The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 4 Part 1

Characters of mourning and chaos, a mind adrift¹

Zhang Cuishan’s² heart brimmed with grief and fury that he could not release. He lay upon his bed for more than a shichen³ before quietly rising, determined to find Du Dajin⁴ and give him a sound thrashing. Fearing that his eldest and fourth shixiong might interfere, he dared not make a sound. As he neared the great hall, he spied a figure pacing back and forth with hands clasped behind his back, never pausing. In the murky darkness, he discerned a man of tall stature and broad back, his footsteps measured and weighty. It was his shifu.⁵

Zhang Cuishan concealed himself behind a pillar, not daring to move. He knew that even if he turned back to his quarters now, Shifu would surely notice. Should his shifu question him, he would have to answer truthfully, which would doubtless invite a stern rebuke.

He watched Zhang Sanfeng⁶ pace for a time before raising his gaze to the courtyard. Suddenly, his shifu extended his right hand and began tracing characters in the air, stroke by stroke. Zhang Sanfeng was accomplished in both martial and literary arts, and his disciples were well accustomed to seeing him compose verse and practice calligraphy. They thought nothing of it. Zhang Cuishan followed the path of his shifu’s fingertip and discerned the characters for “mourning” and “chaos.” After several repetitions, his shifu wrote “suffering” and “poisoning.”⁷ A thought stirred in Zhang Cuishan’s mind, Shifu is tracing the Mourning and Chaos Post in the air.

His epithet, the Silver Hook Iron Brush,⁸ derived from the Tarnished Silver Tiger-head Hook he wielded in his left hand and the Damascus Iron Judge’s Brush in his right. After acquiring this name, Zhang Cuishan feared it would prove undeserved and invite mockery from scholars, so he devoted himself to the art of calligraphy, thoroughly studying standard, cursive, clerical, and seal scripts. Now, watching his shifu’s fingertip trace the air, he recognised the brushwork, never extending without drawing back, never advancing without returning, as the very essence of Wang Xizhi’s⁹ Mourning and Chaos Post.

Two years prior, Zhang Cuishan had himself practised the Mourning and Chaos Post. Though he had appreciated its unrestrained brushwork and its sharp, lofty strokes, he had always felt it fell short of the solemn majesty and boundless grandeur of the Orchid Pavilion Preface¹⁰ and the Seventeenth Post.¹¹ But now, concealed behind the pillar, he watched his shifu trace the eighteen characters “Xizhi bows his head: in the extremity of mourning and chaos, the ancestral tombs have again suffered desecration, the memory is unbearably bitter”. And in every stroke and hook, he perceived a spirit seething with suppressed grief and indignation. In that moment, he grasped the heart of Wang Xizhi when he had first set brush to silk.

Wang Xizhi had lived during the Eastern Jin,¹² when the Central Plains lay in turmoil and had fallen to foreign peoples. The great houses of Wang and Xie had fled south to escape the invaders, and amidst the chaos, their ancestral tombs had been desecrated time and again. The inexpressible anguish of those times lay hidden within the Mourning and Chaos Post. Zhang Cuishan, in the flower of his youth and free of care, could never before have fathomed the depths concealed in those strokes.

Only now, stricken by the calamity that had befallen his shixiong, whose fate remained unknown, did he truly understand the weight of “mourning and chaos,” of “suffering and poisoning,” of “the memory is unbearably bitter.”

After writing several repetitions, Zhang Sanfeng heaved a long sigh and stepped into the central courtyard. He stood in contemplation for a time before extending his finger once more. This time, his script took on a different form entirely. Zhang Cuishan followed his shifu’s tracing and discerned that the first character was “martial,” the second “forest.” As the strokes continued, twenty-four characters emerged, the very couplet that had been mentioned earlier:

Supreme in the Wulin,¹³
The precious Dragon-Slaying Dao.
To command all under heaven,
None dare disobey.
If Heaven Reliant does not appear,
Who dares contend for supremacy?

Zhang Sanfeng was surely pondering the deeper meaning within these twenty-four characters, trying to deduce how Yu Daiyan¹⁴ had come to be injured, and what connection the affair might have to the Heavenly Jian and Dragon-Slaying Dao, those two legendary weapons of fable.

