The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 6 Part 3

Seeing the look on his face, Zhang Cuishan could not help but want to offer a few words of comfort. But before he could speak, Xie Xun puffed out the candle and said, “Sleep.”

Then came a long, drawn-out sigh—and within that sigh was a pain so vast it had no end, a despair so deep it had no shore. It scarcely sounded human at all. It was more like the dying howl of some great beast, mortally wounded and beyond all help. The sound mingled with the crash of waves beyond the hull, and both Zhang Cuishan and Yin Susu felt a chill creep through them.

Zhang Cuishan peered out through the cabin hatch. Under the moonlight, the sea’s surface shimmered with pale, shifting shapes—fish of every size, great and middling alike, leaping endlessly from the water. As far as the eye could reach, there were thousands upon thousands of them, an eerie and wondrous spectacle. Zhang Cuishan had little experience of life upon the ocean, and had no notion of what it meant when ten thousand fish leapt at once.

The sea wind gusted in through the hatch, wave after wave. Yin Susu’s garments were thin, and before long she could no longer endure it. A faint tremor ran through her body. Zhang Cuishan whispered, “Miss Yin, are you cold?”

Yin Susu said, “I am well enough.”

Zhang Cuishan removed his outer robe. “Put this over your shoulders.”

Yin Susu was deeply grateful. “There is no need. You will be cold yourself.”

Zhang Cuishan said, “The cold does not trouble me.” He pressed the robe into her hands. Yin Susu took it and draped it about her shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his body still lingering in the cloth, and a sweet tenderness welled up in her heart. She could not help but smile softly in the darkness.

Zhang Cuishan, however, was consumed with thoughts of escape. He turned the matter over and over in his mind, yet every path led to the same conclusion: Unless I kill Xie Xun, there is no way out.

He listened intently. Beneath the surging roar of the waves, he could make out Xie Xun’s breathing—heavy and steady, unmistakably the rhythm of sleep. This man swore a solemn oath never to trust another soul, he thought, and yet here he lies in the same vessel as the two of us, sleeping without a care. Does he feel so utterly secure that he fears no attack? Be that as it may, I must hazard a strike. If I hesitate, my youth—all the years that lie ahead—will be buried alongside him on some godforsaken island in the boundless sea. He shifted quietly to Yin Susu’s side, meaning to whisper a word in her ear. But at that very instant, Yin Susu turned her face toward him. The two of them drew close at the same moment, and Zhang Cuishan’s lips brushed squarely against her right cheek.

He started in alarm. He wanted to explain that no impropriety had been intended, but had no idea how to begin. Yin Susu’s heart flooded with joy. She tilted her head and leaned it gently against his shoulder. In that instant, every fibre of her being brimmed with tenderness and warmth. Then she felt his lips draw near her ear again, and he whispered, “Miss Yin, please do not take offence.”

By now her face blazed as though it were on fire. She whispered back, “You like me. That makes me so happy.”

She might be wilful in her ways and kill without flinching, but when it came to matters of the heart, she was no different from any young maiden tasting the sweetness of first love—her breast aflutter with elation and alarm, flustered and confused all at once. Had she not been wrapped in darkness, she would not have dared utter even those few words.

Zhang Cuishan was taken aback. He had meant only to apologise, yet had drawn from her an unguarded confession. Yin Susu was bewitching beyond compare, and from their very first meeting she had gazed upon him with a soft, lingering warmth. Now, in these eight brief syllables, she laid bare the fullness of her affection. Zhang Cuishan was young, his blood ran hot, and though he governed himself by propriety, he was not made of stone. He felt her body resting soft against his shoulder, a faint fragrance drifting to him breath by breath. He was about to murmur some gentle word in return when a voice rang sharp within his mind: Zhang Cuishan! A formidable enemy stands before you. How can you let yourself waver like this? Have you forgotten every lesson your shifu ever taught you? Even if the two of you share a mutual affection—even if she has done your Third Shixiong a kindness—she was raised in a heterodox cult and her conduct is not upright. You must report the matter to your shifu and obtain his blessing, then proceed through a proper matchmaker and betrothal, as is fitting. How can you behave like a scoundrel in the dark of this cabin?

