The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 4 – Part 8

His plan settled, he put on a kindly face. “Guoer, come here.” Yang Guo said, “Are you going to hit me?” Zhao Zhijing said, “I’m going to teach you martial arts. Why would I hit you?” Yang Guo had never expected this from him. He came slowly closer, every nerve on guard, afraid there was some trick. Zhao Zhijing saw it all and pretended not to. “The martial arts of our Quanzhen Order are trained from the inside out, unlike external techniques, which work from the outside in. Now I shall pass on to you the heart-method of our school, and you must commit it firmly to memory.” And he recited the beginner’s neigong formula of the Quanzhen Order once through.

Yang Guo heard it only once and had it by heart. He thought, This long-bearded old goat hates and loathes me. Would he really teach me anything? Most likely he’s teaching me some useless fake formula to make a fool of me. A while later he pretended to have forgotten it and asked Zhao Zhijing again, and Zhao Zhijing said it over just as before. The next day Yang Guo asked his shifu yet again and heard exactly the same words as the day before. Only then did he believe it was genuine, reckoning that if the man were making it up as he went along, he could not have said it three times over word for word.

Ten days went by like this. Zhao Zhijing taught him only the formulas and never said a word about the actual method of practising them. On the tenth day Zhao Zhijing took him to see Ma Yu, said he had passed on the school’s heart-method, and told Yang Guo to recite it for the Head of the Order, his Grand Shifu. Yang Guo recited it from start to finish without a single slip. Ma Yu was delighted and praised the child’s cleverness again and again. He was an honest, modest man of the Way, and an honourable man can be deceived by what seems proper. How could he have guessed that Zhao Zhijing had a trick of his own?

Summer ended and autumn came; autumn went and winter came. In the blink of an eye several months had passed. Yang Guo had a bellyful of formulas in his head and not a scrap of real skill. In martial arts and neigong he was not one jot different from the day he came up the mountain. Within a few days of starting on the formulas, Yang Guo had known that his shifu was making a fool of him, but since the man would not teach him, there was nothing he could do. He could see that the Head of the Order, his Grand Shifu, was kind and gentle, but if he complained, the old man would only rebuke Zhao Zhijing a little, and the long-bearded goat would likely think up some new vicious scheme to torment him. Better to wait until Grand Shifu Qiu came back. But month after month Grand Shifu Qiu did not return. Luckily Yang Guo had always looked down on Quanzhen martial arts anyway, and whether he learned them or not was nothing to him. All he thought was, Learn these pus-bag skills, and what bloody use would they be? The less your old man learns, the stronger his skill gets! But Zhao Zhijing’s cheating made him hate the man more bitterly every day. He was not one to take a beating he could see coming, though, and outwardly he grew more respectful than ever.

Zhao Zhijing gloated to himself, and thought, You defy your shifu, do you? We’ll see in the end who comes off worse.

Before they knew it the twelfth month had come. By the rule of the Quanzhen school handed down from Wang Chongyang, three days before New Year’s Eve each year the disciples held the Grand Contest of martial arts, to test how far each had come in the past year. As the day drew near, the disciples trained night and day without rest.

On the fifteenth of the twelfth month, the disciples of the Seven Zis of Quanzhen held their contests separately, which was called the Lesser Contest. The disciples formed seven groups: Ma Yu’s disciples and grand-disciples made one, and Qiu Chuji’s, Wang Chuyi’s and the others’ each made another. Tan Chuduan¹ was dead, but his line of disciples and grand-disciples still flourished. Ma Yu, Qiu Chuji and the rest grieved that he had died so young and took particular trouble in guiding his disciples, so that at every Grand Contest the disciples of Changzhenzi Tan held their own against those of the other six. This year Chongyang Palace had met with disaster and the Quanzhen Order had come close to being overthrown, and from top to bottom the whole school had come to see that, though the Quanzhen Order was called the orthodox mainstream of martial arts under heaven, in truth every school and faction in the wulin was turning out masters one after another, and that name was in real danger. So everyone was training hard, with more care than in years past.