Zhang Cuishan watched as his shifu wrote those twenty-four characters over and over, the strokes growing longer and longer, his movements ever slower. In time, the sweeping extensions and bold expansions became like the movements of fists and feet. Zhang Cuishan watched in rapt attention, and surprise mingled with delight welled up within him. When combined, the twenty-four characters his shifu traced clearly formed a set of exquisite martial techniques. Each character contained several moves, and each move held numerous variations. The characters “dragon” and “feng” had many strokes, while “dao” and “under” had few. Yet the complex did not seem excessive, and the simple did not seem sparse.

In contraction, the movements were solid and heavy, like an inchworm drawing itself in. In extension, they were perilous and powerful, like a cunning hare breaking free. The strokes flowed with unbridled vigour, robust and forceful. Where they displayed grace, they seemed like wind scattering snowflakes. Where they showed weight, they were like a tiger crouching or an elephant treading. Within these twenty-four characters were two instances of “not” and two of “heaven”, yet though the characters were the same in form, they differed in intent, alike in spirit yet distinct in essence. The subtlety of their variations, each possessing its own power, was wondrous beyond measure. Zhang Cuishan’s gaze grew distant with wonder, and he immediately committed each detail to memory.

In recent years, Zhang Sanfeng had rarely demonstrated his martial arts. The younger disciples, Yin Liting¹⁵ and Mo Shenggu,¹⁶ had learned most of their skills from Song Yuanqiao¹⁷ and Yu Lianzhou,¹⁸ who taught on his behalf. Thus, though Zhang Cuishan was the fifth disciple, he was in truth the last to receive his shifu’s direct instruction in the martial arts. In former times, his cultivation had not yet reached its height. Even when he witnessed his shifu executing jian or fist techniques, he often failed to grasp their profoundest depths. But his mastery had grown immensely in recent years.

On this night especially, master and disciple shared a communion of heart and mind, a unity of feeling and purpose. Both had been moved to grief by the chaos that had befallen them, stirred to anguish by the cruelty they had witnessed. And so, as the spirit moved Zhang Sanfeng, he transformed these twenty-four characters into a complete martial art. When first he had begun to write, he had harboured no such intention, and Zhang Cuishan’s presence behind the pillar was equally a stroke of fortune. Master and disciple, their hearts attuned and their spirits joined, immersed themselves in a realm where martial arts and calligraphy merged as one, where self and other were forgotten.

This set of fist techniques Zhang Sanfeng demonstrated again and again, a full two shichen and more. When at last the moon stood high overhead, he let loose a long, piercing whistle and swept his right palm straight down. The stroke fell like the light flashing from a starlit jian, swift as an arrow answering its mark, faster than a thunderbolt could sound, swifter than lightning could fly. This final stroke was the last in the character “feng.”¹⁹ Zhang Sanfeng raised his eyes to the distant heavens and spoke, “Cuishan, what do you make of this calligraphy?”

Zhang Cuishan started with surprise. He had never imagined that his shifu, without once turning his head, had known all along that he stood there. He stepped to the entrance of the hall and bowed deeply. “To have glimpsed Shifu’s supreme art is a feast for the eyes beyond measure. Shall I wake my eldest shixiong²⁰ and the others so that they too may behold it?”

Zhang Sanfeng shook his head. “My inspiration has already passed. I doubt I could write such fine characters again. Yuanqiao and Songxi²¹ do not understand calligraphy. Even if they watched, they would comprehend little.”

With a sweep of his sleeve, he withdrew into the inner hall.

Zhang Cuishan dared not sleep. He feared that if he laid his head upon the pillow, the exquisite techniques he had just witnessed would slip away. He sat cross-legged at once, stroke by stroke and move by move, committing them silently to memory. When inspiration struck, he rose to practice a few sequences. He could not say how much time had passed before he had fixed firmly in his mind every twist and turn, every variation, within those twenty-four characters and their two hundred fifteen strokes.

