The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 22

A baby girl in the besieged city

Guo Jing¹ and Yang Guo² had given up all hope when, all at once, the Mongol horsemen began to scatter. An old lame man came hacking his way in, an iron crutch propping him up in his left hand, a red-hot iron hammer whirling in his right. “Young Master Yang, break out,” he shouted. “I’ll hold your rear.”

Yang Guo, hard pressed as he was, spared him one glance and knew him: Feng Mofeng, the blacksmith disciple of Peach Blossom Island.³ He was astonished, but in the thick of the fight he had no time to wonder how the man came to be there.

Feng Mofeng, it turned out, had been pressed into the Mongol army to forge and mend its weapons, and in secret he had already murdered a commander of a thousand and a commander of a hundred, so quietly that no one had found him out. That day, hearing the clamour of battle, he had looked down from high ground and seen Guo Jing and Yang Guo surrounded. At once he thrust his great iron hammer into the forge until it glowed red, then charged in to their rescue. The hammer roared through the air as he swung it, and the Mongol soldiers and officers, seeing a red-hot iron hammer come flying at them, fled from it far and wide. Not one dared bar his way, and in moments he had cut a road of blood through their ranks.

Yang Guo’s heart leapt. He lunged forward, jian flashing, to force a way out. But the State Preceptor⁴ spun his golden wheel and caught Yang Guo’s strokes and Feng Mofeng’s hammer at one and the same time. Only when Xiaoxiangzi⁵ drove his Mourning Staff at Guo Jing’s back did the State Preceptor let Yang Guo go, leaving him free to turn his jian back to the rescue. And whenever the State Preceptor’s wheel swung at Guo Jing, Xiaoxiangzi was sure to bring up his staff and turn it aside. Neither would let the other kill Guo Jing and carry off the title of “Foremost Warrior of the Mongols”.⁶ Had the two not been fighting over the prize, Guo Jing would have lost his life long since, however desperately Yang Guo fought for him. When Kublai held out the honour of “Foremost Warrior of the Mongols”, he had hoped to spur every man to valour. Instead each man held the others in check, and the prize worked against him. That he had never foreseen.

For the moment Guo Jing’s life was safe, but the Mongol army had closed round them on every side like a wall of bronze and iron. The State Preceptor and Xiaoxiangzi vied for the first blow with every move. Nimoxing,⁷ gritting his teeth against his pain, hunted for gaps as well, darting in here and there with vicious, underhand moves.

By now Guo Jing and Yang Guo had been fighting in the midst of ten thousand troops for the better part of a shichen,⁸ and the sun had begun to slant. The State Preceptor whirled his golden wheel and suddenly changed his moves. With a clang, it met Yang Guo’s long jian. The Junzi Jian⁹ cut iron like mud, and a notch was sheared out of the golden wheel on the instant. The State Preceptor paid it no heed and kept driving forward, and the wheel came bearing down behind a blast of fierce wind. Afraid that Guo Jing might be hurt, Yang Guo dared not dodge aside. He brought his jian back to block. The golden wheel tilted a little, there was a faint hiss, and its edge had cut his right forearm once again. The wound was not deep, but it had opened a vein, and the blood spurted. Within a few moves he felt his legs and arms going slack and his strength draining away. With the enemy pressing so hard, how could he free a hand to bind the wound and stanch the blood?

Xiaoxiangzi saw a chance to profit and took it. With a sweep of his staff he knocked aside Nimoxing’s iron serpent, then sprang high and brought the staff down at the crown of Guo Jing’s head, ready to loose his poison sand.¹⁰

Yang Guo was horrified. In desperation his left hand shot out and seized the head of the staff, and in the same motion his right drove the long jian forward. In that instant his whole body lay open. The State Preceptor needed only one light turn of his wheel to take his life on the spot. But the State Preceptor meant to use Yang Guo’s hand to drive Xiaoxiangzi off. He forced Feng Mofeng back with his palm and reached for Guo Jing’s back, to take him alive and win a signal merit.

Xiaoxiangzi had never dreamed Yang Guo would throw himself in so recklessly. He had not yet touched the ground and his staff was already caught. In midair he could put no strength into it. White light flashed before his eyes, and the point of the jian was already at his chest. He had no choice but to let go of the staff and throw himself backward, and so he saved his life.

