The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 22

Baby Girl in the Besieged City.

Guo Jing¹ and Yang Guo² had given up all hope of escape when the Mongol cavalry suddenly scattered. An elderly, lame man burst through the line, his left hand bracing himself on an iron crutch while his right swung a red-hot iron hammer. “Young Master Yang, break out now!” he shouted. “I will cover your rear!”

In the chaos of battle, Yang Guo caught a glimpse of the man and recognised him. It was Feng Mofeng, the blacksmith disciple of Peach Blossom Island.³ He was astonished, but in the heat of combat, he had no time to wonder how this man had suddenly appeared.

It turned out that Feng Mofeng had been conscripted by the Mongol army to forge and repair weapons. While in their service, he had secretly assassinated a Mongol commander of a thousand and a commander of a hundred. His methods were so stealthy that he had never been discovered. That day, hearing the clamour of battle, he had climbed to a high vantage point and seen Guo Jing and Yang Guo surrounded. Without hesitation, he thrust his great iron hammer into the forge until it glowed red, then charged in to the rescue. He swung that massive hammer with a roar like the wind. The Mongol soldiers, seeing this blazing, red-hot hammer hurtling toward them, scattered far and wide, not daring to stand in his path. In an instant, he had carved out a road of blood.

Yang Guo’s heart surged with joy. He thrust forward with his sword, fighting to break through. But the Imperial Preceptor spun his golden wheel and caught both Yang Guo’s sword strokes and Feng Mofeng’s hammer strikes at once. Only when Xiaoxiangzi thrust his Mourning Staff toward Guo Jing’s back did the Imperial Preceptor ease his pressure on Yang Guo, allowing him to turn his sword back in rescue. But whenever the Imperial Preceptor’s wheel swung toward Guo Jing, Xiaoxiangzi would use his staff to deflect it.⁴ Neither man wanted the other to kill Guo Jing and claim the title of “Foremost Warrior of the Mongols.”⁵ Had it not been for this rivalry, Yang Guo could have fought to the death and it would not have mattered. Guo Jing would already have lost his life. When Kublai had proclaimed the honour of “Foremost Warrior of the Mongols,” he had hoped to inspire every man to valour. Little did he imagine that each would hinder the others, producing the opposite effect. This was something even he had not foreseen.

For the moment, Guo Jing’s life was preserved. But the Mongol army had already formed an encirclement around them like walls of bronze and iron. The Imperial Preceptor and Xiaoxiangzi pressed their attacks, each vying to be first. Nimoxing, gritting his teeth against the pain of his wounds, still sought openings, striking here and there with vicious, venomous moves.

By now, Guo Jing and Yang Guo had been fighting amidst ten thousand troops for over half a shichen.⁶ The sun had begun to dip westward. The Imperial Preceptor whirled his golden wheel, and his attack pattern suddenly changed. With a clang, the wheel met Yang Guo’s longsword. The Gentleman’s Sword could shear through iron as if it were mud, and the golden wheel immediately showed a notch where the blade had bitten. The Imperial Preceptor paid it no mind, continuing to press forward. The wheel bore down with a fierce surge of wind-force. Yang Guo, fearing he might injure Guo Jing, dared not sidestep. He raised his sword to parry. The golden wheel tilted slightly, and with a soft hiss, it sliced across his right forearm. The wound was not deep, but it had cut a blood vessel. Blood gushed forth. After a few more exchanges, Yang Guo felt his legs and arms growing steadily weaker, his strength ebbing. The enemy’s attacks were relentless, how could he spare a hand to bind the wound and stop the bleeding?

Xiaoxiangzi saw an easy advantage and seized it. He swung his staff to knock aside Nimoxing’s iron serpent, then suddenly leaped up, bringing his staff down toward Guo Jing’s head, preparing to release his poison sand.⁷

Yang Guo was horrified. In desperation, his left hand shot out and seized the tip of the staff. His right hand thrust the longsword forward in the same motion. At that moment, his entire body was exposed. The Imperial Preceptor needed only to give his wheel a gentle turn and Yang Guo’s life would have ended on the spot. But the Imperial Preceptor had his own designs, he wanted to use Yang Guo’s hand to drive Xiaoxiangzi away. He struck out with his palm, forcing Feng Mofeng back, then reached toward Guo Jing’s back, intending to capture him alive and claim a monumental achievement.