He sprang to his feet and rehearsed the entire sequence. He felt himself riding waves and striking currents, soaring like a wild goose, swooping like an eagle, neck extended, wings spread, poised as though to pierce the clouds. His whole body seemed to float, as if he were riding the clouds themselves. On his final palm strike, his hand swept down with a sharp whoosh, tearing away a great swath of his own robe. Zhang Cuishan’s heart surged with wonder and delight.

He glanced up suddenly and saw the sun already shining upon the eastern wall. He rubbed his eyes, fearing he had seen wrongly, but when he looked again, he realised the sun had already passed its zenith. His single-minded practice had consumed more than half the day without his noticing.

Zhang Cuishan wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and hurried to Yu Daiyan’s chamber. There he found Zhang Sanfeng with both palms pressed against Yu Daiyan’s chest and abdomen, channelling his own neili²² to heal his injuries. Zhang Cuishan stepped outside to enquire and learned that Song Yuanqiao, Zhang Songxi, and Yin Liting had departed early that morning. Seeing him deep in silent contemplation, none had wished to disturb his practice. The escort captains and guards of the Longmen Armed Escort had also descended the mountain.

By now, Zhang Cuishan’s clothing was soaked through with sweat, but the urgency of avenging his shixiong would brook no delay. Without pausing to bathe or change, he gathered his weapons and spare clothes, took several dozen liang of silver, and returned to Yu Daiyan’s chamber. “Shifu,” he said, “your disciple takes his leave.”

Zhang Sanfeng nodded and smiled faintly, his expression one of encouragement.

Zhang Cuishan approached the bedside. Yu Daiyan’s face was grey and sallow, his cheekbones jutting sharply, his cheeks sunken, his eyes shut tight. Save for the faint breath still issuing from his nostrils, he was indistinguishable from a corpse. Grief welled up in Zhang Cuishan’s heart, and his voice caught in his throat. “Third Brother, even should it cost me my life, I will avenge you.” He knelt and kowtowed to his shifu, then covered his face and rushed from the room.

He mounted the long-legged dappled grey²³ and rode swiftly down Mount Wudang.²⁴ By then the hour had grown late, and after travelling only some fifty li,²⁵ darkness fell. He had just found lodging at an inn when the sky above grew thick with black clouds, and a torrential rain came pouring down. The rain grew heavier through the night and did not cease. When he rose at dawn, a dense fog hung all around, and the ceaseless whisper of rain filled his ears. Zhang Cuishan purchased a straw rain cape and broad hat from the innkeeper and pressed on through the downpour. Fortunately, the dappled grey was a splendid mount. Despite the mud and slippery roads, it galloped on without faltering.

When he reached Laohekou²⁶ to cross the Han River,²⁷ he saw the yellow waves churning with silt, the current rolling and surging, the waters treacherous. After passing Xiangfan,²⁸ he heard travellers speaking of how the dyke at Liushuigou²⁹ downstream had burst, causing countless casualties. The next day, when he arrived at Yicheng,³⁰ he saw flood refugees fleeing upriver, dragging their sons and daughters with them, their condition pitiful. The great rains had still not ceased, and everyone was drenched and wretched.

As Zhang Cuishan rode along, he spotted a mounted procession ahead bearing an escort banner aloft. The escort captains and guards of the Longmen Armed Escort. He urged his horse forward, overtook the escort party, wheeled about, and blocked the road.

When Du Dajin saw that Zhang Cuishan had pursued them, his heart filled with alarm.

“Zh-Zhang… Zhang the Fifth Xia,” he stammered, “what instruction do you have for us?”

Zhang Cuishan said, “Did you see the flood refugees, Escort Chief Du?”

Du Dajin had not expected this question. He hesitated. “What of it?”

Zhang Cuishan scoffed. “I should like to ask a certain charitable and benevolent gentleman to produce some gold for the relief of the victims.”

Du Dajin’s expression darkened. “We escort captains risk our lives on the knife’s edge for every meal we eat. What means have we to give disaster relief?”

Zhang Cuishan’s voice dropped low. “Take out all two thousand liang of gold in your baggage.”

Du Dajin’s hand moved to his dao hilt. “Zhang the Fifth Xia, have you come looking for trouble with me today?”

“Indeed,” Zhang Cuishan replied. “I mean to have you.”

