The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 21 – Part 6

Khubilai said with a smile, “Your two worthy disciples came to assassinate your nephew. Uncle Guo surely did not know of this beforehand.” Guo Jing nodded. “I was not informed in advance. The young ones do not know the height of heaven or the thickness of the earth.¹ They were making mischief.” Khubilai said, “Indeed. I thought that since Uncle Guo and I share bonds spanning three generations, Uncle Guo, remembering the ties of old friendship, would never do such a thing.” Guo Jing’s expression turned stern. “That is not so. When public duty is at stake, private ties must yield. In former days, when my anda Tolui led his army to attack Qingzhou, I once resolved to assassinate my sworn brother to force the enemy’s retreat. It happened that Genghis Khan fell gravely ill and the Mongol army withdrew. Only thus was our bond of brotherhood preserved. The ancients placed righteousness above family, if even family can be sacrificed, how much more friends?”

These words were delivered with calm composure. The Imperial Preceptor, Yin Kexi, and the others exchanged startled looks. Yang Guo felt a jolt in his chest. Yes, assassinating sworn brothers has always been his specialty. I wonder what misstep my father made that brought this man’s lethal hand upon him. Guo Jing, oh Guo Jing, have you truly never committed a single wrong in your entire life? At this thought, a venomous hatred slowly rose once more within him.

Khubilai, however, showed not the slightest anger. Smiling, he said, “If that is so, Uncle Guo, why did you say your two worthy disciples were merely making mischief?” Guo Jing said, “Their training is incomplete and they do not know their own limits. To attempt an assassination so rashly, how could they possibly succeed? Their capture is a minor matter. But now you will be doubly on guard, and those who come after them to try again will find it all the more difficult.” Khubilai laughed heartily. He thought, I have long heard that Guo Jing is honest and simple, slow of speech. Who would have thought his words could cut so sharp? In truth, Guo Jing simply spoke whatever came to mind. Because his thoughts were clear and direct, his words carried force. The Imperial Preceptor and the others saw him, alone, unarmed, barehanded amid thousands upon thousands of Mongol troops, yet utterly fearless. This spirit alone was beyond any of them. They could not help but feel genuine admiration.

Khubilai, observing Guo Jing’s imposing presence, felt an involuntary fondness. If I could recruit this man to my cause, he thought, it would be worth more than taking ten Xiangyang cities. He said, “Uncle Guo, the Zhao-Song dynasty is without virtue. The ruler is muddled, the people are suffering, wicked ministers control the court, and the loyal and good are wronged. Am I not correct?” Guo Jing said, “You are not wrong. The Chunyou Emperor is a muddled and unprincipled ruler.² Chancellor Jia Sidao is a great traitorous minister.” Everyone was stunned. None had imagined he would so bluntly denounce the Song emperor and his ministers. Khubilai said, “Indeed. Uncle Guo is a great hero of this age. Why toil for a muddled ruler and treacherous ministers?”

Guo Jing rose to his feet. In a ringing voice, he said, “Though Guo is unworthy, how could I serve a muddled ruler and treacherous ministers? It is only that I burn with fury at the Mongol brutality, invading our territory, slaughtering our countrymen. The hot blood in Guo’s chest is shed for the millions upon millions of common people of our Divine Land.”³

Khubilai slapped the table. “Well said! Let us all toast Uncle Guo.” He raised his bowl and drained the mare’s milk in one gulp. His attendants grew secretly anxious. They feared that Khubilai, mindful of the friendship between their forebears and moved by Guo Jing’s words, might actually let him go. If that happened, capturing him again would be nearly impossible. But seeing Khubilai raise his bowl, they had no choice but to drink along with him. Attendants refilled everyone’s bowls with wine.

Khubilai said, “In your noble nation, there was once an old master who said: ‘The people are most important, the altars of state come next, and the ruler is least.’⁴ These are truly words of reason. Consider: all under heaven belongs to all the people under heaven. Only the virtuous may possess it. Our Great Mongol Empire governs with clarity and peace. The common people live and work in contentment, each has his proper place. Our Great Khan could not bear to see the people of the Southern Dynasty trapped in deep water and scorching fire, with no one to rescue them from their suffering. Therefore, we console the people and punish the tyrant, marching south without begrudging the hardship. This purpose is no different from Uncle Guo’s own. We may say that heroes see things the same way. Come, let us drink another bowl together.” He raised his bowl and drained it once more.

