The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 5 Part 6

By now Zhang Cuishan¹ understood the whole affair. The duel between the two shixiong had erupted entirely because Yin Susu² had goaded them into it, exacting retribution for their earlier insults against the Heavenly Eagle Order.³ What had begun as a contest of pride had spiralled beyond control, and now both men fought as though bent on slaying the other. If they were not stopped, disaster was certain. He watched their bladework with a critical eye. Their swordsmanship was undeniably refined, yet their movements lacked fluidity and their neili⁴ was wanting. Of the true power latent in their techniques, they were drawing upon scarcely a fraction.

Yin Susu clapped her hands and laughed, thoroughly delighted. “Zhang the Fifth, what do you make of the Kunlun School’s⁵ swordplay?”

She did not wait for his reply. One glance at his face told her all she needed to know: his brow was faintly creased, his expression tinged with distaste. She changed tack at once. “The same few routines over and over—there is nothing worth watching here. Let us go and admire the sea instead.”

She reached out and took Zhang Cuishan’s left hand, setting off without further ceremony.

Zhang Cuishan felt a warm, smooth palm close around his own, and his heart gave a treacherous lurch. He knew perfectly well that she had seized his hand to provoke the two Kunlun swordsmen further, yet he could not bring himself to pull free. He let her lead him toward the shore.

Yin Susu gazed out across the boundless expanse of the sea. For a time she stood in silent reverie, and then she spoke. “In the ‘Autumn Floods’ chapter of the Zhuangzi,⁶ it is written: ‘Of all the waters under heaven, none is greater than the sea. Ten thousand rivers flow into it, and none knows when they shall cease, yet the sea never overflows.’ And yet the sea is not proud. It says of itself: ‘I stand between heaven and earth as a pebble or a shrub stands upon a great mountain.’ Zhuangzi was truly extraordinary. What breadth of spirit!”

Zhang Cuishan had been displeased by her manipulation of the Kunlun swordsmen—provoking them to maim each other for her own amusement. But these words caught him entirely off guard. The Zhuangzi was essential reading for all practitioners of the Daoist arts, and on Mount Wudang, Zhang Sanfeng himself had often expounded its passages to his disciples. That this woman—this ruthless creature who killed without a second thought—should suddenly give voice to such lofty sentiments left him genuinely startled. After a moment’s pause, he replied, “Indeed. ‘A thousand li of distance is not enough to encompass its vastness; a thousand fathoms of depth is not enough to plumb its profundity.’”

Yin Susu heard him answer with another passage from the “Autumn Floods” chapter, words that described the immensity of the sea. But as she studied his face, she saw there not the detached musings of a scholar but a look of boundless reverence and longing.

“You are thinking of your shifu,” she said softly.

Zhang Cuishan started. Without thinking, he reached out with his right hand and clasped both of hers. “How did you know?”

Long ago on the mountain, he and his eldest shixiong Song Yuanqiao⁷ and his third shixiong Yu Daiyan⁸ had been reading the Zhuangzi together. When they came to the passage ‘A thousand li of distance is not enough to encompass its vastness; a thousand fathoms of depth is not enough to plumb its profundity,’ Yu Daiyan had said, “The longer we study under Shifu, the more we realise how far beneath him we truly are. It is as though we fall further behind with every passing day. These words from the Zhuangzi, describing something vast beyond measure and deep beyond fathoming—only they are fit to describe his skill.” Song Yuanqiao and Zhang Cuishan had both nodded in agreement. Now, recalling those lines, the thought of his shifu had arisen as naturally as breath.

Yin Susu smiled. “The look upon your face—you were thinking either of your parents or of your master. But ‘a thousand fathoms of depth is not enough to plumb its profundity’? In all the world today, I dare say only the Daoist Master Zhang Sanfeng⁹ is worthy of such words.”

Zhang Cuishan beamed with delight. “You are remarkably perceptive.”

Then he realised with a flush of embarrassment that in his unguarded enthusiasm he had taken both her hands in his. He released them slowly, colour rising to his cheeks.

Yin Susu tilted her head. “Your shifu’s martial arts—how transcendently brilliant are they, exactly? Will you tell me something of them?”

Zhang Cuishan considered this for a long moment. “Martial arts are but a minor path. What he has mastered extends far beyond combat. His learning is so vast and deep that I scarce know where to begin.”

