The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 37 – Part 3

Bowl-Carrying Dragon Head[^longtou] darted forward and planted himself before Staff-Carrying Dragon Head, raising his iron bowl with a sharp ding as a steel needle dropped into it. The needle had come from some unseen quarter, but Bowl-Carrying Dragon Head had been on guard the entire time, his attention unwavering. A faint blue glint had flickered in the sunlight, and he had swept his bowl up to catch it. Half a heartbeat slower, and Staff-Carrying Dragon Head would have died a nameless death.

Kongzhi checked his stride and circled behind the nine old monks of Bodhidharma Hall.¹ A dull thud sounded as he kicked the fourth monk from the left out of line, then seized him by the scruff and hoisted him up. “Kongru, so it is you. You have been conspiring with Yuanzhen² as well.” His right hand yanked the monk’s robe downward. Fabric tore with a rip, revealing a small steel cylinder at his waist, a tiny aperture at one end. Everyone understood at once: the cylinder must contain a powerful spring. A press on the trigger concealed within the robe, and the hole fired a poison-laced needle. No raised arm, no waving hand was needed to launch the hidden weapon. Even standing face to face, a few feet apart, no one could have detected the shot.

Staff-Carrying Dragon Head was seized by grief and fury. He swung his iron staff in a wide arc and smashed Kongru’s skull until his brains splattered across the ground. This Kongru had been of the same generation as the Four Holy Monks,[^si dasheng] his seniority and martial arts both formidable. But Kongzhi had seized him by the acupoints and held him fast, unable to struggle. When the iron staff came sweeping in, he could not even dodge. A fresh cry of alarm went up from the crowd.

Kongzhi stood frozen, then fixed Staff-Carrying Dragon Head with a furious glare. Too rash, he thought. You did not even ask what was going on.

Even as chaos reigned, four black-robed nuns stepped briskly into the square from outside, each holding a horsehair whisk.³ Their clear voices rang out, “Zhou Zhiruo, zhangmen⁴ of the Emei Order,⁵ leads her disciples in paying respects to Abbot Kongwen⁶ of Shaolin Monastery.”

Kongzhi released Kongru’s corpse. “Please enter,” he said, composing himself as he went to meet them. The eight remaining old monks of Bodhidharma Hall fell in behind him. Of the tragedy that had just unfolded, they seemed to take not the slightest notice.

The four nuns bowed, stepped back, turned and glided away. They moved as one, advancing and retreating in perfect unison, as though they were a single person. Their footwork was light and graceful, flowing like drifting clouds and running water.

When Zhang Wuji heard that Zhou Zhiruo had arrived, his face flushed crimson at once. He stole a glance at Zhao Min.[^zhao min] She was looking at him too. Their eyes met, and in hers he caught something between a smile and a sneer, the corner of her mouth tilted as though in contempt. Whether she was mocking his discomfiture or scorning the Emei Order’s hollow display of strength, he could not tell.

The Emei disciples did not come to the square on their own as the Beggars’ Guild had. They waited until Kongzhi led the monks out to receive them before filing in. Eighty or ninety female disciples, all in black robes, the majority of them shaved nuns, the remainder a mix of middle-aged, elderly and young women. After the female disciples had passed, a gap of some ten feet, and a young woman in a blue-green gown advanced at a measured pace. It was Zhou Zhiruo, zhangmen of the Emei Order. Zhang Wuji saw that her face had grown thinner, with a look of weariness about it. His heart ached with pity, and shame besides.

Some distance behind Zhou Zhiruo came twenty-odd male disciples in black robes, most of them refined and scholarly in bearing, unlike the brasher martial artists of other factions. Each carried a wooden box of varying length. Not a single weapon showed on any of the hundred-odd Emei members. The weapons, it was plain, were stowed inside the boxes. A murmur of approval ran through the crowd: “The Emei Order knows propriety. They keep their weapons sheathed, out of respect for Shaolin.”

When the Emei contingent had settled, Zhang Wuji walked to the front of their shelter and bowed low to Zhou Zhiruo, his face full of shame. “Zhangmen Zhou, I have come to beg your forgiveness.”

