White Horse Neighing in the West Wind - Chapter 3

Among all the peoples of the Western Regions, none were fiercer than the Kazakhs.¹ From the age of six or seven, boy and girl alike grew up on horseback.

Every man carried a dao. Their horsemanship, archery, and bladework were the terror of the western frontier. There was a saying: “One Kazakh is worth a hundred cowards; a hundred Kazakhs can ride roughshod over all the Hui lands.”²

Ding Tong had heard this saying, and thought to himself, “Among the Kazakh tribes, I must be careful.”

In the northeast corner of the steppe, at the foot of a small hill, a lone thatched hut stood. The hut was crude in appearance, set well away from the cluster of tents. Ding Tong studied it closely. “This looks like a Han Chinese style house. Could a Han be living here?” The roof was piled thick with tough grass from the edges of the Gobi, and the walls were built of mud bricks. From a distance they looked rough, their colours a mottled yellow and black, unplastered with lime. He thought, “I will try this hut first.”

He urged his horse toward it. But the poor beast had gone without food for a day and a night, and now, catching sight of green grass on every side, it took two mouthfuls with every step, making painfully slow progress.

Ding Tong kicked it hard in the belly. The horse, stung with pain, galloped the rest of the way in a single burst.

Ding Tong glanced sideways and saw a tall white horse tethered behind it, long-legged and full-maned, the very mount of White Horse Li San.³ He could not help crying out, “The white horse, the white horse is here!”

In the same instant his mind raced. He swung down from his saddle, drew a sharp short dao from his boot, concealed it in his left sleeve, and crept around to the back of the hut. He was about to peer through the window when suddenly the white horse let out a long “Wu-li-li…” whinny, as though it had sensed him.

Ding Tong cursed under his breath, “Beast!” He steadied himself and leaned toward the window again. This time a face rose to meet his from inside, nose bumping straight into nose. The face was deeply lined, the eyes bright and burning. Ding Tong started violently and leapt backwards, both feet kicking off the ground. “Who’s there?” he barked.

The man inside said coldly, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The words were in Han Chinese.

Ding Tong recovered his composure and broke into a broad smile. “My name is Ding Tong. I stumbled on this place quite by chance. I hope I have not disturbed you, old sir. May I ask your honoured name?”

The old man said, “My surname is Ji.”⁴

Ding Tong smiled ingratiatingly. “Ah, Venerable Ji. To meet a fellow countryman in the great desert is like finding family. May I beg a cup of water?”

Old Man Ji said, “How many men came with you?”

Ding Tong said, “Just myself.”

Old Man Ji gave a grunt, as though he did not believe it. His cold eyes swept Ding Tong’s face back and forth. Ding Tong grew uneasy under that gaze and could only force a smile.

One man stared coldly sideways, the other grinned in embarrassment. The standoff lasted a moment. Then Old Man Ji said, “If you want water, use the front door. No need to climb through windows.”

Ding Tong laughed. “Yes, yes!” He turned and walked around to the front, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

The furnishings were simple, but the tables and chairs were neat, the floor covered with felt rugs and swept spotlessly clean. Ding Tong sat down and looked about. From the back room a little girl emerged, carrying a bowl of tea. Their eyes met, and the child gave a start. The bowl slipped from her hands with a clatter, tea and leaves splashing across the felt.

Ding Tong’s heart soared. This little girl was exactly the person Huo Yuanlong had posted a heavy reward to find. After spotting the white horse he had already guessed eight times out of ten she would be inside the hut. Yet even so, the moment he saw her, his joy was so great his heart seemed about to leap out of his chest.

***

The night before, a great sandstorm had raged. Li Wenxiu had lain senseless across the white horse’s back, unconscious of everything. The white horse, catching the scent of water and grass, had charged through wind and sand until it reached this green steppe.

Old Man Ji, seeing that the little girl was dressed in Han Chinese clothing, had hurried to rescue her. In the middle of the night Li Wenxiu woke. Finding her parents gone, she had wept without cease. Old Man Ji, seeing how fair and lovely she was, could not help but feel a great tenderness. He asked how she had come to the desert, and who her parents were.

Li Wenxiu said her father was called “White Horse Li San,” and her mother was simply Mother. She could not explain what the men pursuing them had been doing, going to the Western Regions, though some had called her mother “Third Lady” and others “Gold and Silver Little Swords Third Lady.”

Old Man Ji murmured, “White Horse Li San. White Horse Li San. He was the chivalrous outlaw who ranged at will across Jiangnan. What brought him to the Western Regions?”

He gave Li Wenxiu a great bowl of curds⁵ and put her to bed. But the old man’s mind churned with memories of the past ten years, wave upon wave of thought, and sleep was impossible.

Li Wenxiu slept until the Hour of the Dragon⁶ the next morning. The moment she woke she begged Grandpa Ji to take her to find her mother and father. Just then, Two-Headed Snake Ding Tong came skulking over, peering and prowling outside the window, all of which Old Man Ji had watched from within.

