The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 16: When Adversity Reaches Its End, One Comprehends the Nine Yang

<p class="intro">Betrayed by Zhu Changling's deceit, Zhang Wuji fell into a hidden valley beyond the Kunlun Mountains. There, amid flowers and waterfalls, he discovered a white ape harbouring a secret that would transform his fate.

Zhang Wuji crawled through the narrow tunnel for several dozen feet more, the light growing ever brighter ahead. After a while of scrambling forward, sudden sunlight blazed into his eyes. He shut them tight to steady himself, then opened them again, and before him lay a valley of breathtaking splendour, red flowers and green trees interweaving in lush profusion.

He shouted aloud for joy and crawled out of the cave. The opening hung barely ten feet above the ground. He lowered his legs, leapt lightly down, and felt his feet sink into soft, fine grass. Flowers perfumed the air with delicate fragrance. Birds sang among the branches. Who could have imagined that beyond that dark, dismal tunnel lay such a sunlit, fragrant valley? He forgot the pain of his wounds and ran forward at full speed, covering more than two li¹ before a towering peak barred his path. Looking around, he saw that the valley was ringed on every side by high mountains, seemingly untouched since the dawn of time by any human foot. Snow-capped peaks pierced the clouds on all sides: sheer, precipitous, utterly unclimbable.

Zhang Wuji was filled with delight. He spotted seven or eight wild goats grazing on the grass. They raised their heads at his approach but showed no fear. A dozen monkeys swung and tumbled among the trees, playing together. Clearly there were no tigers or leopards in this valley. He thought to himself, Heaven has been generous indeed, arranging a paradise like this for my burial place.

He walked slowly back to the cave entrance, where he heard Zhu Changling shouting from the other end of the tunnel: “Young Brother, come out! Aren’t you afraid of suffocating in there?” Zhang Wuji laughed aloud, “It’s wonderful fun in here!” He picked a few fruits from a low tree, half of them already blushing red, and held them in his hand. A sweet fragrance rose from them. He bit into one and found it surpassingly delicious: crisper than a peach, sweeter than an apple, smoother than a pear. He climbed up to the cave mouth and tossed one fruit inside, calling: “Catch! Something good to eat!”

The fruit sailed through the tunnel, bounced off the rock walls, and smashed to pulp. Zhu Changling groped for it, chewed it skin and all, and felt his hunger sharpen with every mouthful. “Young Brother, give me a few more!” Zhang Wuji called back: “You’re so wicked-hearted, you deserve to starve. If you want fruit, come and get it yourself.” Zhu Changling said, “I’m too large to fit through the tunnel.” Zhang Wuji laughed, “Cut yourself in half, then you’ll fit!”

Zhu Changling, convinced his schemes had been exposed and that Zhang Wuji meant to let him starve to death in revenge, felt the pain in his chest flare savagely. He cursed and raged: “You little thief! There are fruit trees in this cave too. Will they feed you for the rest of your life? I’ll starve out here, but you’ll only last three days more. We’ll both be dead soon enough!” Zhang Wuji paid him no heed. He ate seven or eight fruits and was satisfied.

After half a day, a thick plume of smoke came billowing into the cave. Zhang Wuji started, then understood: Zhu Changling had set pine branches alight outside, hoping to smoke him out. But he did not know that the cave opened into another world within. He could have burned a thousand cartloads of pine wood and it would have made no difference. Zhang Wuji found it amusing and put on a show of loud coughing. Zhu Changling called, “Young Brother, come out quickly! I swear I won’t harm you!” Zhang Wuji gave a great cry, “Ah—!” and pretended to faint, then leapt down and walked away.

He went westward for over two li and came to a great waterfall thundering down the cliff face, fed no doubt by melting snow. In the sunlight it gleamed like a jade dragon, spray scattering like pearls, brilliant and magnificent. The water crashed into a deep pool of emerald clarity, yet the pool never overflowed. There must be some outlet beneath. He gazed at it for some time, then looked down and saw his hands and feet stained green with moss and mud, scored with countless cuts from thorns and rough grass. He stepped close to the pool, removed his shoes and socks, and dipped his feet in to wash.

After a while, suddenly, splash!, a great white fish leapt from the pool, fully a foot long. Zhang Wuji snatched at it, but though his fingers brushed its body, it slipped away. He crouched by the pool’s edge and peered in with concentrated attention: below the green surface, a dozen or more large white fish drifted to and fro. He had learned to catch fish on Ice Fire Island when he was just a child. He broke off a stiff branch, sharpened one end to a point, and waited patiently by the pool. When another large fish swam near the surface, he thrust hard and fast, and pinned it through the body.

He shouted triumphantly, slit the fish open with the sharpened branch, scooped out the entrails, then gathered some dry twigs and struck fire from his flint and steel, roasting the fish over the flames. Before long the fragrance of cooking fat filled the air. When it was done, he found it tender and delicious beyond anything he had ever tasted. In moments he had devoured the entire fish.