The Imperial Preceptor and the others raised their bowls to their lips. Guo Jing swept his great sleeve outward. A blast of fierce wind followed. With a clattering crash, every wine bowl flew from the men’s hands and shattered on the ground. Guo Jing roared in fury, “Your Highness, you say ‘the people are most important.’ Those words are truer than you know. Since your Mongol soldiers invaded the Song, they have revelled in cruelty. White bones have become ruins. Rivers of blood have flowed. Countless families of our Great Song have been broken, homes destroyed, lives lost. How many lives have perished under your Mongol blades and spears? And you speak of consoling the people and punishing the tyrant, of rescuing the people from their suffering?”

This sleeve-sweep, though sudden and far beyond anyone’s expectations, had sent the wine bowls flying from the hands of the Imperial Preceptor and the others, each a master of peerless skill. Every face burned with humiliation. They rose as one, waiting only for Khubilai to give the word before attacking.

Khubilai tilted his head back and laughed to the heavens. “Uncle Guo is a hero without equal. Whenever my Mongol officers and soldiers speak of you, they cannot help but admire you. Today, seeing you with my own eyes, I know your reputation is well deserved. Your humble prince is unworthy. I dare not harm the bonds left by my late father. Today, let us only speak of old friendship and not of state affairs. What do you say?” Guo Jing cupped his fist in salute. “Tolui has a son of broad spirit and magnanimity, none of the Mongol princes can compare. One day, you will surely shoulder the heavy burdens of the state. I have good counsel to offer. Would you deign to hear it?” Khubilai said, “I am willing to receive Uncle’s instruction.”

Guo Jing placed his hands together formally and said, “Our Southern Dynasty is vast in territory and numerous in population. We honour moral integrity. Talented and noble men are found everywhere. From ancient times to the present, we have never knelt to foreign races. The Mongols may win victories on the battlefield for a time, but one day, you will surely be driven back to the deserts of the north. By then, your vital strength will be grievously wounded, and regret will come too late. I pray Your Highness will consider this carefully.” Khubilai laughed. “Thank you for your clear instruction.” Guo Jing heard the insincerity in those four words. “I take my leave,” he said. “Until we meet again.” Khubilai raised his hand in salute. “See our guest out.”

The Imperial Preceptor and the others stared at each other in disbelief. All thought the same thing: The fish has finally entered the net, how can we release the tiger back to the mountain? But Khubilai was courteously escorting Guo Jing out of the tent. It would be improper for them to attack.

Guo Jing strode out of the tent, thinking, This Khubilai conducts himself with extraordinary presence. He is a formidable adversary indeed. He shot Yang Guo a look and quickened his pace toward their horses.

Suddenly, eight burly Mongol warriors stepped out from the side. The foremost among them said, “Are you Guo Jing? On the walls of Xiangyang, you wounded many of our brothers. Today, you come to our Mongol camp to flaunt your might. The Prince may let you go, but we will not permit it.” With a shout, the eight men surged forward together, each using Mongol wrestling techniques. Sixteen hands grabbed for Guo Jing. It turned out that Khubilai had been unwilling to personally order Guo Jing’s capture and risk damaging the bonds of old friendship. But outside the tent, he had concealed troops. Only after bidding farewell would they seize him.

In the art of wrestling, the Mongols were unmatched under heaven. These eight men were the finest wrestlers in the entire Mongol army. Khubilai had specially stationed them outside the tent to capture Guo Jing. But Guo Jing had grown up in Mongolia. Riding, archery, and wrestling, he had mastered them all from childhood. Seeing the eight men close in, he extended both hands and swept his right leg in a hooking motion. In the span of a breath, four men were seized and hurled more than a zhang away. The other four were swept off their feet. He was using the authentic Mongol wrestling techniques, but with superior martial arts as his foundation, the power in his hands and feet was extraordinary beyond measure. How could those eight men possibly match him? Outside Khubilai’s command tent, a thousand-man personal guard unit was stationed. Every one of those thousand soldiers was an expert wrestler. They saw Guo Jing’s crisp, clean technique, using the Mongols’ own methods to throw eight of the army’s finest to the ground simultaneously. The speed was breathtaking, a divine skill none had ever witnessed. Without any prior agreement, they burst into a thunderous cheer.

Guo Jing clasped his fist toward the assembled troops, removed his hat, and turned in a circle. This was the Mongol wrestler’s gesture of thanks to the audience after a victory. The soldiers roared with even greater delight. The eight men scrambled to their feet and stared at Guo Jing in a daze, unsure whether to attack again or give up.

Guo Jing said to Yang Guo, “Let us go!” But now, war horns sounded from every direction, rising and falling in response to each other. Thousand-man cavalry units galloped back and forth on all sides. Khubilai had mobilised his forces and completely encircled Guo Jing and Yang Guo. Guo Jing was secretly alarmed. Even if the two of us had powers to pierce the heavens, how could we escape this ocean of soldiers? I never imagined Khubilai would mobilise such an enormous force just to deal with me alone. Fearing Yang Guo might lose his nerve, Guo Jing kept his expression calm. “Our horses are fast,” he said. “We charge straight through. First, seize two shields to protect the horses from random arrows.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper in Yang Guo’s ear, he added, “First charge south, then wheel around and charge north.”

