The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 20 – Part 5

Zhang Wuji walked to the edge of the cliff and looked about him at the lay of the land. They stood midway up a mountain peak. When Cannot Tell¹ had carried him in his cloth sack up to Bright Peak, he had known nothing of the terrain along the way, and now he could not tell where they were. He gazed into the distance and made out several figures lying motionless on a slope to the northwest, as though dead. “Let us go and have a look.” He took Xiaozhao's hand and leapt towards the slope, bounding swiftly across the ground. By now the Nine Yang zhenqi² flowed through him at his command, and he had mastered the seventh level of the Great Shift of Heaven and Earth heart-method.³ Every gesture and movement, to an onlooker, seemed beyond the reach of mortal strength. Even laden with Xiaozhao, he remained light as a swallow.

When they drew close, he saw four men lying dead in the snow. Bright crimson stains bloomed across the white, and all four bore cuts from jian and dao. Three of them wore the garb of Ming Order followers, the fourth a monk likely from Shaolin. Zhang Wuji cried out in alarm, “This is bad! While we were trapped inside the mountain, the six schools must have launched their assault!” He pressed his fingers to each man’s chest in turn. All were cold to the touch. They had plainly been dead for some time. He pulled Xiaozhao after him and hurried uphill, following the footprints in the snow.

They had gone little more than a hundred feet when they came upon seven more corpses, their faces twisted in horror. His heart was heavy with worry for Yu Lianzhou, Yin Liting, Zhou Zhiruo and the rest. He thought too of his maternal grandfather, his uncle, and his cousin Zhu’er.⁴ Seeing that none of the dead were familiar faces, and that no white-haired old man lay among them, his spirits eased somewhat. Another thought followed: I wonder how Yang Xiao and Buhui have fared?

He went faster still, until he was almost carrying Xiaozhao through the air. Rounding a bend, they found five Ming Order corpses hanging from the branches of a tree, each suspended head-downward by the feet. Their faces were a mass of torn flesh and blood, as though raked by some savage claw. Xiaozhao said, “Those are Tiger Claw Hand⁵ wounds, from the Huashan School.” Zhang Wuji asked in surprise, “Xiaozhao, you are young, yet your knowledge is broad. Who taught you such things?”

He had spoken the question, but his mind was fixed on the safety of those at Bright Peak, and without waiting for her answer he carried her up the slope at a flying pace. All along the way the ground was strewn with bodies, most of them Ming Order followers, though many from the six schools lay among them. During the single day and night he had spent inside the mountain, the six schools must have launched a ferocious assault. The Ming Order, with Yang Xiao, Wei Yixiao and their other senior leaders all gravely wounded and no one to direct the defence, had suffered a reverse. Yet even under disadvantage, the followers had fought on without surrender, and so the casualties on both sides were grievous. His heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the dead for any face he knew or held dear.

As they neared the summit, he heard the clash of weapons, a frantic ping-pang of steel striking steel. The sound eased his mind somewhat. So long as the battle has not ended, the six schools may not yet have breached the main hall. He quickened his pace towards the sound. They had not gone far when several dozen large buildings appeared before them, surrounded by high walls. Suddenly came a whistling rush of air. Two steel darts flew at them from behind, and a voice barked, “Who goes there? Stop!”

Zhang Wuji did not slacken his stride. Without turning, he flicked his hand lightly back, and the two steel darts flew straight back the way they had come. A cry of anguish rang out, followed by a heavy thud as someone fell. Zhang Wuji started. He turned his head and saw a grey-robed monk lying on the ground, both darts embedded in his right shoulder. He was still more startled. The flick of his hand had been meant only to deflect the darts aside so they would not strike him, yet he had not expected so slight a gesture to carry such monstrous force. He hurried to the monk’s side and said, contrite, “I have wounded you by mistake, Great Master.⁶ I am deeply sorry.” He reached down and pulled the darts free.

