The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 15 – Part 4

Zhang Wuji had always known he was no match for Wei Bi. To step down and fight him was to invite nothing but humiliation, a spectacle for the others' amusement. Yet the moment he stood before Zhu Jiuzhen, his senses reeled. Her voice was soft as she gave him instructions, and the faint fragrance of her reached him. Where was his judgement now? All he could think was, *If the young miss commands it, I would risk my life for her, no matter how perilous. What are a few blows compared to that?* In a daze he walked to where Wei Bi stood and waited, blank and stupid.

Wei Bi laughed. “Boy, take this!” Two slaps cracked across Zhang Wuji’s face, so swift that before he could raise his hands to block, both cheeks were already swelling with the red prints of Wei Bi’s fingers. Now that Wei Bi knew Zhang Wuji had not learnt the Zhu family’s martial arts, he had no fear of offending Zhu Jiuzhen or his uncle and aunt by holding back. Yet even so, he had not put any neili¹ behind those slaps, or he would have shattered the boy’s teeth and cheekbones outright.

Zhu Jiuzhen called out, “Wuji, strike back!”

Hearing the young miss’s voice, Zhang Wuji’s spirits surged. He threw out a punch with a whoosh. Wei Bi sidestepped and praised, “Not bad, boy! You do know a thing or two!” He darted to Zhang Wuji’s back. Zhang Wuji wheeled around in haste, but Wei Bi’s hand shot out swift as lightning and seized the nape of his neck. He lifted Zhang Wuji off the ground with one arm and laughed, “Eat shit, dog!” Then he hurled him to the floor with all his might.

Though Zhang Wuji had studied martial arts under Xie Xun for some years, he had been too young at the time, and Xie Xun had only made him memorise formulas and techniques without sparring in earnest. Against an opponent like Wei Bi, a disciple of a renowned school, he was all thumbs, quite unable to deploy anything he knew. As he fell, he tried to thrust out his hands and feet to break his landing, but it was already too late. His forehead and nose smashed against the ground with a heavy thud, and blood streamed down his face.

Wu Qingying clapped and cheered, giggling. “Cousin Zhen, is the Wu family’s kung fu passable or not?”

Zhu Jiuzhen was torn between embarrassment and anger. To say the Wu family’s arts were poor would insult Wei Bi; to praise them would concede ground to Wu Qingying. She could only hold her tongue and say nothing, her face cold.

Zhang Wuji climbed to his feet and glanced fearfully at Zhu Jiuzhen. Seeing her fine brows drawn together in a frown, he thought, I would give my life rather than let the young miss lose face. He heard Wei Bi laugh, “Cousin, this boy hasn’t even got three-cat kung fu. What school can he be from?”

Before Wei Bi could finish, Zhang Wuji charged forward and kicked at his lower abdomen. Wei Bi laughed and cried, “Aiya!” He leaned back slightly to dodge the kick, then his left hand shot out and seized Zhang Wuji’s right ankle before the boy could withdraw it. He flung him outward, laughing, “Go fly!” He had used only thirty percent of his strength, but Zhang Wuji still flew like an arrow released from a bow, heading straight for the wall. At the last moment, Zhang Wuji twisted his body in mid-air and managed to take the impact on his back rather than his head. Though he escaped a fractured skull, his spine felt as if every bone were about to snap. He slumped against the wall like a pile of wet clay, quite unable to rise.

His body ached, but his thoughts were still on Zhu Jiuzhen’s expression. Through the haze he heard her say, “The brat is useless. Let us go play in the garden.” Her tone was plainly vexed, angry that he had shamed her. Zhang Wuji did not know where the strength came from, but he rolled to his feet and lunged forward, striking out at Wei Bi with a palm. Wei Bi chuckled and waved a hand in reply, yet to his surprise, his own body swayed and he stumbled back a step.

The palm Zhang Wuji had used was one from the Wudang Long Fist,² a technique called Seven Star Hand,³ which his father Zhang Cuishan had taught him on a raft at sea many years before. The Wudang Long Fist was the introductory art of the Wudang Order. Its moves held no particular mystery, yet the Wudang Order’s martial arts had carved a distinctive path through the wulin, favouring softness over hardness, and overcoming strength with weakness. Rather than meeting force with one’s own force, the art turned an attacker’s strength back upon himself. If an enemy struck with one jin of force, one jin was reflected back; if a hundred jin were unleashed, then a hundred jin came rushing back, like punching a wall — the harder the blow, the worse the injury to the striker himself. Years ago, Great Master Jueyuan had recited the Nine Yang Manual,⁴ which spoke of following one’s opponent and striking after he has moved. Zhang Sanfeng had later woven these principles into the Wudang Order’s fist techniques. Had Song Yuanqiao or Yu Lianzhou and such masters employed them, they could layer their own strength atop the enemy’s force. What Zhang Wuji had learnt was crude in the extreme, yet even so, buried within this one punch lay a hint of that supreme principle of reflecting an opponent’s force.

