The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 26 – Part 4

Zhang Wuji shook his head. “To this day I do not know the young lady's origins. Though we have quarrelled several times, each encounter was begun by her, not by me, Zhang Wuji. I have never sought trouble with the young lady. If only she would release my shibo,¹ shishu,² and all the wulin men of the various factions, I would be deeply grateful, and would harbour no enmity towards her. Moreover, the young lady once honoured me with a potent remedy and bade me perform three tasks for her. I ought to devote my utmost to their fulfilment, and would not dare shirk or prevaricate.”

Zhao Min listened to his earnest words, and her face brightened with delight, like a flower just unfolding. She laughed, “Good, at least you have not forgotten.” She turned her gaze towards Zhou Zhiruo for a moment, then said to Zhang Wuji, “Since the young lady Zhou is neither your beloved nor a fellow disciple nor a betrothed, then any harm I do to her countenance has nothing whatsoever to do with you…” As the corner of her eye twitched, Lu Zhangke and He Biweng each raised their weapons and stationed themselves before Zhou Zhiruo, while another man, blade in hand, pressed the keen edge against her cheek. Had Zhang Wuji attempted to charge across and rescue her, he would first have to force his way past the Xuanming Elders,³ and that would be no easy undertaking. Zhao Min said coolly, “Young master Zhang, you had best speak the truth to me.”

Wei Yixiao suddenly held out his palm, spat several times into it, and rubbed his hand against the sole of his shoe. He laughed aloud. Everyone was wondering what mischief he was about, when in an instant a blue shadow flickered and flashed. Zhao Min felt a palm brush each of her cheeks. She looked at Wei Yixiao, but he had already returned to his original position. All that had changed was that he now held two short daggers in his hands, and no one could tell from whose belt he had taken them. Zhao Min’s heart stirred, and she knew the import was dire. She dared not raise a hand to her own face, but swiftly took a handkerchief and wiped it across her cheeks. Sure enough, the cloth came away smeared with black grime, plainly the filth from Wei Yixiao’s shoe-soles, mixed with his spittle. The thought of it nearly made her retch.

Wei Yixiao spoke, “Young lady Zhao, you may disfigure the young lady Zhou if you wish. But since you are so ruthless, I, Wei, cannot let you off. If you cut one scar across the young lady Zhou’s face today, I will cut two across yours. You cut two, I cut four. You break one of her fingers, I break two of yours.” As he spoke, he struck the two short daggers together with a ring of steel, and added, “What I, Wei, say, I do. The Green-Winged Bat King⁴ keeps his word, and has never spoken an idle one in all his life. You may guard against me for a year or two, but you cannot guard against me for ten years, for eight. You may send men to hunt me down, but you will not catch me. I take my leave!”

The moment the word “leave” left his lips, he was already gone from sight. Two sharp cracks rang out as the daggers flew through the air and buried themselves in a pillar. Then came two cries of alarm, “Ah!” and “Aiya!”, as two foreign monks in the hall slowly crumpled to a sitting position. The jian⁵ they held in their hands had somehow been stripped from them, and their acupoints⁶ had been sealed besides.

The words Wei Yixiao had spoken were delivered in a flat, even tone, yet everyone present understood them for anything but empty menace. They had seen with their own eyes how, across Zhao Min’s fair cheeks, white flushed with pink and tender as congealed cream, the Bat King’s filthy hand had left several dark smears. Had he been holding the short daggers first, Zhao Min’s face would long since have been ruined. Such lightning swiftness, such ghost-like, demon-like movement; even the strongest masters could not guard against it. Zhang Wuji himself had to concede he was outmatched. In a long pursuit Zhang Wuji might prevail by the superiority of his neili,⁷ but in the confines of a courtyard, a hall, a corridor, to move with such godlike speed was beyond even him. Indeed there was only one such man under heaven.

