The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 1 – Part 6

Guo Xiang’s¹ curiosity was piqued. She longed to catch a glimpse of these Three Kunlun Sages,² to see what manner of men they truly were, and to witness their contest with the monks of Shaolin Monastery.³ She wondered who would emerge victorious. Yet Shaolin did not receive female visitors, and it seemed this fine spectacle would be denied her.

Wuse⁴ saw her tilt her head in thought and assumed she was devising stratagems on Shaolin’s behalf. He said, “Shaolin Monastery has weathered countless storms over a thousand years and stands yet. Should these Three Kunlun Sages be determined to make trouble for us, Shaolin shall simply have to contend with them. Miss Guo, in a fortnight’s time you shall hear the tidings in the jianghu.⁵ Then we shall see whether the Three Kunlun Sages can truly bring Shaolin to its knees.”

As he spoke, the valour of his younger years stirred within him once more.

Guo Xiang laughed. “Great Monk, pray do not take offence. Speaking in such a manner, can you truly call yourself a disciple of the Buddha? Very well, in a fortnight I shall await glad tidings.”

With that, she swung herself onto the donkey’s back. The two exchanged a smile.

Guo Xiang urged her grey donkey onward, its hooves clopping down the mountain path, though her mind was already resolved: she simply had to witness this spectacle.

She thought to herself, How might I contrive to slip into Shaolin Monastery in ten days’ time and watch this fine show?

Then she thought, Perhaps these Three Kunlun Sages have no true skill at all, and the monks will fell them at a single blow. That would make for poor entertainment. If only they possessed half the ability of my grandfather, my father, or Big Brother Yang, then this grand affair of “The Three Kunlun Sages Storming Shaolin” might prove worth watching.

At the thought of Yang Guo,⁶ her heart grew heavy once more. For three years she had wandered in search of him, seeking here and there, yet all her efforts had come to naught. The Ancient Tomb⁷ on Mount Zhongnan⁸ remained sealed. The Myriad Flowers Hollow⁹ lay silent, its blossoms fallen without sound. Heartless Valley¹⁰ stood empty amid the desolate mountains. Fengling Crossing¹¹ was shrouded in the pale light of a cold moon. A thousand times, ten thousand times, she had turned these thoughts over in her heart: Even if I found him, what then? It would only deepen my longing, add to my sorrows. He vanished without a trace precisely for my sake. Yet knowing full well it is but moonlight on water, flowers reflected in a mirror, all destined to come to nothing. Still I cannot help but think of him, cannot help but search.

She let the grey donkey wander where it would, roaming aimlessly through the ranges of Mount Shaoshi.¹² She drifted westward and soon found herself within the domain of Mount Song.¹³ Looking back at the eastern peak of Mount Shaoshi, she saw it rise steep and majestic against the sky. The mountain vistas along the way were endless in their splendour. Thus she wandered for several days until she came to the Terrace of Three Rests.¹⁴ She mused, Three Rests, Three Rests! I wonder what three things one should set to rest here. In this life of ours, there are a thousand rests, ten thousand rests, surely more than three?

Turning northward, she crossed a ridge and beheld more than three hundred ancient cypresses, all standing tall and straight and graceful. Trumpet vines had taken root beside them and flowered at the cypress crowns, a brilliant profusion like drifting cloud. As Guo Xiang admired the scene, she suddenly heard the faint strains of a qin¹⁵ drifting from beyond a mountain hollow. She thought with wonder, In this remote place, there is actually some person of refinement playing the qin.

From childhood, her mother had taught her the qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Though she possessed only a superficial understanding of each, her quick wit and fondness for unconventional ideas meant that when she discussed the qin or calligraphy with her mother, she often offered insights all her own. Huang Rong¹⁶ took great pleasure in these conversations. Now, hearing the music, her curiosity awakened. She released her grey donkey and followed the sound.