At this thought, he straightened himself at once and whispered, “We must find a way to subdue this man. Only then can we escape.”

Yin Susu had been drifting in a haze of bliss. His words struck her like cold water. She blinked, bewildered. “What?”

Zhang Cuishan whispered, “We are in the gravest peril. If I were to attack him in his sleep, it would be a cowardly, underhanded act—beneath the dignity of any true man. I shall wake him first and challenge him to a contest of palm strength. You strike at once with your silver needles. Two against one is an ignoble advantage, but the gap between our skill and his is too great. We have no choice but to press it.”

He spoke in a voice no louder than a mosquito’s whine, his lips pressed tight against Yin Susu’s ear. Yet before she could answer, Xie Xun burst out laughing from the stern cabin. “If you had simply attacked without warning, I would have found it difficult to evade—though I might still have had a slender chance. Instead, you insist on being forthright and honourable, upholding the chivalrous code of your distinguished orthodox school. You are making things needlessly hard for yourself.”

The final syllable had scarcely left his lips when his body surged forward in a blur, bearing down upon Zhang Cuishan. His palm lashed out toward Zhang Cuishan’s chest.

Zhang Cuishan had already gathered his true qi and marshalled his strength the moment Xie Xun began to speak. When the palm struck, he met it with his right palm, countering with the Cotton Palm¹—a technique passed down heart-to-heart within the Wudang School. The two palms collided with a soft hiss, and at once the opposing force came crashing in like a mountain toppling, like the sea overturning. Zhang Cuishan knew full well that his opponent’s neili far exceeded his own, and had resolved from the outset to defend without attacking, to endure one moment more and then one moment more beyond that. Thus, when the two forces met, his palm was driven back eight inches. Those eight inches, however, gave him a greater advantage in defence: no matter how Xie Xun pressed, he could not break through the wall of Zhang Cuishan’s resisting palm.

Xie Xun drove his palm force forward three times in succession. Each time he found that while his opponent’s strength was far inferior to his own, it was faint yet never fading, weak yet never spent. The harder he pressed, the more stubbornly Zhang Cuishan held fast. Xie Xun was quietly impressed. His left palm rose and slammed down toward the crown of Zhang Cuishan’s head. Zhang Cuishan bent his left arm slightly and caught the blow with Crossbeam of Gold.² The martial arts of the Wudang School were renowned for their supple tenacity—among all the schools and sects, none could match their staying power. Though the two men’s skills were worlds apart, Zhang Cuishan drew upon every secret of his shifu’s teachings, and for the moment Xie Xun could not overwhelm him.

The two of them held their ground for a time. Sweat poured from Zhang Cuishan like rain, soaking him through. A desperate anxiety gnawed at him: Why has Miss Yin not acted? At this moment Xie Xun is devoting his full strength to attacking me. If she strikes his acupoints with her silver needles, even if she fails to find her mark, he will be forced to withdraw and defend. The instant his energy wavers, he will fall to my palm force and be injured.

Xie Xun, too, had foreseen this. He had expected that under the combined assault of both palms, Zhang Cuishan would be critically injured in an instant. To his surprise, this young man’s internal cultivation was remarkably accomplished—he had held out for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea and still showed no sign of yielding. The two of them locked in their contest of palm strength, each watching Yin Susu’s every movement. Zhang Cuishan dared not exhale or utter a sound, every scrap of his qi sealed tight within his chest. Xie Xun, however, showed no such concern. “Little miss,” he called out, “you had best keep your hands to yourself. Otherwise I shall change this palm to a fist and drive it down with all my might. Every meridian in your sweetheart’s body will be shattered.”

Yin Susu said, “Please, Senior—we will go with you willingly. Withdraw your palms.”

Xie Xun said, “Master Zhang, what say you?”

Zhang Cuishan was frantic, his mind screaming: The silver needles! Fire the silver needles! This chance will not come again—why will she not seize it?

Yin Susu cried, “Senior Xie, withdraw your palms at once! Push me too far and I will fight you to the death.”