Zhang Wuji bowed deeply and offered a formal salute. “Young lady Zhao, I have given offence today. I take my leave.” He took Yang Xiao by the hand and turned from the hall, knowing well that under the weight of Wei Yixiao’s threat, Zhao Min would not dare harm Zhou Zhiruo further.

Zhao Min watched his retreating back, equal parts shame and fury. She gave no order to pursue.

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Zhang Wuji and Yang Xiao returned to the inn, where Wei Yixiao was already waiting. Zhang Wuji laughed, “Bat King Wei, you gave them a fine start today. Now they know the Ming Order is not to be trifled with.” Wei Yixiao replied, “Frightening a little girl is no great feat. She puts on a fierce and terrible face, but I wager she will not sleep for three nights after hearing I mean to ruin her looks.” Yang Xiao laughed, “If she cannot sleep, that will not do, it will make it all the harder for us to rescue the prisoners.”

Zhang Wuji asked, “Left Messenger Yang,⁸ what plan have you for the rescue?” Yang Xiao hesitated. “We have only three men here, and our cover is blown. The matter is truly difficult.” Zhang Wuji said with regret, “When I saw the young lady Zhou in danger, I could not restrain myself and intervened. I have spoiled the whole enterprise.” Yang Xiao replied, “Given the circumstances, no man could have held back. You, Order Leader,⁹ fought and defeated the Xuanming Elders single-handed and sorely deflated the enemy’s pride. That too was well done. Moreover, now that they know we have arrived, they will not dare treat Song daxia¹⁰ and the others with excessive discourtesy.” Zhang Wuji thought of Uncle Song, Second Uncle Yu, and the rest in enemy hands, and of how Zhao Min had humiliated He Taichong, Tang Wenliang, and the others. His heart was heavy with worry. The three of them deliberated for some time, but reached no conclusion, and presently retired to their chambers.

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At dawn the next morning, Zhang Wuji, still half-asleep, caught a faint sound at the window and woke. He opened his eyes to see the window slowly opening, a head peering in and gazing at him. He started in alarm and drew back the bed-curtain. The face staring back was seamed with scars, ugly and frightful: it was the mute ascetic.¹¹ His alarm redoubled. He sprang from the bed and saw the ascetic still staring at him, fixed and unmoving, with no sign of hostile intent. Zhang Wuji cried, “Left Messenger Yang! Bat King Wei!” The two answered in unison from the adjoining room.

His mind eased somewhat, but already the ascetic’s face had vanished from the window. He leapt out after it and saw the ascetic hurrying through the front gate. By now Yang Xiao and Wei Yixiao had arrived. Seeing no sign of enemies, the three of them set off in pursuit. The ascetic waited at the corner of a street. When he saw them coming, he turned north at a long stride, not running, yet his pace was brisk. The three exchanged a gesture and followed.

Dawn was barely broken. The streets were nearly empty. Before long they passed out through the North Gate. The ascetic led them on, turning down a by-road, and they walked another seven or eight li¹² until they reached a tumbled hill of rock. There he stopped and turned. He waved a hand at Yang Xiao and Wei Yixiao, bidding them stand back, then clasped his fists and bowed to Zhang Wuji.

Zhang Wuji returned the salute, wondering, “What does this ascetic mean by leading us here? All about is open ground and there is no one in sight. If he means to fight, three against one would put him at a grave disadvantage. From his bearing, he does not seem hostile.” His calculations had not yet settled when the ascetic gave a low “Ho!” and launched himself forward, both claws striking: left hand in tiger-claw, right hand in dragon-claw, all ten fingers hooked like talons, the attack fierce and terrible.

Zhang Wuji swung out his left palm and deflected the strike. “What does the venerable one intend? Pray speak first, before we fight.” The ascetic took no notice, as though he had not heard. His left hand shifted from tiger-claw to eagle-claw, and his right changed from dragon-claw to tiger-claw. One strike aimed at the left shoulder, one at the right belly, each thrust vicious and unrelenting. Zhang Wuji said, “Must we truly fight?” The ascetic’s eagle-claw changed to lion-palm, the tiger-claw to crane-beak: one strike, one peck, the techniques shifting again. In the space of three moves, both hands had passed through six different forms.

