The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 17 – Part 3

Zhang Wuji started in alarm, but she struck too fast and the blade was too close. By the time he realised, the cut had already fallen, leaving him no power to resist. Yet the Nine Yang Divine Skill¹ within him stirred of its own accord and thrust the blade away. Only then did he perceive that she had brought it down with the flat, not the edge.

Zhu’er’s arm jolted. She cried out, “Aiya!” Then she giggled, “Did that feel good?”

Zhang Wuji smiled and nodded. He was plain by nature, but in Zhu’er’s presence he knew not why his heart felt free of all restraint, as though they had grown up together since childhood. An ease beyond words came over him, and he could not help but jest.

Zhu’er shaved his beard clean, then stared at him in a daze for a while. Suddenly she drew a long sigh.

Zhang Wuji asked, “What is it?”

Zhu’er did not answer. She trimmed his hair short, combed it into a topknot, and whittled a hairpin from a twig, which she thrust into his knot. Dressed so, though his clothes were tattered beyond bearing and far too short and narrow, as if he had stolen them, yet his spirit shone forth. The ugly wretch had become a handsome young man.

Zhu’er sighed again. “I truly never expected it. Ah Niu, you are so good-looking.”

Zhang Wuji knew she grieved for her own ugliness, and said, “There is nothing handsome about me either. Besides, among the most beautiful things under heaven, many contain great ugliness. The peacock’s feathers are splendid, yet its gall is deadly poison. The red-crowned crane’s crimson crown is beautiful to behold, yet who would know it is among the most vicious of poisons? All manner of serpents and insects too, the more beautiful they are, the more venom they carry. Those two flower spiders of yours are beautiful indeed, are they not? What good is a man’s handsome face? What matters is a good heart.”

Zhu’er sneered, “What good is a good heart? Tell me, pray.”

Zhang Wuji could not answer at once. He paused, then said, “A good heart means you will not harm others.”

Zhu’er said, “And what good is not harming others?”

Zhang Wuji said, “When you do not harm others, your own heart is at peace and joy, and you rest at ease.”

Zhu’er said, “I am not at ease unless I harm others. Only when I have wrought misery beyond words upon them can my heart be at peace and joy, only then can I rest at ease.”

Zhang Wuji shook his head. “You twist reason to force your point.”

Zhu’er sneered, “If I did not practise harm, why would I train in the Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand?² I endure this endless, unceasing torment. Do you think I do it for fun?” As she spoke, she sat cross-legged, circulated her neigong³ for a time, then drew a small golden box from her breast. She opened the lid and thrust both index fingers inside. The pair of flower spiders within crawled slowly towards them and clamped their fangs upon her fingers, each upon one. She drew a deep breath. Her arms trembled faintly as she channelled neili⁴ to resist the spiders’ venom. The flower spiders fed upon the blood drawn from her fingers, but the blood coursing through Zhu’er’s veins carried the venom from the spiders’ bodies back into her own blood.

Zhang Wuji saw her face grow solemn and austere. A faint black mist veiled her brow and both temples. She clenched her teeth and endured the agony with all her strength. After a while, fine beads of sweat appeared upon the tip of her nose. She practised this exercise for near half a shichen,⁵ until both spiders had drunk their fill and their bellies swelled round as balls. Only then did they tumble into the box and sink into a deep sleep.

Zhu’er circulated her skill a while longer. The black mist upon her face faded gradually, colour returning to her cheeks. She exhaled a breath. Zhang Wuji caught a whiff of it, a sickly sweetness, and felt a faint dizziness follow, as though the breath she exhaled carried poison too.

Zhu’er opened her eyes and gave a faint smile.

Zhang Wuji asked, “What must you reach before the practice is complete?”

Zhu’er said, “Each flower spider’s body must turn from patterned to black, then from black to white, shedding all its venom and dying. Only then does all the venom within the spider pass into my fingers. A hundred flower spiders at the least must be practised upon before the skill may be called passable. For true depth of skill, a thousand or two thousand are not too many.”

Zhang Wuji’s hair rose at her words. “Where would you find so many flower spiders?”

