The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 21 – Part 8

Yang Guo was still hanging back. Guo Jing squatted down and pulled him onto his back. At that very moment the horse he had seized was struck by arrow after arrow, and with a long, piteous neigh it fell dead. Guo Jing had been through countless deadly dangers in his life, and the more desperate things became, the more he gathered his courage and the steadier he grew. “Guoer, don’t be afraid,” he said. “We will fight our way out of this.” He stood up to his full height and charged straight north.

By now the State Preceptor, Nimoxing and Xiaoxiangzi were on him again, and Guo Jing saw troops massing on all sides, the ring tighter than ever. Beneath the great standard in front of the royal tent stood Kublai, bowl of wine in hand, with a monk beside him, pointing and gesturing as they watched the fight. He looked supremely pleased with himself, sure that victory was in his hands.

With a great roar Guo Jing flung himself at Kublai, Yang Guo on his back, and in three or four bounds he was right in front of him. The bodyguards on either side were aghast, and a dozen or more of them came at him with long dao and long spears to bar his way. Guo Jing’s palm-wind roared, and all who stood before it went down. One guard was swept aside by the force of his palm and sent sprawling, and a few more steps would bring his palm within reach of Kublai himself. The guards threw themselves in his way with no thought for their lives, but how could they withstand Guo Jing’s godlike valour? Seeing the danger, the State Preceptor sent his golden wheel flying at the top of Guo Jing’s head. Guo Jing ducked under it without slowing his stride in the least.

If he captures Kublai, Yang Guo thought, the Mongols won’t dare harm him for fear of hurting their prince, and they’ll have to let him go. If I don’t strike now, when will I? For a moment he wavered, and then, in all the confusion, he suddenly remembered his promise to Cheng Ying,¹ and he asked one more question: “Uncle Guo, was my father really so wicked that you had to kill him?” Guo Jing was startled. At such a moment he had no time to think it over, and he answered off the cuff, “He took a traitor for his father, betrayed his country and harmed the people. Any man might rightly have put him to death.”

Now that he had asked it plainly and heard the answer, not a shadow of doubt remained. He raised the Junzi Jian² to drive it down into the back of Guo Jing’s neck. But Guo Jing was running with all his might, and Yang Guo could feel the heat of his back passing in waves into his own belly and chest. At once he thought of how, the night before last, Guo Jing had spent his vital strength freely, using his own neili to set Yang Guo’s breath in order. And now, when he could plainly have escaped the ring on his little red horse, he had come charging back to the rescue without a thought for his life, only because he had heard Yang Guo cry out. Yang Guo had never had a father. Whenever he was in danger, he had always longed in his heart for a father who would love him and protect him. Now, carried on Guo Jing’s back, he felt an irresistible rush of the love a child bears its father. It seemed to him that Guo Jing was the father he had longed for, a man who would give up everything to protect him. As for the father who had begotten him, he was no more than a vague, empty idea: Yang Guo had never seen his face, and did not even know whether he would have loved him. For the sake of five hollow characters, “avenge my father’s killing”, ought he to kill with one stroke of his jian this man who was carrying him on his back and fighting with his life to save him, as a father would?

Suddenly something white flashed before his eyes: Xiaoxiangzi was swinging his mourning staff at the back of Guo Jing’s head, while Guo Jing was using his palm force to hold off two weapons at once, the State Preceptor’s golden wheel and Nimoxing’s iron snake. Without thinking, Yang Guo thrust out his jian and turned the staff aside. Staff and jian met, and they traded several moves. “Careful,” Guo Jing called. “His staff-head shoots poison.” Xiaoxiangzi circled behind Yang Guo and jabbed his staff at a vital acupoint in his back. Perched on Guo Jing’s back as he was, Yang Guo could neither easily bring his jian round to parry nor dodge. Guo Jing struck backwards with his left palm, “The Divine Dragon Sweeps Its Tail”. With a thud it hit the staff, and the shock set Xiaoxiangzi’s whole body burning, and his deathly pale face flushed red.

At that very moment Nimoxing came rolling in along the ground and thrust up his iron snake, and its head was already touching Guo Jing’s left side. Seven parts in ten of Guo Jing’s neili were taken up with State Preceptor Jinlun, and three parts with throwing off Xiaoxiangzi’s staff, and he had nothing left to meet the iron snake. In that desperate moment his left side suddenly drew back half a foot, just escaping the worst of the thrust, but the head of the iron snake still went several inches into his flank.

Guo Jing drew on his qi, and the muscles sprang back and held the iron snake so that it could go no deeper. Then his left leg flew up and kicked Nimoxing head over heels. Nimoxing had seen the iron snake strike a vital spot and had been sure the blow would finish Guo Jing, the title of First Warrior of Mongolia as good as his. In his delight he had never dreamed that his enemy had such deadly skill for snatching victory out of defeat. The kick caught him full in the chest, there was a crack, and three ribs broke at once.

State Preceptor Jinlun seized his chance and drove his palm force hard. With the qi gate at his left side broken, Guo Jing could hold out no longer. He felt an enormous force bearing down on him like mountains toppling and seas overturning, and to meet it head-on would mean death where he stood. He had no choice but to let his own palm force go and take the blow on the supreme neigong of more than twenty years. His body swayed again and again, and with a retch he spewed a mouthful of blood. Close to death as he was, he still thought of Yang Guo. “Guoer,” he cried, “quick, go and seize a horse. I’ll hold them off for you.”

Seeing him fighting for his life to save him, Yang Guo felt the hot blood surge in his breast. How could he think of old grudges now? Uncle Guo’s righteousness reaches the clouds, he thought. If I don’t give my life to repay his, I’m not fit to live. He leapt from Guo Jing’s back and whirled the Junzi Jian into a mass of glittering flowers of steel, shielding Guo Jing, wild as a maddened tiger, every stroke a stroke for life or death. “Guoer, leave me,” Guo Jing said. “Save yourself, that’s what matters.” Yang Guo only said, “Uncle Guo, today I die here with you.” His jian flashed and whirled, guarding Guo Jing alone, without a thought for himself.

The State Preceptor and Xiaoxiangzi raised their weapons and attacked Guo Jing together, but Yang Guo’s jian play was so nimble that neither could get close. Several thousand Mongol troops ringed them round on every side, their shouts shaking heaven and earth, watching the three of them fight it out.

Again and again Guo Jing urged Yang Guo to flee, but seeing him do nothing but guard him, he was both anxious and grateful, and the turmoil stirred his inner injury. He could hold out no longer. His knees gave way, and he sat down on the ground.

Nimoxing, three ribs broken, fought down the pain and came slowly closer, iron snake in hand, to kill Guo Jing. Yang Guo stabbed wildly several times, bent and hoisted Guo Jing onto his back, and charged out. His martial skill had never been a match for the State Preceptor’s, and now, with Guo Jing on his back, how could he hold out? They had fought only a few more passes when, with a ripping sound, the golden wheel tore a long gash down his left arm.

Footnotes

1. 程英 – Chéng Yīng. Her name meaning “heroine” or “outstanding”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 君子剑 – Jūnzǐ Jiàn. One of a legendary pair of swords. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