Yin Susu smiled and quoted, “‘When the Master walked, I walked; when he hastened, I hastened; when he ran, I ran. But when the Master soared beyond the dust of the world, I could only gape behind him in astonishment.’”¹⁰

Zhang Cuishan recognised the passage at once—Yan Hui’s words of praise for Confucius, from the Zhuangzi—and the sentiment mirrored precisely his own feelings toward his shifu.

“My shifu need not soar beyond the dust,” he said with a laugh. “He has only to hasten or to run, and I am already left far behind.”

He marvelled inwardly, This fearsome woman is a scholar of no small learning. She is a rare creature indeed.

Yin Susu was clever and quick-witted, and she set herself to charming him with all the considerable skill at her disposal. The two fell into easy, engrossing conversation, and so absorbed did they become that weariness was forgotten. They sat side by side upon a flat rock overlooking the sea, heedless of the hours slipping past.

A heavy tread sounded in the distance. Someone coughed, and then a voice called out, “Zhang Cuishan, Miss Yin—it is noon time. Pray come and take your seats at the feast.”

Zhang Cuishan turned to find Chang Jinpeng¹¹ standing some forty feet away, his expression respectful but for a faint smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. He wore the look of a kindly elder who has stumbled upon a pair of young lovers perfectly matched, and who cannot help but feel a warm surge of approval. Yin Susu, who had always treated him as a subordinate and never deigned to show him courtesy, now lowered her head in uncharacteristic bashfulness. Zhang Cuishan’s conscience was clear, yet seeing the knowing looks upon their faces, he could not prevent a blush from creeping up his own.

Chang Jinpeng turned and led the way. Yin Susu whispered, “I shall go on ahead. Do not walk with me.”

Zhang Cuishan blinked, surprised. Why is she suddenly so concerned about appearances?

He nodded. Yin Susu quickened her pace and fell into step beside Chang Jinpeng. He heard her laugh, “Those two Kunlun fools—how did their fight end?”

Zhang Cuishan’s heart stirred with a feeling that was neither quite gladness nor quite melancholy. He watched the two figures recede into the trees and disappear, then slowly made his own way toward the valley.

At the mouth of the valley, a broad swathe of green turf had been laid with seven or eight square tables. All but the foremost seat at the eastern head were already occupied. As Zhang Cuishan approached, Chang Jinpeng’s voice boomed out, “Zhang the Fifth Xia of the Wudang School has arrived!”

The words rolled through the valley like a peal of thunder, echoing from the surrounding hills. No sooner had he spoken than both he and Bai Guishou¹² strode forward to greet him, each followed by five helmsmen¹³ of their respective altars. Twelve men ranged themselves in two rows at the valley entrance, bowing in formal salute. Bai Guishou’s voice rang out clearly, “Bai Guishou of the Black Tortoise Altar and Chang Jinpeng of the Vermilion Bird Altar, serving under Grand Master Yin¹⁴ of the Heavenly Eagle Order, respectfully welcome Zhang the Fifth Xia.”

Yin Susu did not come to the entrance to greet him, but she rose to her feet at her table.

The words “Grand Master Yin” struck Zhang Cuishan like a thunderbolt. So the Grand Master’s surname is indeed Yin!

He clasped his hands and bowed. “You do me too much honour.”

He stepped into the valley and saw that the assembled guests at the other tables all wore expressions of sullen resentment. He found this mildly puzzling but gave it no further thought. What he did not know was that when the leaders of the Sea Sand Sect, the Giant Whale Guild, and the Divine Fist School had arrived, the Heavenly Eagle Order had merely sent a single helmsman to usher each to their seats—nothing remotely approaching the elaborate deference with which they now received him. The contrast was stark, and the slight had not gone unnoticed.

Bai Guishou led him to the foremost table at the eastern head and invited him to sit. This table bore only a single chair: it was the seat of highest honour among all the tables. Zhang Cuishan cast a quick glance about. The other tables were crowded with seven or eight men apiece, save for the sixth, where Gao Zecheng¹⁵ and Jiang Litao¹⁶ sat alone.

He raised his voice. “I am but a junior of modest learning. I dare not presume to occupy the seat of honour. Pray move me to a lower table.”

Bai Guishou replied, “The Wudang School stands as Mount Tai and the North Star¹⁷ of the present-day wulin.¹⁸ Zhang the Fifth Xia’s renown shakes the heavens. If you will not sit here, no one present dares to.”