After walking little more than a hundred feet, she noticed birdsong mingling with the melody. At first she paid it little mind, but as she listened more closely, it seemed the qin and the birds were answering one another in conversation, a trilling, warbling exchange. Guo Xiang concealed herself behind the flowers and peered toward the source of the music. Beneath three great pine trees sat a man in white robes, his back to her, a Burnt-Tail qin¹⁷ resting across his knees as he played. The trees around him were thick with birds: orioles, cuckoos, magpies, mynahs, and many others whose names she did not know, all calling out in harmony with the music, some as if in question, others as if in reply, some joining in chorus.

She listened for a while longer. The music gradually swelled in volume, yet even at its most resonant, it remained mellow and harmonious. The birds fell silent, and she heard only the great rush of wings stirring the air as countless more birds flew in from all directions. Some alighted on the treetops, others wheeled and soared above, their feathers a riot of colour, a wondrous sight. The qin’s melody was tranquil and dignified, carrying within it a quiet majesty.

Guo Xiang marvelled silently, This man can summon birds with his music. Could this piece be “A Hundred Birds Pay Homage to the Phoenix”?

She felt it was an immense pity that her grandfather was not here, for if he could accompany this melody with his peerless jade flute, truly they would be the two supreme musicians of their age.

As the man played on, the music gradually softened. The birds perched in the trees took flight as one, circling and dancing in the air. Then, with a sharp twang, the music ceased, and the flock dispersed.

The man idly plucked a few short notes upon the strings, raised his head, and sighed. “Stroking the long jian, raising my brow, how pure the water, how white the stones, how desolate! In all the world there is no kindred spirit. What profit in living a thousand years?”¹⁸

As he spoke, he suddenly drew a long jian from beneath the qin. Green light flashed and flickered, casting bright reflections through the grove. Guo Xiang thought, So this man is accomplished in both letters and arms. I wonder what his swordsmanship is like.

She watched as he rose and walked slowly to an open space before the ancient pines. With the jian’s tip touching the ground, he began to draw, one stroke, then another. Guo Xiang was astonished. What manner of strange swordsmanship is this? Can scratching lines in the dirt truly defeat an enemy? The eccentricities of this man are beyond fathoming.

She silently counted his strokes. He drew nineteen lines horizontally, then changed direction to draw vertically. Again, nineteen strokes. Each movement of the jian remained the same, whether horizontal or vertical: a single straight line. Guo Xiang traced the pattern with her finger in the dirt, then nearly laughed aloud. This was no peculiar jian technique at all. He had simply drawn a grid of nineteen by nineteen lines upon the ground: a weiqi¹⁹ board.

Having completed the board, the man used his jian tip to circle a mark in the upper left corner and lower right corner, then scratched crosses in the upper right and lower left corners.

Since Guo Xiang had already recognised it as a weiqi board, she understood at once that he was placing the handicap stones in the four corners: circles for white, crosses for black. She watched as he circled a white stone three spaces from the handicap stone in the upper right corner, then scratched a black cross two spaces below it. By the twenty-ninth move, he rested his jian against the ground and bowed his head in thought, evidently unable to decide whether to sacrifice stones for positional advantage or fight fiercely for the corner.

Guo Xiang thought, This man is as lonely as I. He plays his qin in the empty mountains with only birds for company. He has no opponent for his chess and must play against himself.

After a moment’s reflection, the man refused to concede the white stones and engaged the black in a fierce battle in the upper right corner. In the blink of an eye, move after brilliant move unfolded as the struggle swept southward from the north and into the heartland of the board. Guo Xiang watched, transfixed, and gradually drew closer. She saw that white had been outmanoeuvred in the opening and was now hard-pressed. By the ninety-third move, white encountered a linked ko²⁰ situation and stood on the verge of collapse, yet still he struggled on.

As the saying goes, the player in the game is blind while the observer sees clearly. Though Guo Xiang’s skill at weiqi was modest, she could see that if white did not sacrifice stones and seek advantage elsewhere, he faced annihilation in the centre. Unable to contain herself, she blurted out, “Why not abandon the centre and seize the west instead?”