The Quanzhen Order was founded by Wang Chongyang, its Founding Patriarch. Ma Yu and the other six Zis were his personal disciples, the second generation. Zhao Zhijing, Yin Zhiping, Cheng Yaojia² and the rest were the disciples of the Seven Zis, the third generation, and Yang Guo and those of his rank were the fourth. That afternoon Yuyangzi’s disciples, Zhao Zhijing, Cui Zhifang³ and the others, gathered on the open ground at the south-east corner to compete and test one another’s skills. Wang Chuyi was not on the mountain, so his eldest disciple Zhao Zhijing presided over the Lesser Contest. The fourth-generation disciples showed off their fist and foot work, or wielded dao and spear, or threw hidden weapons, or displayed their neigong, and Zhao Zhijing and the others commented on each in turn and ranked them.

Yang Guo had been the last to join, so he sat at the very end. He watched a good many young Daoists and lay boys of about his own age show polished martial arts, each with his own speciality, and felt no envy at all, only a growing hatred. Zhao Zhijing saw the resentment in his face and made up his mind to shame him. When two young Daoists had finished their bout with weapons, he called out loudly, “Yang Guo, come out!”

Yang Guo was taken aback, and thought, You haven’t taught me a scrap of martial arts. What are you calling me out for? Zhao Zhijing called again, “Yang Guo, didn’t you hear me? Come out, quick!” Yang Guo had no choice but to walk up before his seat and bow. “Your disciple Yang Guo pays his respects to Shifu.” Most of the Quanzhen disciples were Daoists, but there were a few lay disciples like Yang Guo, and they used the lay forms of courtesy.

Zhao Zhijing pointed to the young Daoist who had just won his bout. “He’s not many years older than you. Go and have a bout with him.” Yang Guo said, “But this disciple doesn’t know the first thing about martial arts. How can I fight my shixiong?” Zhao Zhijing said angrily, “I’ve been teaching you for the better part of a year. How can you say you don’t know the first thing about martial arts? What have you been doing all this time?” Yang Guo had no answer, and hung his head in silence. Zhao Zhijing said, “You’re lazy and you’d rather play than work, so naturally your fists and feet are rusty. Let me ask you this: ‘What proof is there of the work of cultivating the true? When the heart is dead, the passions stir no more.’ What are the next two lines?” Yang Guo said, “When essence and qi are full, the work is complete; the light of the spirit shines throughout the divine capital.” Zhao Zhijing said, “Right. Let me ask you another: ‘The secret words a shifu passes on wake one to the root; in coming there is no lack, in going no surplus.’ What are the next two lines?” Yang Guo answered, “The dust and grime of years are all wiped away; the whole body, clear and bright, shines through the great void.” Zhao Zhijing smiled. “Very good, not a word wrong. Now use those lines and go down and try a few moves with your shixiong.” Yang Guo was taken aback again. “This disciple can’t.” Zhao Zhijing gloated inside, but put on a look of great anger and barked, “You’ve learned the formulas and won’t practise them, and now you make one excuse after another. Get down there, quick.”

These lines of verse were the essentials for cultivating neigong, teaching one to gather the heart and still the thoughts, to refine the essence and nourish the qi, but each line went with a few moves of fist and foot, and taken together they made up a simple beginner’s set of Quanzhen fist techniques. The Daoists had heard with their own ears Yang Guo recite the formulas without a single mistake, and supposed he had simply lost his nerve at the test. The kind-hearted ones called out encouragement, and those who enjoyed another’s misfortune jeered and mocked. Most Quanzhen disciples were decent men. But in the great battle when Guo Jing came up Mount Zhongnan he had routed the Daoists utterly and offended a great many of them, and not a few of those who had suffered at his hands now took it out on Yang Guo and hoped to see him brought low. It was not necessarily malice, but wanting to vent the foul air pent up in one’s chest is only human nature.

