The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 24 – Part 3

Zhang Sanfeng saw Kongxiang prostrate on the ground, weeping bitterly for a long while without rising. He reached out a hand to help him up, saying, “Kongxiang shixiong, Shaolin and Wudang are one family. This wrong must be avenged...” The very instant he spoke the word “must,” there came an unexpected crash. Kongxiang's palms shot out together and struck him full in the belly.

The assault was utterly without warning. Though Zhang Sanfeng’s martial arts had reached the highest realm, where one may act as the heart desires and nothing goes amiss, how could he have foreseen that this high monk of Shaolin, bearing a blood-feud and travelling far to bring tidings of danger, would suddenly turn upon him? For an instant he supposed Kongxiang’s grief had overwhelmed his reason, that in his confusion he had mistaken Zhang Sanfeng for an enemy. But at once he knew otherwise. The palm-force striking his belly was none other than the Diamond Prajna Palm,¹ the outer-gate divine skill of the Shaolin Order. He felt Kongxiang pouring every ounce of his strength into the blow, driving the palm-force ceaselessly into him. Kongxiang’s face was white as paper, yet at the corners of his mouth lurked a savage grin.

Zhang Wuji, Yu Daiyan and Mingyue, witnessing this betrayal, were struck dumb with shock. Yu Daiyan, crippled as he was, could not move to lend his shifu aid. Zhang Wuji was young and shallow in experience. In that instant he had not yet grasped that Kongxiang meant to kill his grand shifu outright. The two of them cried out in alarm, and then saw Zhang Sanfeng’s left palm sweep out. With a soft pa, it struck Kongxiang upon the crown of his head. The blow was soft as cotton, yet hard beyond iron. Kongxiang’s skull shattered at once. He collapsed like a heap of wet clay, without so much as a groan, and was dead.

Yu Daiyan cried, “Shifu, you…” He managed the single syllable “you” before he fell silent. Zhang Sanfeng had closed his eyes and sat down. In moments, thin wisps of white vapour rose from the crown of his head. Then suddenly he opened his mouth and spat out several mouthfuls of bright blood.

Zhang Wuji was greatly alarmed. He knew his grand shifu’s injury must be severe indeed. Had the blood been dark and clotted, then with his profound neigong² he would have recovered in three or five days. But what he spat was bright crimson blood, gushing forth in torrents, which meant his internal organs were gravely wounded. For a moment Zhang Wuji hesitated, unable to decide: Should I reveal myself at once and save my grand shifu? Or what?

Just then they heard the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door. The person approaching was plainly in great distress, yet dared not enter without summons, nor dare he call out. Yu Daiyan said, “Is that you, Lingxu? What is it?” Lingxu the Daoist replied, “Reporting to Shifu: the demonic cult’s main host has arrived outside the palace. They demand to see the Patriarch.³ They speak foul and filthy words, and threaten to flatten the Wudang Order to the ground…”

Yu Daiyan barked, “Silence!” He feared Zhang Sanfeng might be distracted and his injury worsened.

Zhang Sanfeng opened his eyes slowly. “The Shaolin Order’s Diamond Prajna Palm is indeed no trivial skill. I must rest in quiet cultivation for three months, or this wound will not heal.” Zhang Wuji thought, So my grand shifu’s injury is even graver than I feared. He heard Zhang Sanfeng continue, “The Ming Order has come up the mountain in force. Alas, I know not whether Yuanqiao, Lianzhou and the rest are safe. Daiyan, what do you counsel?”

Yu Daiyan was silent. He knew that apart from his shifu and himself, the martial arts of the third- and fourth-generation disciples on the mountain were unworthy of mention. To face the enemy would be to court death in vain. Today there was only one course: he must sacrifice himself to delay the foe with talk, while his shifu withdrew to nurse his wounds, so that one day the great vengeance might be fulfilled. He said in a clear voice, “Lingxu, go tell those men that I shall come out to meet them. Let them wait in the Three Pure Ones Hall.” Lingxu acknowledged the order and departed.