Feng Mofeng struck with hammer and crutch together, smashing at the State Preceptor’s back. The State Preceptor swung his wheel round to block. Clang, clang: the two blows split the webs of Feng Mofeng’s hands between thumb and forefinger. The State Preceptor’s left hand went clawing for Guo Jing’s back. Feng Mofeng gave a tiger’s roar and swung his iron hammer at the State Preceptor’s back. The State Preceptor whipped his left palm round to slap it, putting his neili¹¹ into the blow, sure it would jolt this strange fellow into vomiting blood and dying. Instead there came a hissing and sizzling, and a savage pain shot through his left palm. It had stuck fast to the red-hot hammer. He snatched his hand back, but the flesh of his palm was already burnt to a charred pulp. Feng Mofeng saw him shaking his hand again and again, his back left open. He thrust both arms round him from behind and locked them tight about his body, and the two men crashed to the ground.

The gap between the two men’s martial skill was vast. But State Preceptor Jinlun had slapped a red-hot iron hammer and seared the heart of his palm, and the pain went through to his heart and lungs. And Feng Mofeng, heedless of himself, was fighting him to the death. The State Preceptor was caught fast and could not break free. His palm was in agony, the chance to seize Guo Jing was lost, and the man thwarting him was an old fellow of meagre martial skill. How could he not be furious? He balled his left hand into a fist and drove it into Feng Mofeng’s shoulder, and the blow jolted Feng Mofeng’s innards as though they had been turned upside down. In the army Feng Mofeng had seen with his own eyes how cruel and savage the Mongols were, driving the common people before them to storm Xiangyang. He had seen, too, how Guo Jing fought to the death and threw the enemy back. He had never met Guo Jing, and had no idea the man was his own shifu’s favoured son-in-law. He knew only that if this man died, Xiangyang would fall. So he had made up his mind: he would sooner suffer a thousand cuts himself than fail to get Guo Jing out of danger. The State Preceptor’s palms came down with matchless speed, smack, smack, smack, and in moments Feng Mofeng’s sinews were torn, his bones broken and his organs gravely hurt. Yet his hands never let go, and his ten fingers sank deep into the flesh of the State Preceptor’s chest.

The Mongol soldiers and officers had stood round watching the fight, keeping out of it because they took it for granted that the State Preceptor and his companions would win. Now, seeing the State Preceptor on the ground and Xiaoxiangzi falling back, they surged in all together. Yang Guo sighed to himself, So be it, so be it! He laid about him wildly with Xiaoxiangzi’s staff, and without meaning to he set off its mechanism. There was a soft pop, a jet of black smoke spurted from the end of the staff, and the dozen or more Mongols in front of him breathed the poison fumes and dropped where they stood.

Yang Guo stood startled for a moment, then understood at once. With Guo Jing on his back he strode forward. The Mongols came pouring at him like the tide. He pressed the mechanism, the black smoke spurted, and another dozen or so soldiers fell, poisoned. Hardened fighters though the Mongols were, every man of them revered spirits and believed in demons. When they saw him wave the staff and spray black smoke, and a dozen men fall senseless at every wave, they set up a shout together, “There’s sorcery in his staff. Get away, quick!” But Kublai’s own bodyguard were fearless beyond compare, and mindful that the prince’s orders stood like a mountain, they rushed in to seize him in spite of the danger. Yang Guo jabbed the staff, black smoke spurted, and another dozen or so went down poisoned.

He pursed his lips and whistled, and the yellow horse came racing up on its long legs. Yang Guo heaved with all his might and got Guo Jing up onto its back. But his own arms and legs had gone weak and aching, and he had no strength left to climb up after him. All he could do was give the horse a light pat on the rump. “Horse, horse,” he cried, “go, quick, go!” The yellow horse was a creature of rare spirit. Seeing its master too weak to mount, it threw up its head and gave a long neigh, and would not stir a hoof. Yang Guo saw the Mongols closing in again from every side, and thought, The poison sand in this staff is deadly, but sooner or later it will run out. He lifted his jian to prick the horse’s rump and send it off at a gallop, but he could not bring himself to do it. “Go, horse!” he shouted, and jabbed the staff at the horse’s rump instead. Fought to exhaustion, he had lost his aim, and the jab landed on Guo Jing’s leg. Guo Jing had been drifting in a daze, but the sudden prod of the staff opened his eyes. At once he bent down, caught Yang Guo by the front of his robe and hauled him up onto the horse’s back. With a long, glad neigh the yellow horse bolted off at full gallop.