Zhang Cuishan recalled his shifu’s constant admonition: Quietude and modesty above all.

He thought, Were shifu here, or eldest shixiong, this seat they could take with good grace. But I am not worthy.

He declined firmly.

Gao Zecheng and Jiang Litao exchanged a look. Without warning, Jiang Litao seized his own chair, hoisted it overhead, and hurled it through the air. Five tables separated his seat from the first, yet the chair sailed over the heads of all those seated between, clearing every obstacle, and landed beside the seat of honour with a neat, precise thud—settling upright, perfectly positioned, a handspan from the original chair. The control required for such a throw was no mean feat.

The instant Jiang Litao released the chair, Gao Zecheng bellowed, “Hah! Mount Tai and the North Star—who bestowed that title, I wonder? If this Zhang fellow is too craven to sit here, my shidi and I are not such spineless wretches.”

The two of them darted forward, swift as the wind, and seized the chairs.

What had transpired was this: earlier, Yin Susu had asked the two of them which was the superior swordsman, saying she wished to learn a few moves of Kunlun bladework and would naturally seek instruction from the more accomplished of the pair. Neither had hesitated—they drew their swords and began demonstrating at once. At first they had merely wished to outperform one another, but as the bout intensified, neither could rein himself in. With Yin Susu fanning the flames at every turn, both men sustained wounds.

Only when she walked off arm in arm with Zhang Cuishan did they realise they had been played for fools. They sheathed their swords and bound their injuries, seething with rage and jealousy. They dared not direct their fury at Yin Susu, however, and so they seized this moment to usurp Zhang Cuishan’s seat, hoping to goad him into a fight and humiliate him before the assembled heroes. Chang Jinpeng thrust out an arm to bar them.

“Wait!” Gao Zecheng made to strike at the acupoint in the crook of Chang Jinpeng’s elbow.

Zhang Cuishan said calmly, “The two of you are perfectly suited to this seat. I shall sit over there.”

He turned and walked toward the sixth table. Yin Susu suddenly raised her hand and beckoned. “Zhang the Fifth, over here.”

Zhang Cuishan did not know what she wished to say. He walked over. Yin Susu pulled a chair to her side with one hand and smiled. “Sit here.”

This was the last thing Zhang Cuishan had expected. That she should behave so freely, with every eye in the valley upon them, left him acutely uncertain. To sit beside her would suggest an intimacy that was improper; to refuse would cause her to lose face before the entire gathering. Yin Susu lowered her voice. “I still have something to tell you.”

Zhang Cuishan saw the earnest, almost pleading look upon her face and could not bring himself to decline. He sat down. Joy blossomed across Yin Susu’s features, and she poured him a cup of wine with a radiant smile.

At the head table, Gao Zecheng and Jiang Litao had claimed the seat of honour, but witnessing this scene, their fury only deepened. Bai Guishou brushed the surface of the chairs with a few strokes of his hand, ostensibly wiping away dust. He smiled. “If the two illustrious swordsmen of the Kunlun School wish to occupy the first seat, why, that is perfectly agreeable. Please, sit. Do sit!”

He and Chang Jinpeng, together with their ten helmsmen, returned to their own places. Gao Zecheng and Jiang Litao thought, That spineless wretch dared not take the first seat. At least the prestige of the Kunlun School has triumphed over Wudang.

They exchanged a satisfied glance and settled grandly into the chairs.

Two sharp cracks split the air. The chair legs snapped, and both men toppled backwards. To their credit, their martial training was not for nothing—before their backs struck the ground, they had already braced themselves with their palms and sprung upright. Even so, they cut thoroughly wretched figures. Laughter erupted from every table, the assembled warriors unable to contain their mirth. Gao and Jiang both understood: when Bai Guishou had brushed the chairs, he had secretly shattered the legs with a concealed burst of neili⁴ so fierce it left them in awe. Their own neili was nowhere near that level. They had come to Wangpan Island¹⁹ full of swagger, dismissing the Heavenly Eagle Order as a contemptible band of unorthodox rabble. Now their confidence had been dealt a devastating blow.

Bai Guishou’s cold voice cut through the laughter, “Everyone knows the Kunlun School’s martial arts are of the highest order. There is no need for the two of you to take out your frustrations on a pair of chairs. As for such a trifling trick as breaking a chair by sitting on it, surely there is no one here who cannot manage that?”

