The Return of the Condor Heroes Chapter 4 – Part 9

While no one knew what to do, an angry roar went up from the crowd and a fat, hulking Daoist burst out of it. He leapt forward, seized Yang Guo by the back of the collar and hoisted him up, then smack, smack, smack, dealt him three slaps across the face, and heavy-handed ones at that, so that one side of the boy’s face swelled up at once. The three blows all but knocked Yang Guo senseless. When his eyes cleared, he saw it was his old enemy, Lu Qingdu. On Yang Guo’s first day on the mountain, Lu Qingdu had all but burned to death through the boy’s trick, and ever since he had had to put up with the jeers of his shixiongs and shidis, who said he was no match even for a little child. He had nursed the grudge all along, and now, seeing Yang Guo making trouble again, he could not keep from stepping in.

Yang Guo had already thrown all caution away, and when he saw who it was, he knew he had even less hope. But with the back of his collar in the man’s grip, he could not move. Lu Qingdu gave a savage grin and slapped him three times more, smack, smack, smack. “Disobey your shifu and you’re a traitor to the school,” he shouted, “and anyone may beat you.” He raised his hand to strike again.

Zhao Zhijing’s shidi, Cui Zhifang, had noticed that when Yang Guo struck out he seemed not to know the least thing of the school’s martial arts. Knowing too how narrow-minded Zhao Zhijing was, he suspected there was more to this than met the eye. Seeing how savagely Lu Qingdu was hitting, he was afraid the boy would be badly hurt, and shouted at once, “Qingdu, stop!”

At his shishu’s shout Lu Qingdu had to set Yang Guo down, much against his will. “Shishu, there’s something you don’t know,” he said. “This boy is as sly and shameless as they come. If he isn’t taught a hard lesson, what rules will our Order have left?”

Cui Zhifang ignored him and walked over to Yang Guo. Both the boy’s cheeks were swollen high, black and blue, with blood under his nose and round his mouth, and he looked thoroughly pitiful. Cui Zhifang said gently, “Yang Guo, your shifu has taught you martial arts. Why don’t you work hard at them, instead of brawling like a hooligan with your shixiongs?” Yang Guo said bitterly, “What shifu? He hasn’t taught me a scrap of martial arts.” Cui Zhifang said, “But I heard you recite the formulas myself, and you didn’t get a word wrong.”

Yang Guo thought of how Huang Rong had made him learn the Four Books and Five Classics by heart on Peach Blossom Island, and supposed that what Zhao Zhijing had taught him was the same sort of scripture, with nothing to do with martial arts at all. “I’m not trying to sit the imperial exams and come out top scholar,” he said. “What use is learning that rubbish by heart?” Cui Zhifang pretended to be angry, to test whether the boy really knew nothing of the school’s arts. He set his face. “How dare you speak so rudely to your elders?” And quick as a flash he reached out and gave Yang Guo a push on the shoulder.

Cui Zhifang was one of the finest fighters of the third generation of the Quanzhen school. His martial skill was not up to that of Zhao Zhijing, the school’s best, but he had trained in both internal and external skills, and his power ran deep. The push was nicely judged, neither too hard nor too soft, too fast nor too slow. The moment it landed, he felt Yang Guo’s shoulder tilt slightly and neili spring up of its own accord, turning aside a little under half the push. Yang Guo stumbled back several steps but did not fall. Cui Zhifang started, and a cloud of doubt rose in his mind. He wondered, He’s so young and has been in our school barely half a year. How can he have such power? And if he has neili like this, he should never have flailed about so wildly in that bout just now. Can there really be some trickery? How could he know that Yang Guo had been practising the neigong Ouyang Feng had taught him, and had made real progress without even knowing it? The neigong of White Camel Mountain¹ is easy to start and advances very quickly, unlike Quanzhen neigong, which seeks above all a firm foundation. In the first ten years of training, a White Camel Mountain disciple will be far stronger, and only after ten years does the Quanzhen disciple slowly catch up. The two schools’ neigong are utterly different, but from one casual push Cui Zhifang could hardly tell the difference.

The push had knocked the breath out of Yang Guo, and he thought Cui Zhifang was beating him too. By now he feared neither heaven nor earth. Even if Qiu Chuji himself had come, he would still have gone for him, so why would he fear any Cui Zhifang or Cui Zhiyuan? He put his head down and charged straight at Cui Zhifang’s belly. Cui Zhifang could hardly stoop to the level of a child. He smiled and stepped aside, set on seeing what the boy’s real skill was. “Qingdu,” he said, “try a few moves with Yang shidi. Keep your hand measured, not too heavy!”