Horns sounded urgently, one answering another. Guo Jing let out a long, low whistle, and the Sweat-Blood Horse¹² came galloping after them, but a great body of Mongol cavalry came charging in pursuit as well. The red horse ran alongside the yellow, rubbing against Guo Jing again and again. Yang Guo knew that the yellow horse, fine beast though it was, fell far short of the red. He drew a deep breath, took Guo Jing in his arms, and leapt with him onto the red horse. At that very moment a wailing hum sounded behind them: the golden wheel was flying after them. Yang Guo felt a stab of pain, Feng Mofeng has died at the State Preceptor’s hands. The thought had barely formed when the hum of the golden wheel came louder and nearer. Yang Guo crouched low over the horse’s back, hoping the wheel would skim over it. But by the sound it was flying close to the ground. It was coming for the red horse’s legs.

The State Preceptor had beaten Feng Mofeng to death and got to his feet to find Guo Jing and Yang Guo already mounted and beyond his reach. At once he had hurled his golden wheel, aiming it very low. He had seen that Yang Guo sat behind Guo Jing, and reckoned that if the wheel killed Yang Guo, the red horse would still carry Guo Jing away. Only by cutting off the horse’s legs could he win the prize.

Hearing the golden wheel gaining on them, Yang Guo had no choice but to turn his jian back to meet it. He knew well that his strength was spent and that this stroke could never hold it, but with no other way left he could only do his best. The wheel was barely two feet from the horse’s legs now, and its wailing hum was enough to stop the heart. He lowered his jian to guard the horse’s legs. But the red horse, once its blood was up, ran faster and faster. A moment passed, and the golden wheel was still two feet from the horse’s legs. It had come no nearer. Yang Guo’s heart leapt, for he knew the wheel’s flight could only weaken. Sure enough, in an instant it was three feet behind, then four feet, then five, falling farther and farther back, until at last it dropped to the ground with a clang.

Yang Guo was still rejoicing when a mournful neigh rang out behind him. He saw the yellow horse sink to its knees with an arrow in its belly, its eyes fixed on its master, loath to part. A pang of grief went through Yang Guo, and the tears fell before he could stop them.

Chasing the wind and racing the thunder, swift as a falling star, the red horse left their pursuers far behind in moments. Yang Guo held Guo Jing tight. “Uncle Guo,” he asked, “how are you?” Guo Jing gave a grunt. Yang Guo felt for his breath and found it heavy and rasping, and knew there was no danger for the moment. His heart eased, and he could hold out no longer. He slumped over the horse’s back in a daze and let the red horse run as it would.

Footnotes

1. 郭靖 – Guō Jìng. His name meaning “tranquillity” or “pacification”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 杨过 – Yáng Guò. His name meaning “fault or transgression”; his courtesy name Gaizhi means “to correct it”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 冯默风 – Féng Mòfēng. Huang Yaoshi’s sixth disciple, the Smith. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 金轮国师 – Jīnlún Guóshī. Literally Golden Wheel State Preceptor. The Mongol Empire’s State Preceptor and a martial arts adept. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 潇湘子 – Xiāoxiāng Zǐ. Literally Master of the Xiao and Xiang rivers. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 蒙古第一勇士 – Foremost Warrior of the Mongols. Title promised by Kublai to whoever killed Guo Jing, designed to spur his recruited martial artists to greater efforts. Instead, it created destructive competition among them. ↩

7. 尼摩星 – Nímóxīng. Indian martial artist in Mongol service. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 时辰 – shíchen. Traditional Chinese double hour; one twelfth of a day, equal to two modern hours. ↩

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

10. 毒砂 – dúshā. Literally poison sand. Hidden weapon mechanism inside Xiaoxiangzi’s Mourning Staff. When triggered, it releases a cloud of toxic particles that can incapacitate or kill anyone who inhales them. ↩

11. 内力 – nèilì. Literally internal force. Kinetic manifestation of cultivated qi; generates tangible effects such as deflecting weapons or scaling walls. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 汗血宝马 – Hànxuè Bǎomǎ. Guo Jing’s legendary steed, a Ferghana horse from the Western Regions that sweats blood when running at full speed. Capable of travelling a thousand li in a single day, it was originally raised by the Mongols and tamed by Guo Jing in his youth. ↩