Hardship on the road.

By the second day, Yang Guo¹ still held his post at the mouth of the gorge. The Second Ugly brought food, and the five men chewed loudly, smacking their lips. Hunger blazed in Yang Guo’s stomach. He turned to look at Hong Qigong². The old man had not shifted his posture by a hair since the day before. If he truly were asleep, Yang Guo thought, surely he would have turned over in his sleep at least once. Staying so perfectly still, I fear he really is dead. If I hold out another day, hunger will weaken me, and I will be even less able to resist them. Better to charge out now while I can still escape. He rose slowly. But then he thought again: He said he would sleep for three days and told me to stand guard. I gave my word. A true man’s promise is weightier than a mountain. How can I abandon him now? So he fought down his hunger, closed his eyes, and rested his spirit.

By the third day, Hong Qigong still lay as rigid as he had two days before. The more Yang Guo looked, the more he doubted. He is clearly dead. Am I not a fool to keep standing guard here? If I go another half-day without food, I will not need these five ugly wretches to finish me. I will starve to death on my own. He scooped up some snow from the mountain rocks and swallowed several mouthfuls. The hollow ache in his belly eased slightly. I could not fulfil my duty as a son to my parents, and my Gugu³ is angry with me. I have no brothers or sisters, not even a single close friend. As for ‘righteous brotherhood’, do not even speak of it. But this one word, ‘trust’, I must, at the very least, honour it. Then he remembered: Years ago, when Auntie Guo⁴ was teaching me the classics, she told me the story of Wei Sheng⁵ in ancient times, who arranged to meet a woman beneath a bridge. The woman never came, and a great flood rose. Wei Sheng would not break his word, so he clung to a pillar of the bridge and drowned. Ever since, his name has been renowned through the ages. I, Yang Guo, have been despised and scorned by all the world. If I cannot even keep this promise, people will hold me in even greater contempt. Even if it costs me my life, I will stand guard for the full three days.

One night and one day passed in the blink of an eye. Early on the morning of the fourth day, Yang Guo approached Hong Qigong and checked his breathing. There was still no sign of life. A heaviness settled in his chest. He sighed, bowed deeply before him, and said, “Senior Hong, I have kept the three-day watch. It is a tragedy that you have passed away. This disciple lacks the strength to protect your body. I can only cast you into the deep valley, to spare you from the defilement of these villains.” He lifted the old man’s body and began walking toward the narrow path.

The Five Ugly Men assumed that hunger had driven him to flee. They shouted in unison and came charging forward. With a great roar, Yang Guo set Hong Qigong down behind him and bellowed, “I will fight you to the death!” He hurled himself straight at the First Ugly.

He had taken no more than two steps when a fierce gust of wind passed over his head. A figure vaulted past him and landed between him and the Five Uglies, laughing. “What a satisfying sleep!” It was none other than the Nine-Fingered Divine Beggar, Hong Qigong.

Yang Guo was overjoyed. The Five Uglies turned pale with terror. What had happened was this: Hong Qigong had indeed been truly asleep in the snow at first, but when one of the Five Uglies stepped on him, he naturally woke. Wanting to test whether this youth could keep a three-day promise, he had held his breath and feigned death every time Yang Guo checked on him. Seeing the boy endure hunger and hold his post for three full days without leaving, he recognised a chivalrous spirit in him and was deeply impressed. Only now did he reveal himself, standing with awe-inspiring might at the narrow pass.

Hong Qigong’s left hand traced a half-circle, and his right palm thrust forward: the Kang Long You Hui⁶, the pride of his life’s work, from the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing. The First Ugly had no time to evade. Knowing he could not meet this strike head-on, he could only bring both palms together and resist with all his strength.

Hong Qigong’s palm force was perfectly controlled. Using only ten percent of his power, he already made the First Ugly’s arms go numb and his chest ache. Seeing his comrade in danger and fearing he would be blasted into the deep valley by Hong Qigong’s palm, the Second Ugly hurriedly pressed both hands against his back. Hong Qigong increased his palm force. The Second Ugly lurched backward and nearly fell. The Fourth Ugly, standing behind him, reached out to steady him. Hong Qigong’s force transmitted through, passing from the Fourth Ugly to the Third, and from the Third to the Fifth Ugly at the very end. The five men had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. In another instant, Hong Qigong would kill all five with a single palm strike.

Hong Qigong laughed. “You five wretches have done more than your share of evil. To be struck dead by this old beggar’s single palm. I imagine you will die with your eyes closed in satisfaction.” The five men planted their stances, glaring with bulging eyes, combining their strength to resist his single palm. The pressure grew heavier and heavier. Their chests tightened with nausea, and gradually, every breath became a struggle.

Suddenly, Hong Qigong let out an “Eh!” of apparent surprise. He pulled back eighty percent of his palm force. “Your neili has some real substance to it,” he said. “Who is your master?”

The First Ugly, both palms still pressing against Hong Qigong’s, panted, “We… are… disciples… of Master Darba⁷… of his… his school.” Hong Qigong shook his head. “Darba? Never heard of him. Hmm. The way your neili transmits from one to another, and that is a formidable skill indeed.” Yang Guo thought to himself, To earn a ‘formidable indeed’ from Senior Hong, and that is truly formidable. Yet these five fellows seem completely ordinary to me. Not one of them could beat me.

Hong Qigong asked again, “What school do you belong to?” The First Ugly said, “Our master… is the second… second disciple… of the Esoteric Sect’s Divine Monk… Divine Monk… the Golden Wheel National Preceptor⁸…” Hong Qigong shook his head again. “Esoteric Divine Monk? Golden Wheel National Preceptor? Never heard of them. There is a monk in Qinghai, a so-called Enlightened Master⁹, whom I have met. His martial arts are stronger than yours, but what he learned is not high-level. The skill you have learned is very good. Mm, it has real substance. Go tell your grandmaster to come and test himself against me.”

The First Ugly said, “Our grandmaster is the Divine Monk… the Living Bodhisattva, the foremost National Preceptor of the Mongol Empire. His divine powers are boundless, his might unmatched under heaven. How… how could…” But the Second Ugly, hearing in Hong Qigong’s tone a willingness to spare their lives, realised that the First Ugly was talking them straight into the grave. He hurriedly said, “Yes, yes. We will go and request our grandmaster to come and exchange pointers… ex… exchange… Only our grandmaster is worthy to cross hands with Senior Hong. We juniors… are not fit to carry… carry… your wine gourd…”

Just then, the sound of knocking: duk, duk, duk came from around the mountain bend. A figure emerged, walking upside down on his hands, each hand gripping a stone to propel himself forward. It was none other than the Western Venom, Ouyang Feng.¹⁰ Yang Guo, overcome with joy, cried out three times: “Papa!” But Ouyang Feng acted as though he had not heard. He bounded behind the Five Uglies and pressed his right foot against the Fifth Ugly’s back. An immense force shot through the five men in a chain.

Hong Qigong was startled by Ouyang Feng’s sudden appearance. Hearing Yang Guo call him “Papa”, he thought, So this boy is his son. No wonder his skills are so impressive. Still, the boy keeps his word and honours righteousness, and his character far surpasses the Western Venom’s. The son has outgrown the father. He felt the force bearing down on his hand and responded with a surge of his own power.

Since the second Huashan Sword Summit¹¹, more than ten years had passed without Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng meeting. Though Ouyang Feng’s mind was deranged, he had been practising the Nine Yin Manual¹² in reverse, and the more he practised, the stranger his martial arts became, and the stranger they became, the stronger they grew. At Zhongnan Mountain, Yang Guo had reminded him that his name was “Ouyang Feng”, but whether he truly was Ouyang Feng or not, he still could not be sure. The name “Ouyang Feng” felt familiar to him, and he muttered it to himself constantly, yet he could never connect it to himself. This day he had arrived at Huayin. Mount Hua was the site of his two great contests, and the mountain paths and ridges stirred faint memories. He had wandered his way back up.

Hong Qigong had once heard Guo Jing¹³ and Huang Rong¹⁴ recite a small portion of the Manual, and by cross-referencing it with his own martial arts, he too had made considerable progress. After all, the orthodox path surpasses the reverse path, and though he knew only fragments, he was not outmatched by the Western Venom. Decades ago, the two men had been evenly matched. Since then, each had followed his own path. Now, meeting for the third time on Mount Hua and testing their internal strength against each other, they were still perfectly matched.

As for the pitiful Five Uglies of Sichuan, trapped between two supreme masters of the age, they became nothing more than punching bags for testing techniques, sandbags for practising fists. Their bodies ran hot, then cold. Their breathing tightened, then slowed. Every bone in their bodies creaked and cracked. It was a hundred times worse than the most brutal torture.

Ouyang Feng suddenly asked, “The neili these five have learned is very good. What school are they from?” Yang Guo thought, Even my foster father says their neili is very good. These five uglies are no ordinary men after all. Hong Qigong said, “They claim to be the grand-disciples of some Esoteric Sect Divine Monk called the Golden Wheel National Preceptor.” Ouyang Feng said, “This Golden Wheel National Preceptor, compared to you, who is stronger?” Hong Qigong said, “I do not know. Perhaps we are about even.” Ouyang Feng said, “Compared to me?” Hong Qigong said, “A little stronger than you.” Ouyang Feng froze, then shouted, “I do not believe it!”

Even as they spoke, their hands and feet continued the contest. Hong Qigong launched several different palm forces in succession, but Ouyang Feng neutralised each one from the other end with his foot. Then Ouyang Feng increased the force from his foot, but still could not make Hong Qigong retreat even half an inch. After this exchange, each felt a genuine admiration for the other. They laughed together and leapt back.

The pressure on the Five Uglies vanished. They swayed unsteadily, as though drunk. The internal energies of these two great masters had hammered them from both front and back. Their internal organs were severely damaged, their sinews softened and bones loosened. They were now cripples, and even a seven- or eight-year-old child could defeat them. Hong Qigong barked, “Five villains, it seems your time has not yet come. Since you can never harm anyone again, get out of my sight. And remember: go back and tell your grandmaster, the Golden Wheel National Preceptor, to come to the Central Plains quickly and test himself against me.” Ouyang Feng added, “And test himself against me too.” The Five Uglies of Sichuan stammered their agreement and stumbled away, leaning on each other, scrambling down the peak in utter disarray.

