The Heavenly Sword & the Dragon Sabre Chapter 9 Part 7

Yin Susu’s thoughts returned at last to her beloved son. “He’s been taken captive,” she said, “they must be trying to force Xie Xun’s whereabouts out of him. I wonder if Wuji will talk.”

Zhang Cuishan replied with quiet resolve, “If Wuji were to reveal what he knows, could he still be our son?”

Yin Susu said, “You’re right! He certainly won’t say.” Then she burst into tears.

Zhang Cuishan asked urgently, “What’s wrong?”

Yin Susu sobbed, “If Wuji won’t talk, that villain… that villain will beat him, maybe even use… use cruel torture on him.”

Yu Lianzhou sighed.

Zhang Cuishan said, “Unpolished jade cannot become a useful vessel.¹ Let the boy endure some hardship—it may do him good.” He spoke thus, but thinking of his beloved son even now writhing in agony, his heart was filled with sorrow and rage, pity and tenderness. Yet if the boy were sleeping peacefully at this very moment, it would mean he had already revealed Xie Xun’s whereabouts—and such betrayal of gratitude and righteousness would be far worse than enduring any torture. Zhang Cuishan thought, Better he die at once than become an honourless wretch. He glanced at his wife and saw in her eyes a look of anguished, pleading despair. A sudden alarm struck him: If that villain catches up and threatens Wuji’s life, Susu may well break down and yield.

He said, “Second Brother, how are you feeling?”

The师兄弟 had trained together since childhood; a single word, a single glance was often enough to convey understanding between them. Yu Lianzhou saw the expression on the couple’s faces and at once grasped Zhang Cuishan’s intention. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll travel through the night.”

The three of them set out under cover of darkness, taking only deserted byways and winding paths. What they feared most was not that their pursuer would overtake and kill them, but that he would unleash his dreadful cruelties upon Wuji before their very eyes.

Thus they travelled by night and rested by day, and thankfully the road was uneventful. But Yin Susu’s heart ached for her son, and riding through the mountain night air, exposed to wind and dew, she suddenly fell ill. Zhang Cuishan hired two mule carts, one for Yu Lianzhou and one for Yin Susu, while he rode beside them on horseback as guard. That day they passed Xiangyang and reached the town of Taipingdian, where they took rooms at an inn.

Zhang Cuishan had settled his senior brother and was about to return to his own room when a man pushed aside the door curtain and strode in. The fellow wore a short blue cloth shirt and trousers, carried a horsewhip in his hand, and was dressed like a muleteer. He stared at Yu Lianzhou and Zhang Cuishan, gave a cold snort, turned, and left. Zhang Cuishan knew the man harboured ill intent and was angered by his insolence. As the door curtain the fellow had flung aside swung back toward him, Zhang Cuishan caught it with his left hand, channelled internal energy through the fabric, and pushed it outward. The lower edge of the curtain flew up and struck the man square on the back with a sharp crack.

The man staggered, fell flat on his face, then scrambled up and bellowed, “You little thieves from the Wudang Order! Death is at your doorstep and you still dare act tough!” So speaking, he did not dare linger another moment but headed straight for the gate—though his steps were unsteady, and the curtain’s strike had plainly wounded him more seriously than he let on.

Yu Lianzhou observed all this but said nothing.

By evening, Zhang Cuishan said, “Second Brother, let’s set out.”

Yu Lianzhou replied, “No. We don’t leave tonight. We go tomorrow at first light.”

Zhang Cuishan turned the matter over briefly and understood his senior brother’s intention at once. A surge of bold spirit rose in him. “Right! We’re barely two days’ journey from the mountain. If even we can’t stand our ground, we’ll have disgraced the school. To keep hiding and skulking along at the very foot of Wudang Mountain—what kind of talk would that be?”

Yu Lianzhou smiled. “Since our cover is blown, let’s see how these ‘Wudang disciples face death at their doorstep.’”

The two went together to Zhang Cuishan’s room, sat side by side on the heated brick bed, and closed their eyes in meditation. That night, beyond the paper windows and upon the roof, seven or eight figures came and went, spying—but none dared enter the room to provoke them. Yin Susu slept in a feverish haze. Yu Lianzhou and Zhang Cuishan paid no heed to the enemies outside.

The next morning, after an early meal, they set out. Yu Lianzhou sat in the mule cart and had the driver remove the side panels, leaving it open on all four sides for better visibility.

They had barely gone a few li past Taipingdian before three riders came galloping up from the east, falling in behind the cart at a distance of some ten zhang, neither closing nor falling away. After several more li, four more riders appeared, waiting at the roadside; once Yu Lianzhou’s party had passed, they fell in behind. Several li further on, another four riders joined, so that there were now eleven in all. The driver grew alarmed and whispered to Zhang Cuishan, “Sirs, these men don’t look right—could they be bandits? Best to be careful.”