In truth, Xie Xun was wary of a sudden needle attack. The cabin was cramped, the needles would be exceedingly fine, and in the pitch darkness they would come without shadow or sound—genuinely difficult to ward off. Yet if he unleashed the full fury of his fist and killed Zhang Cuishan on the spot, he found he did not wish to. The girl is cowed by my strength and dares not act rashly, he thought. Otherwise, in circumstances such as these, we would all three come to grief. And so he said, “If the two of you harbour no treacherous designs, I can spare your lives.”

Yin Susu said, “I have no treacherous designs.”

Xie Xun said, “Then swear an oath on his behalf.”

Yin Susu paused briefly, then said, “Fifth Brother Zhang,³ we are no match for Senior Xie. We may as well keep him company on his island for a year or so. With his brilliance, unlocking the secret of the Dragon Slayer should be no great difficulty. Let me swear the oath for you.”

Zhang Cuishan’s thoughts raged: What oath? Fire the silver needles! Fire the needles! But the words could not pass his lips. In the darkness he could not signal her with a gesture, and in any case both his hands were locked against the enemy’s palms—there was no gesture to be made.

Yin Susu heard nothing but silence from Zhang Cuishan. She spoke: “I, Yin Susu, together with Zhang Cuishan, hereby pledge to accompany Senior Xie upon his island, until the day the secret of the Dragon Slayer is found. Should either of us harbour treacherous designs, may we die beneath the blade.”

Xie Xun laughed. “We who practise martial arts—what is so remarkable about dying beneath the blade?”

Yin Susu gritted her teeth. “Very well. Then may I not live to see my twentieth year.”

Xie Xun laughed heartily and withdrew his palms.

Zhang Cuishan’s strength gave out entirely. He collapsed upon the deck, utterly spent. Yin Susu snatched up a tinder stick, struck a flame, and lit the oil lamp. His face was the colour of gold leaf, his breathing thin and shallow. Alarm seized her heart, and she fumbled a handkerchief from her lapel to wipe the great beads of sweat that drenched his face and brow.

Xie Xun laughed. “Disciples of Wudang—their reputation is well deserved indeed. Truly formidable.”

Zhang Cuishan had blamed Yin Susu all along for squandering the perfect opportunity, for failing to loose her silver needles at the enemy. Yet now, seeing the glimmer of tears in her eyes and the anguish written across her face—so plainly born of deepest feeling—he could not help but be moved. He let out a long sigh and was about to speak some comforting word when the world went black before his eyes. Through the dimming haze he heard Yin Susu cry, “If you have killed Fifth Brother Zhang, I will fight you to the death!” Xie Xun only laughed.

Then, without warning, Zhang Cuishan’s body lurched sideways and he rolled over several times. He heard Xie Xun and Yin Susu cry out together, their shouts mingling with the shriek of wind and the thunderous crash of waves—as though a hundred monstrous breakers had struck the ship at once.

In an instant Zhang Cuishan felt cold engulf him from head to foot. His mouth and nostrils filled with salt water. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but the shock of icy seawater jolted him awake. His first thought was: Has the ship gone down?

He could not swim. Panic flooded him and he struggled to his feet. The deck beneath him pitched violently to port. Seawater that had surged into the hold now came rushing back out, and all around him was howling wind and churning spray. Before he could make sense of what was happening, Xie Xun’s voice split the storm like a thunderclap: “Zhang Cuishan! Get to the stern and take the tiller!”

Even amid the fury of wind and waves, that shout carried an authority beyond words. Zhang Cuishan obeyed without thought, vaulting toward the stern. Through the darkness he saw a shadow lurch and flail—a sailor, swept overboard by a monstrous wave, hurled several yards through the air before vanishing into the roiling sea.

Footnotes

1. 绵掌 – miánzhǎng. Literally cotton palm. A core Wudang palm technique emphasising yielding, continuous force—soft yet unbreakable, like cotton that absorbs and redistributes impact. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

2. 横架金梁 – héng jià jīn liáng. Literally laying a crossbeam of gold. A defensive technique using the forearm to block overhead strikes, channelling the force downward and away. ↩

3. 张五哥 – Zhāng Wǔ Gē. Literally Zhang Fifth Brother. An intimate, affectionate form of address from Yin Susu, using his birth-order rank among the Seven Xias of Wudang. A marked shift from the formal “Zhang the Fifth Xia” (张五侠 – Zhāng Wǔxiá) used by others. ↩