Ouyang Feng flipped upright and eyed Hong Qigong askance. A faint recognition stirred. “Hey,” he barked, “your martial arts are very good. What is your name?” Hong Qigong saw the bewildered look on his face and knew that the madness that had seized him more than ten years ago had never fully healed. “My name is Ouyang Feng,” he said. “What is yours?” Ouyang Feng felt a jolt. He remembered Yang Guo telling him that “Ouyang Feng” was his own name. He shook his head. “Wrong. I am Ouyang Feng.” Hong Qigong burst out laughing. “Wrong! Your name is Stinking Toad.” The word “toad”¹⁵ was deeply familiar to Ouyang Feng. It sounded almost right, yet when he thought about it carefully, it was not.

He and Hong Qigong had been mortal enemies for decades. Hatred was etched deep into his mind. Though he could not now grasp the reason, the mere sight of the man stirred his anger. Hong Qigong saw him standing dumbly, a murderous glint suddenly flashing in his eyes, and steeled himself. Sure enough, Ouyang Feng let out a great roar and charged at him ferociously. Hong Qigong did not dare hold back and launched straight into the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing. The two men, robes catching the northern wind, feet treading the frozen ice, each gave everything to their art on this narrow ledge barely a foot wide. On one side yawned a bottomless abyss, and the slightest misstep meant being smashed to pieces. Compared to fighting on level ground, the peril was doubled.

Though age had sapped their physical vigour, their martial attainment had reached a state of pure perfection. Their techniques were profound and exquisite, possessing a richness and stability that came only from mastery. After a mere dozen exchanges, both could not help but feel deep admiration. Ouyang Feng cried, “The old fellow is formidable indeed!” Hong Qigong laughed. “The Stinking Toad is not bad himself.”

Yang Guo watched the treacherous terrain with dread, terrified that Ouyang Feng would fall into the valley. Yet sometimes, when he saw Hong Qigong in a tight spot, he found himself unconsciously hoping the old beggar would turn danger to safety. Ouyang Feng was his foster father, and their bond ran deep. But Hong Qigong’s magnanimity, his heroic spirit, the great chivalrous bearing that seemed to emanate from his very being, and Yang Guo had been captivated the moment he laid eyes on him. Through cold and hunger, he had risked great peril to endure three days and three nights for Hong Qigong’s sake. Though not a single word had passed between them during those three days, in Yang Guo’s heart it felt as though they had already shared a thousand trials of life and death together.

After several dozen more exchanges, Yang Guo noticed that the two men always turned the most perilous moments into safety. He stopped worrying about their safety and concentrated solely on studying their martial arts. His knowledge of the Nine Yin Manual was limited to scattered fragments, yet time and again he saw the techniques they used harmonise with the Manual’s essential principles, and sometimes his foster father would use something that ran completely contrary to them. He marvelled, thinking: A single ordinary sentence from the Manual can give rise to so many variations and elaborations.

They fought on until they had exchanged well over a thousand moves. Neither man’s martial arts were exhausted, but they were old now, and both felt their hearts pounding and their breath shortening. Their hands and feet could not help slowing. Yang Guo called out, “You two have been fighting half the day. You must be hungry by now. How about everyone eats their fill before continuing?” The moment Hong Qigong heard the word “eat”, he immediately pulled back, saying over and over, “Excellent! Excellent!” Yang Guo had already spotted the large basket of cold provisions the Five Uglies had brought. He ran over and opened it. Inside were frozen chicken, frozen meat, white liquor, and cold rice, and everything one could want. Hong Qigong was overjoyed. He snatched a frozen chicken and bit into it ravenously, crunching noisily.

Yang Guo picked up a piece of frozen meat and offered it to Ouyang Feng. Softly, he said, “Papa, where have you been all this time?” Ouyang Feng glared at him. “I have been looking for you.” A pang shot through Yang Guo’s chest. So there is, after all, someone in this world who truly loves me. He took his foster father’s arm and said, “Papa, you are Ouyang Feng. This Senior Hong, Hong Qigong, is a good man. Do not fight with him anymore.” Ouyang Feng pointed at Hong Qigong and declared, “He is Hong Qigong. I am Ouyang Feng.” He looked at Hong Qigong, then at Yang Guo, his eyes fixed and unblinking, straining to remember.

Yang Guo helped Ouyang Feng eat some food, then stood and said to Hong Qigong, “Senior Hong, he is my foster father. Please take pity on him. He suffers from a grave illness and his mind is confused. Do not make things difficult for him.”

Hearing this, Hong Qigong nodded repeatedly. “Good lad,” he said. “So he is your foster father.”

But Ouyang Feng suddenly leapt up and shouted, “Old Beggar, we cannot settle this with fists and feet. Let us compete with weapons!” Hearing himself called “Old Beggar”, Hong Qigong smiled faintly and shook his head. “No more. We will call it your victory.” Ouyang Feng said, “What do you mean, ‘call it’? I must kill you!” He turned, broke off a tree branch, stripped away its leaves to form a staff, and brought it crashing down toward Hong Qigong’s head. His Serpent Staff¹⁶ had once dominated the jianghu with unmatched ferocity. Though the staff now had no snakes on its head, the strike was so powerful that the gale it stirred up, even before the staff arrived, made it hard for Yang Guo to breathe. Yang Guo hurriedly leapt clear. He looked at Hong Qigong and saw the old man pick up a branch from the ground to use as a short club. The two were locked in combat again. Hong Qigong’s Dog-Beating Staff Technique¹⁷ was unrivalled in the world, but he rarely used it lightly. Beyond it, he still possessed many other exquisite staff techniques, and now he deployed them one by one.

This battle was a completely different spectacle from the fist-and-palm contest that had preceded it. Staffs flew like coiling spirit snakes, clubs danced like soaring divine dragons, now a rainbow spanning the heavens, now a shooting star chasing the moon. Yang Guo watched with his heart pounding and his spirit enthralled, as though drunk and dreaming.

Staff met club, club met staff, and they fought on until evening without a victor. Yang Guo saw how treacherous the terrain was, how slippery the mountain was with ice and snow everywhere, and how neither man was young. If they kept fighting, a mishap was likely. He shouted repeatedly, urging them to stop. But Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng were deep in the heat of battle. How could they stop now? Yang Guo remembered Hong Qigong’s gluttonous expression when eating and thought that if he could lure them with delicious food, it might work. So he dug up wild yams and cassava roots from the mountainside and roasted them over a fire until their fragrance filled the air.

Hong Qigong caught the scent. “Stinking Toad,” he called, “I am done fighting with you. Eating comes first!” He rushed to Yang Guo’s side, grabbed two roasted yams, and began devouring them, scalding his mouth so badly it hurt, yet still mumbling praise through the pain. Ouyang Feng came charging after him and brought his wooden staff down toward Hong Qigong’s head. Hong Qigong did not even bother to dodge. He picked up a yam and tossed it to him, saying, “Eat!” Ouyang Feng paused, caught it, and ate, completely forgetting the vicious battle of moments before.

That night, the three of them slept in a rock cave. Yang Guo wanted to help his foster father recover his memory and brought up various events from the past. Ouyang Feng just stared blankly without answering. Sometimes he pounded his own head with his fists, straining to remember, but could find no thread to follow, growing more and more distressed. Afraid he would drive himself even madder, Yang Guo urged him to sleep. But Yang Guo himself tossed and turned, unable to rest, turning over the two men’s fist techniques and palm techniques in his mind. The more he thought, the more excited he grew. Unable to resist, he rose and quietly practised the moves. The mysteries seemed inexhaustible. He trained half the night and only slept when exhaustion overtook him.

Early the next morning, before Yang Guo had even woken, he heard the howl of wind outside the cave, mixed with shouts and the sounds of leaping. He hurried out and found Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng already locked in fierce combat again. He sighed. These two old gentlemen have returned to childhood. What is there to gain from such fighting? He could only sit to one side and watch. Hong Qigong’s every move and stance was methodical and clear, while Ouyang Feng’s techniques were bizarre beyond imagination and impossible to predict. Time and again, Hong Qigong would gain the upper hand, only for Ouyang Feng to suddenly deploy a strange move and pull even again. But for Ouyang Feng to secure victory was equally impossible.

The two men fought by day and slept by night, continuing for four straight days. Both were exhausted in body and spirit, nearly at the point of collapse. Yet neither would yield so much as half a move.

Yang Guo thought, Tomorrow, whatever happens, I cannot let them fight again. That night, after Ouyang Feng had fallen asleep, he whispered to Hong Qigong, “Senior, would you kindly step outside the cave for a word?” Hong Qigong followed him out. When they were about a hundred feet from the cave, Yang Guo suddenly dropped to his knees and kowtowed repeatedly, not saying a word. Hong Qigong was taken aback for a moment, then understood at once. He knew the boy was begging him to take pity on Ouyang Feng’s illness and concede defeat. He tilted his head back and laughed heartily. “So be it,” he said. Dragging his wooden club behind him, he started down the mountain.

He had gone no more than a few dozen feet when the sound of robes cutting through the air came from behind. Ouyang Feng burst from the cave and swept his staff across, roaring, “Old fellow, trying to run?” Hong Qigong yielded three moves, hoping to break free, but the wind of Ouyang Feng’s staff sealed off every direction of escape. He could not get away. In combat between masters, the slightest margin matters. With a mind set on conceding, Hong Qigong’s attacks lacked urgency, and he immediately fell to a disadvantage, stumbling in dire straits. Several times he barely escaped death beneath the staff. He saw Ouyang Feng thrust his staff forward, driving toward his lower abdomen, and knew this strike had a deadly follow-up. There was no dodging it. He raised his club horizontally to block, and suddenly felt a ferociously sharp neili transmitted through the staff. You want to contest neili with me? The thought had barely formed when the enemy’s neili was already pressing in. There was no option but to meet it with neili. He immediately circulated his power to resist.

For two martial artists of their attainment, a contest of neili meant there was no room left for concession. In their previous encounters, each had feared the other’s prowess and, uncertain of victory, had never dared risk such a gambit. But Ouyang Feng, muddled and confused, after days of failing to win, suddenly attacked with neili.