Zhang Wuji dared not be careless. He invoked the Taiji Fist¹³ and his body moved like drifting cloud and flowing water as he engaged the ascetic across the rocky hill. He found the man’s techniques exceedingly complex: sometimes they opened wide and closed wide, their stances upright and orthodox, then in an instant they turned devious and strange, the hallmarks of heterodox skills. Evidently he cultivated both orthodox and unorthodox disciplines, and his learning was vast beyond measure. Zhang Wuji contented himself with the Taiji Fist and matched move against move. When they had exchanged seventy or eighty moves, the ascetic drove in a straight punch with a “Hu!” aimed at the centre. Zhang Wuji employed the technique “As If Sealed, As If Closed” and checked the incoming force, then followed at once with “Single Whip,” his left palm striking the ascetic’s back. He released no neili into the blow, and his palm touched and withdrew in the same breath.

The ascetic knew Zhang Wuji had shown him mercy. He leapt back and stared at him sideways for some moments. Then he made a sign to Yang Xiao, asking to borrow the jian at his waist. Yang Xiao untied the sword-cord and, with the jian still in its sheath, held it out with both hands and presented it. Zhang Wuji wondered silently, “Why is Left Messenger Yang lending his weapon to the enemy?”

The ascetic drew the jian from its sheath and gestured to Zhang Wuji to borrow one from Wei Yixiao. Zhang Wuji shook his head. He took the sheath the ascetic held out in his left hand, employed the saluting posture “Please,” and used the sheath in place of a blade. His left hand formed the sword-charm, and the sheath lay horizontal before him. The ascetic’s jian hissed in a slanting thrust. Zhang Wuji had watched him teach Zhao Min the sword and knew his skill was formidable. He at once invoked the Taiji Sword he had spent these months refining on Wudang Mountain, and braced himself for the bout. The opposing swordwork waxed now swift, now slow, every move harbouring some hidden sting. Each time Zhang Wuji began to deflect it, the ascetic would instantly withdraw and launch a new technique, so that scarcely a single move was carried through to its conclusion. Zhang Wuji admired him inwardly: “Had I met this man half a year ago, I could not have matched him in swordsmanship. Compared with Fang Dongbai,¹⁴ the Eight-Armed Divine Swordsman, this ascetic is a cut above.”

A fondness for talent stirred in him, and he was loath to win by an open superiority of technique. He watched the ascetic’s jian flourish in the “Wind-Scattering Storm” posture, white steel gleaming in the sun like a thousand golden snakes writhing and darting. He saw his chance, and in an instant reversed the sheath. With a soft shlick, the sheath closed over the blade. He wrapped both arms in a circle, gently locked the ascetic’s wrists, gave a faint smile, and sprang backwards into the air. At that moment the slightest exertion of force would have wrenched the jian away. The move was at once as perilous as could be and as cunning as could be, yet the moment his hands released the sheath, it was returned to its owner.

He had not yet touched down when the ascetic cast away his jian and struck out with a palm. Zhang Wuji heard the wind and knew at once that the man’s true force was vast and no trivial matter. Wishing to test his neili, he reversed his right palm and met the blow force against force. Only then did his left foot settle to the ground. In an instant the ascetic’s palm-force came surging in a continuous stream. Zhang Wuji invoked the seventh layer of the Great Shift of Heaven and Earth.¹⁵ Bit by bit he gathered the incoming force and stored it, until with a sudden great shout he reversed it all and sent it back. It was as though a vast lake, filled to bursting in a mountain flood, had its embankment burst and all the pent water rush out at once: the whole of the ascetic’s force from more than ten palms returned to him in a single blow. Under Heaven there was originally no such power. Had the ascetic taken it full, his wrist-bones, arm-bones, shoulder-bones, and ribs would all have shattered in the same moment. Even the blood would have had no outlet, and he would have died on the spot, a mass of mangled flesh, too ghastly to describe.

