The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre – Chapter 6 – Part 4

Zhang Cuishan had not yet reached the helm when another great wave came crashing over the bow. The wall of water struck like a solid rampart, and with a thunderous crack the timbers of the deck flew apart. The discipline of a lifetime now showed its worth: his feet clung to the planking as though nailed there, and not a hair’s breadth did he yield. The moment the wave had passed he darted to the helm in a single stride and gripped the tiller with both hands.

A series of savage cracks rang out. Xie Xun had swung his wolf-fang mace¹ across the mainmast and foremast, snapping them both. The two masts, with their white sails still set, toppled into the sea. But the wind was so fierce that even with only the mizzen sail drawing, the vessel still lurched and staggered, dancing wildly across the waves. Xie Xun strained to furl the mizzen, but for all his martial skill he was helpless against the fury of Heaven’s wind and water. The mizzenmast tilted lower and lower until the edge of the sail was touching the water. Xie Xun cursed loudly, “Thieving Heaven, confound this blasted wind!” The ship was on the verge of capsizing, and he had no choice but to raise his mace and break the mizzenmast as well.

All three masts were gone. The ship had become a rudderless ghost adrift among the great waves, at the mercy of wind and current.

Zhang Cuishan cried out, “Miss Yin, where are you?” He called again and again, but heard no answer. By the end his voice carried a note of weeping. Then a hand reached up and gripped his knee. A great wave crashed over his head, and beneath the water someone clung tight about his waist. When the wave had swept past the deck, the person in his arms reached up and wound her arms about his neck, saying softly, “Zhang the Fifth Brother,² you truly worry for me so?” It was Yin Susu’s voice. Zhang Cuishan’s joy was beyond measure. His right hand held the tiller steady while his left arm drew her close, and he said, “Heaven be praised!” There on the edge of death, where each moment might be their last before the great waves swallowed them, he discovered that his concern for Yin Susu outweighed any thought of his own safety.

Yin Susu said, “Zhang the Fifth Brother, let us die together.”

Zhang Cuishan said, “Yes! Susu, alive or dead, we stay together.”

In ordinary circumstances the two of them stood on opposite sides of the divide between righteous and unorthodox, with much to give them pause. Even had they felt love and delight in one another, they could never have brought their hearts into accord so swiftly. Yet now they clung together in each other’s arms, surrounded by utter darkness, the hull groaning and cracking without cease and ready to shatter at any instant, and in their hearts they felt a sweetness and a joy beyond all telling. Zhang Cuishan, already worn to exhaustion by his fierce exchange of blows with Xie Xun, found his vigour restored at once by Yin Susu’s sudden tenderness. No matter how the wild waves battered them from either side, he held the tiller steady without a tremor.

The deaf and mute sailors had all been swept overboard. The storm had come without warning, born of a sudden earthquake beneath the sea which had set off a great tsunami,³ churning the currents and raising a tempest of monstrous proportions. Had not both Xie Xun and Zhang Cuishan been masters of rare and formidable skills, how could they have endured? Fortunately the ship had been built to exceptional strength. Though the hatches and deck-planking were smashed to ruin, the hull itself held fast.

Above them the sky was thick with black cloud, the rain falling in sheets. Great walls of water rose on every side. How was one to tell east from west? And even had they known the direction, with all the masts broken the vessel could no longer be steered.

Xie Xun made his way to the stern and said, “Brother Zhang, well done. Let me take the helm. You two go below and rest.”

Zhang Cuishan rose to his feet and yielded the tiller to him. He took Yin Susu’s hand and was about to step forward when suddenly a great wave came leaping over the side and washed them both clean across the rail. The wave struck with such suddenness that neither had any chance to brace themselves.

By the time Zhang Cuishan realised what was happening he was already airborne, with nothing beneath his feet but a hundred thousand feet of churning sea. In that desperate instant his left hand hooked out and caught Yin Susu by the wrist. A single thought possessed him: To die with her in this vast sea, never to be parted. His left hand had barely closed about her wrist when a rope dropped over his right arm. His body was yanked backwards, surging through the spray, dragged backwards through the water. Xie Xun had seen them fall in the nick of time and snatched up a sail-rope from the deck, lashing it about the two of them and hauling them back aboard. They landed on the planking with two heavy thuds. That escape from the jaws of death took all three by surprise, and even Xie Xun breathed to himself, By a hair’s breadth! Had there not happened to be that very rope at his feet, ten times his skill could not have saved them.