Yang Guo was puzzled. Xiangyang lies to the south. Why head north? Then he understood. Ah, yes. Khubilai’s forces will be concentrated to the south, blocking his escape back to Xiangyang. The north will be empty. First south, then north, catch them off guard, then break through. But how do I stop him?

The thought had barely formed when several figures shot out from Khubilai’s command tent. In a few bounds, they blocked the path. A droning wu-wu followed, a bronze wheel and an iron wheel flew toward the two horses. It was the Imperial Preceptor, acting to prevent their escape. Guo Jing saw the ferocious momentum of the incoming wheels and dared not catch them with his hands. He ducked his head and pressed down on the necks of both horses. The two horses dropped to their front knees. The bronze and iron wheels skimmed just over their heads, arced through the air, and returned to the Imperial Preceptor’s hands. In that brief delay, Nimo Star and Yin Kexi had already dashed before the two men. The Imperial Preceptor and Xiaoxiangzi followed close behind. The four surrounded them.

The Golden Wheel Imperial Preceptor, Xiaoxiangzi, and the others were all first-class masters. When fighting an opponent, they would never stoop to attacking in a group, that would degrade their status. But Guo Jing’s martial arts were simply too powerful. Moreover, each of them coveted the title of “Mongolia’s Foremost Warrior” and feared someone else would claim the honour first. White blades flashed. Yellow light dazzled. All four now held weapons in their hands. Yin Kexi gripped a golden soft whip inlaid with pearls and jade. Xiaoxiangzi held a rod that resembled a funeral staff. Nimo Star’s weapon was the strangest of all, a short whip of wrought iron in the shape of a spirit snake, coiling and uncoiling around his arm, slithering up and down as if alive. The Imperial Preceptor held a golden wheel. His original golden wheel had been seized by Yang Guo at the Heroes’ Feast of Dasheng Pass. Feeling that lacking a golden wheel ill befitted his name, he had ordered master craftsmen to forge a replacement, identical in shape and weight to the original.

Guo Jing assessed the four men’s running stances and the way they drew their weapons. Among the four, Yin Kexi appeared to be the weakest. Guo Jing immediately launched twin palms at Xiaoxiangzi’s face. Xiaoxiangzi raised his funeral staff, pointing the tip at Guo Jing’s palm. Guo Jing saw that the staff was wound with white cords and that a hemp rope trailed from its head, exactly like the mourning staff a filial son would carry at a funeral. This man’s martial arts are profound, he thought. His weapon is bizarre in appearance, it must have some special property. He pulled back his right hand in a move called “The Divine Dragon Swings Its Tail” and seized Yin Kexi’s golden whip. Yin Kexi tried to shake the whip free and strike back, but the tip was already in the enemy’s grasp. He immediately followed the force of Guo Jing’s pull, throwing his entire body at him. A gleaming dagger had appeared in his left hand. This was an attack that doubled as defence, the ultimate technique of the Eighteen Small Grasping Hands.

“Good!” Guo Jing cried. He employed grasping techniques with both hands simultaneously. His right hand maintained its grip on the golden whip while his left reached for the dagger. At this moment, his right hand contested the opponent’s right-hand weapon while his left contested the left-hand weapon, his arms crossed in an intersecting pattern. Yin Kexi had been utterly confident that this dagger thrust would force the enemy to release the golden whip to evade. How could he have imagined that Guo Jing could split his attacks, seeking to seize the dagger as well?

Footnotes

1. 不知天高地厚 – Bù Zhī Tiāngāo Dìhòu. Classical Chinese idiom meaning to be ignorant of one’s own limitations, to be recklessly overconfident. ↩

2. 淳佑皇帝 – Chunyou Emperor. Emperor Lizong of Song (宋理宗), whose reign era was Chunyou. Historically, he reigned from 1224 to 1264, a period of Song decline. ↩

3. 神州 – Shénzhōu. Poetic name for China, literally “Divine Land” or “Land of the Gods,” carrying deep cultural and patriotic connotations. ↩

4. 民为贵，社稷次之，君为轻 – “The people are most important…”. From Mencius (《孟子》), one of the Four Books of Confucianism. This is one of the most radical statements in classical Chinese political philosophy, placing the welfare of the common people above the state and the ruler. Khubilai is deploying classical Chinese learning to argue that the Mongol conquest is legitimate. ↩