Lu Qingdu had been longing to hear just that. He swayed across into Yang Guo’s path and feinted with his left palm. Yang Guo dodged right, and Lu Qingdu struck out with his right palm. This “Tiger Gate Hand” carried no small force, and with a thud it caught Yang Guo full in the chest. Had Yang Guo not already learned the neigong of White Camel Mountain, he would have coughed up blood on the spot. Even so, his chest hurt unbearably and his face went white as paper. Lu Qingdu was secretly surprised that his palm had not knocked the boy down, and threw a right-hand punch at his face. Yang Guo raised an arm to block, but the trouble was that he knew nothing of the principles of fist fighting and had not even the most ordinary way of breaking a blow. Lu Qingdu drew the right fist aside and shot his left out fast, and with another thud it caught Yang Guo in the belly. Yang Guo doubled up with pain. Lu Qingdu showed no mercy. He brought the edge of his right palm chopping down hard, square on the back of the boy’s neck. He had aimed the chop at a vital spot, fully expecting to knock him out on the instant and pay off the old score. But Yang Guo only swayed a few times and held on with all he had. He still did not fall, but his head was spinning and he had no strength left to hit back.

By now Cui Zhifang knew that the boy really had no martial arts. “Qingdu, stop!” he called. Lu Qingdu said to Yang Guo, “You stinking brat, do you give in to me now?” Yang Guo swore at him, “Thieving Daoist, one day I’ll kill you!” Lu Qingdu flew into a rage and struck twice in quick succession, both punches landing on the bridge of his nose.

Yang Guo was beaten until the world went dark. He reeled and was on the point of falling when somehow a rush of hot qi shot straight up from his dantian. He saw Lu Qingdu’s third punch coming at his face, with no way to dodge and no way to duck. Of their own accord his legs bent, a croaking cry burst from his throat, and his palms pushed out and struck Lu Qingdu full in the belly. The big fat body suddenly flew out flat through the air, and with a thud and a cloud of dust it landed some ten feet away and lay stiff on the ground, and did not stir again.

The Daoists looking on had all thought it unjust that Lu Qingdu should use his size against a smaller boy and beat him so cruelly, and all the senior ones except Zhao Zhijing had been shouting at him to stop. Then, out of nowhere, everything changed: Lu Qingdu had been thrown by Yang Guo’s palm and lay there stiff and still. Everyone was astonished and crowded round to look.

Yang Guo had never known how to use the neigong of the Toad Skill.² It had simply burst out of him of its own accord in a moment of desperate danger. The first time had been on Peach Blossom Island, when he knocked Wu Xiuwen senseless. Several months had passed since then and his neili had grown a good deal, and his hatred for Lu Qingdu went far beyond anything he had felt for the Wu brothers. The force sprang from his heart, and it sent Lu Qingdu flying. The Daoists cried out all at once, “Oh no, he’s dead!” “He’s not breathing. His insides must be smashed!” “Quick, tell the Head of the Order.” Yang Guo knew he had brought about a terrible disaster. In his daze and panic he had no time to think. He took to his heels and ran.

The Daoists were all busy finding out whether Lu Qingdu was dead or alive, and when Yang Guo slipped quietly away, not one of them noticed. Zhao Zhijing saw that Lu Qingdu’s eyes had rolled up and there was no telling whether he would live or die, and he was both frightened and furious. “Yang Guo, Yang Guo,” he shouted. “What black magic have you learned?” Strong as his martial skill was, he had spent most of his days keeping guard at Chongyang Palace and had seen and heard little of the world, so he did not recognise the technique of the Toad Skill. He called several times but heard no answer, and when the Daoists turned round, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Zhao Zhijing gave orders at once for everyone to split up and give chase, thinking that a little child like that could not have got far in so short a time.

Yang Guo fled in a panic, with no thought for where he was going, ploughing on wherever the trees grew thickest. When he had run for a while he heard a great shouting behind him, and on every side people were calling, “Yang Guo, Yang Guo, come out.” He grew more frightened than ever and floundered on, stumbling up and down over the rough ground. Suddenly a figure flickered ahead of him. A Daoist had seen him and was rushing over. Yang Guo spun round, but there was another Daoist to the west, shouting, “He’s here, he’s here.” Yang Guo ducked low and wriggled under a clump of bushes. The Daoist was too big to squeeze through after him, and by the time he had gone round the clump to look, Yang Guo had vanished.