Zhang Cuishan helped Yin Susu into the cabin. The ship still pitched as though climbing a mountain one moment and plunging into a valley the next, but after the peril they had just passed through, both of them had put all such things beyond their care. Yin Susu leaned against Zhang Cuishan’s breast and, raising her lips to his ear, said, “Zhang the Fifth Brother, if we do not die, I want to stay with you always.”

Zhang Cuishan’s heart was stirred, and he said, “I was about to say the very same thing. In Heaven above, on earth below, among men, beneath the sea, we shall be together.”

Yin Susu’s joy was boundless. She repeated after him, “In Heaven above, on earth below, among men, beneath the sea, we shall be together.” They leaned close together, and in their hearts they found themselves grateful even for this tsunami.

Xie Xun, however, was cursing his fate without ceasing. For however great his martial skill, against this wind and these waves he was utterly powerless. There was nothing for it but to leave all to Heaven and let the storm carry them where it would.

The great tsunami raged on for more than two shichen⁴ before it at last began to subside. The black clouds above thinned and parted, and the light of stars and moon appeared.

Zhang Cuishan walked to the stern and said, “Senior Xie,⁵ I thank you for saving our lives.”

Xie Xun said coldly, “Do not speak too soon. Ninety-nine chances in a hundred, our three lives are still in the hands of thieving Heaven.” In all his days Zhang Cuishan had never heard anyone prefix the word “thieving” to “Heaven”. He thought to himself that this man’s bitterness against the world had reached a pitch of reckless defiance. But then he reflected that a lone leaf of a ship adrift upon the measureless sea seemed most likely to come to grief. He had only just found his heart’s devotion, and already he clung to the world the more fiercely for it, as though he had sipped a single drop of fine wine from a jade cup and was about to have it snatched away. The meaning of the phrase Heaven delights in toying with men cut deeper with Xie Xun’s three words of curse.

He sighed and took the tiller back from Xie Xun. Xie Xun, worn out by the greater part of the night, withdrew to the cabin to rest. Yin Susu sat beside Zhang Cuishan, gazing up at the stars. Following the bowl of the Plough she found the Pole Star, and saw that the ship was drifting northward with the current. She said, “Fifth Brother, this ship is heading steadily north.”

Zhang Cuishan said, “Indeed. If only it would turn west, so that we might hope to find our way home.” He pulled the tiller hard to starboard, hoping to bring the ship about, but without a single sail to draw she was beyond all steering, and drifted with wind and current ever northward.

Yin Susu fell into a reverie, then said, “If this ship drifts endlessly east, where would it go?”

Zhang Cuishan said, “East is the sea without end. After seven or eight days adrift, we would have no fresh water to drink…”

Yin Susu, still new to the savour of love and as though intoxicated by it, had no wish to think of such sobering things. She said, “I have heard tell that far out in the Eastern Sea there are immortal mountains, and upon them dwell immortals who never age. Perhaps we shall land upon one of those islands and meet beautiful male immortals and fair immortal maidens…” She raised her head and gazed at the Silver River⁶ in the sky. “Or perhaps this ship will drift and float right into the Celestial River, and we shall see the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid meeting upon their magpie bridge.”

Zhang Cuishan laughed. “We could give this ship to the Cowherd. Whenever he wishes to cross the river and see the Weaving Maid, he could sail over, and need not wait until the seventh day of the seventh month for their once-a-year meeting.”

Yin Susu said, “But if you give the ship to the Cowherd, what shall you and I ride upon when we wish to meet?”

Zhang Cuishan smiled. “In Heaven above, on earth below, among men, beneath the sea, we two are always together. If we are together, what need have we to cross the Celestial River? We need no boat at all.”

Yin Susu smiled in return, her face blooming like a flower. She took Zhang Cuishan’s hand in hers and stroked it gently.

Their hearts were so full of tenderness that it seemed there was much to say, and yet not a word need be spoken. After a long, long while Zhang Cuishan lowered his head and saw that Yin Susu’s eyes glistened with tears, her face wearing an expression of quiet sorrow. He asked in surprise, “What troubles you?”

Yin Susu said in a low voice, “On earth, beneath the sea, perhaps I can stay with you. But when we die, you will ascend to Heaven, and I… I… will descend to the underworld.”

Zhang Cuishan said, “Nonsense.”

Yin Susu sighed. “I know I have done too many wicked things in this life. The number of people I have killed at random is past counting.”