Xiaoxiangzi had never imagined Yang Guo would fight with such reckless disregard for his own life. Before he could land, his staff had been seized. Suspended in midair, he had no leverage. A flash of white light before his eyes, the sword tip was already at his chest. He had no choice but to release the staff and throw himself backward, preserving his life.

Feng Mofeng attacked with hammer and crutch together, smashing toward the Imperial Preceptor’s back. The Imperial Preceptor swung his wheel back to block. Two ringing clashes shook Feng Mofeng until the webs of both hands split open. The Imperial Preceptor’s left palm reached for Guo Jing’s back. With a tiger’s roar, Feng Mofeng swung his iron hammer at the Imperial Preceptor’s spine. The Imperial Preceptor spun his left palm back to strike. This blow carried the full force of his neili⁸, he expected to send this strange man vomiting blood in death. But to his shock, there came a sizzling sound and searing pain in his left palm. His hand had stuck to the red-hot iron hammer. The Imperial Preceptor yanked his hand back in haste, but the flesh of his left palm was already burned to a crisp. Feng Mofeng, seeing his opponent flailing, spotted the opening at his back. He reached both arms around from behind the Imperial Preceptor and locked them tight around his body. The two men tumbled to the ground together.

Under normal circumstances, the gap between their martial arts was vast. But the Imperial Preceptor had slammed his palm onto a red-hot iron hammer, searing his palm to the bone and sending agony through his heart. And Feng Mofeng fought with utter disregard for his own life, throwing himself at his enemy with suicidal abandon. The Imperial Preceptor found himself locked in the man’s embrace, unable to break free. His palm was in agony, he had lost the chance to capture Guo Jing, and the one thwarting him was an old man of mediocre martial skill, how could he not be furious? He drove his left fist into Feng Mofeng’s shoulder, shaking him until his internal organs felt as though they had been overturned. But Feng Mofeng, who had witnessed firsthand the Mongol army’s cruelty and savagery as they drove civilians against Xiangyang, and had seen Guo Jing fight to the death to repel the enemy, though he had never met Guo Jing before and had no idea this man was his own school’s esteemed son-in-law, knew one thing: if this man died, Xiangyang was doomed. So he had resolved that he would rather suffer a thousand cuts himself than let Guo Jing come to harm. The Imperial Preceptor’s palms struck with blinding speed. Slap, slap, slap, in moments, Feng Mofeng’s tendons were snapped, his bones shattered, his internal organs grievously wounded. Yet his hands never loosened. His ten fingers sank deep into the flesh of the Imperial Preceptor’s chest.

The Mongol soldiers had been standing around watching the fight, assuming the Imperial Preceptor and his allies would surely succeed, and so none had intervened. But now, seeing the Imperial Preceptor thrown to the ground and Xiaoxiangzi driven back, they surged forward as one. Yang Guo sighed inwardly: It is over. It is over. He swung Xiaoxiangzi’s staff wildly, striking and smashing at random. By chance, his hand triggered a mechanism. With a soft puff, a plume of black smoke shot from the tip of the staff. A dozen or so Mongol soldiers ahead of him breathed the poison smoke and collapsed on the spot.

Yang Guo paused, startled, then understood at once. Carrying Guo Jing on his back, he strode forward. Mongol soldiers surged toward him like a tide. He pressed the mechanism again. Black smoke spewed forth, and another dozen soldiers dropped, poisoned. The Mongol troops were battle-hardened, but every one of them believed in spirits and sorcery. Seeing him wave that staff and spray black smoke, and seeing a dozen men fall senseless each time, they cried out in unison: “His staff has dark magic! Flee! Flee!” But Kublai’s personal guard were fearless beyond measure. With their prince’s orders as unyielding as a mountain, they pressed forward to seize Yang Guo despite the danger. He pointed the staff, released another burst of black smoke, and poisoned another dozen.