Yang Guo wriggled through the bushes and dashed on. When he had run for a while he heard the Daoists’ shouts growing fainter, but he still did not dare stop. Keeping off the paths, he ran wildly through grass and over rocks, until at last his whole body ached and went weak and he truly could run no more. He had to sit down on a rock to catch his breath. As he sat there, his mind said only, Run, run. But his legs felt as heavy as a thousand jin,³ and whatever he did, he could not get up. Suddenly he heard a cold laugh behind him. Yang Guo jumped and turned his head, so frightened that his heart all but leapt out of his mouth. Behind him stood a Daoist with bristling brows, glaring eyes and a long beard hanging down over his chest. It was Zhao Zhijing.

The two of them glared at each other, and for a long moment neither moved at all. Suddenly Yang Guo gave a great shout, turned and ran. Zhao Zhijing lunged after him and grabbed at his back. Yang Guo threw himself forward, and luckily the hand missed by a few inches. He snatched up a stone at once and hurled it behind him with all his strength. Zhao Zhijing swayed aside and ran faster, and the gap between them closed further. Yang Guo ran madly on for a dozen or so steps, then suddenly saw what looked like a deep gully ahead of him, with no way on. He had no idea whether there was a deep valley or a mountain stream below, and without a second thought he flung himself over.

Zhao Zhijing came to the edge of the cliff and looked down. He saw Yang Guo roll down a grassy slope and straight into a thicket. From where he stood to the slope below was sixty or seventy feet at the very least, and he did not dare jump. He hurried round by another way to the grassy slope, followed the track Yang Guo had flattened through the grass and pushed into the thicket after him, but there was no sign of the boy. The further he went, the thicker the trees grew, until at last they shut out the sunlight altogether. He had gone a hundred-odd feet when it suddenly came to him: this was where the Tomb of the Living Dead lay, where Patriarch Chongyang⁴ had lived in years gone by. The school had always had a strict rule that no one might set foot inside. But to let Yang Guo get away like this was more than he could stomach, so he shouted at the top of his voice, “Yang Guo, Yang Guo, come out.”

He called several times. The forest was silent, without the faintest sound. He screwed up his courage and went a few steps further. In the gloom he saw a stone tablet standing in the ground, and when he bent to look, he found four large characters carved on it: “No Entry for Outsiders.” Zhao Zhijing hesitated a long while, then raised his voice and shouted again, “Yang Guo, you little thief, come out now, or when I catch you I’ll beat you to death.” The shout had barely died away when a strange buzzing rose in the forest. Grey shadows flickered, and a swarm of white bees flew out from among the leaves and swooped at him.

Zhao Zhijing was aghast. He flapped his sleeves to drive the bees off. His neili ran deep and there was no small force in his sleeves, but after a few flaps the swarm suddenly split in two: one half came at him from the front, the other from behind. Zhao Zhijing was more alarmed than ever, and not daring to be careless, he whirled both sleeves to guard his whole body. The bees spread out and attacked from above and below, left and right, from every side at once. Zhao Zhijing dared not resist any longer. He threw his sleeves over his head and face, turned and fled out of the forest.

The jade bees came buzzing after him. They did not fly very fast, but they clung to him and would not be shaken off. When Zhao Zhijing ran east, the jade bees chased him east. When he ran west, they chased him west. His sleeves slowed for the merest moment, and two bees shot in through the gap and each stung him on the right cheek. In moments Zhao Zhijing felt a numbness and an itching he could not bear, as if his very innards itched. He thought, My life ends today! Soon he could no longer keep his feet. He fell on the grassy slope at the edge of the forest and rolled about, shouting aloud. The swarm circled and danced in the air around him, and some seized the chance to sting him a couple more times before they went back into the forest.

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Footnotes

1. 白驼山 – Báituó Shān. White Camel Mountain, home of Ouyang Feng in the western regions, known for its distinctive school of martial arts and its venomous snakes. ↩

2. 蛤蟆功 – Hámá Gōng. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 斤 – jīn. Traditional Chinese unit of weight, approximately 500 grams or 1.1 pounds. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 祖师 – zǔshī. Literally ancestral master. Founder of a school, the source of a lineage rather than a rung on it. ↩