More than ten years ago, Hong Qigong had indeed loathed the Western Venom for his evil deeds. But now he was old, and his fiery temper had cooled. Seeing that Ouyang Feng was mad, and with Yang Guo pleading repeatedly, he truly had no desire to kill him. He sank his qi¹⁸ to his dantian¹⁹ and focused solely on defence, waiting for his opponent’s neili to exhaust itself. But the enemy’s neili surged like the endless waves of the Yangtze River, one wave had barely passed before the next came crashing in. Not only was there no sign of weakening, but it grew fiercer and fiercer. Hong Qigong was confident in the depth of his neili, which had advanced steadily over the decades. Even if he could not defeat the Western Venom, defending with full strength should guarantee he would not lose. Yet after several exchanges, Ouyang Feng’s neili only grew stronger. Hong Qigong remembered how, when they had competed through the bodies of the Five Uglies, Ouyang Feng had driven his foot three times, each burst stronger than the last. Looking back now, it seemed that the first wave of attack had not yet dissipated before the second arrived, and the second still lingered when the third followed. If one merely defended, letting him push wave upon wave, force upon force, building up relentlessly, it would eventually become impossible to withstand. The only way was to seize an opening and strike back, forcing him to turn his power to his own defence so that the accumulation could not continue. The thought crystallised, and he immediately counter-attacked. Both men shuddered from head to toe.

Yang Guo watched their neili duel with growing alarm. If he attacked Hong Qigong from behind, he could help his foster father win. But seeing the old beggar’s snow-white hair, his awe-inspiring dignity mixed with warmth and kindness, his righteous heroism joined with easygoing grace. Yang Guo could not help but be won over. Besides, the old man had already agreed to his plea and was willing to retreat. How could he bear to strike him?

The two men remained locked for some time longer. Threads of white vapour began seeping from the crown of Ouyang Feng’s head, growing denser and denser, like steam from a cooking pot. Hong Qigong defended with everything he had, no longer able to consider whether his opponent would live or die. Survival itself was already a stroke of luck.

From early morning they struggled until the chen hour,²⁰ and from chen until noon. Hong Qigong gradually felt his neili draining, but his opponent’s force still surged like a raging tide. The old poison grows madder and stronger, he thought grimly. This old beggar’s life ends today. He knew this contest would be his last. The agony was that there was no way to retreat, he could only hold on with all his remaining strength. He did not know that Ouyang Feng, too, was exhausted and struggling just as desperately.

Another two hours passed, into the shen hour.²¹ Yang Guo saw both men’s faces change terribly. If this goes on much longer, he thought, they will surely perish together. If I step in to separate them, my own skill is far too far below theirs, most likely I would fail to break them apart and only throw away my own life. He hesitated for a long while, watching Ouyang Feng’s face turn ashen grey with an expression of anguish, and Hong Qigong gasping for each laboured breath. At last he resolved: Even at the risk of my life, I must save them. He broke off a tree trunk, sat cross-legged between the two men, circulated his neili to protect his whole body, gritted his teeth, and thrust the trunk between their staff and club to pry them apart.

To his astonishment, the thrust met almost no resistance. The two men’s internal energies, transmitted through the tree trunk, dissipated the moment his own neili met them. A spent arrow cannot pierce even thin silk from Lu.²² The Northern Beggar and Western Venom, for all their supremacy in the jianghu, had drained each other over many days until both were at the very limit of their strength. Rebounded by Yang Guo’s neili, they collapsed simultaneously to the ground, breathing out more than they breathed in, unable to move. Yang Guo cried out in alarm, “Papa! Senior Hong! Are you all right?” Both men laboured for breath and gave no answer.

Yang Guo wanted to carry them into the cave to rest, but Hong Qigong shook his head weakly. Only then did Yang Guo realise how gravely they were injured, they could not be moved. That night he slept between them, afraid they would rise in the middle of the night and start fighting again. But in truth, neither man could even circulate his neili to heal himself, how could they possibly fight? The next morning, Yang Guo saw both men barely breathing, even weaker than the day before. Panic seized him. He dug up yams, roasted them, and helped the two men eat. Not until the third day did they show a slight return of vitality. Yang Guo carried them into the cave and laid them on opposite sides, with himself in the middle as a barrier.

The following day, the two men rose and sat facing each other. Ouyang Feng said, “Our internal energies are evenly matched. We cannot compete that way any longer. But when it comes to martial techniques, you are ultimately no match for me.” Hong Qigong shook his head. “Not necessarily, not necessarily. If I were to use the Dog-Beating Staff Technique, the treasured art of the Beggar Clan, even without an ounce of neili behind it, you would not be able to counter it. Let us not fight to the death, let us only compete in technique. Winning or losing does not matter.” Ouyang Feng said, “Very well. No neili. Only technique.”

Hong Qigong had a sudden inspiration. He beckoned Yang Guo over and whispered in his ear, “I am the former chief of the Beggar Clan, do you know that?” Yang Guo nodded. Back in the Chongyang Palace of Quanzhen, he had heard the senior disciples discussing the great figures of the age. They all said that the former Beggar Clan chief, the Nine-Fingered Divine Beggar Hong Qigong, possessed martial arts that crowned the age and a heart of pure courage, a true hero among heroes. Hong Qigong continued, “I am going to teach you a set of martial arts now. This art has always been passed only to the chief of the Beggar Clan, never to outsiders. But at this moment I lack the strength to perform it myself. I need you to demonstrate it for your foster father to see.”

Yang Guo said, “Since Senior’s art is not to be passed to outsiders, it would be improper for this junior to learn it. My foster father’s mind has not yet recovered, Senior need not take him too seriously.” Hong Qigong shook his head. “You will only learn the forms, not the essential principles of force application. In actual combat, it would be completely useless. I am not asking you to fight your foster father, you only need to pose a few stances, and he will understand at a glance. So it cannot really be said that I am teaching you the art.” Yang Guo thought, If this martial art truly is the Beggar Clan’s treasured inheritance, my foster father may not be able to counter it. Why should I help you defeat my foster father? He kept making excuses, saying he dared not learn the Beggar Clan’s secret transmission.

Hong Qigong saw through his thoughts. He raised his voice: “Stinking Toad, your foster son here knows you cannot match my Dog-Beating Staff Technique, so he refuses to demonstrate the stances for you.” Ouyang Feng flew into a rage and shouted, “Boy, I still have many miraculous martial arts I have not yet used. What is there to fear? Show me at once!” Both men kept pressing him. Yang Guo had no choice but to go to Hong Qigong’s side.

Hong Qigong told him to pick up a branch and carefully explained the first move of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique, “Striking Two Dogs with One Staff.”²³ Yang Guo mastered it immediately and performed it as instructed.

Ouyang Feng saw how wondrous the staff technique was and could not immediately think of a counter. After pondering at length, he described a staff technique to Yang Guo, who performed it as directed. Hong Qigong smiled faintly, praised it with a “Good!”, then taught another staff technique.

The two men contested in this roundabout manner, expending great mental effort, until evening. They had only worked through a dozen or so moves, yet Yang Guo was already drenched in sweat. The next morning they resumed. Three full days passed before all thirty-six stances of the staff technique were covered. Though the staff technique had only thirty-six stances, the subtle variations within them were inexhaustibly profound. As they progressed, Ouyang Feng took longer and longer to think, but the counter-moves he produced were masterpieces in their own right, balancing offence and defence, fierce in power. Even Hong Qigong could not help but admire them.

By evening of that day, Hong Qigong had explained the sixth variation of the thirty-sixth stance, “No Dogs Under Heaven.”²⁴ This was the ultimate technique within the ultimate stance of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique. When this move was deployed, staves filled every direction, and wherever the force reached, even dozens of vicious dogs would be struck dead at once, hence the name “No Dogs Under Heaven.” The technique’s exquisite mastery had reached the absolute pinnacle of martial attainment. Ouyang Feng was, naturally, unable to find a counter. That night he tossed and turned, agonising until dawn.

The next morning, before Yang Guo had even risen, he suddenly heard Ouyang Feng shouting, “I have it! I have it! Boy, use this staff technique to defeat him!” His voice was both excited and urgent. Hearing something strange in his cry, Yang Guo looked at him, and was horrified by what he saw.

Ouyang Feng, though old, had such profound neili that his hair and beard had only been faintly touched with grey. But this night, from the intensity of his mental exertion, his beard and eyebrows had turned completely white overnight, as though he had aged more than ten years in a single night. Yang Guo’s heart ached. He wanted to beg Hong Qigong to stop the contest, but Ouyang Feng urged him on relentlessly. He could only follow his foster father’s instructions. This move was extraordinarily complex. Ouyang Feng had to explain it repeatedly before Yang Guo grasped it, and then he performed it as directed.

The moment Hong Qigong saw it, his expression changed dramatically. Then he burst out in loud praise. Ouyang Feng said, “I pondered for so long before I could return a move. In the end, the Dog-Beating Staff Technique is the superior art!” Suddenly, with a great ha cry, he thrust out his palm with all his might. Hong Qigong met it with his own palm, and they plunged once more into a contest of neili.

As Hong Qigong pushed out his force, he suddenly felt the immense power he had sent forth begin to reverse direction, turning back to attack himself. Shocked, he then sensed that Ouyang Feng’s force was not pressing its advantage, it too was slowly reversing, turning back to attack its source. Almost in unison, both men cried out: “Eh! Strange beyond belief! Stinking Toad, what trick are you playing?” / “Old Beggar, why are you hitting yourself? No need to be so polite!”

Hong Qigong understood in a flash. The Nine Yin Manual neili that the two of them practised, though one followed the orthodox path and the other the reverse, both adhered to the fundamental principle of the Book of Changes:²⁵ “When things reach an extreme, they reverse.” When extreme yin reaches its limit, it transforms into incipient yang, when extreme yang reaches its peak, it becomes incipient yin. The two men had brought the Manual’s arts to their fullest expression. Hong Qigong’s orthodox practice was gradually turning reverse, while Ouyang Feng’s reverse practice was gradually turning orthodox. They pushed their energies a few more times, and the two streams of neili merged into one, blending like milk and water. No longer opposed, they harmonised and interpenetrated, mutually soothing, exactly like the taiji²⁶ diagram, where yin and yang encircle and embrace each other in perfect circular flow.

Both men felt an indescribable comfort suffuse their entire bodies. First came a bone-penetrating cold, but as the other’s neili flowed in, it was like basking in spring sunshine, like immersing oneself in warm water. Every meridian, every limb, every joint, all felt incomparably wonderful. Then, in an instant, searing heat enveloped them as though they had been thrown into a furnace. When the other’s neili surged in, the burning vanished, replaced by total, refreshing coolness.