More than a dozen Emei disciples sprang to their feet, eyebrows drawn down, faces tight with anger.

Zhou Zhiruo returned his bow with calm dignity. “You do me too much honour, Zhangmen Zhang. Why such ceremony? I trust you have been well since we last met.” Her face was composed, betraying neither joy nor anger. Zhang Wuji’s heart fluttered uneasily. “Zhangmen Zhou, that day I was desperate to save my sworn father and neglected the great occasion. I have felt deeply ashamed ever since.”

“I have heard that Elder Xie is imprisoned in Shaolin Monastery,” Zhou Zhiruo said. “With your unmatched heroism, Zhangmen Zhang, I am sure you have already rescued him.” Zhang Wuji’s face reddened. “The eminent monks of Shaolin possess profound martial arts. The Ming Order has already lost one battle, and my grandfather, alas, passed away in consequence.”

“Elder Yin was a hero for an entire lifetime. A pity, a pity indeed.”

Zhang Wuji saw that she betrayed not the faintest trace of pleasure or displeasure. He could not read her heart. Every sentence he offered drew a soft rebuttal in return, and he was made to feel thoroughly foolish. But then he turned the thought over: on the day they were to have wed, he had followed Zhao Min away before so many guests. The anguish Zhou Zhiruo must have felt then surely exceeded his own small embarrassment a thousand-fold. “When we go to rescue my sworn father,” he said, “I hope you will remember our old ties and lend us your aid.” As the words left his mouth, a thought struck him: her martial arts had advanced enormously in the past half-year. That day at the wedding feast, even someone of Fan Yao’s skill had been driven back in a single exchange. Zhao Min, who drew on the strengths of many schools, had nearly been killed on the spot. And the day she had struck down Du Baidang and Yi Sanniang… he shied from finishing the thought. Whoever succeeded to the Emei zhangmanship must have access to secret manuals of martial arts not shared with outsiders. Her understanding surpassed even Miejue Shitai’s,⁷ so that the pupil had outstripped the master. If she would join him, they might well break the Vajra Demon-Subduing Circle.[^jingang fumo quan] His face brightened at the notion. “Zhiruo, I have something to ask of you.”

Zhou Zhiruo’s expression hardened at once. “Zhangmen Zhang, pray have some self-respect. At a time like this, you may not address me by such familiar terms.” She beckoned over her shoulder. “Qingshu, come here. Tell Zhangmen Zhang what has passed between us.”

A heavily bearded man strode over and clasped his fists. “Zhangmen Zhang, a pleasure.” Zhang Wuji knew the voice at once for Song Qingshu.[^song qingshu] He looked harder and confirmed it: Song Yuanqiao’s son, elaborately disguised, made to look older and uglier than he was. He clasped his fists in return. “So it is Song shige.⁸ I trust you have been well.”

Song Qingshu smiled faintly. “I owe it all to you, Zhangmen Zhang. That day, you were on the very point of marrying my wife when you had a last-minute change of heart…”

Zhang Wuji was struck as though by lightning. He stood rooted to the spot. A white blank filled his vision, and a clamour of voices buzzed in his ears, though he could not make sense of a single word. After a long while, he felt someone take his arm. “Zhangmen, let us go back.” He steadied himself and saw that Fan Yao was the one holding him.

Zhang Wuji’s feelings for Zhao Min ran deep, yet he had always told himself that he and Zhou Zhiruo were already betrothed. That day he had been forced by circumstances to follow Zhao Min away. He had expected Zhou Zhiruo, gentle and forbearing as she was, to listen once he explained everything, and a thorough apology would surely win her forgiveness. They might even have renewed their bond. And now this woman, who was plainly his betrothed, had in her anger married Song Qingshu, casting him aside as though he were nothing. The ache in his chest at that moment cut far deeper than the stroke of her jian on Bright Peak.[^bright peak]

He turned his head. Zhou Zhiruo was extending a hand white as jade, beckoning to Song Qingshu. Song Qingshu walked to her side with an air of triumph and sat down beside her. The corner of his mouth curled in a half-smile. “When we were wed, we did not send out formal invitations and disturb everyone. I shall have to make it up to you with a drink another day.”