At the midday rest stop, six more appeared. These were dressed in various styles—some in fine clothes, others like peddlers or common labourers—but every one of them carried weapons. They made no sound, and none could catch their accent, but most were slight of build and dark of complexion, seemingly from the south. By afternoon, their number had grown to twenty-one. A few of the bolder ones rode close, only reining up two or three zhang from the cart. Yu Lianzhou kept his eyes closed in the cart, not deigning them so much as a glance.

Towards evening, two riders came galloping toward them from ahead. The leading rider was a long-bearded old man, his hands empty. The second was a young woman in gorgeous attire, a pair of twin blades in her left hand. The two horses halted in the middle of the road, blocking their path.

Zhang Cuishan suppressed his anger, cupped his fists from horseback, and said, “Yu the Second and Zhang the Fifth of Wudang pay our respects. May we ask the old gentleman’s honoured name?”

The old man’s mouth smiled while his eyes did not. “Where is the Golden-Maned Lion King Xie Xun? You need only tell us, and we shan’t trouble Wudang’s disciples.”

Zhang Cuishan replied, “That is not for me to decide. I must first seek our master’s instructions.”

The old man said, “Yu the Second is wounded, Zhang the Fifth is alone. You’re no match for so many of us.” So saying, he reached to his waist and drew out a pair of Judge’s Brushes.² The brush tips were forged in the shape of snake heads.

Zhang Cuishan, whose martial nickname was “Silver Hook, Iron Stroke,” used the Judge’s Brush in his right hand. Among the acupoint-striking specialists of the martial world, none did not know this weapon. At the sight of the pair of snake-head brushes, his heart gave a start. Years ago his master had told him of a school in Goguryeo³ that used Judge’s Brushes forged with snake-shaped tips, their techniques and acupoint-striking methods quite different from those of the Central Plains. They drew upon the venomous, supple nature of the serpent—their moves were slippery and vicious. This school was called the Blue Dragon School,⁴ and the only renowned expert they could recall had the surname Quan; as for his given name, even his master did not know it.

So Zhang Cuishan cupped his fists and said, “Is the senior here from the Goguryeo Blue Dragon School? May I ask how you are related to Elder Quan?”

The old man was slightly taken aback. You’re barely thirty, yet your knowledge is so vast—you actually know my background. This old man was indeed the head of the Goguryeo Blue Dragon School, named Quan Jiannan, hired from the south at great expense and humble entreaty by the leader of the Three Rivers Gang.⁵ He had arrived in the Central Plains not long ago and had not yet had occasion to display his skills. He had never expected that his very first appearance would be seen through by Zhang Cuishan. He brandished his snake-head brushes and said, “I am Quan Jiannan.”

Zhang Cuishan said, “The Goguryeo Blue Dragon School has never had dealings with the Central Plains martial world. May I ask how the Wudang Order has offended Elder Quan? Please make it clear.”

Quan Jiannan said, “I have no quarrel with you, sir. We Koreans also know of the Wudang Order in the Central Plains—that the Seven Heroes of Wudang are righteous men who champion justice. I only wish to ask: where is the Golden-Maned Lion King Xie Xun hiding?”

Though his words were not outright rude, their edge was sharp and pressing. As he spoke, he brandished his Judge’s Brushes, and the men following the cart dispersed and encircled them on all sides—making plain that unless Xie Xun’s whereabouts were revealed, the only path left was combat.

Zhang Cuishan said, “And if I refuse to say?”

Quan Jiannan said, “Hero Zhang’s martial arts are formidable. Though we are many, we know we cannot hold you. But Hero Yu is wounded, and your lady is ill. With such an opportunity before us, we can only take advantage of your difficulty and detain you both. As for Hero Zhang yourself—please feel free to go.” His Chinese was poorly pronounced, his voice sharp and grating, doubly unpleasant to hear.

Zhang Cuishan heard him speak so shamelessly—the words “take advantage of your difficulty” coming from his own mouth—and said, “Very well. In that case, I shall test the Goguryeo Blue Dragon School’s fine techniques. If Elder Quan can yield even half a move to me, what then?”

Quan Jiannan laughed. “If I lose, we’ll all rush you at once. We don’t bother with duels and fair fights. If Wudang brought more men, you could claim victory by numbers too. In the old days, when your Chinese emperors Yang of Sui, Taizong of Tang, and Gaozong of Tang attacked our Goguryeo, which time was it not with hundreds of thousands against our tens of thousands? In any contest, the side with more people has the advantage.”

Zhang Cuishan knew that further talk was pointless. If he could capture Quan Jiannan and use him as leverage, it would deter the others from approaching his senior brother and Susu. He rose lightly from his horse, his left foot touching the ground, his left hand already gripping the Silver Tiger-Head Hook, his right hand holding the iron Judge’s Brush. “You are the guest. Make the first move.”

His original Judge’s Brush had been lost at sea ten years ago; the one he now held was newly purchased from a weapons shop and not yet accustomed to his hand—its weight and balance were unfamiliar, but it would serve.