His right hand swept toward the ten helmsmen seated at the lowest table. “Go on—you lot practice it too!”

A volley of splintering crashes rang out as all ten chairs shattered at once. The ten helmsmen had been fully prepared. They rose to their feet with easy grins, perfectly composed—a spectacle that made the Kunlun pair’s ungainly tumble look all the more laughable by comparison. Most of those present were men of wide experience who could see plainly that Bai Guishou had deliberately humiliated the two, yet the scene was undeniably entertaining, and they roared with laughter.

Amid the mirth, two Heavenly Eagle Order helmsmen appeared, each bearing an enormous boulder in his arms. They strode to the first table, kicked aside the broken chairs, and said, “Wooden chairs are too flimsy to support the two gentlemen’s distinguished persons. Pray sit upon these stones instead.”

These two were famed within the Order for their prodigious strength. Their martial skill was unremarkable, but both possessed massive frames and heaven-born might, and each of the boulders they carried weighed easily four hundred jin.²⁰ They presented the stones to Gao Zecheng and Jiang Litao, inviting them to take hold.

Footnotes

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

2. 殷素素 – Yīn Sùsù. Her name meaning “Plain and Unadorned.” See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

3. 天鹰教 – Tiānyīng Jiào. The Heavenly Eagle Sect. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 内力 – neìlì. Inner strength. The kinetic manifestation of cultivated qi. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩ ↩²

5. 昆仑派 – Kūnlún Pài. The Kunlun School, a major martial arts sect based in the Kunlun Mountains. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

6. 庄子 – Zhuāngzǐ. An ancient Daoist philosophical text attributed to the sage Zhuang Zhou (c. 369–286 BCE). The “Autumn Floods” (秋水 – qiūshuǐ) chapter uses the metaphor of rivers flowing into the sea to explore the relativity of greatness and the virtue of humility. The Zhuangzi is a foundational text of Daoism and required reading for Wudang disciples. See Wikipedia. ↩

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

8. 俞岱岩 – Yú Dàiyán. His name meaning “Lofty Cliff of Mount Dai.” Third disciple of Zhang Sanfeng. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 张三丰 – Zhāng Sānfēng. His name meaning “Three Peaks”. Legendary founder of the Wudang Order and creator of taijiquan. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

10. 庄子 – Zhuāngzǐ. This passage from the Zhuangzi describes Yan Hui, the favourite disciple of Confucius, expressing his awe at his master’s unfathomable brilliance. Zhang Cuishan recognises the parallel to his own relationship with Zhang Sanfeng. ↩

11. 常金鹏 – Cháng Jīnpéng. His name meaning “Golden Roc.” Altar Master of the Vermilion Bird Altar of the Heavenly Eagle Sect. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 白龟寿 – Bái Guīshòu. His name meaning “White Tortoise Longevity.” Altar Master of the Black Tortoise Altar of the Heavenly Eagle Sect. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

13. 舵主 – duòzhǔ. Literally helmsman. A rank within the Heavenly Eagle Sect beneath the altar masters. Each of the four altars commands five helmsmen. ↩

14. 殷教主 – Yīn Jiàozhǔ. Grand Master Yin of the Heavenly Eagle Sect. His surname reveals a familial connection to Yin Susu. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

15. 高则成 – Gāo Zéchéng. His name meaning “High and Accomplished.” A disciple of the Kunlun School. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

16. 蒋立涛 – Jiǎng Lìtāo. His name meaning “Standing Waves.” A disciple of the Kunlun School. ↩

17. 泰山北斗 – Tàishān Běidǒu. Literally Mount Tai and the North Star. An idiom meaning the supreme authority or paragon of a field. In the jianghu, it is the highest compliment one can pay to a martial arts school. ↩

18. 武林 – wǔlín. Literally martial forest. Another term for jianghu, referring to the world of martial arts and its practitioners. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

19. 王盘山 – Wángpán Shān. Wangpan Island, an island at the mouth of the Qiantang River where the Heavenly Eagle Sect hosts the gathering. ↩

20. 斤 – jīn. A traditional Chinese unit of weight, approximately 500 grams or 1.1 pounds. Four hundred jin would be roughly 440 pounds or 200 kilograms. ↩