The two men laughed uproariously. “Good, good, good!” they both cried. “No more fighting!”

Hong Qigong leapt to his feet and bellowed, “Old Poison, Ouyang Feng! The two of us, travelling different roads, have arrived at the same destination. In the end, we have become ‘good brothers’!” He threw himself forward and embraced Ouyang Feng tightly. Yang Guo was horrified, thinking he meant to harm his foster father. He rushed to pull at Hong Qigong’s back, but the embrace was too tight, he could not budge him.

Ouyang Feng, his spirit spent and his strength exhausted, experienced a sudden flash of terminal lucidity. His mind became as clear as a polished mirror. The events of decades past appeared before him one by one, vivid as could be. He too laughed heartily.

The two white-haired old men embraced, laughing with all their might. They laughed for a while, the sound growing softer and softer, and then, suddenly, the laughter stopped. Neither man moved again.

Yang Guo was struck with terror. “Papa! Senior Hong!” he called out repeatedly. No one answered. He reached out and pulled at Hong Qigong’s arm, the old man toppled over. He was dead. Shocked beyond measure, Yang Guo bent to look at Ouyang Feng and found that he too had stopped breathing. Though their laughter had ceased, smiles still lingered on their faces. From the valley below, the echo of their great laughter still faintly reverberated.

The Northern Beggar and Western Venom, for decades they had fought bitterly, neither able to overcome the other. Who could have imagined that they would pass away together on the summit of Mount Hua? A lifetime of hatred and entanglement, and in their final moments, they embraced in laughter. Decades of deepest enmity, dissolved in a single laugh.

In that instant, Yang Guo was overcome by shock and grief. He lost all sense of direction. He thought of how Hong Qigong had feigned death for three days and three nights, could it be that both old men were feigning death again? But the sight before him did not seem like it. Perhaps, he thought, after being dead for a while, they will come back to life. With martial arts as high as theirs, and their bodies not yet decayed, they cannot simply be dead. Perhaps they are competing again, to see who can feign death longer.

He kept vigil beside their bodies for seven days and seven nights. With each passing day, his hope diminished a little. Only when he saw their faces change colour and dark spots appear did he know that they were truly dead. He wept bitterly, then dug two graves side by side near the cave and buried the two extraordinary masters of the jianghu. Hong Qigong’s wine gourd, and the staff and club they had used in their contest, were buried with them. The footprints they had trampled in the snow during their fierce battle had now frozen into solid ice. The footprints remained, but the bodies had returned to the yellow earth. Yang Guo stepped into those footprints and remembered the scenes of those days. Grief washed over him anew. He thought of how two men whose martial arts had astonished the age had, in the end, needed a despised and worthless boy like himself to bury them. What was glory? What was prestige? Nothing but a grand dream.

He was filled with admiration for the wondrous martial arts of the two old masters. After burying them, he reviewed their countless ingenious techniques and miraculous skills, practising them one by one. He stayed in the rock cave for more than twenty additional days, committing every one of their brilliant martial arts to memory and verifying each move until it was correct. Their profound inner arts, however, he could not learn by imitation, and he had to let that go. He kowtowed eight times before their graves with the utmost reverence, then took his leave. Though my foster father was formidable, he thought, in the end he was one step behind Senior Hong. That final move of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique, ‘No Dogs Under Heaven’, was incomparably exquisite. My foster father had to agonise an entire night before he could devise a counter. And though his counter was also wonderfully ingenious, in a real fight, who would give him the leisure to ponder and deliberate? He would have lost on the spot. He sighed for a while, then found a path and descended the mountain.

After coming down from the mountain, he let his feet carry him where they would. The world is vast and boundless, he thought. I am alone. I may drift wherever the four seas take me, and when my years are spent, I will lie down wherever I happen to be and die. When he had climbed the mountain, he had been filled with bitterness at the contempt the world showed him. Coming down, he felt that worldly affairs were no more than drifting clouds. Whether others valued him or despised him, what did it matter to him now? At his young age, he had already become cynical and world-weary, detached from all concerns. Even his bone-deep longing for Xiaolongnü seemed to have faded a little.

One day, he arrived at a stretch of wilderness in southern Henan. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but withered trees and dead grass. The northern wind blew with a biting chill, whipping the long grass into restless waves. Suddenly, from the west, came the faint rumble of hoofbeats, and dust rose on the horizon. Before long, several dozen wild horses came galloping eastward, passing about a li²⁷ away. Watching the wild horses race freely across the desolate plain, Yang Guo could not help but feel his own spirit lift. He gazed out across the flatland as the galloping horses receded into the distance, feeling that heaven and earth were wide indeed, without constraint or impediment. Just as this sense of freedom filled him, he suddenly heard a horse’s mournful whinny behind him.

He turned. A scrawny yellow horse, pulling a cartload of firewood, was trudging slowly along the main road. It seemed the horse, seeing its own kind revelling in the freedom of the mountain wilderness while it toiled in bitter servitude, had let out a cry of lament. The horse was so thin that the bones of its chest jutted out sharply. Its four long legs had lost all their muscle, resembling withered sticks. Its coat was patchy and mangy, and its body was caked with mud and crisscrossed with countless bloody whip scars. A rough fellow sat on the cart, and finding the horse too slow, he kept lashing it with his whip.

Yang Guo had suffered much bullying in his life. Seeing this emaciated horse in such misery, every crack of the whip felt as though it struck his own body. A pain tightened in his chest, and tears nearly welled up in his eyes. He planted his hands on his hips and stood in the middle of the road, shouting angrily, “Hey, you! Why are you whipping that horse?” The rough fellow saw a ragged, beggar-like youth blocking his way. He raised his horsewhip and barked, “Get out of the way! Do you not value your life?” As he spoke, the whip came down again, landing hard on the horse’s back. Yang Guo flew into a rage. “If you hit that horse again,” he shouted, “I will kill you.” The rough fellow burst out laughing and brought his whip cracking down toward Yang Guo’s head.

Yang Guo snatched the whip, reversed it, and with a sharp pa, cracked it in a circle through the air. The whip coiled around the rough fellow’s neck, and Yang Guo yanked him off the cart. He gave the man a thorough thrashing, lashing him from head to face.

The scrawny horse, ugly as it was, seemed to possess remarkable spirit. Seeing its tormentor being beaten, it whinnied with joy and stretched its head over to nuzzle affectionately against Yang Guo’s leg. Yang Guo broke the harness traces, patted the horse’s back, and pointed toward the dust trail left by the distant wild horses. “Go on, now,” he said. “No one will bully you ever again.”

The horse reared up on its forelegs, gave a long neigh, and bolted forward. But the animal was weak and had been starved for too long. The sudden burst of speed was more than it could sustain. After running barely a hundred feet, its front legs buckled, and it collapsed to its knees. Yang Guo could not bear to see this. He ran over, slipped his hands under the horse’s belly, and shouted, “Up!” With a heave he lifted it to its feet. Seeing such strength, the rough fellow was so terrified that he abandoned his cart and firewood, scrambled to his feet, and fled without looking back. Only when he had run half a li did he start shouting, “Bandits! Horse thieves! Firewood thieves!”

Yang Guo found this amusing. He pulled up some green grass and fed it to the scrawny horse. Looking at the animal, which had suffered such hardship, he felt a deep kinship, the same fate, the same pity. He stroked the horse’s back and said, “Horse, ah, horse, from now on, you will stay with me.” He led it by the reins at a slow walk into a market town, where he bought some beans and wheat and let the horse eat its fill. The next day, seeing the horse had regained some vigour, he mounted and rode on at a gentle pace.

At first, the mangy horse stumbled along, tripping and lurching constantly. But the further it went, the better it walked. After seven or eight days, with ample feed and renewed energy, its stride became as swift as flight. Yang Guo was indescribably delighted and took extra care in feeding it.

One day, while he was having a simple meal at a small inn, the mangy horse suddenly walked over to the table and stared at a bowl of wine on the neighbouring table, neighing persistently as though it wanted to drink. Curious, Yang Guo called the waiter over to bring a large bowl of wine, set it on the table, and stroked the horse’s head a few times. The horse drained the entire bowl in one go, then swished its tail and stamped its feet, clearly delighted. Yang Guo found this even more entertaining and ordered more wine. The horse drank more than ten bowls in succession and still wanted more. When Yang Guo asked for yet another round, the waiter, seeing his tattered clothes, feared he could not pay and claimed they were out of wine.

After the meal, Yang Guo mounted. The mangy horse, tipsy from the wine, stretched out its stride and galloped as though possessed. The trees along the roadside blurred past in reverse, swift beyond measure. But whereas an ordinary fine steed ran both fast and steady, this mangy horse was fast, certainly, but its body pitched wildly up and down, jolting and bucking. Without Yang Guo’s exceptional lightness skill, he would never have been able to ride it. The horse had another peculiarity: whenever it saw any beast of burden on the road ahead, it absolutely had to overtake it. Be it ox, horse, mule, or donkey, it would not rest until it had raced past. When it met a fast horse, it would overtake it as though staking its very life on the outcome, hurtling like the wind and lightning, never stopping until it had won. And its stamina was truly extraordinary, no matter how fast the other horse, it would always triumph. This competitive, defiant temperament seemed born from a lifetime of abuse and humiliation. Yang Guo reflected that this thousand-li steed²⁸ had been wasted in the hands of a village brute, trapped in wind and dust, languishing in misery for half its life. Now that it suddenly had the chance to stretch its legs, of course it wanted to gallop and soar.

This unruly temperament was a perfect match for his own. One man, one horse, they became the closest of friends. Yang Guo had been sunk in gloom, but amusing himself with the horse along the road, he was still young at heart, and within a few days he had cheered up. From there he travelled steadily southward until he reached the banks of the Huai River.²⁹ Along the way, memories surfaced of how he had teased Lu Wushuang³⁰ and toyed with Li Mochou³¹ and her disciple, he could not help laughing to himself on horseback. But then he would think of Xiaolongnü,³² not knowing where she was or when he might see her again, and his heart would twist with a hundred turns of longing.

