The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 37 – Part 4

A strange voice cut in from the crowd, "Today the heroes of the world have gathered at Shaolin in their thousands. Some have travelled a thousand li or more to get here. Is it truly to watch the Beggars' Guild settle a grudge?"

Xia Zhou¹ barked his assent. “Quite right. The bad blood between the Beggars’ Guild and the Shaolin Order can wait. Let us deal with Xie Xun the traitor first.”

Staff-Carrying Dragon Head² flared up at once. “Watch your tongue. The Golden-Maned Lion King,³ Xie Xun daxia,⁴ is one of the Dharma-Protecting Kings⁵ of the Ming Order.⁶ Who are you to call him traitor?”

Xia Zhou’s voice boomed like a temple bell. “You may fear the Ming Order, but I do not. A villain like Xie Xun, with the heart of a wolf and the liver of a dog, shall we bow to him as hero and xia?”

Yang Xiao stepped to the centre of the square and clasped his fists in a circuiting bow. “I am Yang Xiao, the Bright Left Messenger of the Ming Order. I have a word for the heroes gathered here. Our Lion King Xie did grievous wrong in years past, taking innocent lives. That much is true.”

Xia Zhou sneered. “Hmph. The dead are dead. Do you suppose a few airy words from you will bring them back?”

Yang Xiao’s voice rang out, proud and unflinching. “We who walk the jianghu⁷ live with blades at our throats, licking blood from the edge every day. Which of us who has survived this long has no blood on his hands? The stronger among us kill more. The less skilful are killed themselves. If every life taken must be repaid with a life, then of the several thousand heroes on this square, precious few would walk away.” He turned to Xia Zhou. “Tell me, old hero Xia, have you never killed a man in all your days?”

In these times of turmoil, with the four quarters in uproar, those who walked the jianghu either killed or were killed. Few escaped with clean hands. Only a handful of monks and nuns from the Shaolin Order and the Emei Order could claim they had never taken a life. This Xia Zhou, the great hero of Shandong, was hot-tempered by nature and had killed without count. Yang Xiao’s question struck him dumb at once. He stood speechless for a moment, then burst out, “Villains deserve to die. Good men do not. This Xie Xun is no different from the other demons of the Ming Order, forever committing acts that offend Heaven and reason. I would carve him into a thousand pieces and sleep on his flesh. Hmph. As for you, surnamed Yang, I doubt you are any better!” He knew full well that the Ming Order was thick with formidable men, but he had come today to kill Xie Xun and avenge his brother. Blood would be spilled with the Ming Order regardless, so he saw no reason to leave even a sliver of room in his words.

A sharp voice rasped from one of the Ming Order’s wooden shelters, “Xia Zhou, do you take us for no good thing?”

Xia Zhou looked towards the speaker. The man’s cheeks were hollow, his mouth pointed, his face a greyish pallor without a trace of colour. He had no idea who the man might be. He shouted back, “I don’t know who you are. But if you are one of the demonic cult’s lords, then no good thing you are, that much is certain.”

Situ Qianzhong⁸ broke in, “Brother Xia, you do not recognise even this man? That is the Azure Wing Bat King,⁹ one of the Four Dharma-Protecting Kings of the Ming Order.”

Xia Zhou spat. “Pah, pah! A blood-sucking demon!”

In the blink of an eye, something flickered before the assembled heroes. Wei Yixiao¹⁰ had already closed upon Xia Zhou. The two men had been separated by a hundred-odd feet. No one could say how Wei Yixiao had crossed the distance in the space of a breath. Wei Yixiao raised his hand and struck him four times across the face, each slap sharp as a firecracker. His elbow shot forward and struck an acupoint on Xia Zhou’s belly. Xia Zhou’s martial arts were by no means negligible. Had Wei Yixiao fought him on honest terms, it would have taken fifty moves at least to overcome him. But Wei Yixiao’s qinggong¹¹ was simply inhuman, like a ghost, like a phantom. He had struck before Xia Zhou could so much as raise a guard.

While the crowd were still crying out in alarm, a white figure shot from the Ming Order’s shelter. The man’s pace was not quite so thunderous as Wei Yixiao’s, yet swift as a galloping horse. He reached Xia Zhou, flung open a cloth sack, and dropped it over his head, wrapping him tight. He swung the sack onto his shoulder with a laugh. Only then did the onlookers see that it was the grinning monk Cannot Tell,¹² the Cloth Sack Monk. Cannot Tell chuckled, “So you are a good thing, then. This monk shall carry you home and boil you for supper.” Shouldering Xia Zhou, he drifted back to the shelter with footsteps light as down.

The whole uncanny business had begun and ended in the space of a heartbeat. A dozen of Xia Zhou’s friends and disciples had been standing at his side, yet the two Ming Order men had come and gone so swiftly that none had been able to intervene. By the time Wei Yixiao and Cannot Tell had returned to their seats, the dozen had drawn their weapons and surged to the foot of the Ming Order shelter, shouting and cursing and demanding their man back.

