The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 15: A Dream of Clever Schemes and Secret Plots

Zhang Wuji, having delivered Yang Buhui safely into Yang Xiao's care, wandered alone in the Kunlun Mountains, where he was mauled by hunting hounds and rescued by a wealthy household. There he met the enchanting Zhu Jiuzhen, whose beauty captivated his young heart.

Zhang Wuji had travelled ten thousand li¹ westward in Yang Buhui’s company, their shadows never apart. Now that they had suddenly parted, he felt deeply forlorn, yet thinking that he had at last fulfilled Ji Xiaofu’s dying wish and delivered her daughter safely into Yang Xiao’s hands, he could not help but feel a measure of solace. He stood alone for some time, then, fearing he might encounter He Taichong, Ban Shuxian, and the others of the Kunlun School again, he struck deeper into the mountains.

Thus he travelled for more than ten days. The wound on his arm was gradually healing, but he wandered to and fro among the Kunlun peaks and could find no way out of the mountains. One day, after walking for most of the morning, he sat down on a pile of boulders to rest when suddenly he heard the confused barking of many dogs from the northwest, a dozen or more by the sound of it. The barking drew nearer, as though the dogs were chasing some wild beast.

Amid the barking, a little monkey came scrambling towards him, a short arrow lodged in its hindquarters. The creature ran a few dozen feet before rolling over. With the arrow wound in its haunch it could not leap into the trees, and now, utterly spent, it could not rise again. Zhang Wuji went over to look at it, and in the monkey’s eyes he saw a look of piteous entreaty and terror. Zhang Wuji’s heart was stirred. “I am being hunted by the Kunlun School,” he thought. “This little creature and I are equally at bay.” He picked up the monkey, gently drew out the short arrow, and from his robe took some medicinal herbs, which he crushed and applied to the arrow wound.

Just then the barking of the hounds rang out close at hand. Zhang Wuji opened his robe, tucked the monkey inside, and heard a dozen or more sharp, eager yaps as over a dozen tall, sharp-fanged hunting dogs surrounded him. The hounds could smell the monkey’s scent. They bared their fangs and bristled with menace, not yet daring to spring. Zhang Wuji saw the white glint of their long teeth, their ferocious demeanour, and his heart was afraid. He knew that if he flung the monkey from his arms, the pack would pounce upon it and leave him alone. But from childhood his father had taught him to put righteousness above all things, and though it was only a wild animal, he could not bear to betray it. He leapt over the heads of the hounds and broke into a run. The pack howled and surged after him in a tide of snarling fury.

How swiftly hunting dogs can run! Zhang Wuji had fled only a hundred feet or so before they caught up with him. He felt a sharp pain in his leg as a fierce hound clamped its jaws tight. He spun and struck the dog on the head with all his might. The blow was so powerful that the hound tumbled head over heels and lay stunned. The rest of the pack surged upon him. Zhang Wuji punched and kicked, fighting desperately.

His arm wound was still unhealed, his left arm unable to turn. Before long a savage dog caught his left hand, and from all sides the pack rushed in, biting and tearing. His head, face, shoulders, and back were raked by their teeth. In his terror and confusion he dimly heard a few clear, youthful voices calling out, but the sounds seemed very far away. Darkness came before his eyes, and he knew no more.

In his delirium he seemed to see countless wolves, jackals, and tigers ceaselessly tearing at his body. He tried to cry out, but not a sound came from his throat. Then he heard someone say: “The fever has broken. Perhaps he won’t die after all.”

Zhang Wuji opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dim, yellow lamplight. He realised he was lying in a small room, and a middle-aged man stood before him. Zhang Wuji managed: “Uncle… uncle… I…” He had spoken only these few words when a searing pain shot through his entire body, and only then did he slowly recall how he had been surrounded and savaged by a pack of vicious dogs. The man said, “Boy, you’re lucky to be alive. How are you feeling? Hungry?” Zhang Wuji asked, “Where… where am I?” A fresh wave of pain surged from all his wounds at once, and he fainted again.

When he came to for the second time, the middle-aged man was no longer in the room. Zhang Wuji thought, I was surely not long for this world. Why must I suffer all this torment besides? He lowered his head and saw that his chest, neck, arms, and thighs were all bound up with bandages. A pungent smell of medicinal herbs filled his nostrils. Someone had already applied a salve to his wounds. From the scent of the herbs he could tell that the person who had dressed his injuries knew very little of the healing arts. Among the medicines he detected apricot kernels, nux vomica, fangfeng, and arisaema.² These herbs, used to draw out poison from the bite of a rabid dog, would indeed have been efficacious, but the dogs that had bitten him were not rabid. His injuries were to sinew, bone, and flesh, not poisoning. The medicine did not suit the ailment, and only added to his suffering. He had no strength to rise from bed, and waited until daybreak, when the middle-aged man came to see him again.

“Uncle, thank you for saving my life.” The man said coldly, “This is the Zhu Family Manor. Our Young Mistress had you brought here. Hungry, are you?” He went out and returned with a bowl of hot rice gruel. Zhang Wuji drank a few mouthfuls, but felt a wave of nausea and dizziness, and could eat no more.