Zhang Cuishan was startled. A hidden part of him had always felt her ruthlessness made her no fitting match for him. But he had fallen deeply in love, and in this sea of nine deaths and one life, how could one worry about what the future held? He comforted her, “From now on you will amend your ways and do good. As the saying goes, to recognise one’s faults and change is the greatest good.”

Yin Susu was silent for a time, then suddenly began to sing softly. The song was a tune called Sheep on the Hillside:⁷

He is with me, I am with him, Between us two, a world of care. My love, if we may but be joined in marriage, Then even before the Judge of the Dead I’ll gladly stand, Let him pound me with his pestle, rip me with his saw, Grind me on his wheel, fry me in his cauldron of oil. Ah, let him! I see only the living pay for their crimes; When has a ghost been put in chains? Ah, let him! The fire is at our brows, so tend the present hour. The fire is at our brows, so tend the present hour.

Suddenly Xie Xun’s voice rang out from the cabin in a loud cheer, “A fine song, a fine song! Miss Yin, you suit my fancy far better than that wishy-washy young scholar Zhang.”

Yin Susu said, “We are both wicked people. Neither of us will come to a good end.”

Zhang Cuishan said in a low voice, “If you come to a bad end, then I shall come to a bad end with you. If you must go to the underworld, I will go with you, and let them fry us both in their cauldron of oil!”

Yin Susu was seized by a rush of joy and astonishment, and could only cry, “Fifth Brother!” She flung her arms about his neck.

At dawn the next day, Xie Xun beat a great fish of some ten jin⁸ to death against the side of the ship with his wolf-fang mace. The mace’s hooked barbs made it a convenient enough instrument for catching fish. The three of them had gone a day without food, and though the raw fish was fishy indeed, they ate it with keen relish. There was no fresh water left aboard, but the juice squeezed from the fish’s flesh served to ease their thirst.

The sea current flowed steadily north, bearing the ship onward day and night without pause. At night the Pole Star always glittered ahead of the bow. The sun always rose at the starboard side and set at the port. For more than ten days the wind and the current did not change, and the ship’s heading did not change either. Xie Xun and Zhang Cuishan strained at the tiller with all their strength, but could not alter their course in the least.

The weather grew colder day by day. Xie Xun and Zhang Cuishan, both deep in neili, could still withstand it, but Yin Susu grew more haggard with each passing day. The two men took off their outer robes and gave them to her to wear, yet it did little good. Zhang Cuishan watched her forcing a brave smile, fighting valiantly against the bitter wind, and his heart ached beyond words. If the ship drifted further north for a few more days, Yin Susu would freeze to death, without question.

But Heaven, it seemed, had not yet forsaken them. One day the ship sailed suddenly into a great colony of seals. Xie Xun killed several with his wolf-fang mace, and the three of them skinned the beasts and draped the pelts about their shoulders like the finest fur cloaks. There was seal flesh to eat as well, and all three of them were greatly cheered.

Footnotes

1. 狼牙棒 – lángyábàng. A heavy mace studded with hooked barbs, named for its resemblance to a wolf’s fangs. Xie Xun’s signature weapon. ↩

2. 张五哥 – Zhāng Wǔ Gē. An affectionate form of address, “the Fifth Brother Zhang.” Used by Yin Susu for Zhang Cuishan, the fifth disciple of the Seven Xias of Wudang. ↩

3. 海啸 – hǎixiào. Literally sea-swell. Here referring to the seismic sea-wave and storm surge triggered by an undersea earthquake. ↩

4. 时辰 – shíchén. A traditional Chinese unit of time, each equal to two modern hours. The day was divided into twelve shichen. ↩

5. 前辈 – qiánbèi. Senior; one of an earlier martial generation. A term of respect for someone of greater experience or seniority in the jianghu. ↩

6. 银河 – Yínhé. The Silver River, the Chinese name for the Milky Way. In legend the Cowherd (Niulang) and the Weaving Maid (Zhinü) are separated by the Silver River and may meet but once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, when magpies form a bridge across the stars. ↩

7. 山坡羊 – Shānpō Yáng. A celebrated song-tune of the Yuan dynasty, often used for verses of love and defiance. The version sung here is attributed to the Yuan dramatist Chen Cao (陈草庵), and its closing lines, The fire is at our brows, so tend the present hour, became a proverb for seizing joy in the face of mortality. ↩

8. 斤 – jīn. A traditional Chinese unit of weight, approximately 590 grams in the Ming dynasty (roughly 1.3 lb). ↩