Zhu’er said, “You breed some yourself, they bear young, and you must go to the lands where they are found to catch the rest.”

Zhang Wuji sighed. “There are many skills under heaven. Why must you train in this poisonous art alone? Spider venom is ferocious beyond measure. Even if you have means to resist it drawn into your body, in time it will do you no good.”

Zhu’er sneered, “There are many skills under heaven, true. But is there one that matches the Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand in power? Do not boast of your neili. If I complete this skill, you may not be able to withstand a single thrust of my finger.” As she spoke, she gathered qi to her fingertip and thrust casually at a tree beside her. Her skill was not yet deep enough, and she pierced no more than half an inch.

Zhang Wuji asked, “Why did your mother teach you this skill? Did she complete it herself?”

A fierce, venomous light sprang into Zhu’er’s eyes. She said through gritted teeth, “In practising the Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand, once you have trained upon twenty flower spiders or more, the venom within the body accumulates and the features begin to distort. By the time a thousand spiders are complete, the ugliness is beyond bearing. My mother had trained upon nearly a hundred when she met my father. Afraid her face would grow ugly and he would not love her, she dispersed all the skill she had spent a lifetime building and became an ordinary woman, too feeble to truss a chicken. Her face remained beautiful, yet she endured the bullying and abuse of my stepmother and elder brother without the power to strike back. In the end, it cost her her life. Pah! What good is a beautiful face? My mother was once an exceedingly lovely, exceedingly graceful woman. Yet because she grew older without bearing a son, my father took concubines…”

Zhang Wuji’s gaze swept across her face. He said softly, “So… you are doing this for the sake of the skill…”

Zhu’er said, “Yes. I am doing this for the sake of the skill, and I have poisoned my face to this state. Pah! That faithless wretch took no notice of me. When I have completed the Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand and find him, if he has no other woman, then so be it…”

Zhang Wuji said, “You were never married to him, nor did you pledge your lives together. It is only… only…”

Zhu’er said, “Say it plainly. Why be afraid? You mean to say I am lovesick on my own, do you not? And what if I am? Since I love him, I will not permit another woman in his heart. He was faithless and false. Let him taste the flavour of my Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand.”

Zhang Wuji gave a faint smile and did not argue further. He thought her temper singular. When she was in a good humour, all was well, but when she turned savage, reason itself availed nothing. He recalled his Grand Shifu and Eldest Shibo and Second Shibo speaking often of the distinction between the upright and the deviant in the wulin.⁶ The skill she practised, the Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison Hand, must surely be a fearsomely wicked art of the deviant path, and her mother too must have been of the deviant sort. At the thought, wariness of her grew within him by several degrees.

Zhu’er did not notice the change in his mood. She darted in and out of the little hut, gathering armfuls of green leaves and branches to arrange within. Zhang Wuji watched her make the small space pleasant with a certain grace, proof that the love of beauty was in her nature, and yet her face she had poisoned to such a state. He said, “Zhu’er, once my legs are healed, I will gather herbs and find a way to cure the swelling on your face.”

At these words, terror flared upon Zhu’er’s face. “No… no… no! I have endured so much heart-rending, bone-piercing agony to reach this day. Would you scatter my Thousand Spider Ten Thousand Poison skill?”

Zhang Wuji said, “We may perhaps find a way to reduce the swelling on your face without scattering the skill.”

Zhu’er said, “It cannot be done. If such a way existed, how could my mother not know it, this was her ancestral skill? Under Heaven, only the Medicine Immortal of Butterfly Valley,⁷ Hu Qingniu, possesses such startling ability. But he… he died many years ago.”

Zhang Wuji was surprised. “You know of Hu Qingniu?”

Zhu’er shot him a glare. “What of it? What is strange about that? The Medicine Immortal of Butterfly Valley is famed throughout the jianghu.⁸ Everyone knows him.” She sighed again. “Even if he still lived, what use would it be? The man is called ‘Watch Death and Not Save’.”

Zhang Wuji thought to himself, She does not know that all the skill of the Medicine Immortal of Butterfly Valley has been passed to me in full. I shall say nothing for now. When I have found a way to cure the venomous swelling on her face, I shall give her a fine surprise.