One day, around noon, he began encountering beggars along the road. Judging by their bearing, many of them possessed martial arts skills. He mused to himself: Could it be that my ‘wife’³³ still has unfinished business with the Beggar Clan? Or has the Beggar Clan gathered in force to settle scores with Li Mochou? This is excitement I cannot afford to miss. He had never had any particular fondness for the Beggar Clan, but out of admiration for Hong Qigong, he now felt an involuntary closeness to them. If these beggars are not making trouble for Lu Wushuang, he thought, I will tell them the news of Hong Qigong’s passing. He rode on a while longer. The beggars on the road grew more and more numerous. They all looked at Yang Guo with mild surprise, his clothing and appearance were no different from a beggar’s, but Beggar Clan members never rode horses except in truly urgent circumstances. Yang Guo paid them no mind and rode on at a leisurely pace.

By the shen hour,²¹ he suddenly heard the cry of eagles overhead. Two white eagles swooped past and dived down ahead. He heard one beggar say, “Chief Huang has arrived. There will certainly be a gathering tonight.” Another beggar said, “I wonder if Hero Guo is coming.” The first replied, “Those two are like a scale and its weight, a weight and its scale…” Catching sight of Yang Guo reining in his horse to listen, the beggar shot him a glare and fell silent.

Hearing the names Guo Jing and Huang Rong, Yang Guo felt a slight jolt. Then he gave a cold inward laugh. Back then, I lived under your roof eating idle meals, and you looked down on me and toyed with me. I was young and helpless then, and I suffered plenty. Now I make the whole world my home, what do I need from you? Then another thought struck him: Why not pretend to be utterly destitute and throw myself on their mercy? Let us see how they treat me.

He found a secluded spot, tore his hair into a wild mess, punched himself hard in the left eye, and scratched his face several times. His left eye swelled up purple, and several bloody lines appeared on his cheek. His clothes were already in tatters. Now he ripped them even more, rolled around in the mud a few times, and with that mangy, scab-covered horse of his, he was the very picture of a man at the end of his road, barely clinging to life. His disguise complete, he limped back to the main road. He no longer rode the horse but walked among the beggars. He did not hold the reins, yet the ugly horse followed behind him on its own. Some Beggar Clan members asked him in jargon whether he was going to the great feast, but Yang Guo did not understand their code. He just stared blankly and gave no answer, mingling with the crowd of beggars, drifting now to the front, now to the back.

The group wound its way along, and as dusk approached, they arrived at a large, dilapidated temple. Two white eagles were perched on a pine tree in front of the temple. The Wu brothers³⁴, one holding a platter, the other picking up chunks of meat from the platter and tossing them up to feed the eagles. Yang Guo had seen the two brothers fight Li Mochou alongside Guo Fu³⁵ a few days earlier. He had been watching at the time too, but his gaze had been fixed on Guo Fu and he had paid the brothers little attention. Now, observing them from the corner of his eye, he saw that Wu Dunru³⁶ had a fierce and spirited bearing, radiating energy in every gesture. Wu Xiuwen³⁷ was nimble and quick, darting about restlessly without a moment’s stillness. Wu Dunru wore a purple-maroon padded silk robe, and Wu Xiuwen a sapphire-blue Shandong heavy silk robe, both with embroidered brocade hero sashes at their waists. They were indeed heroic youths of outstanding appearance.

Yang Guo stepped forward and bowed with a stammer. “Greet… greetings to the two Brother Wus. It has been… been a long time. I hope you have been well.” The area in front of and behind the temple was now packed with beggars, every one of them in patched and tattered clothes. Though Yang Guo’s face was covered with dust, he did not stand out among the crowd. Wu Dunru returned the salute and looked Yang Guo up and down, but could not recognise him. “Forgive my dull eyes,” he said. “Who might my honoured brother be?” Yang Guo said, “My worthless name is not worth mentioning. This humble one… this humble one wishes to see Chief Huang.”

Wu Dunru found the voice somewhat familiar and was about to question him further when a voice like a silver bell rang out from the temple entrance: “Big Brother Wu, I asked you to buy me a softer riding crop. Did you get it?” Wu Dunru hastily abandoned Yang Guo and hurried over. “I bought it long ago,” he said. “Try it, see if it suits your hand.” He drew a riding crop from his robes.

Yang Guo turned his head. A young woman in a pale green blouse was walking briskly out of the temple. Her brows were gently curved, her small nose slightly upturned, her face like white jade, her complexion like the morning glow, it was Guo Fu. Her attire was not particularly lavish, but around her neck hung a string of bright pearls that gave off a soft lustre, making her look as though she had been carved from powder and polished from jade. Yang Guo took one look at her and could not help feeling ashamed of his own shabbiness. He turned his head away and did not look again. Wu Xiuwen rushed forward as well, both brothers vying to ingratiate themselves.

After speaking with Guo Fu for a while, Wu Dunru remembered Yang Guo. He turned and said, “You are here for the Hero Assembly, I take it?” Yang Guo had no idea what the Hero Assembly was, but he mumbled an assent. Wu Dunru beckoned to a beggar. “Take care of this friend here. Tomorrow, guide him to Dasheng Pass.” With that, he went back to talking with Guo Fu and paid Yang Guo no further attention.

The beggar agreed and came over to attend to him, asking his name. Yang Guo told him truthfully. He was, after all, a nobody, the beggar had naturally never heard his name and thought nothing of it. The beggar introduced himself as Wang the Thirteenth,³⁸ a two-bag disciple of the Beggar Clan. “Where does Brother Yang come from?” he asked. Yang Guo said, “From Shaanxi.” Wang the Thirteenth said, “Oh! Then Brother Yang is of the Quanzhen school?” The words “Quanzhen school” gave Yang Guo an instant headache. He hurriedly shook his head. “No.” Wang the Thirteenth said, “Brother Yang must have his hero invitation with him?” Yang Guo was taken aback. “I am a wanderer on the rivers and lakes,” he said. “How could I be called a hero? I merely met your honoured Chief Huang once before and have come to pay my respects. I was hoping to borrow some travelling money to return home.” Wang the Thirteenth frowned and pondered for a while. “Chief Huang is currently receiving heroes from all under heaven,” he said. “I am afraid she will not have time to see you.”

Yang Guo had deliberately set out to appear as shabby as possible this time. The more others looked down on him, the more satisfied he felt. So he pleaded with even greater pitifulness. The Beggar Clan’s members all came from impoverished backgrounds and had always helped those in distress, they would never look down on the poor. Hearing the misery in his voice, Wang the Thirteenth said, “Brother Yang, first eat your fill. Tomorrow we will go to Dasheng Pass. I will report to the elders for you, and they can pass the word to the Chief. Let us see what she decides, all right?” Wang the Thirteenth had initially called him “Brother Yang”, but now, hearing that he was not one of the heroes attending the assembly, and being older than him, he switched to the more familiar “Yang brother”. Yang Guo thanked him profusely. Wang the Thirteenth invited him into the temple and brought out food and drink to serve his guest. The Beggar Clan’s Filthy Clothes Faction was currently in the ascendancy, and even during festive celebrations, the clan insisted on mashing chicken, fish, beef, and lamb into a sloppy mess resembling leftovers before eating, to show they never forgot their roots. But for guests, they served proper meals.

Just as Yang Guo was eating, a sudden brightness flashed before his eyes. Guo Fu walked gracefully into the hall, all smiles, with the Wu brothers flanking her. Wu Xiuwen was saying, “Good. We will travel by night and press on to Dasheng Pass tonight. I will bring out your red horse.” The three of them chattered among themselves and did not so much as glance at Yang Guo, who sat on the floor eating his meal. They walked into the rear courtyard, gathered their packs and weapons, and left the dilapidated temple. The clatter of hoofbeats sounded, they had mounted and ridden away. Yang Guo’s chopsticks stood planted in his rice bowl. He listened as the hoofbeats faded into the distance. A hundred feelings mingled in his heart, was it sorrow or hatred? Anger or grief?

The next day, Wang the Thirteenth called him to set out together. Along the road, besides Beggar Clan members, there were many other martial artists, some on horseback, some on foot, all apparently heading to the Hero Assembly. Yang Guo still had no idea what the Hero Assembly or hero invitations were about, and he figured Wang the Thirteenth would not tell him even if he asked. So he played dumb and kept up his act of misery and foolishness.

As evening approached, they arrived at Dasheng Pass.³⁹ Dasheng Pass was a strategic stronghold between Henan and Hubei, well-situated geographically, though its markets were not particularly prosperous. North of here lay territory occupied by the Mongol army. Wang the Thirteenth led Yang Guo past the market town and another seven or eight li until, ahead of them, several hundred ancient locust trees surrounded a grand manor. Many heroic figures were making their way toward Lu Manor. Inside, building followed building in overlapping tiers, at a glance, one could not take it all in. It seemed more than capable of hosting several thousand guests.

Wang the Thirteenth was only a low-ranking disciple of the Beggar Clan. He knew the Chief was busy with important matters at the moment and would never dare disturb her over something as trivial as borrowing travelling money. He arranged a place for Yang Guo to stay and went off to talk with his friends.

Yang Guo saw how imposing the manor was, with servants bustling back and forth attending to guests in an endless stream. He wondered quietly who the host was, to command such prestige. Suddenly, three signal shots rang out: peng, peng, peng, and musicians struck up a tune. Someone said, “The manor lord and his lady are receiving guests in person. Let us go and see. I wonder which hero has arrived.” The ushers and servants formed two lines. The crowd parted to either side. From behind the great hall’s screen, a man and a woman walked out side by side, both around forty years of age. The man wore an embroidered robe, had a slight beard, and carried himself with dignity and authority. The woman had fair skin and a refined, genteel air, like a noble lady. The guests murmured among themselves: “Manor Lord Lu and Lady Lu are personally going out to welcome an honoured guest.”

Behind them came another couple. The moment Yang Guo saw them, his heart tightened, and his face grew hot. It was none other than Guo Jing and Huang Rong. Several years had passed. Guo Jing’s bearing was even more composed, while Huang Rong wore a faint smile, her beauty undiminished from before. So Auntie Guo was this beautiful, Yang Guo thought. I never noticed it when I was young. Guo Jing wore a plain, coarse cotton robe, while Huang Rong was dressed in pale purple silk. As the Beggar Clan chief, she had no choice but to sew a few inconspicuous patches onto her garment. Behind Guo Jing and Huang Rong came Guo Fu and the Wu brothers. Countless bright red candles now blazed in the great hall, their light illuminating the scene. The men were heroic and handsome, the women delicate and beautiful. The guests pointed and remarked: “That is Hero Guo. That is Chief Huang, Hero Guo’s wife.” “Who is that flower-like maiden?” “Hero Guo and his wife’s daughter.” “Are those two youths their sons?” “No, disciples.”