Zhang Sanfeng and Yu Daiyan had lived together as shifu and disciple for so many years that their hearts were as one. Hearing these words, he understood his disciple’s intent at once. “Daiyan, life and death, victory and defeat, are of no account. But the Wudang Order’s supreme arts must not perish because of this. During eighteen months of closed-door meditation, I have at last brought the Taiji Fist and Taiji Swordplay to completion, linking front to back in one unbroken thread. This very moment, I shall pass them to you.”

Yu Daiyan was stunned. He thought, I have been crippled for years. How can I learn any fist or sword art now? Moreover the enemy had already entered the palace. How could there be leisure to practise martial arts? He could only cry, “Shifu!” He could say no more.

Zhang Sanfeng gave a faint smile. “Since the founding of our Wudang Order, we have walked the jianghu as xia, performing acts of mercy and righteousness. By the great reckoning, we ought not to perish here. This Taiji Fist and Taiji Swordplay of mine are wholly unlike any martial art that has come before. They rest upon stillness to govern motion, and upon striking only after the foe has struck. Your shifu is past a hundred years of age. Even without a mighty foe, how many more good years can I expect? My joy is that in my twilight years I have been able to bring this martial art into being. Yuanqiao, Lianzhou, Songxi, Liting and Shenggu are none of them at my side. Among the third- and fourth-generation disciples, apart from Qingshu there is no talent of note, and even he is not on the mountain. Daiyan, you bear the weighty charge of transmitting my life’s supreme skill. The honour or disgrace of the Wudang Order on a single day, what does it matter? So long as this Taiji Fist can be passed to future generations, the great name of the Wudang Order shall endure for all the ages.” As he spoke, his spirit blazed forth, his heroic resolve swelled, and he seemed not at all to count the enemy at his gates as worth a thought.

Yu Daiyan answered in assent. He understood that his shifu wished him to endure insult and bear the burden, taking the transmission of the Order’s supreme art as his first and highest duty.

Zhang Sanfeng rose slowly to his feet. His arms hung loose, the backs of his hands turned outward, his fingers slightly extended, his feet set apart and parallel. Then slowly he raised both arms to his breast. His left arm formed a half-ring, the palm facing inward towards his face in the yin palm. His right palm turned over to become the yang palm. “This is the Opening Stance of the Taiji Fist.” He continued through the forms one by one, calling out the name of each: Grasping the Sparrow’s Tail, Single Whip, Raising the Hands in Seven Postures, White Crane Spreads Its Wings, Brushing the Knee and Twisting the Step, Hand Strums the Lute, Advancing Step and Shifting the Hammer, Seeming to Close Yet Open, Crossed Hands, Embracing the Tiger and Returning it to the Mountain…

Zhang Wuji watched with rapt attention, not daring to blink. At first he supposed his grand shifu was performing the forms deliberately slowly so that Yu Daiyan might follow them clearly. But when he reached the seventh form, Hand Strums the Lute, he saw Zhang Sanfeng’s left palm yang and right palm yin, his gaze fixed upon his left forearm, both palms slowly drawing together. The posture was heavy as a mountain, yet light as a feather. Suddenly Zhang Wuji understood: This is the supreme martial art of using slowness to defeat speed, using stillness to govern motion. Who could have imagined such marvellous kung fu existed in the world? His own martial arts were already of the highest order. Once he grasped the principle, each successive movement drew him deeper. He saw Zhang Sanfeng’s hands turning in circles, every form containing the yin-yang transformations of the taiji, subtle and profound beyond measure. It had opened a new realm in martial arts never before seen.

After about the time it takes to eat a meal, Zhang Sanfeng reached Advancing Step and High Probe Horse, Advancing Step and Grasping the Sparrow’s Tail, Single Whip returning to the Great Taiji. He stood in place, calm in spirit and easy in breath. Though gravely wounded, having completed the full set of fist forms, his vigour seemed renewed rather than spent. He held his hands in a taiji circle and said, “The secret of this fist art lies in sixteen words: Let the crown of the head hang weightless as if suspended; hold the chest as though embracing the back; loosen the waist and let the hips fall; sink the shoulders and drop the elbows. It moves by intent alone, and above all forbids the use of force. The unity of form and spirit is the guiding principle of this art.” He then explained each in detail.