Yang Guo pursed his lips and whistled. The yellow horse stretched out its long legs and came galloping toward him. With his last reserves of strength, Yang Guo heaved Guo Jing onto the horse’s back. But he felt his own limbs go weak and numb, he no longer had the strength to mount. He could only pat the horse’s rump gently and call out, “Horse, horse, go now, quickly!” The yellow horse was remarkably intelligent. Seeing that its master lacked the strength to climb on, it raised its head and let out a long neigh, refusing to move. Yang Guo watched the Mongol troops closing in from all sides. He knew that although the poison sand in the staff was fearsome, it would eventually run out. He raised his sword, thinking to stab the horse’s rump and force it to bolt, but he could not bring himself to do it. “Horse, go!” he shouted. He jabbed the staff toward the horse’s hindquarters. But his strength was spent, his aim wavered, and the staff struck Guo Jing’s leg instead. Guo Jing had been drifting in and out of consciousness. The sudden jab of the staff jolted him awake. He opened his eyes, immediately bent down, seized Yang Guo by the chest, and hauled him onto the horse’s back. The yellow horse gave a long, joyful whinny and broke into a gallop.

Horns blared in urgent succession, one rising as another fell. Guo Jing gave a low, drawn-out whistle. The Sweat-blood Horse came running. But a great mass of Mongol cavalry charged in pursuit as well. The red horse ran alongside the yellow one, constantly brushing against Guo Jing’s body. Yang Guo knew that although the yellow horse was a fine steed, it could not compare with the red one. He drew a deep breath, wrapped his arms around Guo Jing, and together they leaped onto the red horse. At that very moment, he heard a dreadful humming sound from behind, the golden wheel was hurtling toward them through the air. A pang struck Yang Guo’s heart: Feng Mofeng has died at the Imperial Preceptor’s hands. The thought had barely formed when the golden wheel’s hum grew louder, closer. Yang Guo pressed himself flat against the horse’s back, hoping the wheel would pass overhead. But the sound stayed low, it was aimed at the red horse’s legs.

The Imperial Preceptor had beaten Feng Mofeng to death, then risen to see Guo Jing and Yang Guo already mounted and beyond pursuit. He had hurled his golden wheel, but aimed it low. He could see that Yang Guo sat behind Guo Jing. Even if the wheel killed Yang Guo, the red horse would still carry Guo Jing to safety. Only by severing the horse’s legs could he succeed.

Yang Guo heard the golden wheel drawing closer and knew he had to turn and parry. He was well aware that his strength was spent, that his sword could never hold against it. But pressed to the extreme, he could only do his utmost. The wheel was now barely two chi from the horse’s legs, its hum so terrifying it shook the heart and soul. Yang Guo lowered his sword to shield the horse’s legs. But the red horse, once it found its spirit, ran faster and faster. A moment passed. The golden wheel was still two chi from the horse’s legs, it had drawn no closer. Yang Guo was overjoyed. He knew the wheel’s momentum could only weaken with time. Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the wheel was three chi away. Then four, then five, farther and farther, until with a clang, it dropped to the ground.

Yang Guo was exultant. But suddenly, from behind him came a mournful whinny. He turned to see the yellow horse, an arrow through its belly, sinking to its knees. Its eyes were fixed on its master, filled with boundless, lingering devotion. A bitterness rose in Yang Guo’s heart, and he could not hold back his tears.

The red horse raced like wind chasing thunder, swift as a shooting star. In moments, the pursuers were left far behind. Yang Guo held Guo Jing close. “Uncle Guo,” he asked, “how are you?” Guo Jing grunted in response. Yang Guo felt his breathing, it was heavy and laboured, but for now there was no danger. Relief flooded through him. The tension gone, he could no longer hold on. He slumped forward over the horse’s back, drifting in and out of consciousness, letting the red horse run where 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. 潇湘子 – Xiāoxiāng Zǐ. Literally Master of the Xiao and Xiang rivers. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 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. ↩

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

7. 毒砂 – 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. ↩

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