The man started. He looked to the western side of the board and saw that a vast expanse of territory lay unclaimed. If he could seize the initiative during the ko battle and place two stones at the crucial points, even if he lost the ko and sacrificed the central group, he could still fight to a draw. Enlightened by Guo Xiang’s words, the man threw back his head and laughed as he cried out, “Excellent! Excellent!”

He placed several more stones, then suddenly remembered that someone was near. He tossed the long jian to the ground, turned, and said, “Which master has graced me with such guidance? I am deeply grateful.”

He bowed toward where Guo Xiang was hidden.

The man had a long face and deep-set eyes. His frame was gaunt and angular, and he appeared to be around thirty years of age. Guo Xiang had never been one to observe the proprieties between men and women. She stepped out from behind the flowers and smiled. “Just now I heard your exquisite playing, birdsong of the empty mountains, a hundred birds paying homage. I was filled with admiration. Then I saw you draw a board upon the ground, black and white locked in battle, and found it most absorbing. In my excitement I spoke without thinking. Pray forgive my presumption.”

The man saw that she was a young maiden and was greatly surprised. Yet when she spoke of the qin melodies without the slightest error, he was pleased. He said, “Miss, you have a deep understanding of music. If you would not think it beneath you, I should be honoured to hear you play.”

Guo Xiang laughed. “My mother did teach me the qin, but compared to your divine skill, I fall far short. Still, having heard your marvellous performance, it would be discourteous not to reply with a piece of my own. Very well, I shall play, but you must not laugh.”

The man said, “I would not dare.”

He raised the qin with both hands and presented it to Guo Xiang.

Guo Xiang saw that the instrument bore the patina of great antiquity. She adjusted the strings and began to play the melody “Kaopan”.²¹ Her technique was unremarkable, yet the man’s expression showed both surprise and delight. He followed the music silently, reciting the words in his heart: By the mountain stream he wanders, the man of worth at ease. Alone he sleeps, alone he wakes, and speaks his heart to none. His resolve shall never falter.

This poem was from the “Classic of Poetry”,²² a song of the hermit. It spoke of a man of great character wandering free among mountain streams, coming and going alone. Though solitary and careworn, his noble aspirations would never change. Hearing how the music spoke to his own heart, the man was deeply moved. Long after the final note had faded, he stood motionless.

Guo Xiang set down the qin gently, turned, and walked out of the pine grove, singing as she went: On the highlands he roams, the man of worth unwavering. Alone he sleeps, alone he wakes, and tells his vow to none.

She called her grey donkey, mounted it, and rode deeper into the forested mountains.

In her three years wandering the jianghu, she had witnessed many strange things. This man’s summoning of birds with music and his solitary game of chess were to her merely like passing clouds or drifting duckweed, chance meetings that left no trace upon her heart.

Several more days passed. By Guo Xiang’s reckoning, it was now the tenth day since she had caused the commotion at Shaolin Monastery — the very day the Three Kunlun Sages were to contest their martial arts with the Shaolin monks. She could think of no way to sneak into the monastery to watch the spectacle. Mother can turn her eyes and come up with seventeen or eighteen clever schemes. But I am so dull I cannot think of a single one. Very well, no matter what — I shall go to the monastery gates first and see. Perhaps in the urgency of repelling outside enemies, they will forget to bar my entry.

She ate some dry rations hastily, then mounted her grey donkey and set off towards Shaolin Monastery once more. When she was some ten li from the monastery, she suddenly heard the sound of hooves. From the mountain path to her left, three riders came galloping towards her. The three horses moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye they swept past Guo Xiang and headed straight up towards Shaolin Monastery. All three riders were men in their fifties, wearing short blue cloth garments, with cloth bags for weapons slung from their saddles.

Guo Xiang’s mind stirred. These three men carry martial arts. Today they bring weapons to Shaolin Monastery — most likely these are the Three Kunlun Sages. If I am late, I fear I shall miss the spectacle. She slapped her grey donkey on the rump. The donkey raised its head and brayed, then broke into a gallop, chasing after the three riders.