When the tea bowl clattered to the floor, Old Man Ji came at once. Li Wenxiu ran to him and buried herself in his arms. “Grandfather, he… he is one of the bad men chasing me.”

Old Man Ji stroked her hair and said gently, “Don’t be afraid. He is not a bad man.”

Li Wenxiu said, “He is, he is. Dozens of them chased us. They beat my father and mother.”

Old Man Ji thought to himself, “White Horse Li San is no kin of mine. I do not know what enemies he has made. I need not drag myself into his circle of trouble.”

Ding Tong watched Old Man Ji from the corner of his eye. The old man’s head was all white hair, not a single black strand. He was tall but bent double, trembling with extreme age. Ding Tong thought, “This worthless old fossil must be ninety if he is a day. If there is no one else in the hut, I can knock him out, grab the girl and the white horse, and go. Better to avoid delays and complications.” Suddenly he placed his palm beside his right ear as if listening, and said, “Someone is coming.” He strode quickly to the window.

Old Man Ji heard no sound. But Ding Tong had spoken so definitely that he too went to the window and looked out. Across the steppe, cattle and sheep grazed with lowered heads. All was silent. No strangers were approaching. He had just asked, “Where are these people?” when Ding Tong gave a savage laugh. Palm-wind hissed above him, and a fierce blow came crashing down on his head.

Old Man Ji was ancient and frail in appearance, but his body moved with startling speed. Ding Tong’s palm was still several inches from his crown when Old Man Ji shifted slightly to one side and the blow slid past. In the same motion he hooked back with a reverse grip, catching Ding Tong’s right wrist with the Great Seizing Hand.⁷

Ding Tong’s technique was cunning. Failing to wrench his right arm free, he drove his left hand forward. The dagger hidden in his sleeve shot out, a flash of white light, a soft thwack, and the razor edge buried itself in the left side of Old Man Ji’s back.

“Aiyo!” Li Wenxiu screamed. She had studied martial arts with her parents for two years. Seeing Old Man Ji struck by the dagger, she threw herself forward and pounded at Ding Tong’s back and the hollows of his waist with her two small fists.

Just then Old Man Ji’s left elbow slammed backward in a vicious reverse strike. The elbow smash caught Ding Tong squarely in the chest with tremendous force. Ding Tong gave a low groan, his body going limp, and crumpled to the ground. Blood spurted from his mouth. He was dead.

Li Wenxiu said, her voice trembling, “Grandfather, you… there is a knife in your back…”

Old Man Ji saw the tears glistening in her eyes and thought, “This child has a good heart.”

Li Wenxiu said, “Grandfather, your wound… let me pull the knife out for you.” She reached for the handle.

Old Man Ji’s face darkened. “Leave me alone,” he said sharply. He braced himself against the table, swayed for a moment, then walked unsteadily into the inner room. The board door shut with a click.

Li Wenxiu, startled by his sudden anger, was frightened. And seeing Ding Tong curled up on the ground, she feared he might rise and harm her. The more she thought, the more afraid she grew. She wanted desperately to run outside, but remembering that Old Man Ji was badly wounded, with no one to tend him, she could not bear to leave.

She thought for a moment, then went to the door of the inner room and tapped gently. Hearing no sound from within, she called, “Grandfather? Grandfather? Does it hurt?”

Old Man Ji’s rough voice came, “Go away, go away! Stop bothering me!”

The tone was nothing like his earlier gentleness. Li Wenxiu was frightened into silence. She sat blankly on the floor, head in her arms, sobbing softly.

Then, with a creak, the door opened. A hand reached out and stroked her hair.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. Grandfather’s wound is not serious.” The gesture and the voice were both tender.

Li Wenxiu looked up and saw Old Man Ji smiling. Her heart leapt with relief, and at once she was laughing through her tears.

Old Man Ji laughed, “Crying one moment, laughing the next. Aren’t you ashamed?”

Li Wenxiu hid her face in his arms.

From this old man, she had found again a trace of the warmth of her parents’ love.

Footnotes

1. 哈萨克 – Hāsàkè. Kazakh people, a Turkic ethnic group native to Central Asia and northwestern Xinjiang, traditionally nomadic herders. ↩

2. 回部 – Huíbù. Muslim Uyghur peoples of the Western Regions; also used to refer to their lands. ↩

3. 白马李三 – Báimǎ Lǐ Sān. “White Horse Li San,” the jianghu epithet of Li Wenxiu’s father, from his white stallion. ↩

4. 计 – Jì. Common Chinese surname. ↩

5. 乳酪 – rǔlào. Curdled milk, a staple of the steppe diet. Not koumiss (马奶酒), which is fermented mare’s milk and a different thing. ↩

6. 辰时 – Chén shí. Hour of the Dragon, roughly 7–9 am in the traditional Chinese time system. ↩

7. 大擒拿手 – Dà Qínná Shǒu. “Great Seizing Hand,” a martial technique focused on grappling and joint-locking. ↩