The following midday, he went and caught another great white fish to roast. He thought, I can’t die just yet. I’d best keep the fire going, or when the tinder runs out I’ll be in trouble. He built a ring of ash and buried half-burning embers in it to keep them from going out. Life on Ice Fire Island had taught him to make everything from scratch, so living alone in the wild was nothing new to him. He moulded clay into a basin, spread grass to make a bed. By evening he remembered that Zhu Changling must be starving, so he picked a large handful of fruit and rolled it through the tunnel to him. He was careful not to give him any fish. He feared that if Zhu Changling ate the fish and gained strength, he might force his way through the tunnel. From then on, he brought fresh fruit every day.

On the fourth day, he was building a clay stove when he heard several piteous monkey shrieks, sharp and urgent. He ran towards the sound and found a young monkey sprawled on the ground at the foot of the cliff, its hind leg pinned beneath a rock, unable to move. It had fallen from the steep wall above. He went over, shifted the boulder, and lifted the monkey up. Its right leg was broken, and it cried out in pain.

Zhang Wuji fashioned two splints from branches, set the monkey’s broken bone, and chewed some medicinal herbs to a paste for the wound. Though it was hard to find the right herbs in that secluded valley, and what he found was not especially potent, his bone-setting skill was sound, and he was confident the fracture would heal. The monkey seemed grateful: the very next day it brought him many fruits, and within ten days or so its leg had mended completely.

With long days of nothing to do in the valley, he often played with the monkey. Were it not for the cold poison that flared in his body from time to time, his days in that hidden valley would have been carefree and happy. Sometimes wild goats wandered past, and he was tempted to hunt one for roasting, but they were so gentle and endearing that he could never bring himself to strike. Fortunately there was no shortage of wild fruit and pool-fish for food. After a few days he caught several snow pheasants in a mountain gully, which made an even finer feast.

Thus more than a month passed. One early morning, while he was still deep in sleep, he felt a great furry hand stroking his face softly. Startled, he leapt up and saw a huge white ape crouching beside him, holding in its arms the little monkey he played with every day. The little monkey chattered without pause, pointing at the great ape’s belly. Zhang Wuji caught a whiff of putrid smell and saw that the ape’s belly was covered in pus and blood, with a great festering sore. He laughed, “Good, good! So you’ve brought a patient to see the doctor!” The great ape extended its left hand. In its palm lay a peach the size of a fist, offered with the utmost reverence.

Zhang Wuji saw that the peach was brilliant red and enormous, and thought, Mother used to tell stories of the Queen Mother of the West, who holds a Peach Banquet for the immortals on her birthday atop the Kunlun Mountains. So the Kunlun Mountains really do grow these great peaches. I wonder if the Queen Mother is here too? He took it with a smile, saying: “I don’t charge a fee. Even without a peach as payment, I’ll still treat your sore.” He pressed gently on the ape’s belly, and was shocked.

The sore itself was barely an inch across, but the hardened mass beneath it was ten times that size or more. He had never read of such a dangerous boil in any medical text. If all that hardened tissue turned to pus and rotted, it would surely be beyond cure. He felt the ape’s pulse and found no immediate danger. Parting the long white hair on its belly, he examined the boil more closely and was startled again: a square lump protruded from the belly, its edges stitched with needle and thread, plainly the work of human hands. However clever an ape might be, it could never have sewn itself up like this. Studying the boil further, he realised the lump inside was the source of the trouble: it pressed on the blood vessels and meridians, preventing proper circulation, so the belly tissue rotted and the sore would not heal. To cure it, the object sewn inside the belly would have to be removed.

As for performing surgery, he had learnt excellent skill from Hu Qingniu. This should have been child’s play. But he had neither knife nor medicine at hand, and that was a difficulty. After a moment’s thought, he raised a stone and smashed it against another, then chose a shard with a sharp edge from the fragments. Carefully, he cut along the old suture line on the ape’s belly. The great ape was very old and possessed considerable intelligence. It understood that Zhang Wuji was treating its terrible sore, and though the pain was fierce, it lay perfectly still, not moving a muscle. Zhang Wuji cut the stitches on the right side and the top, then opened the belly wall along an oblique line where the flesh had already fused. Inside, he found an oilcloth bundle. This was still more astonishing. He set the bundle aside without opening it and hastened to sew the ape’s belly back together. With no needle or thread at hand, he used a fish bone as a needle, pricking holes in the skin one by one, then tore tree bark into fine fibres, threaded them through the holes, and knotted them tight. It was a rough repair, but it held. He applied medicinal herbs to the wound. The whole business took him half a day. The great ape, strong as it was, lay prostrate and unable to move.

Footnotes

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