The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 24 – Part 1

Taiji first handed down: the soft overcomes the hard¹

Zhang Wuji thought to himself, I wonder whether Song shibo and the others have returned from the Western Regions to the mountain. All along the way I have heard no news of them. If something has delayed or ambushed them on the road, then only Grandmaster and a few third-generation disciples remain on the mountain. Third Uncle Yu Daiyan is crippled and bedridden. If a powerful enemy strikes suddenly, how can they possibly hold? The thought sent a lance of anxiety through him. He said in a clear voice, “Seniors, brothers. The Wudang Order is the school from which my late father came, and Grandmaster’s kindness to me is as heavy as a mountain. In this hour of great peril, every moment of haste counts: arriving a moment sooner is worth a moment later. I ask Wei the Bat King to accompany me as an advance party. The rest of you, follow in waves as you are able. All arrangements, please leave them to Left Messenger Yang and my Grandfather.” He cupped his hands to both, then darted through the mountain gate.²

Wei Yixiao unfolded his qinggong and ran at Zhang Wuji’s side. The assembled heroes had not yet finished their cries of assent before the two were already outside Shaolin Monastery. In qinggong and speed of flight, there was no third person in the world who could match them.

The two ran without pause for several dozen li.³ At first Wei Yixiao kept pace easily, but as time passed his neili began to flag. Zhang Wuji thought, The road to Wudang is still long. We cannot keep up this pace indefinitely, and with a powerful enemy ahead we must conserve strength for the battle to come. He said to Wei Yixiao, “Let us buy two mounts at the next market town and rest our legs a while.” Wei Yixiao had long wanted to suggest the same but had not liked to say so. He replied, “Order Leader, stopping to buy horses will waste precious time.”

Before long they saw five or six riders galloping towards them from ahead. Wei Yixiao leapt into the air, lifted two of the riders from their saddles, and set them gently on the ground, crying, “Order Leader, mount!” Zhang Wuji hesitated, thinking, To seize horses from travellers on the road, is that not banditry? Wei Yixiao shouted, “Those who do great deeds do not scruple at small courtesies. When do we have time for such niceties?” With that he hauled two more riders from their mounts.

Those men knew a little martial arts. They shouted curses, drew their weapons, and prepared to fight. Wei Yixiao held all four horses in both hands and kicked their weapons flying. Then they heard a voice roar, “What manner of hero resorts to violent robbery? Leave your name!” Zhang Wuji thought that to prolong the quarrel would only make things worse. He leapt onto a horse, led a spare mount, and the two galloped off into the dust. The men behind them cursed loudly but dared not pursue.

Zhang Wuji said, “Though we acted from necessity, who is to say those men were not themselves on urgent business? This deed sits uneasy on my conscience.” Wei Yixiao laughed, “Order Leader, such trifles, what do they matter? In years past the Ming Order’s conduct truly deserved the charge of ‘reckless defiance, lawless tyranny!’” He roared with laughter as he spoke.

Zhang Wuji reflected: The Ming Order is branded as heterodox demons, and not without cause. Yet what is truly right and what is truly wrong is hard to say with certainty. The three Grand Holy Commands and five Lesser Holy Commands left by Yang Order Leader must be obeyed without question. He thought of the heavy burden of the Order leadership upon his shoulders, and how shallow his own judgement remained. On even a small matter like seizing horses he could not make up his mind. Though his martial arts were formidable, could all the world’s problems be solved by force alone? The thought left him bewildered. He longed only to bring back his adopted father quickly, so that he might set down this burden, one he could neither shoulder nor truly wish to bear.

Just then two men appeared blocking the road, each wielding a steel staff.

Wei Yixiao shouted, “Make way!” His horse-whip lashed sideways as he charged. One man raised his staff to deflect the whip. The other let out a loud whistle and waved his left hand. Wei Yixiao’s mount reared in fright. At that moment four men in black burst from the undergrowth, their movements marking them as skilled fighters. Wei Yixiao called, “Order Leader, press on! Leave these rats to me.”