Cannot Tell loosened the mouth of the sack and grinned. “All of you, go back and sit down quietly. When the gathering is over, I shall let him out. If you do not behave, then this monk shall take a piss in this sack, or worse, a proper shit. At the very least, a few stinking farts. Do you believe me or not?” As he spoke, he reached down and made a show of undoing his belt. The dozen men’s faces went green and yellow with rage. But they knew the men of the Ming Order for scoundrels who would do precisely as they threatened, and that rescue by force was out of the question. If this bald thief truly urinated on Xia Zhou’s head, the old hero would kill himself from the shame. They glanced at one another, and had no choice but to slink back, their tails between their legs.

The onlookers were equal parts appalled and amused. They had climbed the mountain in high spirits, eager to see Xie Xun put to death. Now, after witnessing the prowess of these two Ming Order men, they began to feel that the day’s gathering might be a good deal more perilous than they had supposed. Even if Xie Xun were killed, the square might yet be soaked in blood and strewn with corpses. A cold unease crept over them.

An elderly man now emerged, short and stout, his face ruddy, his nose a great bulbous thing mottled with red. He was past fifty. The crowd pointed and whispered: this was the man who had been speaking up a moment ago, the one they called Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies,¹³ Situ Qianzhong. In his left hand he held a wine cup. In his right, a wine gourd. He shook his head and swayed into the centre of the square.

“Now this is a fine spectacle. Some want to kill Xie Xun, some want to save him. But for all the talk, whether Xie Xun is truly here in Shaolin Monastery is still a mighty question. Tell you what, Great Master Kongzhi,¹⁴ why not bring out the Golden-Maned Lion King and let everyone have a look at him? Then the two sides can fight it out in earnest, each on his own merits. Would that not be a proper entertainment?”

At these words, well over half the heroes on the square roared their approval.

Yang Xiao thought to himself, The Lion King has too many enemies. Even if the Ming Order joined hands with the Beggars’ Guild, we could not stand against the whole world. Better to play upon the Dragon-Slaying Dao and stir them into fighting one another. He raised his voice, “The heroes assembled at Shaolin today come partly to settle old debts with the Lion King. But partly too,” he added with a faint smile, “they wish to behold the Dragon-Slaying Dao.¹⁵ Now, if we follow Mr Situ’s suggestion and charge into a free-for-all, then to whom does the treasure fall?”

The crowd murmured among themselves. The reasoning was sound. Of the several thousand gathered, perhaps a hundred at most had a genuine blood-feud with Xie Xun. The rest, at the thought of those four characters, Supreme in the Wulin,¹⁶ felt their hearts quicken.

A black-bearded old man rose to his feet. “May we ask Left Messenger Yang, in whose hands does the Dragon-Slaying Dao rest at present?”

Yang Xiao said, “That I do not know. I had hoped to ask Chan Master Kongzhi.¹⁷”

Kongzhi shook his head and said nothing. A ripple of discontent ran through the crowd: The Shaolin Order is host to this gathering, yet Abbot Kongwen¹⁸ pleads illness and does not appear. And this Kongzhi is all riddles and silence. What game is he playing?

A middle-aged man in a grey-green linen gown stood up. “Though Chan Master Kongzhi may not know, the Lion King surely does. Let us bring him out and ask him. Then each side can display his skill and fight in earnest. Whose martial arts stand first in the world, that man is the true Supreme of the Wulin. No matter in whose hands the dao now lies, it should be yielded to him. I say we settle this principle first, to avoid quarrelling after the fact. If any man disputes the result, let all the heroes of the world join to strike him down. What do you say?”

Zhang Wuji recognised the speaker at once: one of the three masters of the Qinghai School¹⁹ who had besieged the Vajra Demon-Subduing Circle²⁰ that night.

Situ Qianzhong said, “That sounds like an open challenge to me. I think there are great flaws in the notion.”

The man in the green gown replied coldly, “What flaws? In your opinion, if we do not match martial arts, then what, drink ourselves into a stupor? Whoever can drink a thousand cups without falling, whoever can drink till he is dead drunk and still not die, he shall be Supreme of the Wulin?” The crowd roared with laughter. A shrill voice called out, “Why bother at all? The Supreme of the Wulin is naturally the Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies, Mr Situ!”

Situ Qianzhong tilted his gourd, poured a cup of wine, and tossed it down his throat with a tilt of his head. Then he said, with the utmost solemnity, “I dare not, I dare not! When it comes to the Supreme of the Wine Forest, perhaps I, Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies, still have a slender chance. But the Supreme of the Wulin? Ha! I dare not presume, I dare not presume!” He turned to the man in the green gown. “Since you raise this motion, sir, you must possess some transcendent mastery of the martial arts. These eyes of mine are unworthy. May I ask your honourable name?”