Wei Bi felt his hand go numb and a surge of qi through his chest. At once he angled his body and drove a punch at the small of Zhang Wuji’s back. Zhang Wuji swept his palm backwards in reply, employing a move called One Whip.⁵ Wei Bi, seeing the strangeness of the palm’s trajectory, darted back in alarm, but even so, three of Zhang Wuji’s fingers grazed his shoulder. Though the blow caused little pain, both Zhu Jiuzhen and Wu Qingying had seen it clearly. He had lost the exchange.

How could Wei Bi afford to lose face before the girl he adored? At first he had fought Zhang Wuji thinking the boy both young and lowly. Victory would bring no honour, and he had intended only to toy with him to amuse Wu Qingying. He had used merely twenty or thirty percent of his strength. Now, after suffering two small reverses, he bellowed, “Little brat, you want to die?” He drove a fist at Zhang Wuji’s chest with a roar. The move, called Three Waves of the Yangtze,⁶ contained three successive surges of force. Should an enemy exhaust himself blocking the first, the second would follow at his heels, and the third would crash upon him like a tidal bore. Unless the man were a master of martial arts, he would be lucky to escape with his life.

Zhang Wuji, alarmed at the ferocity of the attack, had no time to think. Instinctively he employed the methods his father had taught him on the raft at sea. His arms circled inward in a move called Well Curb.⁷ The technique was deep and vast; how could Zhang Wuji comprehend its true essence? He merely threw it out in desperation, a reflex born of mortal danger. Wei Bi’s right fist struck Zhang Wuji’s right arm squarely, and the first surge of his Three Waves of the Yangtze vanished as though dropped into the ocean, gone without trace. Before his shock could settle, a sharp crack rang out as the second surge rebounded and shattered the bones of his right arm. By fortune, the third surge could not then be unleashed; had Zhang Wuji understood the subtlety of the Well Curb, both of them would have been grievously wounded by that final wave.

Zhu Jiuzhen and Wu Qingying both cried out in alarm and ran to Wei Bi’s side to examine his injury. Wei Bi forced a bitter smile. “It is nothing. I was careless.”

Zhu Jiuzhen and Wu Qingying, both distraught at seeing their beloved hurt, turned and struck at Zhang Wuji in unison.

Zhang Wuji had shaken Wei Bi’s arm with a single move and nearly toppled backwards himself. Before he could steady his footing, the two women were upon him, their fists flying. He forgot to dodge. One blow struck his chest, the other his shoulder. He spat a mouthful of blood at once. Yet the bitterness in his heart outweighed the pain in his body. He thought, I risked my life for you, fought to save your face. And now that I have actually won, you turn and strike me!

Wei Bi shouted, “Stop!” The two women obeyed at once. Wei Bi raised his left hand, his face ashen, and strode towards Zhang Wuji to strike him himself. Zhang Wuji leapt aside to dodge.

Zhu Jiuzhen called out, “Cousin, you are hurt. Why bother with this brat? It was my fault. I should not have asked you to fight him.” By her usual proud and haughty temper, to bow her head and apologise to anyone was next to impossible. Only because she had seen her beloved’s arm broken, and her heart was full of fear and pity for him, could she bring herself to speak so humbly.

Little did she know that her words only inflamed Wei Bi further. He sneered coldly, “Cousin, this brat’s kung fu is formidable. Where are you in the wrong? I simply refuse to accept it.” He thrust his left arm across and shoved Zhu Jiuzhen aside, then raised his fist at Zhang Wuji once more.

Zhang Wuji tried to retreat, but Wu Qingying placed both palms lightly against his back, blocking his escape, leaving no path to flee. Wei Bi’s punch landed full on his nose, and blood gushed forth. Wu Qingying was far more calculating than Zhu Jiuzhen. She aided her shige⁸ in secret, leaving no trace of interference, so that he would save face and feel grateful. Zhu Jiuzhen saw this and thought, If you can help your shige, do you think I cannot help my cousin? She too entered the fray, attacking from the other side.

Zhang Wuji’s kung fu had been far inferior to Wei Bi’s to begin with, and now with Zhu Jiuzhen aiding openly and Wu Qingying scheming in secret, within moments he had taken seven or eight blows from their fists and kicks, spitting blood again and again. Driven by fury and despair, he fought as though his very life depended on it, deploying all thirty-two postures of the Wudang Long Fist his father had taught him. Though his skill was shallow and his strikes lacked force, what he had learnt was truly of the highest order, and he managed to hold his ground for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, still standing upright.