Zhang Wuji saw that these men aimed to intercept Wudang’s reinforcements. Their malice was plain, and Wudang’s peril all too clear. He knew Wei Yixiao’s qinggong and fighting skill were both superb. Against these opponents he might not win, but could at least hold his own. So Zhang Wuji clamped his heels and charged forward on horseback. The two black-clad men crossed their steel staffs to block his path. Zhang Wuji leaned from the saddle, seized both staffs in a single motion, and hurled them back. Two anguished cries rang out. The men’s thigh bones were shattered by their own weapons, and they collapsed. Seeing that the four grappling with Wei Yixiao were no weaklings, Zhang Wuji feared that if he left them too long, Wei Yixiao might be overwhelmed. So he dismounted and helped despatch two of them.

Songshan and Wudang Mountain, though one lies in western Henan and the other in northern Hubei, are in truth not far apart. Past Mashankou the road opens into flat plain, and the horses covered ground swiftly. By midday they had passed Neixiang. Zhang Wuji was hungry, and stopped at a market to buy flatbread. Suddenly he heard a mournful whinny from the horse he led. He turned and saw a gleaming dagger buried in the animal’s belly. At the corner of the street a figure flickered and vanished.

Zhang Wuji flew across and seized the man. Another black-clad fellow, his tunic splattered with horse-blood. Zhang Wuji demanded, “Whose man are you? Which guild or faction? Has your main force already reached Wudang Mountain?” He asked several times, but the man only shut his eyes and said nothing. Not daring to waste time, Zhang Wuji sealed the man’s Dazhui acupoint with his qi, leaving him in such agony that he would suffer for three days and three nights before relief came.

He mounted and galloped on, reaching Sanguan Hall in one long stretch, then crossed the Han River southward. Midstream, gazing at the rolling waters, he remembered the day Grandmaster had taken him to Shaolin in vain search of a cure, and on the return along this very river they had met Chang Yuchun, and he had saved Zhou Zhiruo. Her lovely face rose before his mind’s eye, and the tender, watchful gaze she had given him atop Bright Summit, and he was lost in reverie.

South of the Han River he pressed on. Night fell early. The world turned hazy. Another shichen⁴’s ride and there was neither starlight nor moonlight. The exhausted horse could go no further and sank to its knees. He patted its back. “Rest here, little one. Go your own way.” Then he unfolded his qinggong and ran.

In the fourth watch he heard the distant thud of many hooves ahead, plainly a large party. He quickened his pace and overtook them, passing unseen in the darkness. Their direction was towards Wudang Mountain. More than twenty riders, not a word spoken, all visibly armed. Their purpose could only be hostile to Wudang. Yet the thought eased his heart: If I have caught up with them from behind, then Wudang must not yet have been attacked.

Within less than another half a shichen he encountered a second group, also heading for Wudang. In all he passed five parties: some thirty-odd riders, some a dozen or so. After the fifth, a new anxiety struck him: How many parties have already reached the mountain? Have they already engaged our people? Though he was not himself a Wudang disciple, his father’s ties had always made him feel the Order as his own. The thought made him run all the faster.

Soon he was climbing the mountain, meeting no more enemies. Near the upper slopes he saw a figure ahead, running hard, a bald monk in flowing robes, his qinggong impressive. Zhang Wuji followed at a distance, watching.

The monk climbed the mountain. As he neared the summit, a voice called, “What manner of friend visits Wudang in the dead of night?” Before the echo faded, four figures emerged from behind the rocks, two Daoist priests and two laymen, plainly third- or fourth-generation Wudang disciples.

The monk pressed his palms together. “I am Kongxiang of Shaolin. I have urgent business and beg an audience with Wudang’s Zhang Sanfeng the Perfected One.”

Zhang Wuji was startled: So he is a senior monk of Shaolin’s “Kong” generation, a dharma-brother of Abbots Kongwen, Kongzhi, and Kongxing. He has come all this way. He must be bringing news of disaster.

A Wudang Daoist said, “Master, you have travelled far. Please step inside our temple for tea.” He led the way. Kongxiang removed the knife from his belt and handed it to another Daoist, showing he dared not carry weapons into the temple.

Footnotes

1. 太极初传柔克刚 — Tàijí chū chuán róu kè gāng. Chapter title. 柔克刚, the soft overcoming the hard, is the art’s governing principle. ↩

2. 内力 — nèilì. Literally internal force. Kinetic manifestation of cultivated qi; generates tangible effects such as deflecting weapons or scaling walls. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 里 — lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, roughly equivalent to a third of a mile or half a kilometre. ↩

4. 时辰 — shíchén. Traditional Chinese unit of time equal to two hours; the day was divided into twelve shichen. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