Yang Guo had no wish to meet Guo Jing and his wife in the middle of such a crowd. He shrank behind a tall, burly man and peered out. To the sound of drums and music, four Daoists entered from outside. The moment Yang Guo saw them, fury surged from his heart. The first was an old Daoist with white hair and white brows, his face suffused with a purple glow, none other than Hao Datong,⁴⁰ the Broad Serenity Master, one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen. Behind him came an elderly Daoist nun with greying hair whom Yang Guo had never seen before. Following them, walking side by side, were two middle-aged Daoists: Zhao Zhijing⁴¹ and Zhen Zhibing.⁴²

Manor Lord Lu and his lady knelt together and addressed the elderly Daoist nun as “Master”. Then Guo Jing and his wife, Guo Fu, the Wu brothers, and the others came forward one by one to pay their respects. Yang Guo overheard an old man in the crowd quietly telling someone, “That elderly Daoist nun is the Swordswoman of Quanzhen, surnamed Sun, given name Bu’er.”⁴³ The other man said, “Ah, that is the Pure Tranquillity Wanderer,⁴⁴ famed across the Great River’s north and south.” The old man said, “Exactly. She is Lady Lu’s master. Manor Lord Lu’s martial arts, however, were not taught by her.”

It turned out that Manor Lord Lu’s full name was Lu Guanying.⁴⁵ His father, Lu Chengfeng,⁴⁶ had been a disciple of Huang Rong’s father, Huang Yaoshi.⁴⁷ By this reckoning, Lu Guanying was a generation below Guo Jing and Huang Rong. Lu Guanying’s wife, Cheng Yaojia,⁴⁸ was Sun Bu’er’s disciple. The couple had originally lived at Guiyun Manor⁴⁹ on Lake Tai, but after Ouyang Feng burned the manor to ashes, Lu Chengfeng, in a fury, ordered his son to give up leadership of the Lake Tai bandits. The family had moved north and settled at Dasheng Pass. Lu Chengfeng had died young, in his middle years. Years ago, before she was married, Cheng Yaojia had faced mortal danger and been rescued by Guo Jing, Huang Rong, and members of the Beggar Clan. For this, she had always been grateful to the clan. Now that the Beggar Clan had widely distributed hero invitations to gather the jianghu’s heroes, Lu Guanying and his wife, being wealthy, had taken full responsibility and set the Hero Assembly banquet at Lu Manor.

After Guo Jing and the others finished their formal greetings, they accompanied Hao Datong and Sun Bu’er toward the great hall to introduce them to the assembled heroes. Stroking his beard, Hao Datong said, “Senior apprentice brothers Ma, Liu, Qiu, and Wang⁵⁰ all said they should answer Chief Huang’s summons upon receiving the hero invitation. However, Senior Brother Ma has been unwell recently, and Senior Brother Liu and the others are helping him circulate his energy for treatment and cannot get away. They can only beg Chief Huang’s forgiveness.” Huang Rong said, “Not at all, not at all. The seniors are too courteous.” Young as she was, she was the chief of the greatest clan under heaven, and Hao Datong and the others naturally treated her with the utmost respect. Guo Jing had known Zhen Zhibing’s junior fellow disciple Yin Zhiping⁵¹ since their youth and had also met Zhen Zhibing before. Guo Jing inquired after Ma Yu’s⁵² health, and upon learning it was a common ailment of the elderly, he was reassured.

The banquet opened in the great hall. Voices swelled into a din, and candlelight glowed red, a scene of bustling festivity. Zhen Zhibing glanced about restlessly, as though searching for someone in the crowd. Zhao Zhijing gave a faint, cold sneer and said in a low voice, “Junior Brother Zhen, I wonder if that one from the Long family will honour us with her presence?” Zhen Zhibing’s face changed colour, and he did not reply. Guo Jing, not knowing they were speaking of Xiaolongnü, chimed in, “Which hero surnamed Long is that? A friend of the two senior brothers?” Zhao Zhijing said, “A good friend of Junior Brother Zhen’s. This humble Daoist would not presume to make such an acquaintance.”

Suddenly, Zhen Zhibing spotted Yang Guo in the crowd. His entire body jolted as though struck by thunder and lightning. He had assumed that if Yang Guo was here, Xiaolongnü must be here too. Zhao Zhijing followed his gaze, and in an instant his face turned deathly pale. “Yang Guo!” he snarled. “It is Yang Guo! This… this little… is here too!”

Guo Jing heard the name “Yang Guo” and hurriedly turned to look. The two of them had been separated for several years. Yang Guo had grown up, and dressed as he was in abject destitution, Guo Jing might not have recognised him under normal circumstances. But hearing Zhao Zhijing’s cry, he knew at once. Joy and surprise mingled in his heart. He strode quickly over, seized Yang Guo’s hand, and said warmly, “Guoer,⁵³ you have come too! I was afraid of disrupting your studies and did not invite you. Your master bringing you along, truly, nothing could be better.” Yang Guo’s rebellion and flight from Chongyang Palace was regarded by the entire Quanzhen order as a disgrace to their school. No one had breathed a word of it to the outside world, and Guo Jing, living on Peach Blossom Island,⁵⁴ had remained completely unaware. He had worried about Yang Guo constantly but, fearing the Quanzhen Daoists might take offence, had neither visited nor sent anyone to inquire. Meeting him now, he was deeply happy.

Zhao Zhijing had come to this Hero Assembly precisely to tell Guo Jing about the matter. He had not expected to run into Yang Guo here. Afraid that Guo Jing would be prejudiced by hearing only Yang Guo’s side of the story, and now hearing Guo Jing speak as though this were their first meeting, his face turned ashen. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, “What virtue or ability does this humble Daoist possess, to dare call himself Master Yang’s teacher?” Guo Jing was greatly alarmed. “What does Senior Brother Zhao mean by this? Has the boy been disobedient?” Zhao Zhijing saw that the great hall was filled with heroes from every corner of the jianghu. If he brought this up now, it would inevitably lead to an argument with Yang Guo, and Quanzhen would lose face. He merely gave a cold, humourless laugh and said nothing more.

Guo Jing studied Yang Guo carefully. The boy’s eyes were swollen, his nose bruised, his face crisscrossed with bloody scratches. His clothes were in tatters, his body caked with mud. He had clearly suffered greatly. A pang of sorrow struck Guo Jing’s heart. He wrapped both arms around the boy and held him close. The moment Yang Guo felt himself embraced, he secretly circulated his neili to protect his vital points. But Guo Jing was embracing him out of pure affection, there was not the slightest intent to harm. He gently wiped the mud from Yang Guo’s face and called out to Huang Rong, “Ronger,⁵⁵ look who is here!” Huang Rong saw Yang Guo and was also taken aback. She was not as delighted as Guo Jing. Flatly, she said, “Oh. You have come too.”

Yang Guo gently pulled free of Guo Jing’s embrace and said, “I am filthy. I would not want to soil your honoured clothes.” These words were cold and detached, carrying a clear edge of sarcasm. Guo Jing felt a small sting of hurt, then thought, This child has no father or mother, and it seems his master does not care for him either. He took Yang Guo’s hand, wanting him to sit at the same table. Yang Guo had originally been assigned to a corner table in the hall, seated among the least significant guests. Coldly, he said, “I will sit here. Uncle Guo, you should go attend to your honoured guests.” Guo Jing also felt that there were too many distinguished visitors to neglect the others. He patted Yang Guo lightly on the shoulder and returned to the head table to offer toasts.

After three rounds of wine, Huang Rong rose and declared in a clear voice, “Tomorrow is the main day of the Hero Assembly. Many heroes from various paths have yet to arrive. Tonight, please drink freely without restraint, do not stop until you are drunk. We will discuss serious matters tomorrow.” The assembled heroes roared their assent. On the banquet tables, meat was piled like mountains and wine flowed like streams. The heroes played drinking games and reminisced about old times. Lu Guanying, from his days commanding the Lake Tai bandits, had accumulated great wealth, and he was generous by nature. That day at Lu Manor, no one knew how many pigs and sheep had been slaughtered or how many jars of fine wine had been drained.

When the meal was finished, the manor servants attended to the heroes from every path, assigning them rooms to rest.

Zhao Zhijing quietly reported a few words to Hao Datong, who nodded. Zhao Zhijing rose, clasped his hands toward Guo Jing, and said, “Hero Guo, this humble Daoist has failed your trust. I am deeply ashamed. Today I have come to offer a thorned branch and beg forgiveness.”

Guo Jing hurriedly returned the salute. “Senior Brother Zhao is too modest. Let us step into the study to speak. The boy has offended Senior Brother Zhao. I will certainly punish him severely to ease Senior Brother Zhao’s anger.”

He spoke these words clearly, and though Yang Guo was some distance away, he heard every word. His plan was already set in his mind. If he so much as scolds me, he resolved, I will stand up and walk out, and never see his face again. If he strikes me, well, for the kindness he showed me in the past, I will not hit back. If he beats me too badly, the worst that can happen is he kills me. It is no great matter. When Gugu learns of it someday, I wonder if she would grieve for me. Facing a moment of life and death, the first thing he thought of was Xiaolongnü. With this resolution in his heart, he felt calm. The fear he had felt upon first seeing Zhao Zhijing was gone. Seeing Guo Jing beckon to him, he followed behind.

Guo Fu and the Wu brothers had been drinking at another table. At first, they had not recognised Yang Guo. Only after her parents identified him did Guo Fu remember that this was the childhood companion from Peach Blossom Island. So much time had passed, the appearance of young people changes most dramatically. Even a few months apart could bring noticeable differences, let alone several years. And Yang Guo had deliberately made himself look destitute and wretched, mingling among hundreds of people. Of course Guo Fu had not recognised him. Seeing him now, her heart stirred unexpectedly. She recalled the fights and quarrels on Peach Blossom Island all those years ago. Did he still hold those old grudges? Looking at his pitiful state, so utterly different from the Wu brothers’ dashing and handsome appearance, she could not help feeling a faint sympathy. In a low voice, she said to Wu Dunru, “Father sent him to Quanzhen to study martial arts. I wonder how his skills compare to ours.” Before Wu Dunru could answer, Wu Xiuwen cut in: “Master’s martial arts are unrivalled under heaven. How could he compare to us?” Guo Fu nodded. “His foundation was poor before. I imagine he has not made much progress. But how did he end up in such a wretched state?” Wu Xiuwen said, “Those old Daoists were glaring at him as if they wanted to swallow him whole. That boy’s temper has always been foul. He must have caused some major trouble again.”