Yu Daiyan listened without a word. He knew the hour was pressing and there was no time for questions. Though much of it was beyond his understanding, he committed it all to memory by main force. If anything should befall his shifu, at least these oral formulas and these forms would be passed down by him, and some later man of wit and talent might yet unravel their deeper meaning. What Zhang Wuji comprehended was far more. Every phrase of oral instruction, every movement of the forms, filled him with the joy of one who hears the Great Dao for the first time.

Zhang Sanfeng saw the bafflement on Yu Daiyan’s face and asked, “How much have you grasped?” Yu Daiyan said, “Your disciple is slow-witted. I understand perhaps three or four parts in ten, but I have memorised the forms and the formulas.” Zhang Sanfeng said, “That is no small achievement. If Lianzhou were here, he might understand five parts in ten. Alas, your fifth shidi was the keenest in insight. I believe that even in haste he could have grasped six or seven parts in ten. It is a pity that he died so young. Had I three years to instruct him carefully, I could surely have passed on this supreme art.” When Zhang Wuji heard him speak of his father, his heart ached.

Zhang Sanfeng said, “The essence of this fist art lies in seeming relaxed yet not relaxed, in a force about to unfold yet not yet unfolded, in the force broken but the intent unbroken…” He was about to continue when from the Three Pure Ones Hall in the front palace, more than two li away, came a hoarse and lingering voice: “Since that old Daoist Zhang Sanfeng hides his head and will not show himself, let us slaughter his disciples and grand-disciples first.” Another voice, rough and bold, cried, “Good! Let us burn this Daoist temple to the ground first.” A third voice, sharp and piercing, said, “To burn the old Daoist to death would be too easy for him. Let us capture him and parade him bound through every school and sect, so that all may see what the Great Pillar of Martial Arts looks like when he has lived too long.”

The rear mountain’s small courtyard and the front palace were separated by more than two li,⁴ yet every word of those voices reached them plain and clear. Plainly the enemy meant to display their skill, and their skill was indeed formidable.

Yu Daiyan, hearing such insults heaped upon his shifu, was consumed with rage. Fire seemed to blaze from his eyes. Zhang Sanfeng said, “Daiyan, have you so soon forgotten what I have instructed you? He who cannot endure insult, how shall he bear a burden?” Yu Daiyan said, “Yes. I heed Shifu’s teaching.” Zhang Sanfeng said, “You are wholly crippled. The enemy will not guard against you. Above all, guard against haste, guard against anger. If the supreme art I have laboured to create cannot be passed to later generations, then you shall be the sinner of the Wudang Order.” Yu Daiyan broke out in a cold sweat. He understood his shifu’s meaning: whatever insults or humiliations the enemy might heap upon them both, they must cling to life, endure the shame, and pass on the art.

Zhang Sanfeng reached into his robe and drew out a pair of small iron-cast Arhats. He gave them to Yu Daiyan. “This Kongxiang claimed the Shaolin Order has perished. Whether true or false, I cannot say. Yet he was a master of the Shaolin Order, and even he has surrendered to the enemy and come to plot against me. Then surely the Shaolin Order has suffered some great calamity. These Iron Arhats were given to me a hundred years ago by Guo Xiang, the nüxia.⁵ One day you must return them to a successor of Shaolin. My hope is that through these Iron Arhats, some supreme art of the Shaolin Order may be preserved.” With a sweep of his great sleeve, he walked out through the door.

Yu Daiyan said, “Carry me after Shifu.” Mingyue and Zhang Wuji lifted the soft chair and followed behind Zhang Sanfeng.

Footnotes

1. 金刚般若掌 – Jīngāng Bōrě Zhǎng. Literally Diamond Prajna Palm. An outer-gate divine skill of the Shaolin Order, combining the hardness of vajra with the wisdom of prajna. ↩

2. 内功 – nèigōng. Internal cultivation. The cultivation of qi through breathing, meditation and circulation. ↩

3. 祖师 – zǔshī. Patriarch. Founder of a school or tradition. ↩

4. 里 – lǐ. A Chinese unit of distance, approximately 500 metres or one-third of a mile. ↩

5. 女侠 – nǚxiá. A title for a woman of martial prowess and chivalrous conduct. ↩