The man said coldly, “I am Ye Changqing²¹ of the Qinghai School. My skill with wine and my talent for playing the fool both fall short of yours.” The implication was plain: when it came to martial cultivation, he feared he was rather more accomplished.

Situ Qianzhong tilted his head and considered for a long moment. “Qinghai School? Never heard of it. Ye Changqing? Hmm. Never heard of him either.”

The crowd thought to themselves: This old rascal Situ is bold indeed. To mock one man is one thing, but to insult an entire school? Does he have some mighty patron behind him? Or some ancient grudge against Qinghai? Those two sentences alone will bring them down on him at once. Only those who knew Situ Qianzhong’s character understood that he travelled alone, with no backing and no quarrel with the Qinghai School. He was simply wild by nature and loved to provoke with his tongue. He had suffered for it all his life, yet could never break the habit.

A killing intent had risen in Ye Changqing’s heart, though his face betrayed nothing. “The Qinghai School and your humble Ye were indeed obscure. It is no wonder you have not heard of us. Since you say a contest of martial arts is unfit, and that drinking yellow brew is a contest in which you have no rival in the world, pray tell, what do you propose?”

Situ Qianzhong said, “To claim no rival in the world at drinking, now that is no easy matter, no easy matter at all. Many years ago, when I was in Jinan Prefecture…” He was about to launch into a long-winded tale when a voice cut through the crowd, “Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies, stop your drunken nonsense. No one has time for your drivel.” Another voice cried, “What about Xie Xun? What about the Dragon-Slaying Dao?” A third shouted, “Chan Master Kongzhi, you are the host of this gathering. You would have us sit here and stew? What manner of affair is this?” The crowd erupted, one voice atop another, all demanding that Situ Qianzhong hold his tongue and that Kongzhi give them an answer.

Footnotes

1. 夏胄 – Xià Zhòu. A renowned hero of Shandong, known for his booming voice and fiery temper. ↩

2. 掌棒龙头 – Zhǎngbàng Lóngtóu. Staff-Carrying Dragon Head. A senior elder of the Beggars’ Guild, so named for the iron staff he carries. ↩

3. 金毛狮王 – Jīnmáo Shīwáng. The Golden-Maned Lion King, Xie Xun’s epithet, for his wild golden hair. ↩

4. 大侠 – dàxiá. A title of respect for a renowned martial artist of great heroism. Appended after the name, lowercase. ↩

5. 护教法王 – Hùjiào Fǎwáng. Dharma-Protecting Kings. The four supreme guardians of the Ming Order. ↩

6. 明教 – Míngjiào. The Ming Order, a heterodox martial order. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 江湖 – jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. The itinerant world beyond settled society and official reach. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 司徒千钟 – Sītú Qiānzhōng. Known by the epithet Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies. A wandering martial artist with a fondness for wine and a penchant for provocation. ↩

9. 青翼蝠王 – Qīngyì Fúwáng. The Azure Wing Bat King, Wei Yixiao’s epithet. One of the Four Dharma-Protecting Kings of the Ming Order. ↩

10. 韦一笑 – Wéi Yīxiào. The Azure Wing Bat King. One of the Four Dharma-Protecting Kings of the Ming Order, renowned for his unearthly qinggong. ↩

11. 轻功 – qīnggōng. Lightness skill. Martial art of defying gravity and moving with superhuman swiftness. ↩

12. 说不得 – Shuōbùdé. Known as Cannot Tell, the Cloth Sack Monk. A member of the Ming Order who carries his enemies away in a cloth sack. ↩

13. 醉不死 – Zuìbùsǐ. Drunkard-Who-Never-Dies. Situ Qianzhong’s epithet, meaning he drinks himself senseless yet never dies of it. ↩

14. 大师 – dàshī. Great Master. A honorific title for a highly accomplished Buddhist monk. ↩

15. 屠龙刀 – Túlóng Dāo. The Dragon-Slaying Dao. One of the two legendary weapons forged from the Heavy Iron Sword, said to hold the key to supreme power. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

16. 武林 – wǔlín. The martial forest. The community of martial artists and their factions. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

17. 禅师 – chánshī. Chan Master. Honorific title for a Buddhist monk distinguished in Chan practice. ↩

18. 空闻 – Kōngwén. Abbot of Shaolin Monastery, host of the Heroes Gathering. ↩

19. 青海派 – Qīnghǎi Pài. The Qinghai School, a martial faction from the western reaches of the realm. ↩

20. 金刚伏魔圈 – Jīngāng Fúmó Quān. The Vajra Demon-Subduing Circle. A formation of three Shaolin elder monks of devastating power. ↩

21. 叶长青 – Yè Chángqīng. A senior disciple of the Qinghai School, cold and proud in temperament. ↩