The two palms were locked together, and the ascetic could in no wise dodge. Zhang Wuji seized him by the chest and hurled him upwards. The ascetic’s great body soared into the air. With a crash of thunder, stones flew in all directions as that peerless palm-force spent itself entirely among the tumbled stones.

Yang Xiao and Wei Yixiao, watching from the side, cried out in alarm together. They had supposed that the contest of neili between the ascetic and their Order Leader would require at least the time of a cup of tea to settle, but they had not expected that within a single moment they would stand at the brink of life and death. Each had words on his mind, but there was no time to speak them. Only when they saw the ascetic descend safe and sound did they realise their palms were damp with sweat.

The moment the ascetic’s feet touched ground, he shaped his hands into the semblance of leaping flames and pressed them to his breast. He bowed low before Zhang Wuji and said, “I, Fan Yao, Bright Right Messenger of the Light, pay respects to the Order Leader. I thank the Order Leader for sparing my life. I beg the Order Leader’s forgiveness for my insolent offence.” He had not spoken for more than ten years, and when he did his voice was hoarse and unnatural.

Zhang Wuji was astonished and overjoyed. The mute ascetic had not only opened his mouth, but had revealed himself as the Bright Right Messenger of their own Order, a turn of events entirely beyond expectation. He hastened forward and raised him up, his face all smiles. “So you are our Order’s Right Messenger Fan. Truly this is a joy beyond hope. We are of the same house, so pray stand on ceremony no more.”

Footnotes

1. 师伯 – shībó. Senior lineage uncle. The shixiong or shijie of one’s shifu. Shī means teacher. Bó means father’s elder brother. ↩

2. 师叔 – shīshū. Junior lineage uncle. The shidi or shimei of one’s shifu. Shī means teacher. Shū means father’s younger brother. ↩

3. 玄冥二老 – Xuánmíng Èr Lǎo. The Xuanming Elders, Lu Zhangke and He Biweng, two masters of the Xuanming Divine Palms in service to the Court of Yuan. ↩

4. 青翼蝠王 – Qīngyì Fú Wáng. The Green-Winged Bat King, Wei Yixiao’s epithet. One of the four Guardian Kings of the Ming Order. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 剑 – jiàn. A straight, double-edged Chinese sword. ↩

6. 穴 – xué. Acupoints; vital strikes along the body’s meridian network. ↩

7. 内力 – nèilì. Internal force, the kinetic manifestation of qi cultivated through neigong. ↩

8. 杨左使 – Yáng Zuǒshǐ. Left Messenger Yang, Yang Xiao’s title as chief administrator of the Ming Order. ↩

9. 教主 – Jiàozhǔ. Order Leader, the supreme leader of the Ming Order. ↩

10. 宋大侠 – Sòng Dàxiá. Song daxia, an honorific for Song Yuanqiao, eldest of the Seven Xias of Wudang. ↩

11. 苦头陀 – Kǔ Tóutuó. The Bitter Ascetic, a scarred, mute monk in Zhao Min’s service. ↩

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

13. 太极拳 – Tàijí Quán. Taiji Fist, the internal martial art created by Zhang Sanfeng on Wudang Mountain, rooted in the Daoist philosophy of yielding and redirection. ↩

14. 方东白 – Fāng Dōngbái. Fang Dongbai, known as the Eight-Armed Divine Swordsman, formerly of the Wudang Order, later in service to the Shaolin Monastery. ↩

15. 乾坤大挪移 – Qiánkūn Dà Nuóyí. The Great Shift of Heaven and Earth, the supreme neigong of the Ming Order, enabling the redirection and accumulation of an opponent’s force. ↩