Zhu Jiuzhen cursed, “Where did this stinking brat crawl from, to cause trouble at the Zhu Wu Linked Manor? You truly tire of living!” She saw Wei Bi raise his left palm, channelling his force to chop downward, and suddenly drove her own shoulder hard into Zhang Wuji, shoving him into the path of the blow. Wei Bi’s broken arm was growing ever more painful. Unwilling to waste further time on this brat, he put his full strength into this chop. Zhang Wuji lurched forward against his will, feeling the wind of the strike against his face. Had it landed on a vital point of his head, he would surely have died. Desperate and afraid, he raised his arms to block, knowing full well it was futile.

Suddenly a voice of great authority rang out, “Hold!” A flash of blue, and someone darted from the side, raising a hand to deflect Wei Bi’s chop. The figure had brushed the blow away as though it were nothing, yet Wei Bi could not steady himself and staggered back several steps, about to collapse. The figure in the blue robe moved with blinding speed and leapt forward to support Wei Bi from behind. Only then did Wei Bi regain his balance.

Zhu Jiuzhen cried, “Father!” Wu Qingying called, “Uncle Zhu!” Wei Bi drew a breath before managing, “Uncle!”

The man was Zhu Jiuzhen’s father, Zhu Changling.⁹ When Wei Bi’s arm was broken, the matter was no small one. The guards of the Spirit Hound Camp had sent a flying report to their master, and Zhu Changling had hurried over to find the three of them surrounding Zhang Wuji. He had stood to one side and watched for a time; only when he saw Wei Bi about to strike a killing blow did he intervene.

Zhu Changling glared at his daughter and the two Wei and Wu children, his face burning with anger. Suddenly he turned and slapped Zhu Jiuzhen hard across the face, crying in a loud voice, “Good, good! The Zhu family’s descendants grow finer by the day. I have begotten such a virtuous daughter — how shall I ever have the face to meet our ancestors beneath the earth?”

Zhu Jiuzhen had been the favourite of her parents since childhood, never so much as spoken to harshly. Now, before witnesses, her father had struck her. The world spun. Her mind went blank, and only after a moment did she burst into tears with a great wail.

Zhu Changling barked, “Silence! No crying!” His voice carried such authority, so thunderous, that dust sifted down from the rafters above. Zhu Jiuzhen was afraid and choked back her sobs at once.

Zhu Changling said, “The Zhu family has passed down through the generations a reputation for xia and righteousness. Your great-great-grandfather Ziliu served as aide to Emperor Xuanzong and held the office of Prime Minister in the Dali Kingdom. Later he helped defend Xiangyang, and his name was known throughout the world. What manner of hero was he? Who would have imagined that his descendants, unworthy as they are, should produce in my generation a daughter like this — three grown persons surrounding a child and trying to take his life. Are you not ashamed? Are you not ashamed?” Though he spoke in reproof of his daughter, every word was a blade to Wei Bi and Wu Qingying as well, and both felt they had no ground to stand upon.

Footnotes

1. 内力 – nèilì. Internal force. The kinetic manifestation of qi cultivated through martial training. ↩

2. 武当长拳 – Wǔdāng Chángquán. The foundational fist technique of the Wudang Order, comprising thirty-two postures. Though simple in appearance, it contains the seed of the Order’s deeper principles. ↩

3. 七星手 – Qīxīng Shǒu. Literally Seven Star Hand. A move from the Wudang Long Fist. ↩

4. 九阳真经 – Jiǔyáng Zhēnjīng. The Nine Yang Manual. A legendary internal cultivation manual hidden within the Lankavatara Sutra. ↩

5. 一条鞭 – Yī Tiáo Biān. Literally One Whip. A move from the Wudang Long Fist. ↩

6. 长江三迭浪 – Chángjiāng Sān Dié Làng. Three Waves of the Yangtze. A technique containing three consecutive surges of force, each building on the last. ↩

7. 井栏 – Jǐng Lán. Literally Well Curb. A move from the Wudang Long Fist that turns an opponent’s force back upon himself. ↩

8. 师哥 – shīgē. Male senior fellow disciple. The colloquial form of shixiong, with 哥 (elder brother) replacing 兄. Both apprenticed to the same shifu. ↩

9. 朱长龄 – Zhū Chánglíng. Master of the Zhu Wu Linked Manor, and father of Zhu Jiuzhen. A descendant of Zhu Ziliu, who had served as Prime Minister of the Dali Kingdom. ↩