Seeing them all egging him on, and some of them jeering coldly again and again, Yang Guo felt his anger flare. He hardened his heart, and thought, Then I’ll stake my life on it today, that’s all. He leapt into the ring and, arms whirling, flew at the young Daoist, flailing straight up and straight down. The young Daoist was already taken aback that Yang Guo had come in without a bow and without humbly asking for instruction as the school’s rules required, and when he saw him lash out like a madman he was more startled still and kept backing away. Yang Guo had long since put life and death out of his mind. He charged in, pressing him with every move. The young Daoist backed off a few steps, saw that Yang Guo’s footing was loose and empty, turned sideways and swept a foot at his legs, the move “Wind Sweeps the Fallen Leaves”. Yang Guo had no idea how to dodge. He lost his footing and went down flat, and his nose streamed with blood.

Seeing what a sorry tumble he had taken, some of the Daoists laughed. Yang Guo rolled over and scrambled up, and without even wiping the blood from his nose, he lowered his head and hurled himself at the young Daoist. The young Daoist saw how fiercely he came and stepped aside. Yang Guo’s moves followed no rules at all: he flung both arms round his opponent’s left leg and held on. The young Daoist’s right palm flew slantwise at his shoulder. This move, “Wiping Away the Dust and Grime”, was the correct way to break an attack on one’s lower body, but Yang Guo had learned no martial arts on Peach Blossom Island and had been taught no usable skills at Chongyang Palace, so he had no idea what moves were coming at him. There was a thump, and a burning pain shot through his shoulder. He had taken a heavy blow. But the more he lost, the more savage he grew. He butted his head square into his opponent’s right leg, and the young Daoist, unable to keep his feet, went down with Yang Guo on top of him. Yang Guo swung his fists and hammered at the young Daoist’s head with all his might.

The young Daoist snatched victory out of defeat. He drove his elbow hard into Yang Guo’s chest, and while the boy was reeling with pain he used the momentum to spring up, then with a back-handed push and fling threw him down hard. It was the move “No Lack, No Surplus”. He made a Daoist salute. “Thank you for going easy on me, Yang shidi!” When fellow disciples tested their skills, the bout was supposed to stop the moment it was decided, but Yang Guo came charging back like a mad tiger. Within two or three moves he was thrown again, yet the more he fought the bolder he grew, and his fists and feet flew faster and faster.

Zhao Zhijing called, “Yang Guo, you lost long ago. Why are you still fighting?” But Yang Guo paid no attention. He kicked sideways and punched straight and never gave half a step. At first the Daoists had all thought it funny, every one of them thinking, Since when has our Quanzhen school had such clumsy brawling? But then, seeing him fight as if his life were at stake, they were afraid something bad would happen, and one after another they called out, “That’s enough, that’s enough. Brothers in the school are just comparing skills. No need to take it so seriously.”

After another round of this the young Daoist had lost all stomach for it. He did nothing but dodge, block and duck, and dared not let Yang Guo come near him again. As the saying goes, one man ready to die can hold off ten thousand. Yang Guo had swallowed the better part of a year’s bitterness on Mount Zhongnan, and now it all came pouring out. The young Daoist’s martial skill was far better than his, but where would he find such a fighting spirit? Seeing he could not hold Yang Guo off, he could only run round and round the ring. Yang Guo chased hard behind him, cursing, “Stinking Daoist, you hit me nicely, didn’t you? Now you’ve hit me you want to run away?”

Of the onlookers, eight or nine in every ten were Daoists, and hearing him rant away about stinking Daoists and thieving Daoists, they did not know whether to be angry or to laugh. Every one of them thought, This brat badly needs a lesson. Hard pressed, the young Daoist cried out in alarm, “Shifu, Shifu!” hoping Zhao Zhijing would call a halt. Zhao Zhijing shouted angrily again and again, but Yang Guo took not the slightest notice.

Footnotes

1. 谭处端 – Tán Chǔduān. One of the Seven Zis of Quanzhen, known by his Daoist name Changzhenzi. He was killed by Ouyang Feng in The Legend of the Condor Heroes. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 程瑶迦 – Chéng Yáojiā. Her name meaning “jade” combined with a transliterated Buddhist name element. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 崔志方 – Cuī Zhìfāng. Third-generation Quanzhen disciple in Wang Chuyi’s lineage, junior to Zhao Zhijing. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