troops. The Wu brothers and Guo Fu² led another. Both groups wanted to ride out and reinforce him. But then the war horns blared with fresh urgency, four more Mongol thousand-man units surged toward the city gate. Khubilai’s generalship was indeed extraordinary. The moment the city gates opened to send reinforcements, these four elite units would pour through. Lü Wenhuan watched with his heart pounding and his flesh crawling. In a thunderous voice, he passed the order: “The gates must not be opened!” He stationed two hundred executioner guards beside the gate. Anyone who dared open it would be beheaded on the spot. General Wang Jian led the archers on the wall in ceaseless volleys.

Inside and outside the city, chaos reigned. Inside Yang Guo’s heart, too, a chaos of conflicting thoughts warred against each other. One moment, he hoped Guo Jing would perish in the chaos of battle. The next, he hoped he would slaughter his way through the enemy ranks. Suddenly, the Mongol formation wavered. Thousands of cavalrymen fell back like a receding tide. Guo Jing, long spear in hand, spurred his horse and burst through. Behind him, his warriors formed a tight square formation and fought their way forward. The formation was impeccably disciplined. Within moments, they had reached the city gate. Guo Jing wheeled his horse around and personally held the rear guard. His long spear rose and fell, in succession, seven or eight Mongol officers were knocked from their saddles. The Mongol soldiers did not dare press too close.

Lü Wenhuan relied on Guo Jing as the Great Wall itself.³ Seeing him break free, his heart swelled with joy. He shouted, “Open the gate! But only a crack, do not open it wide!” The gate opened three or four chi, just enough for a single horse. The warriors streamed into the city one after another. A yellow banner waved among the Mongol ranks, and two cavalry units charged in from the left and right. Lü Wenhuan bellowed, “Hero Guo! Enter quickly! We cannot wait for the others!” But Guo Jing, seeing that not all his men had yet escaped, refused to enter the city ahead of them. Instead, he turned his horse and charged forward again, killing two of the foremost Mongol champions.

But an army in motion is like the tide. Guo Jing’s martial arts might be profound, but the strength of one man, how could it withstand the full force of an army? Zhu Ziliu, watching from the wall, saw the desperate situation. He dropped a long rope and called out, “Brother Guo! Grab hold!” Guo Jing looked back. The last Beggars’ Gang brother had entered the city, but a dozen Mongol soldiers had followed through the gate. The executioner guards at the gate fought them off while straining to close the doors. The iron gates, two chi thick, slowly ground shut. Guo Jing let out a great roar, drove his spear through a Mongol squad leader, then leaped into the air and seized the rope. Zhu Ziliu heaved with all his might. Guo Jing shot upward more than a zhang.⁴

The Mongol commander of ten thousand overseeing the battle bellowed, “Shoot!” In an instant, a thousand crossbows fired as one. Guo Jing had anticipated this as he leaped. He tore off the hem of his robe. With his right hand gripping the rope and his left hand whirling the cloth before him like a great shield, he infused the robe with his neili and deflected every arrow. His warhorse, however, was struck by hundreds of shafts before the city gate, bristling like a hedgehog. Zhu Ziliu pulled hand over hand, raising Guo Jing higher and higher.

Guo Jing was still two zhang from the top of the wall when a tall, gaunt monk suddenly emerged from the Mongol ranks. He wore a yellow cassock. It was none other than the Golden Wheel Imperial Preceptor. He took an iron bow and a long arrow from a Mongol officer, drew the bowstring to its limit, and nocked the wolf-tooth eagle-feather shaft. He knew that both Guo Jing and Zhu Ziliu possessed profound martial skills. If he aimed at either man, the arrow would surely be deflected. He shifted his bow to the left, adjusted his aim, and released. The feathered arrow flew from the string, aimed at the midpoint of the rope. This move was viciously cunning. The arrow was more than a zhang away from either Guo Jing or Zhu Ziliu, neither could block it. Fearing the two might still devise some extraordinary countermeasure, the Imperial Preceptor fired two more arrows the moment the first left the string, one at Zhu Ziliu and one at Guo Jing. With a pa, the first arrow snapped the rope in two. The second and third arrows, carrying fierce momentum, continued toward their targets.

The rope severed, Guo Jing’s body dropped. The second arrow naturally missed him. Zhu Ziliu felt the rope go slack in his hand. “Not good!” he cried. The feathered shaft was already at his face. The arrow came with ferocious speed, clearly, the archer possessed profound neili. The wall was packed with men. Zhu Ziliu knew that if he ducked, the arrow would surely strike someone behind him. He extended two fingers of his left hand, gauged the arrow’s trajectory, and flicked the shaft. The arrow veered off at an angle and fell from the wall.