He lay there for eight full days before he could manage to rise from bed. His legs were so weak he had not a shred of strength, and he knew that having lost so much blood, it would be some time before he recovered. The man brought him meals and changed his dressings every day. Though his manner showed considerable irritation, Zhang Wuji was deeply grateful. Seeing that the man did not care for conversation, he suppressed the many questions burning in his mind and did not dare to ask. One day, when the man brought the same paste of fangfeng and arisaema, Zhang Wuji could not help saying: “Uncle, these medicines aren’t really right for my condition. Could you trouble yourself to change them to a few different herbs?”

The man rolled his eyes at him, stared for a long while, then said, “The prescriptions are written by the Master. Can they be wrong? You say the medicine isn’t right, yet he’s brought you back from the brink of death, hasn’t he? Really! A child talking nonsense. If our Master heard you, he might not take offence, but you really ought to know better than to be ungrateful.” With that he spread the paste over his wounds. Zhang Wuji could only smile bitterly. The man said, “I’d say your wounds are well on the mend. You ought to go and kowtow to the Master, the Madam, and the Young Miss to thank them for saving your life.” Zhang Wuji said, “That is only proper. Uncle, please take me there.”

The man led him out of the small room, along a long corridor, and through two successive halls, until they reached a warmly appointed chamber. It was already early winter, and the Kunlun region was bitterly cold, yet this warm chamber was as temperate as spring, though no charcoal fire was visible anywhere. The furnishings blazed with splendour. Every couch and chair was draped in brocade cushions. In all his life Zhang Wuji had never seen so luxurious and comfortable a place. Looking down at his own soiled and tattered clothes, he felt quite out of keeping with such magnificence, and could not help but feel ashamed of his shabbiness.

No one was in the chamber, yet the man’s expression was one of the deepest respect. He bowed and announced in a hushed voice, “The boy who was bitten by the dogs has recovered. He has come to kowtow his thanks to the Master and the Madam.” Having said these few words, he stood with hands clasped, not daring even to breathe too heavily.

After a good while, a girl of fifteen or sixteen emerged from behind a screen. She cast a sidelong glance at Zhang Wuji and said, “Qiao Fu, really! Why did you bring him in here? What if the bedbugs and fleas on him jump down onto everything?” Qiao Fu replied, “Yes, yes!”

Zhang Wuji was already ill at ease. Now he blushed crimson with shame. He had no change of clothes beyond the single set on his back, and indeed was crawling with lice and fleas. He thought the young lady’s words perfectly accurate. She had an oval face, dark hair falling to her shoulders, and wore garments of some shimmering silk or satin that he could not identify, glittering in the light. A golden bracelet adorned her wrist. He had never before seen a young lady so sumptuously attired, and thought, When the pack of dogs was attacking me, I faintly heard a woman’s voice ordering them to stop. Uncle Qiao Fu said it was the Young Miss who saved me. I ought to kowtow my thanks. So he knelt and bowed, saying: “I thank the Young Miss for saving my life. I shall never forget this great kindness for as long as I live.”

The girl was taken aback, then suddenly burst out with a silvery laugh. “Qiao Fu, Qiao Fu, what’s the matter with you? Were you playing a trick on this silly boy?” Qiao Fu laughed, “Sister Xiaofeng, even if this silly boy kowtowed to you a dozen times, you’re not too grand to accept it. The poor lad’s never seen the world. He saw you and took you for the Young Miss! But then, to be fair, the senior maids in our household are grander than most other people’s young ladies.” Zhang Wuji was startled and leapt to his feet, thinking, “Disaster! She’s only a maid, and I took her for the Young Miss!” His face went red, then white, in the utmost embarrassment.

Xiaofeng suppressed her laughter and looked Zhang Wuji up and down. His face and body were still crusted with dried blood, and the dog-bites were wrapped in bandages. He knew he must look filthy and repulsive, and wished the earth would open and swallow him. Xiaofeng raised her sleeve to cover her nose and said, “The Master and Madam are busy just now, so there’s no need for kowtowing. Go and see the Young Miss instead.” With that she walked wide around Zhang Wuji, taking the lead, as though afraid his fleas might leap onto her. Zhang Wuji followed Xiaofeng and Qiao Fu, and all along the way the maids and servants they passed were richly dressed, and every building and chamber they passed through was exquisitely appointed. Before the age of ten he had lived on Ice Fire Island. In the years since, half his time had been spent on Wudang Mountain and half in Butterfly Valley. His food and lodging had always been of the simplest. He had never dreamed that such wealthy households existed in the world. Even the few days he had spent at He Taichong’s estate in the Three Saints Hollow had seemed far less splendid and refined than this.

After some while they arrived before a great hall, above whose entrance hung a plaque bearing the three characters “Ling’ao Ying”³ in gold. Xiaofeng went in first. After a time she came out and beckoned. Qiao Fu then led Zhang Wuji into the hall.

Footnotes

1. 里 – lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately 500 metres or a third of a mile. ↩

2. 防风 – fángfēng, and 南星 – nánxīng. Common herbs in traditional Chinese medicine. Fangfeng (Saposhnikovia divaricata) is used to expel wind-dampness; arisaema (Arisaema erubescens) is used to resolve phlegm and reduce swelling. Together with apricot kernels and nux vomica, they form a rough-and-ready remedy for venomous bites. ↩

3. 灵獒营 – Líng’áo Yíng. Literally camp of the spirit mastiffs. The training ground for the Zhu family’s pack of fierce hunting dogs, named with military grandeur. ↩