The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 4 Part 2

At first, Zhang Cuishan’s¹ fury had been blazing, and he had intended to shatter the hands and feet of Du Dajin² and his companions, one and all, to vent the rage in his heart. But when he saw how a single palm and a single punch had reduced the three escort captains to such a wretched state, with Du Dajin having suffered grave internal injuries, he could not help but feel a secret astonishment.

He had never anticipated that the newly learned twenty-four character “Heaven Reliant Dragon-Slaying Technique”³ possessed such tremendous power. His heart softened, and he had no further desire to strike with a heavy hand.

“Du,” he said, “today I show mercy and spare you this much. Go take out all two thousand liang of gold and distribute them to the flood victims. I shall be watching from the shadows. If you hold back so much as one liang and eight qian,⁴ I shall demolish your Longmen Armed Escort and slaughter your entire household, down to the last chicken and dog.”

These final two phrases were ones he had heard Du Dajin himself repeat, and now, thinking of them suddenly, he spoke them aloud.

Du Dajin rose slowly to his feet, only to feel a stabbing pain in his back. At the slightest movement, he spat out another mouthful of blood. Escort Captain Shi had suffered only superficial injuries and knew full well he was no match for Zhang Cuishan. His tongue had lost its boldness.

“Zhang the Fifth Xia,” he said, “though we accepted someone’s escort fee, we encountered trouble on the road and must return the gold to them. Besides, the gold is stored at the escort office. We are far from home. How could we possibly have money for disaster relief?”

Zhang Cuishan sneered. “Do you take me for a child? When your Longmen Armed Escort set out with your full force, you left no capable hands to guard your headquarters back in Lin’an. Of course you carry the gold with you.”

He swept his gaze over the escort party, approached a large cart, and struck it with his palm. The cart’s frame splintered with a crash, and more than a dozen gold ingots tumbled to the ground.

The escort captains’ faces blanched as they exchanged looks of dismay. They could not fathom how he had known the hiding place. In truth, though Zhang Cuishan was young, he had travelled the jianghu with his shixiong and had seen much of the world. He noticed that this particular cart had left the deepest ruts in the muddy road, and that when Du Dajin had been struck down, the four young escort captains had not rushed to help their chief, but had instead drawn closer to this cart. Clearly something precious lay within. Now, seeing gold ingots scattered across the ground, he let out a few derisive laughs, mounted his horse, and rode away.

The affair had gone smoothly indeed. He reckoned that Du Dajin and the others, fearing for their families, would not dare withhold the gold from the flood victims. As Zhang Cuishan rode along, he silently rehearsed the variations within the twenty-four characters. That night, he had learned the forms as one would copy a calligraphic model, perceiving only the wondrous subtlety of his shifu’s techniques. But now that he had put them into practice, the devastating power astonished even him: ten times more gratifying than picking up a priceless treasure. Yet the thought of Yu Daiyan,⁵ hovering between life and death, brought tears welling to his eyes once more.

He pressed on through the heavy rains for several days. The dappled grey, though strong and sturdy, could not sustain the pace. Upon reaching Anhui Province, it suddenly began foaming at the mouth and developed a fever. Zhang Cuishan cherished the animal and had no choice but to rest it for several days before continuing at a gentler pace. By the time he reached Lin’an Prefecture, it was already the evening of the thirtieth day of the fourth month.

Zhang Cuishan took lodging at an inn and pondered his next move. I was slow upon the road. I wonder whether Du Dajin and the others have already returned to their escort office? Second Brother and Seventh Brother, where might they be staying? I have already shown my hand to the escort party. It would not be appropriate to call upon them directly. Best to reconnoitre the escort office tonight.

After supper, he enquired of the inn servant and learned that the Longmen Armed Escort was located on the shore of the Inner West Lake.⁶ He went out to the street and purchased a new set of robes and headcloth, then bought a folding fan, for which Lin’an was famed throughout the realm. After bathing at a bathhouse, he had the barber trim and comb his hair. Thus freshened from head to toe, he gazed at his reflection and saw the very image of a young gentleman born to wealth and ease. Nothing at all like a xia whose name rang through the wulin.⁷

He borrowed brush and ink and thought to inscribe some verse upon his fan, but the moment he lifted the brush, he found himself writing the twenty-four characters of the “Heaven Reliant Dragon-slaying” couplet. Every stroke and hook was powerful enough to pierce the paper. When he finished, he held the fan up and examined it with satisfaction. Since learning Shifu’s fist technique, even my calligraphy has improved immensely.

Gently waving the fan and pacing with measured steps, he strolled toward the Inner West Lake.