As they spoke, night fell. The two of them slept in the little hut, leaning against the rocks.

Deep in the night, Zhang Wuji heard in his sleep the soft sound of weeping. He woke at once and gathered his wits. Zhu’er was crying. He sat upright and reached out to pat her shoulder gently twice. “Zhu’er, do not grieve,” he said softly.

Those two gentle words undid her all the more. She buried her face against his shoulder and wept aloud.

Zhang Wuji asked, “Zhu’er, what is it? You are thinking of your mother, are you not?”

Zhu’er nodded. Between sobs she said, “Mother is dead! I am all alone, and no one likes me, no one is kind to me.”

Zhang Wuji drew up his sleeve and wiped her tears away slowly. “I like you,” he said softly. “I will be good to you.”

Zhu’er said, “I do not want you to be good to me. There is only one person I like in my heart. He takes no notice of me. He beats me, scolds me, and tries to bite me.”

Zhang Wuji’s voice trembled. “Forget that faithless man. I will take you as my wife and be good to you all my life.”

Zhu’er cried loudly, “No, no! I will not forget him. If you tell me to forget him again, I will never speak to you again.”

Zhang Wuji was deeply abashed. Fortunately the darkness hid the flush of crimson on his face.

For a long while neither spoke.

After a long silence, Zhu’er said, “Ah Niu, are you angry with me?”

Zhang Wuji said, “I am not angry with you. I am angry with myself for saying those things to you.”

Zhu’er said hastily, “No, no! You said you would take me as your wife and be good to me all your life. I loved hearing it. Say it again.”

Zhang Wuji said in vexation, “Since you cannot forget that man, what more can I say?”

Zhu’er reached out and took his hand. Her voice softened. “Ah Niu, do not be angry. I offended you. That was my fault. If you truly took me as your wife, I would gouge out your eyes. I would kill you.”

Zhang Wuji shuddered. “What did you say?”

Zhu’er said, “Once your eyes are blind, you will not see my ugly face. You will not look at that young lady Zhou of the Emei Order. If you still cannot forget her, I will thrust one finger through you, thrust one finger through that young lady Zhou of the Emei Order, and then thrust one finger through myself.”

She spoke these strange words in a tone so natural, as though they were the most self-evident thing in the world. Zhang Wuji heard the ferocity and venom in them, and his heart gave a leap.

Just then, a hoarse, ancient voice came from far away: “That young lady Zhou of the Emei Order, what has she done to offend you?”

Zhu’er started up. In a low voice she said, “It is Miejue Shitai!”

She spoke very softly, yet the person outside heard her all the same. The voice said grimly, “Indeed. It is Miejue Shitai.”

Footnotes

1. 九阳神功 – Jiǔyáng Shéngōng. Literally Nine Yang Divine Skill. A legendary internal cultivation method emphasising pure yang energy, capable of granting extraordinary martial prowess. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 千蛛万毒手 – Qiān Zhū Wàn Dú Shǒu. Literally Thousand Spiders Ten Thousand Poison Hand. A deviant art in which flower spiders feed upon the practitioner’s blood, transferring their venom into the fingers. Each spider must turn from patterned to black to white and die, its venom absorbed, until the practitioner’s touch carries lethal poison. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 内功 – nèigōng. Internal cultivation. The discipline of refining qi within the body, distinct from external techniques (waigong). See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 内力 – nèilì. Internal force. The kinetic manifestation of qi, cultivated through neigong and deployed in martial practice. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 时辰 – shíchén. A two-hour period; the traditional Chinese day is divided into twelve shichen. ↩

6. 武林 – wǔlín. The martial forest. The community of martial artists and their factions, distinct from the jianghu but overlapping with it. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 蝶谷医仙 – Diégǔ Yīxiān. The Medicine Immortal of Butterfly Valley. Epithet of Hu Qingniu, a physician of unmatched skill who refused to treat the wicked and was known by the epithet “Watch Death and Not Save” (见死不救). See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 江湖 – jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. The itinerant world beyond settled society and official reach, holding not only martial artists but the trades that travel with them. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