Blood gushed from the monk’s right shoulder like a spring. Yet the man was ferociously tough. Without warning, he lashed out with a kick that caught Zhang Wuji squarely in the belly with a dull thud. Zhang Wuji had been standing very close to him, wholly unprepared for a sudden attack. In the instant of his surprise, the monk went flying backwards, his back slamming into a tree. His right leg snapped with a crack, and blood poured from his mouth in great jets. By now Zhang Wuji’s zhenqi flowed through him so fully that any external force striking his body called forth an automatic counterforce. Compared to the day he had shattered Jingxuan’s leg, the power was many times greater.

Seeing the monk so grievously hurt, Zhang Wuji was even more uneasy. He stepped forward and raised him, offering repeated apologies. The monk glared at him with fierce hatred, yet the fear in his eyes outweighed the anger. Though he still wished to strike back, he was beyond the power to do so.

Then from within the walls came three muffled groans in quick succession. Zhang Wuji had no time to tend the monk further. He pulled Xiaozhao after him and rushed through the main gate, passed through two courtyards and halls, and emerged into a great open square.

The square was packed with figures. On the western side the numbers were fewer, eight or nine in ten of them drenched in blood, some seated, some prostrate. They were the Ming Order’s people. On the eastern side the numbers were several times greater, divided into six groups. It appeared that all six schools had arrived. These six bodies of men formed a rough encirclement about the Ming Order.

Zhang Wuji caught a glimpse of Yang Xiao, Wei Yixiao, Peng the Monk, Cannot Tell and the rest, all seated among the Ming Order ranks. They still moved with difficulty. Yang Buhui sat beside her father.

Two men were locked in combat at the centre of the square. Everyone present watched the fight in rapt silence. No one paid any heed to Zhang Wuji and Xiaozhao as they entered.

Zhang Wuji approached slowly and looked more closely. Both combatants fought empty-handed, yet the wind of their palm-strikes whooshed through the air, their force reaching several dozen feet. Plainly both were masters of the highest order. Their bodies spun and turned with astonishing speed. Suddenly their four palms met and locked, and in an instant the ferocious leaping motion froze into perfect stillness. The onlookers could not help but roar their approval.

When Zhang Wuji made out the two fighters’ faces, his heart shook. The shorter, wiry-faced middle-aged man was none other than Zhang Songxi, the Fourth Xia of the Wudang Order.⁷ His opponent was a tall, broad-shouldered old man, bald on top, with long white brows hanging past his eyes. His nose curved like an eagle’s beak. Zhang Wuji thought, The Ming Order has so formidable a fighter? Who can he be?

Then a voice rang out from the Huashan School ranks, “White Brows, old fool, give up now! How can you stand against Zhang the Fourth Xia of Wudang?” At the words White Brows, a thought struck Zhang Wuji like a bolt. Ah! So he… he… he is my maternal grandfather, the White Brows Eagle King!

A surge of longing rose in his heart at once. He wanted to rush forward and claim him.

Yet wisps of steam were rising from the crowns of both Yin Tianzheng and Zhang Songxi’s heads. In this brief space of time, each had already called forth the neili of a lifetime’s cultivation. One was the zhangmen of the Tianying Order⁸ and one of the Ming Order’s four Guardian Dharma Kings. The other was a cherished disciple of Zhang Sanfeng and one of the Seven Xias of Wudang, whose name struck fear across the realm. It seemed that victory or defeat would be decided in moments. Both the Ming Order and the six schools held their breath, each side anxious for their own man. All knew that this contest concerned not only the renown of the Ming Order and the Wudang Order, but that when two such masters matched neili against neili, the loser would most likely forfeit his life. The two combatants stood as if carved from stone. Not a hair, not a fold of cloth stirred.

Yin Tianzheng’s bearing was terrible and majestic, his eyes bright as lightning. Zhang Songxi, by contrast, held strictly to the precept of the Wudang heart-method — wait in ease for the weary, overcome motion with stillness — and kept a close guard. He knew that Yin Tianzheng was more than twenty years his senior, with twenty years more of neili cultivation, but that he himself was in the prime of life, his vigour abundant, whilst his opponent’s years weighed upon him. Given time enough, he would surely prevail. He did not know that Yin Tianzheng was in truth a man of extraordinary genius in the wulin, one whose energy and spirit were not in the least diminished by age. His neili surged like a tide, wave upon wave ceaseless, beating against Zhang Songxi through both palms.