Escort Captains Zhu and Shi drew their weapons and stood shoulder to shoulder with Du Dajin. Zhang Cuishan’s hands remained empty, and he sneered.

“Escort Chief Du,” he said, “you accepted another’s payment. Have you fulfilled your duty? Do you have any face left to keep those two thousand liang of gold?”

Du Dajin’s face turned the colour of purple sauce. “Yu the Third Xia was delivered safely to Mount Wudang, was he not? When we received Yu the Third Xia, he was already grievously wounded. He is not dead yet.”

Zhang Cuishan’s fury blazed. He cried, “You dare argue? When my Third Brother left Lin’an,³¹ were his arms and legs already broken?”

Du Dajin fell silent.

Escort Captain Shi interjected, “Zhang the Fifth Xia, what exactly do you want? Draw the line clearly!”

Zhang Cuishan said, “I mean to break the bones of your hands and feet as well, inch by inch.”

The words had barely left his lips when he sprang into the air and flew forward. Escort Captain Shi raised his cudgel to strike, but Zhang Cuishan’s left hand swept outward in an arc, executing the newly learned technique: the left-falling stroke of the character “heaven.”³² The cudgel flew from Shi’s grasp, and he tumbled backwards from his horse. Escort Captain Zhu tried to pull back, but how could he be quick enough? Zhang Cuishan’s right hand delivered the right-falling stroke of “heaven,”³³ his fingers sweeping across Zhu’s ribs.

With a sharp crack, man and saddle together were flung more than ten feet through the air. His feet had been locked firmly in the stirrups. Zhang Cuishan’s single stroke had been so fierce that it snapped the belly strap clean through. Zhu’s feet remained in the stirrups as he crashed to the ground and could not rise.

Du Dajin saw how swift and devastating his opponent’s attacks had been. Startled, he hauled on his reins and spurred his horse into a headlong charge. Zhang Cuishan turned, released a breath, and sent his left fist forward in a straight punch, the vertical stroke of the character “under.”³⁴ His fist struck Du Dajin squarely between the shoulder blades with a sharp crack. Du Dajin’s body swayed.

His skill far exceeded that of Zhu and Shi. He did not fall from his mount. But in his fury, he immediately dismounted and prepared to retaliate. Suddenly, a sweet taste rose in his throat, and he retched up a mouthful of fresh blood. He staggered, and as he drew breath he felt hot blood surging up in his chest once more. Though he strained to hold himself upright, his knees went soft and he sat down hard upon the ground.

The four young escort captains and the porters of the escort party stood frozen in terror, none daring to step forward to help.

Footnotes

1. 字作丧乱意彷徨 – Zì zuò sāngluàn yì pánghuáng. Chapter title. Lit. “The characters written are “mourning and chaos”; the mind wanders, irresolute.” 丧乱, mourning and chaos, opens Wang Xizhi’s Sangluan Post. ↩

2. 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. ↩

3. 时辰 – shíchén. Traditional Chinese unit of time equal to two hours; the day was divided into twelve shichen. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

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

5. 师父 – shīfù. Teacher or master responsible for technical instruction and moral guidance. Shī means teacher. Fù means father. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 张三丰 – Zhāng Sānfēng. His name meaning “Three Peaks.” See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

7. 丧乱 – sāngluàn, and 荼毒 – túdú. Wang Xizhi’s Mourning and Chaos Post expresses grief over the desecration of ancestral tombs during a time of national calamity. Zhang Sanfeng traces the characters 丧乱 (mourning and chaos) and 荼毒 (suffering and poisoning), which are key phrases from this famous calligraphic work. See Wikipedia. ↩

8. 银钩铁划 – Yíngōu Tiěhuà. Literally silver hook iron brush. Zhang Cuishan’s epithet, referring both to his paired weapons and his calligraphic skill. Phrase itself is a classical description of powerful, elegant brushwork. ↩

9. 王羲之 – Wáng Xīzhī. Renowned calligrapher of the Eastern Jin Dynasty (303–361 CE), known as the Sage of Calligraphy. His works, particularly the Orchid Pavilion Preface, are considered the pinnacle of Chinese calligraphic art. See Wikipedia. ↩