Zhang Wuji tried to say “many thanks,” but his throat had gone mute. The three words would not pass his lips.

Fan Yao tugged his arm. “Zhangmen, pay no mind to the likes of her.” Song Qingshu laughed loudly. “Right Messenger Fan, you will not be forgotten when the time comes.” Fan Yao spat on the ground, his brows drawn down in a cold sneer. “Do you suppose you will live to serve that wine?”

Zhang Wuji sighed and walked away, his arm still in Fan Yao’s.

At that moment, Staff-Carrying Dragon Head was in the thick of a heated argument with a Shaolin monk, his voice hoarse with anger. The exchange between Zhang Wuji, Zhou Zhiruo, Song Qingshu and Fan Yao had taken place at the north-west corner of the square, before the Emei shelter, and had drawn no notice. The crowd had been listening to the quarrel between the Beggars’ Guild and Shaolin.

Zhang Wuji returned to the Ming Order’s shelter and sat down, but his mind was elsewhere. Dimly he heard the Shaolin monk in the red kasaya saying: “I have told you that Yuanzhen shixiong and Chen Youliang are not in our monastery, yet your guild refuses to believe it. Your Merit-Transferring Elder has unfortunately perished, and our Kongru has already given his life in recompense. What more is there to say?”

“You say Yuanzhen and Chen Youliang are not here, but who would believe you?” Staff-Carrying Dragon Head shot back. “Unless you let us search the place.”

The Shaolin monk laughed coldly. “You wish to search Shaolin Monastery? You overstep rather, don’t you? A mere Beggars’ Guild may not have the capability.”

“You look down on the Beggars’ Guild? Very well. I shall test your skill myself.”

“For hundreds and thousands of years,” the Shaolin monk replied, “no shortage of heroes and brave men have come to our door. By the mercy of our Patriarch,⁹ Shaolin Monastery has never been toppled.”

Their words grew ever more heated. It seemed they would come to blows at any moment. Kongzhi sat to one side and did not intervene.

Footnotes

1. 达摩堂 – Dámótáng. The Bodhidharma Hall, one of the principal halls of Shaolin Monastery, where the most senior monks reside and martial arts are refined. ↩

2. 圆真 – Yuánzhēn. The dharma name of Cheng Kun, the principal antagonist of the novel. See Wuxia Wiki. [^si dasheng]: 四大神僧 – sì dà shén sēng. The Four Holy Monks of Shaolin: Kongjian, Kongwen, Kongzhi and Kongxing. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 拂尘 – fúchén. A horsehair whisk, carried by Daoist and Buddhist clergy as a symbol of authority. ↩

4. 掌门 – zhǎngmén. The head of a martial school or order. Retained in pinyin throughout. ↩

5. 峨嵋派 – Éméi Pài. A Buddhist martial order founded by Guo Xiang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 空闻 – Kōngwén. The abbot of Shaolin Monastery. See Wuxia Wiki. [^zhao min]: 赵敏 – Zhào Mǐn. Daughter of the Prince of Ruyang and Zhang Wuji’s beloved. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 灭绝师太 – Mièjué Shītài. The former zhangmen of the Emei Order, Zhou Zhiruo’s shifu. See Wuxia Wiki. [^jingang fumo quan]: 金刚伏魔圈 – Jīngāng Fú Mó Quān. The Vajra Demon-Subduing Circle, a formation of three Shaolin elders. See Wuxia Wiki. [^song qingshu]: 宋青书 – Sòng Qīngshū. Son of Song Yuanqiao, once the most promising disciple of the Wudang Order. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 师哥 – shīgē. The colloquial form of shixiong, a male senior fellow disciple under the same shifu. The same relationship as 师兄, but in the spoken register. See Wuxia Wiki. [^bright peak]: Bright Peak, the summit of Mount Emei where the great confrontation took place. ↩

9. 祖师 – zǔshī. The founding patriarch of Shaolin Monastery, Bodhidharma. ↩