The riders on horseback whipped their mounts onward. The three horses galloped up the mountain with great speed, and in moments had left Guo Xiang’s grey donkey far behind, quite unable to keep pace. One of the old men turned his head to glance back, his face showing a hint of surprise.

Footnotes

1. 郭襄 — Guō Xiāng. Younger daughter of Guo Jing and Huang Rong, known as the Little Eastern Heretic; founder of the Emei Order. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 昆仑三圣 — Kūnlún Sānshèng. Literally three Kunlun sages. ↩

3. 少林寺 — Shàolín Sì. Shaolin Monastery, the ancient Buddhist monastery on Mount Song, cradle of the Shaolin martial arts. See Wikipedia. ↩

4. 无色禅师 — Wúsè Chánshī. His name meaning “Formless” or “Colourless.” Chan Master Wuse was a senior monk of Shaolin Monastery. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 江湖 — jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. Itinerant world beyond settled society and official reach, holding not only martial artists but the trades that travel with them, including pedlars, physicians, fortune-tellers, entertainers, boatmen, beggars, outlaws and the like. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 杨过 — Yáng Guò. His name meaning “Yang Surpassing” or “Yang Repentance”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 古墓 — gǔmù. Literally ancient tomb. Tomb of the Living Dead beneath the Zhongnan Mountains, headquarters of the Ancient Tomb School. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 终南山 — Zhōngnán Shān. Literally end of south mountain. Sacred Daoist mountain range south of Xi’an in Shaanxi Province, where Wang Chongyang established the Quanzhen Order’s headquarters. See Wikipedia. ↩

9. 万花坳 — Wànhuā Ào. Literally myriad flowers hollow. Secluded valley filled with flowers where Yang Guo and Xiaolongnü once resided. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

10. 绝情谷 — Juéqíng Gǔ. Literally heartless valley. Gorge with unique poisonous flora and water. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

11. 风陵渡 — Fēnglíng Dù. Literally wind mound crossing. Ferry crossing on the Yellow River where Guo Xiang first met Yang Guo. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 少室山 — Shǎoshì Shān. Lesser Chamber Mountain, the western peak of Mount Song in Henan Province, where Shaolin Monastery is located. See Wikipedia. ↩

13. 嵩山 — Sōng Shān. Literally lofty mountain. One of the Five Sacred Mountains of China, located in Henan Province. See Wikipedia. ↩

14. 三休台 — Sān Xiū Tái. Literally three rests terrace. Scenic spot on Mount Song. ↩

15. 琴 — qín. Seven-stringed zither, the most revered of Chinese classical instruments, associated with scholars and sages. See Wikipedia. ↩

16. 黄蓉 — Huáng Róng. Her name meaning “Huang Lotus”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

17. 焦尾琴 — jiāowěi qín. Literally burnt-tail qin. Legendary guqin made by Cai Yong of the Eastern Han Dynasty from a piece of paulownia wood rescued from a fire, its distinctive burnt tail becoming its namesake. See Wikipedia. Guo Xiang thought, Mother once spoke of a qin melody called “Birdsong of the Empty Mountain”, long lost to the world. Could this be that very tune? ↩

18. This is an adaptation of a classical poem expressing the loneliness of the unappreciated scholar or artist. ↩

19. 围棋 — wéiqí. Literally encircling chess. Ancient Chinese strategy board game known in the West as Go, played on a 19×19 grid. See Wikipedia. ↩

20. 劫 — jié. Literally calamity. Ko situation in weiqi where alternating captures create an endless cycle, requiring special rules to resolve. See Wikipedia. ↩

21. 考盘 — Kǎopán. Literally “wandering at ease.” A poem from the “Classic of Poetry” celebrating the life of a hermit who finds contentment in solitude. See Wikipedia. ↩

22. 诗经 — Shījīng. Literally “Classic of Poetry.” The oldest existing collection of Chinese poetry, compiled around 600 BCE, containing 305 poems from the 11th to 7th centuries BCE. See Wikipedia. ↩