10. 兰亭诗序帖 – Lántíng Shīxù Tiě. Orchid Pavilion Preface, Wang Xizhi’s most celebrated work, written in 353 CE during a spring gathering of scholars. Original was lost, but copies preserve its influence. See Wikipedia. ↩

11. 十七帖 – Shíqī Tiě. Seventeenth Post, a collection of Wang Xizhi’s cursive-script letters, considered a masterpiece of the style. See Wikipedia. ↩

12. 东晋 – Dōng Jìn. Eastern Jin Dynasty (317–420 CE), a period of division and foreign invasion when the Jin court retreated south of the Yangtze River. See Wikipedia. ↩

13. The full verse carved by Zhang Cuishan reads: 武林至尊，宝刀屠龙。号令天下，莫敢不从。倚天不出，谁与争锋 – Wǔlín zhìzūn, bǎodāo túlóng. Hàolìng tiānxià, mò gǎn bù cóng. Yǐtiān bù chū, shuí yǔ zhēngfēng. Literally: “Supreme in the wulin, the treasured Dragon-Slaying Dao. Command all under heaven, none dare disobey. While the Heavenly Jian remains hidden, who dares contest the edge?” This ancient verse speaks of the two legendary weapons, the Dragon-Slaying Dao and the Heavenly Jian (倚天剑 – Yǐtiān Jiàn), whose possession is said to grant dominion over the entire jianghu. ↩

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

15. 殷梨亭 – Yīn Lítíng. His name meaning “Pear Pavilion.” Sixth of the Seven Xias of Wudang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

16. 莫声谷 – Mò Shēnggǔ. His name meaning “Sound in the Valley.” Seventh of the Seven Xias of Wudang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

17. 宋远桥 – Sòng Yuǎnqiáo. His name meaning “Distant Bridge.” Eldest of the Seven Xias of Wudang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

18. 俞莲舟 – Yú Liánzhōu. His name meaning “Lotus Boat.” Second of the Seven Xias of Wudang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

19. 锋 – fēng. Literally edge or point. The last character of the couplet (争锋 – to contest the edge). Its final stroke is a powerful downward sweep. ↩

20. 大师兄 – dàshīxiōng. Eldest shixiong. Senior-most fellow disciple under the same shifu. Dà means great or eldest. Shī means teacher. Xiōng means older brother. ↩

21. 张松溪 – Zhāng Sōngxī. His name meaning “Pine Creek.” Fourth of the Seven Xias of Wudang. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

22. 内力 – nèilì. Literally internal force. Kinetic manifestation of cultivated qi; generates tangible effects such as deflecting weapons or scaling walls. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

23. 青骢马 – qīngcōngmǎ. Dappled grey horse with dark blue-grey colouring. Fine horses were prized possessions in the jianghu. ↩

24. 武当山 – Wǔdāng Shān. Sacred Daoist mountain in Hubei Province, headquarters of the Wudang Order. See Wikipedia. ↩

25. 里 – lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately 500 metres or a third of a mile. ↩

26. 老河口 – Lǎohékǒu. Town in Hubei Province at a crossing point of the Han River. See Wikipedia. ↩

27. 汉水 – Hàn Shuǐ. Han River, a major tributary of the Yangtze flowing through Hubei Province. See Wikipedia. ↩

28. 襄樊 – Xiāngfán. Twin cities of Xiangyang and Fancheng in Hubei Province, historically important strategic locations. See Wikipedia. ↩

29. 流水沟 – Liúshuǐgōu. Downstream waterway where the dyke had burst, causing floods. ↩

30. 宜城 – Yíchéng. County in Hubei Province. See Wikipedia. ↩

31. 临安 – Lín’ān. Capital of the Southern Song Dynasty (1127–1276), known for its cultural refinement and West Lake scenery. Modern-day Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province. See Wikipedia. ↩

32. 天 – tiān. Literally heaven. Character has four strokes, and its techniques are derived from the sweeping movements of each brushstroke. ↩

33. The descending stroke (捺 – nà) of the character “heaven,” a powerful diagonal sweep from upper right to lower left. ↩

34. 下 – xià. Literally under. The vertical stroke (直) of this character is a powerful straight punch. ↩