The moment Guo Jing felt the rope snap, alarm shot through him. Falling from the wall would not injure him, but surrounded by thousands upon thousands of soldiers, how could he possibly fight his way out? The enemy was already pressing close to the city gate. If his own side opened the gate to receive him, the enemy would certainly seize the opportunity to storm through. In the urgency of the moment, there was no time to deliberate. He planted his left foot against the city wall and his body vaulted upward more than a zhang. His right foot followed, touching the wall and propelling him another zhang higher. This profound technique, “Ascending Heaven’s Ladder,” was known to very few in the contemporary world.⁵ Even among those who had trained in it, each step typically gained only two or three chi. In his youth, Guo Jing had followed Ma Yu in training the Golden Wild Goose Skill, using lightness arts to scale the cliffs of Mongolia.⁶ Later, when he trained in the Ascending Heaven’s Ladder technique, his foundation in the Golden Wild Goose Skill made his base even more solid. Thus, stepping up the sheer, smooth city wall, he rose a full zhang with each stride. His martial prowess was truly staggering. In that instant, silence fell upon the walls and below them. Tens of thousands of eyes fixed upon him alone.

The Golden Wheel Imperial Preceptor was secretly aghast. He knew that the Ascending Heaven’s Ladder relied entirely on sustaining a single breath to leap upward. If anything disrupted that breath, causing him to lose it even slightly, the third step would fail. The Preceptor bent his bow, nocked an arrow, and shot once more at the centre of Guo Jing’s back.

The arrow flew like the wind. Soldiers on the walls and below shouted as one: “Do not shoot!” Both armies had witnessed Guo Jing’s astonishing martial skill, and every man felt admiration. All hoped he would reach the top of the wall. The Mongols had always revered heroes and champions. Though Guo Jing was an enemy, seeing someone shoot him treacherously from behind stirred indignation in every heart.

Guo Jing heard the fierce whistle of the arrow closing on his back and thought bitterly, It is over! He had no choice but to reach back and deflect the shaft. Tens of thousands of soldiers from both sides saw him as if he had grown eyes in the back of his head, even this treacherous arrow could not harm him. A thunderous cheer erupted. But amid that earth-shaking roar of acclaim, Guo Jing’s body dipped slightly downward. He was now mere chi from the top of the wall, but he could rise no further.

While the two armies clashed in furious combat, a battle of equal ferocity raged within Yang Guo’s heart. He watched Guo Jing in mortal danger, rising, falling, rising again, falling again. These two fluctuations took only the span of a moment, yet in that moment, Yang Guo’s thoughts had turned several times: He is the enemy who killed my father. Do I kill him or save him? When Guo Jing had nearly reached the top of the wall using the Ascending Heaven’s Ladder, Yang Guo had thought to strike him with a palm blast from above. Suspended in midair with nothing to brace against, Guo Jing would surely be gravely wounded and fall from the wall. But Yang Guo hesitated for just a moment, and the Imperial Preceptor’s arrow had already thwarted Guo Jing’s ascent. Yang Guo’s heart was a churning chaos. Suddenly, he seized the severed half of the rope in Zhu Ziliu’s hand with his left hand and threw himself from the wall. His right hand caught Guo Jing’s arm.

This sudden, bizarre turn of events, but Zhu Ziliu adapted with lightning speed. He immediately flexed both arms, first letting the rope dip slightly downward, then channelling power through both arms and whipping it overhead. Yang Guo and Guo Jing traced a great arc through the air, like two enormous birds soaring across the sky. Tens of thousands of soldiers above and below the wall stared, mouths agape, unable to close them.

Footnotes

1. 武林 – wǔlín. Literally martial forest. Those who actually practise, teach or study martial arts. Wulin sits inside the jianghu and is narrower than it: every member of the wulin belongs to the jianghu, but a pedlar or physician of the jianghu who never trained is no part of the wulin. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

3. Great Wall. Metaphor for a person who is the indispensable defender of the state, as the Great Wall was China’s ultimate defence against northern invaders. Lü Wenhuan’s reliance on Guo Jing foreshadows the city’s fate. ↩

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

5. 上天梯 – Shàng Tiāntī. Advanced qinggong technique that allows the practitioner to run up vertical surfaces by stepping off them with explosive force. ↩

6. 金雁功 – Jīnyàn Gōng. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