The three of them whispered among themselves for a while. Hearing that Guo Jing had invited Hao Datong and the others into the study for a talk, and that he had said he would punish Yang Guo severely, Guo Fu’s curiosity was piqued. “Quick,” she said, “let us get to the study first and hide. We can listen to what they say.” Wu Dunru, afraid of being scolded by his master, did not dare agree. But Wu Xiuwen was already crying out his approval and had dashed ahead of Guo Fu. Guo Fu stamped her right foot, a hint of anger on her face, and said to Wu Dunru, “You never listen to me.” Seeing her pretty pout and her smiling brows, Wu Dunru’s heart gave a violent thump. He could resist no longer and hurried after her.

The three had just hidden themselves behind the bookshelf when Guo Jing and Huang Rong entered the study with Hao Datong, Sun Bu’er, Zhen Zhibing, and Zhao Zhijing. Hosts and guests took their seats. Yang Guo followed them in and stood to one side.

Guo Jing said, “Guoer, you may sit too.” Yang Guo shook his head. “I will not sit.” Facing six martial arts masters, bold as he was, he could not help feeling a tremor of unease.

Guo Jing had always regarded Yang Guo as his own flesh and blood, and he held the Seven Masters of Quanzhen in the deepest respect. He assumed, without even asking who was right or wrong, that the younger generation must be at fault. Putting on a stern face, he said to Yang Guo, “Such audacity from a child, daring to show disrespect to your master. Kneel at once and kowtow to your two grand-master uncles, your master, and your master uncle to beg forgiveness.” In those times, the bonds between sovereign and subject, father and son, master and disciple were paramount. The sovereign demanded death, and the subject dared not refuse to die. The father demanded death, and the son dared not refuse to die. In the jianghu, the hierarchy between master and disciple tolerated not the slightest deviation. For Guo Jing to scold him like this was, in truth, out of pity for his lonely plight. His tone had already been tempered to the gentlest degree. Anyone else would have been cursing “little beast, little bastard” and raining down fists and slaps.

Zhao Zhijing shot to his feet and sneered. “How dare this humble Daoist presume to be Master Yang’s honoured teacher? Hero Guo, do not mock me with your words. Our Quanzhen order has not offended you, Hero Guo. Why insult us to our faces? Master Yang, this little Daoist kowtows to you, honoured elder, in apology. Blame my own blind eyes for failing to recognise a true hero…”

Guo Jing and Huang Rong saw his expression shift wildly, his anger growing with every word, and were both thoroughly baffled. If a disciple committed an offence, it was normal for a master to scold or even beat him as punishment. Why this complete loss of decorum? Huang Rong guessed that whatever Yang Guo had done must be exceptionally serious. Seeing Guo Jing silenced by the outburst, she said slowly, “We have caused Senior Brother Zhao trouble, and we are truly sorry for it. But Senior Brother Zhao need not be so angry. How exactly did this child offend his master? Please, sit down and tell us in detail.”

Zhao Zhijing said loudly, “Does this paltry skill of mine, Zhao Zhijing, qualify me to be anyone’s master? Would that not make me the laughingstock of every hero under heaven? Would that not be making a spectacle of me?”

Huang Rong’s elegant brows furrowed with displeasure. She had never had much friendship with the Quanzhen order. Years ago, the Seven Masters had formed the Big Dipper Formation to besiege her father, Huang Yaoshi, and Qiu Chuji⁵⁶ had stubbornly tried to betroth Mu Nianci⁵⁷ to Guo Jing, both incidents had greatly displeased her. Though time had passed and she no longer held grudges, Zhao Zhijing’s shouting and insolent tone in her presence was going too far.

Hao Datong and Sun Bu’er, while understanding Zhao Zhijing’s anger, felt that such blustering was hardly the conduct of one who had renounced the world. Sun Bu’er said, “Zhijing, explain matters properly to Hero Guo and Chief Huang. What kind of behaviour is this, carrying on so wildly? As cultivators of the Way, what Way is it that we cultivate?” Though Sun Bu’er was a woman, her temperament was stern, and all the junior disciples held her in deep awe. Her calm, measured words instantly silenced Zhao Zhijing. “Yes, Master Uncle. Yes,” he said repeatedly, and retreated to his seat.

Guo Jing said, “Guoer, look at the respect your master shows his elders. Why do you not learn from his example?” Zhao Zhijing opened his mouth to say once more, “I am not his master.” But a glance from Sun Bu’er forced him to swallow the words.

Yang Guo declared loudly, “He is not my master!”

These words shocked not only Guo Jing and Huang Rong but also Guo Fu and the Wu brothers, who were eavesdropping behind the bookshelf. In the jianghu, the bond between master and disciple was absolute. As the saying went: “One day as master, a lifetime as father.” Guo Jing had been raised from childhood by the Seven Freaks of Jiangnan⁵⁸ and taught martial arts by Hong Qigong, the grace of his teachers ran deep. Since youth, he had believed that reverence for one’s master was an immutable law of heaven and earth. How could Yang Guo dare to openly disown his teacher and utter such unfilial words? Guo Jing shot to his feet, pointing at Yang Guo, his voice trembling. “You… you… what did you say?” He was clumsy with words and did not know how to curse, but his face had turned iron-grey with rage.

Huang Rong had rarely seen him so angry. She said softly, “Brother Jing, this child’s nature was never good. He is not worth your anger.”

Yang Guo had been afraid at first. But now, seeing even Uncle Guo, who had always doted on him, turn so harsh, he hardened his heart. Apart from death, nothing else matters, he thought. Even if all of you together beat me to death, so what? He said clearly, “My nature was never good, true enough. But I never begged any of you to teach me martial arts. You are all great and famous figures in the jianghu. Why resort to trickery to harm a child with no father and no mother?” At the words “no father and no mother”, the pain of his own circumstances welled up, and the rims of his eyes reddened slightly. But he immediately bit down on his lower lip. Even if I die today, he told himself, I will not shed a single tear.

Guo Jing raged, “Your Auntie Guo and your master… out of kindness… kindness, taught you martial arts, all for the sake of the friendship between me and your late father. Who used… used any trickery? Who… who… harmed… harmed you?” He was never good with words, and in his fury, he stammered even worse.

Seeing him so agitated, Yang Guo spoke even more slowly. “Uncle Guo has treated me very well. I will never forget that.”

Huang Rong said calmly, “Auntie Guo has certainly wronged you. If you wish to hold a grudge for life, that is your choice.”

By this point, Yang Guo had decided to speak his mind freely. “Auntie Guo did not treat me well,” he said, “but she did not mistreat me either. You said you would teach me martial arts, but in truth you only taught me to read. Did you ever pass on to me even a fraction of martial skill?” Guo Jing heard this and thought, So Ronger never taught him martial arts. Yang Guo continued, “But reading is also a good thing. Your nephew at least learned a few more characters and heard you tell many stories of the ancients. For that, I still must thank you. But these old Daoists…” He pointed at Hao Datong and Zhao Zhijing and said bitterly, “One day, I will repay that debt of blood.”

Guo Jing was horrified. “Wh… what? What debt of blood… what… what are you talking about?”

Yang Guo said, “This Daoist surnamed Zhao claims to be my master. He taught me not a shred of martial arts, that much I could accept. But he ordered a gang of young Daoists to beat me. Since neither Uncle Guo nor Auntie Guo taught me martial arts, and Quanzhen refused to teach me either, naturally all I could do was take the beatings. And this one surnamed Hao, he saw a kind old woman take pity on me, and he beat her to death with his own hands. You stinking Daoist Hao, tell me, is this true or false? You beat a defenceless old woman of sixty or seventy until she vomited blood and died. Is your Quanzhen order a righteous school that acts with chivalry and justice, or an evil cult that murders the old and weak? Hao Datong, let us go out to the great hall right now and ask the heroes of the world to judge this matter. Do you dare? If you dare not, then you are a villainous Daoist and a scoundrel, and every last one of your Quanzhen order, from top to bottom, is a shameless thug!” Thinking of how Grandma Sun⁵⁹ had died for his sake, he ground his teeth and lunged forward as if to fight Hao Datong to the death.

Hao Datong was a lofty scholar of Quanzhen. His attainment in both Daoist philosophy and martial arts had reached an extremely high level, and his mastery of the Book of Changes was unsurpassed within the order. But because of a single careless blow that had killed Grandma Sun, he had been weighed down by gloom for years, regarding it as the great regret of his life. The Seven Masters of Quanzhen had killed many in their time, but all had been evil and villainous men, never had they harmed the innocent. Now, hearing Yang Guo denounce him publicly, his face turned the colour of dead ashes. The scene from that day, when his palm had sent Grandma Sun spraying blood, appeared before his eyes with terrible clarity. He carried no weapon on his person. Reaching out with his left hand, he drew the sword from Zhao Zhijing’s waist.

Everyone assumed he meant to stab Yang Guo. Guo Jing stepped forward, ready to intervene. But instead, Hao Datong reversed the sword and extended the hilt toward Yang Guo. “You are right,” he said. “I killed the wrong person. Take your revenge for Grandma Sun. I will not lift a hand to defend myself.” Everyone present was stunned. Guo Jing, fearing Yang Guo would take the sword and attack, cried out, “Guoer, do not be disrespectful.”

Yang Guo knew that before Guo Jing and Huang Rong, he could never take this revenge. “You know perfectly well that Uncle Guo would never let me strike,” he said clearly. “Yet you put on this grand show of generosity. If you truly wanted me to kill you, why did you not hand me the sword somewhere with no one else around? Hao Datong, you shameless murderer, you villainous Daoist, you evil thug. I will repay this blood debt sooner or later. You killed Grandma Sun. Let us see whether your Quanzhen order is a gang of great villains who use force to murder the orphaned and widowed. Why not kill me too, to silence the witness?”

Hao Datong was a senior of the jianghu, yet this youth’s words stabbed at him so precisely that he could find no reply. He held the sword, unable to offer it, unable to withdraw it. With a surge of energy through his hand, he gave a sharp shake, pa!, and the blade snapped in two. He threw the broken sword to the ground, let out a long sigh, and said, “Enough. Enough!” Then he strode out of the study. Guo Jing moved to detain him, but Hao Datong left without looking back.