By then, the Song court had fallen and Lin’an had passed into Mongol hands.⁸ Because Lin’an had been the capital of the Southern Song, the Mongols feared that the people’s hearts still yearned for the old dynasty and their love for the fallen emperor remained strong. They stationed heavy garrisons to suppress the populace. The Mongol soldiers, determined to establish their authority, were even more brutal here than elsewhere. Nine houses in ten stood empty. Most of the inhabitants had fled to other places. The glory of a century past, when every household was draped in willows and every lane rang with the sound of strings and song, had long since vanished without a trace.

As Zhang Cuishan made his way along, he saw only crumbling walls and broken tiles, desolation on every side. This storied city, once the most splendid in all the realm, had been reduced nearly to ruins. Though the sky had not yet darkened completely, every door was already shut and barred. The streets were empty of pedestrians. Only Mongol cavalry thundered past on patrol, galloping back and forth. Not wishing to invite trouble, Zhang Cuishan shrank into corners and narrow alleys whenever he heard the iron-shod hooves of Mongol horses approaching.

He had heard that in former times, when night fell, the entire lake blazed with lantern light. But now, as he walked along the White Dyke,⁹ he found the lake swathed in utter darkness, without a single pleasure-seeker in sight. Following the serving boy’s directions, he sought out the Longmen Armed Escort.

The Longmen Armed Escort occupied a grand compound of five linked courtyards facing the Inner West Lake. Before its gate crouched a pair of white stone lions, their aspect imposing and martial. Zhang Cuishan spotted the place from afar and approached slowly. He noticed a pleasure boat moored in the lake before the escort office, its prow hung with two lanterns of turquoise gauze. By their light, he could just make out a solitary figure seated at a table, drinking wine.

That fellow has a refined taste, he thought. The great lanterns suspended outside the escort office were unlit, and the vermilion doors with their bronze rings were shut tight. It seemed the occupants had already retired for the night.

Zhang Cuishan walked up to the gate and thought, One month ago, someone brought Third Brother through this very door. But who was it?

Grief stirred in his heart. Suddenly, from behind him, someone heaved a faint sigh.

In the stillness of the black night, that sigh carried an eerie, spectral chill. Zhang Cuishan whirled around. There was no one behind him. He let his gaze wander, but apart from the solitary traveller aboard the boat upon the lake, there was not a soul in sight. A faint surprise stirred within him. He looked sidelong at the figure in the boat. The man wore a blue gown and a scholar’s cap, dressed much like himself. In the dim light, his features were indistinct, but his face appeared deathly pale. Under the glow of the turquoise lanterns, reflected in the green ripples of the lake, sitting in that lone boat upon the cold water, seeming not of this mortal world. For a long while, the man sat motionless in his craft, save for the breeze stirring his sleeves. He did not move a muscle.

Zhang Cuishan had originally intended to slip over the wall and enter the escort office from the shadows. But the sight of that figure in the boat gave him pause. It seemed rather less than honourable to scale another’s walls by night. And so he strode to the great doors and grasped the bronze ring, striking three loud knocks. In the stillness of the night, those three blows resounded sharply. After a long while, no one within answered. He knocked three more times, louder still, and cocked his ear to listen, yet no footsteps stirred within the house.

A sense of strangeness grew in him.

He reached out and pushed against the great door. Without a sound, it swung open. The bar had never been set. He stepped inside and called aloud, “Is Escort Chief Du at home?”

He strode into the great hall. Within, all was dark. Not a single candle burned. Just then, a thud sounded behind him. The great door had swung shut.

Zhang Cuishan’s mind stirred. He leapt from the hall and saw that the doors were now firmly closed and barred from within. Someone was inside. Zhang Cuishan snorted. What game is this?

He strode boldly into the hall once more.

The instant he crossed the threshold, wind rushed at him from front, back, left, and right: four assailants closing in to attack. Zhang Cuishan sidestepped with a leap. In the darkness, white light flickered faintly. All four held weapons. With a swift twist of his body, left foot drawn back, he darted to the western side of the hall. His right palm swept level from left to right: the horizontal stroke of the character “not.”¹⁰ The blow landed full on one man’s temple with a crack, and he dropped senseless on the instant.

His left hand then slashed diagonally from upper right to lower left: the descending stroke of “not.” He struck another man in the ribs. These two blows were the horizontal and the left-falling stroke of the “not” formula. Both had told, and with a straight left hook and a sharp right “dot” he completed the four strokes of the character, downing all four enemies.

He did not know what manner of men had ambushed him so suddenly in the darkness, and so he had struck with only a third of his full strength. The fourth man, who had received the “dot” of his right fist, staggered back several paces. Something cracked beneath his heel. A shattered chair. He cried out, “You strike so viciously! If you are a man of honour, leave your name!”