Quan Jiannan also leapt from his horse. The two brushes clanged together with a metallic ring. His right brush feinted a thrust, his left had not yet extended, and already his body had circled to Zhang Cuishan’s flank.

Zhang Cuishan thought, Today I fight for my sworn brother’s safety. Susu and I are one as husband and wife, and she too shares a sworn sister’s bond with Xie Xun—to lose my life for him would be acceptable. But Second Brother has no acquaintance with my sworn brother. If Second Brother suffers humiliation because of him, that I cannot allow. He saw Quan Jiannan’s right snake-head brush dart toward him, raised his hook to deflect it, and used only twenty percent of his strength. Hook met brush, and his body swayed very slightly.

Quan Jiannan was delighted. The Three Rivers Gang lot hyped the Seven Heroes of Wudang to the skies, but they’re nothing special. I suppose the Central Plains martial artists care about face and exaggerate their own people’s prowess. His left brush followed with three rapid strikes. Zhang Cuishan struggled to defend on all sides, barely managing to return a hook and a brush stroke, both feeble and lacking force.

Quan Jiannan thought that if he could defeat Zhang the Fifth of the Seven Heroes of Wudang today, his journey to the Central Plains would be crowned with fame in a single battle. His twin brushes flew like dancing phantoms, every strike aimed at Zhang Cuishan’s vital points.

Zhang Cuishan kept his defences extremely tight, studying his opponent’s techniques with careful attention. He saw that Quan Jiannan’s strikes were light and supple, his brushes possessing considerable resilience, and the acupoints he targeted favoured the lower three paths and the back—quite different from the acupoint specialists of the Central Plains, as expected.

They fought on, and Zhang Cuishan observed that the left Judge’s Brush targeted acupoints along the spine below Lingtai, proceeding through Lingtai, Zhiyang, Jinsuo, Zhongshu, Jizhong, Xuanshu, Mingmen, Yangguan, Yaoshu, all the way to Changqiang at the tailbone; while the right Judge’s Brush targeted acupoints along the waist and legs—Wushu, Weidao, Huantiao, Fengshi, Zhongdu, all the way down to Yangling on the lower leg.

Zhang Cuishan understood at once: the left brush specialised in striking the Governing Vessel⁶ acupoints, the right brush the Foot-Shaoyang Gall Bladder Meridian⁷ points. Seemingly complex, there was in fact a clear logic to it. He thought, Back then, Master said the Blue Dragon School’s acupoint techniques take the unorthodox path—vicious but not truly frightening. Seeing it today confirms his words. Having discerned the pattern, though his Silver Hook and Iron Brush swept up and down, it was mostly show—as long as he guarded the Governing Vessel and Foot-Shaoyang acupoints, the rest of his body’s points needed no defence.

Quan Jiannan fought with growing vigour, shouting loudly, every inch the imposing master. Zhang Cuishan thought, With such paltry skills, you dare come to the foot of Wudang Mountain and throw your weight about!

Suddenly his left Silver Hook executed the “Dragon” character technique, and with a sharp swish, the hook caught Quan Jiannan’s Fengshi acupoint on his right outer thigh. Quan Jiannan cried out and dropped to his right knee. Zhang Cuishan’s right brush darted like lightning, moving in a continuous tremor from his Lingtai acupoint straight down—the final stroke of the “Edge” character technique, executed like the trembling brush of a calligrapher—Zhiyang, Jinsuo, Zhongshu, Jizhong, Xuanshu, Mingmen, all the way to Changqiang, striking every acupoint along the Governing Vessel in a single continuous stroke.

That single downward stroke was swift as a shooting star, its force enough to challenge the heavens. How could Quan Jiannan so much as move? The acupoints struck were precisely those he had spent his entire life studying. He thought, Finished, finished! Even if he were a wooden dummy, I couldn’t strike ten acupoints in one breath like that. I couldn’t even be his apprentice.

Footnotes

1. 玉不琢，不成器 – Yù bù zhuó, bù chéng qì. From the Classic of Rites: jade uncarved cannot become a useful vessel. A common Chinese proverb meaning that without discipline and hardship, one cannot achieve greatness. ↩

2. 判官笔 – Pànguān Bǐ. A pair of iron styluses used as weapons, named after the Judge of the Dead in Chinese mythology. Typically used in pairs for striking and acupoint-sealing. ↩

3. 高丽 – Gāolì. The Chinese name for Goguryeo/Korea, used here to refer to the Korean peninsula. ↩

4. 青龙派 – Qīnglóng Pài. The Blue Dragon School, a martial arts school from Korea specialising in snake-head Judge’s Brushes and acupoint striking. ↩

5. 三江帮 – Sānjiāng Bāng. The Three Rivers Gang, a martial arts gang based in the south. ↩

6. 督脉 – Dū Mài. The Governing Vessel, one of the eight extraordinary meridians in traditional Chinese medicine, running along the spine. ↩

7. 足少阳胆经 – Zú Shàoyáng Dǎn Jīng. The Foot-Shaoyang Gall Bladder Meridian, running along the outer side of the leg. ↩