When Zhang Wuji first recognised Yin Tianzheng and Zhang Songxi, joy had flared in his heart, but it was instantly replaced by dread. One was his maternal grandfather, flesh of his flesh. The other was his father’s shixiong, who had treated him as his own son. Years ago, when the Xuanming Divine Palm had struck him, every one of the Wudang xia had spared no cost to their own neili, tending him with every ounce of their strength in his healing. Zhang Songxi had been no different. If either man should fall, wounded or dead, it would be a grief that would haunt him all his days.

Zhang Wuji studied Yin Tianzheng more closely. The old man’s years were many, yet his spirit was undimmed, his eyes shining bright. And in that brightness, Zhang Wuji suddenly caught a flicker of something soft and gentle. His heart stirred. That tenderness was the very look his mother Yin Susu had given him more than ten years ago, and now to see it surface in his grandfather’s eyes moved him deeply. His impulse was to rush out, fling his arms around the old man, and cry, Grandfather! Please, both of you, stop fighting. He was my father’s shixiong. He is as a father to me! He did not know that Yin Tianzheng’s own eyes had softened at that moment because he too was thinking of his daughter and son-in-law, long dead.

Suddenly both Yin Tianzheng and Zhang Songxi gave a great shout together. Their four palms flared with force, and each man staggered back six or seven paces. Zhang Songxi said, “Esteemed Senior Yin, your divine skill is beyond compare. I am humbled, I am humbled.” Yin Tianzheng’s voice boomed like a great bell, “Zhang xiong’s neigong has passed beyond mortal bounds. This old man can only confess himself inferior. Yet you are the shixiong of my late son-in-law. Must we truly fight to a finish today?” When Zhang Wuji heard him speak of his father, his eyes reddened at once. He cried out silently, over and over, Stop fighting, stop fighting! Zhang Songxi said, “This Junior stepped back one pace too many just now. I have already lost half a move.” He bowed with a cupped-fist salute and withdrew, composed and unruffled.

Then a man leapt out from the Wudang ranks. It was Mo Shenggu, the Seventh Xia. He pointed at Yin Tianzheng and cried in fury, “Old man Yin, you would say nothing of my Zhang wuge just now, and I let it pass! But now that you have raised him, you stir a fury in me. My Yu sange and my Zhang wuge — both were maimed by the hands of your Tianying Order. If I cannot avenge that wrong, I, Mo Shenggu, am unworthy of my place among the Seven Xias of Wudang.” With a ring of steel, his jian flew from its scabbard. Sunlight blazed along the blade as he settled into the stance Ten Thousand Peaks Paying Homage, the opening salute a Wudang disciple offered when facing an elder in combat. Mo Shenggu was by now a man of high standing in the wulin, and however white with anger he might be, he could not afford to lose courtesy before so many eyes.

Footnotes

1. 说不得 – Shuōbùdé. Literally “cannot tell.” One of the Five Unbound Adepts of the Ming Order, known as the Monk with the Sack. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 真气 – zhēnqì. True qi. The refined qi generated by internal cultivation, distinct from ordinary qi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 乾坤大挪移 – Qiánkūn Dà Nuóyí. The Great Shift of Heaven and Earth. The supreme secret art of the Ming Order, capable of redirecting force and reversing the flow of qi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 蛛儿 – Zhū’ér. Zhu’er. The nickname of Yin Li, daughter of Yin Yewang and Zhang Wuji’s cousin. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 虎爪手 – Hǔzhǎo Shǒu. Tiger Claw Hand. A Shaolin-origin grappling technique adopted by the Huashan School, characterised by claw-like finger strikes that tear flesh. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 大师 – dàshī. Great master. An honorific address for a monk of senior standing. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 张松溪 – Zhāng Sōngxī. The fourth of the Seven Xias of Wudang, known for his intelligence and resourcefulness. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 天鹰教 – Tiānyīng Jiào. The Tianying Order, founded by Yin Tianzheng the White Brows Eagle King as a branch of the Ming Order. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