Zhang Cuishan laughed. “Had I truly struck viciously, would you still be alive to speak? I am Zhang Cuishan of Wudang.”

The man let out a cry of surprise. “You are truly Zhang the Fifth of the Wudang Order… Zhang the Fifth… the Silver Hook Iron Brush, Zhang Cuishan? This is no borrowed name?”

Zhang Cuishan smiled faintly, reached to his waist, and drew his weapons: the Tarnished Silver Tiger-head Hook in his left hand, the Damascus Iron Judge’s Brush in his right. He struck them together with a resonant clang, and a spray of sparks flared in the darkness. Then he slid both weapons back into his belt.

In that flash of light, Zhang Cuishan glimpsed the four figures sprawled upon the floor, all clad in saffron robes: monks, every one of them. Two of them faced toward him and had seen his face plainly, their own faces smeared with blood, their eyes blazing with such venomous hatred that they seemed ready to devour his flesh and sleep upon his hide. “Who might you be, Great Masters?” he asked in surprise.

One of the monks cried, “This blood feud is not one to be settled today. Let us go!”

The four monks rose to their feet and made for the door. One stumbled after a few steps, his legs giving way. Zhang Cuishan must have struck him too hard. Two of the monks turned back to help him up, and the four of them hurried out of the hall.

Zhang Cuishan called after them, “Wait, Great Masters! What blood feud…?”

But before he could finish, all four had vanished beyond the wall.

Zhang Cuishan stood in bewilderment, pondering for a long while without finding any sense in it. Why had four monks been lying in ambush within the Longmen Armed Escort? The moment he stepped through the door, they had attacked without warning, and they spoke of a “blood feud”? Only by questioning someone inside the escort office can I unravel this mystery.

He raised his voice and called again, “Is Escort Chief Du at home? Is Escort Chief Du at home?”

The great hall echoed with his words, but no one answered. Surely they cannot all be sleeping like the dead. Do they fear me and hide? Or has everyone left, leaving the office deserted?

He took out his huozhezi¹¹ and struck a light, and spotted a candlestick on the tea table. He lit the candle and walked toward the rear hall. He had gone only a few steps when he saw a woman lying face-down upon the floor, motionless.

“Madam,” Zhang Cuishan called, “what has happened?”

The woman did not stir. He took her by the shoulder and turned her over, then held the candlestick close and could not help but cry out in shock.

The woman’s face wore a smile, but her flesh had stiffened. She had been dead for some time. When his fingers had touched her shoulder, Zhang Cuishan had already guessed that she might be dead. But to see a corpse smiling in the darkness of the night, even he could not suppress a start of fright. He straightened and saw another figure slumped behind a pillar to the left. He approached and found an elderly man in servant’s garb, also wearing a vacant grin, also dead upon the floor.

Footnotes

1. 张翠山 – Zhāng Cuìshān. His name meaning “Verdant Mountain.” Fifth disciple of Zhang Sanfeng and member of the Seven Xias of Wudang. His epithet is the Silver Hook Iron Brush. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 都大锦 – Dū Dàjǐn. His name meaning “Great Brocade.” See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 倚天屠龙功 – Yǐtiān Túlóng Gōng. Literally Heaven Reliant Dragon-Slaying Technique. Martial art Zhang Sanfeng spontaneously created from the calligraphy of the twenty-four character prophecy. ↩

4. 钱 – qián. One-tenth of a liang. A traditional unit of weight. ↩

5. 俞岱岩 – Yú Dàiyán. His name meaning “Lofty Cliff of Mount Dai.” Third of the Seven Xias of Wudang, crippled years before. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 里西湖 – Lǐ Xīhú. Inner West Lake, a secluded portion of the famous West Lake in Lin’an (modern-day Hangzhou). See Wikipedia. ↩

7. 武林 – wǔlín. Literally martial forest. Those who actually practise, teach or study martial arts. Wulin sits inside the jianghu and is narrower than it: every member of the wulin belongs to the jianghu, but a pedlar or physician of the jianghu who never trained is no part of the wulin. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. The Mongol conquest of the Southern Song was completed in 1279. Lin’an had fallen earlier, in 1276. Under Mongol rule, the city was renamed Hangzhou, though local people continued to use the old name. ↩

9. 白堤 – Bái Dī. White Dyke, a famous causeway crossing West Lake, named after the Tang Dynasty poet Bai Juyi. See Wikipedia. ↩

10. 不 – bù. Literally not. Four-stroke character whose techniques include horizontal, diagonal, hooking, and dotting movements. ↩

11. 火折子 – huǒzhézi. A tinder tube: rolled paper or fibre treated with saltpetre, kept smouldering in a tube and revived with a puff of breath. ↩