Guo Jing looked at Yang Guo, then at Sun Bu’er and the others. It seems what the boy says may not be false, he thought. After a long pause, he asked, “Why did the Quanzhen masters not teach you martial arts? What have you been doing these past few years?” His tone had softened considerably.

Yang Guo said, “When Uncle Guo went up Zhongnan Mountain and beat hundreds of Quanzhen Daoists until they could not fight back, even if Masters Ma, Liu, Qiu, and Wang⁵⁰ did not take offence, do you think the others did not hold a grudge? They could not bully you, Uncle Guo, but could they not take it out on a small child like me? They wished they could beat me to death, that would have satisfied them. Why would they ever teach me martial arts? These past few years, I have lived a life darker than the darkest night. That I am still alive today to see Uncle Guo is truly a blessing from the heavens.” With a few light words, he shifted the entire blame for his rebellion from Quanzhen onto Guo Jing’s shoulders. As for “darker than the darkest night”, that was not exactly a lie. Living in the Ancient Tomb,⁶⁰ he naturally never saw the light of day. To Guo Jing’s ears, it stirred an overwhelming surge of pity.

Zhao Zhijing saw that Guo Jing was now nine-tenths convinced by Yang Guo’s words. Growing desperate, he burst out, “You… you… little bastard, talking nonsense… you… humph, our Quanzhen order is open and honourable… that… that…” Yang Guo raged back, “You call me a little bastard? You old bastard, worse than a pig or a dog! Speak one honest word, did you or did you not order your disciples to beat me?”

Guo Jing was ready to believe everything Yang Guo said. But Huang Rong had been watching faces and reading expressions. She saw Yang Guo’s eyes darting about, his face alive with cunning. This child is dangerously clever, she thought. There is deception here. She said, “So, according to this, you have not learned any martial arts at all? All these years under the Quanzhen order have been wasted?” As she spoke, she rose slowly. Suddenly, her arm shot out, and her palm came chopping straight down toward the crown of his head.

Her fingers were aimed at the Baihui⁶¹ acupoint at the very centre of his skull, while the heel of her palm targeted the Shangxing⁶² acupoint, one inch within the hairline above his forehead. Both were lethal vital points, a heavy strike to either meant instant death, beyond any hope of rescue. Guo Jing cried out in alarm, “Ronger!” But Huang Rong’s hand was lightning-fast. This was her family’s “Peach Blossom Falling Petal Palm,”⁶³ which gave no warning whatsoever, the hand moved and the palm arrived. By the time Guo Jing could intervene, it was already too late.

: 寸 – cùn. A traditional Chinese unit of length, about 3.3 centimetres. Ten cun make one chi.

Yang Guo’s body tilted slightly backward, preparing to evade. But at Huang Rong’s current level of skill, once she struck, how could she possibly allow him to dodge? Her palm was already descending on his skull. In his shock, Yang Guo instinctively reached up to block. His mind raced, his right hand twitched, then dropped back down. For someone as slow-witted as Guo Jing, understanding and action happened almost simultaneously. But Yang Guo’s mind was far quicker. In that instant, he realised: Auntie Guo is testing my martial arts. If I block this palm, I will be admitting that I lied. Yet he could see that Huang Rong’s strike was genuinely a lethal killer move. If she was not merely testing him, and he did not defend himself, would he not be throwing his life away for nothing? In that flash of a moment, as quick as lightning and sparks from flint, his stubborn, reckless nature surged up. So I die! So be it! Though his martial arts had not yet reached Huang Rong’s level, blocking her palm would not have been difficult. Yet he chose to risk death and let his hands hang motionless.

Huang Rong’s strike was indeed a test of his martial arts. Her palm reached his head, but she applied no force. She saw the look of alarm on his face, he neither raised his hands to block nor secretly circulated neili to protect his vital points. He appeared to have no martial arts whatsoever. She smiled faintly. “I did not teach you martial arts for your own good,” she said. “It seems the Daoist masters of Quanzhen shared my thinking.” She returned to her seat and whispered to Guo Jing, “He truly has not learned any Quanzhen martial arts.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than she silently cried out: Ah, no! I nearly fell for this little devil’s trick. She remembered how, back on Peach Blossom Island, Yang Guo had used the Toad Skill⁶⁴ to injure Wu Xiuwen. He already had a foundation in martial arts then. Even if he had made no progress in the years since, when her palm descended on his skull just now, he would have blocked it no matter what. Boy, oh boy, she thought, your cunning has outsmarted itself. If you had panicked and blocked my strike, you might have fooled me. But by pretending to know absolutely nothing, you have revealed the crack in your story. She did not expose him, deciding instead to watch what tricks he would play next. She glanced at Zhao Zhijing, then at Yang Guo, and merely smiled.

Zhao Zhijing had seen Huang Rong test Yang Guo and Yang Guo not fight back. He assumed Huang Rong had been deceived, which only made his own position look worse. Fury blazing, he bellowed, “This little beast is full of schemes. Chief Huang, since you could not expose him, let me try!” He walked up to Yang Guo, pointed at his nose, and said, “Little beast, do you truly know no martial arts? If you do not block my strikes, this Daoist’s hand will show no mercy. Whether you live or die, you have only yourself to blame.” He knew Yang Guo’s martial arts were in fact superior to his own. But by striking with lethal intent, he would force Yang Guo to reveal his true ability. If Yang Guo kept up the pretence, then he would simply kill him with one blow. At worst, he would fall out with Guo Jing and his wife and accept severe punishment from the zhangmen and his own master. Truly, fury rose from his heart and evil surged toward his gall. You are betting that Chief Huang would not take your life, he thought, so you boldly put on this ghostly act. Let us see if you dare keep up the act under my hand! He shook his sleeve, ready to strike.

Guo Jing cried, “Hold!” Afraid Zhao Zhijing would take Yang Guo’s life, he moved to intervene. But Huang Rong pulled at his sleeve and whispered, “Stay out of this.” She knew Zhao Zhijing was exceptionally enraged and would strike with deadly force. Yang Guo would have no choice but to fight back, and then the truth would come out. Guo Jing had no idea of all these hidden undercurrents. Uneasy as he was, he trusted that his wife’s judgment was never wrong. He said nothing more, though he took a step forward so that if real danger came, he could still intervene in time.

Zhao Zhijing addressed Sun Bu’er and Zhen Zhibing: “Master Uncle Sun, Junior Brother Zhen, this little beast is pretending to know no martial arts. I have been left with no choice but to test him. If he stubbornly persists in his act and I kill him with one palm, I ask you to bear witness before the zhangmen Senior Brother, Senior Brother Qiu, and my own master.”

The reasons behind Yang Guo’s rebellion against Quanzhen were perfectly clear to Sun Bu’er. Seeing him now use his cunning tricks to corner Zhao Zhijing and make Quanzhen look completely in the wrong, and hearing him insult the order with every other word, she too hoped Zhao Zhijing would force him to reveal his true colours. “A disciple who destroys his teacher and betrays his order like this,” she said coldly, “should simply be struck dead.” She was a Daoist of high attainment, how could she truly advocate killing? The intent of her words was to intimidate Yang Guo, to make him afraid to continue his charade.

With his master uncle backing him, Zhao Zhijing grew even bolder. He raised his right foot and drove it savagely toward Yang Guo’s lower abdomen. This move, “Heavenly Mountain Flying Crossing,”⁶⁵ blended hardness with softness, with fierce yang energy concealing subtle yin force, it was truly formidable. But though the kick carried great power, it was not a profound technique. It was, in fact, the very first lesson of Quanzhen’s introductory martial arts, plain and unremarkable, something anyone with even a trace of martial skill could counter. Every Quanzhen disciple, on their first day of training, learned “Heavenly Mountain Flying Crossing” first, followed immediately by “Retreating Horse Stance,”⁶⁶ which was the defence against “Heavenly Mountain Flying Crossing.” One attack, one defence, the simplest set in the curriculum. Zhao Zhijing chose this move to make it clear to Guo Jing and Huang Rong: Even if I did not teach him advanced martial arts, could I have failed to teach him the very first lesson?

Yang Guo saw the flying kick coming but did not use the “Retreating Horse Stance.” He cried, “Aiyo!” He let his left hand drop to shield his lower abdomen. Zhao Zhijing saw that he had the audacity to neither dodge nor block, so he held nothing back and drove the kick straight in. When his foot was no more than three inches from Yang Guo’s abdomen, he suddenly saw, by the lamplight, Yang Guo’s left thumb raised slightly, aimed precisely at the Dahuo⁶⁷ acupoint on the inner ankle of his right foot.

If he kicked through with full force, before his toes even touched his opponent’s body, his own acupoint would be struck first. This was not a case of the opponent reaching out to seal his acupoint, he would be delivering his own acupoint onto the opponent’s fingertip. As the foremost master among Quanzhen’s third-generation disciples, Zhao Zhijing reacted instantly to the danger. He forcibly altered the direction of his kick, his right foot brushing past Yang Guo’s side. He barely avoided having his acupoint sealed, but his body could not help swaying, and his face flushed bright red.

Guo Jing and Huang Rong had both been behind Yang Guo and could not see his fingers. They assumed Zhao Zhijing had held back at the final moment and diverted his kick. But Sun Bu’er and Zhen Zhibing had seen everything clearly. Zhen Zhibing remained silent. Sun Bu’er shot to her feet and shouted, “You little wretch! Such treachery!”

Zhao Zhijing feinted with his left palm, then brought his right palm slashing diagonally toward Yang Guo’s left cheek. This move, “Purple Lightning Pierces the Clouds,”⁶⁸ was an exquisitely refined high-level technique. Midway through, the strike’s direction shifted abruptly, it seemed to be chopping at the left cheek, but the edge of the palm was actually aimed at the right side of the opponent’s neck. But Yang Guo had long since mastered the Jade Maiden Heart Sutra⁶⁹ to the point of effortless fluency, and this sutra was precisely the great nemesis of Quanzhen martial arts. For every formidable fist or palm technique Wang Chongyang⁷⁰ had created, Lin Chaoying⁷¹ had devised an ingenious counter. Now, seeing Zhao Zhijing’s left palm feint, Yang Guo hurriedly raised his hands to cover his head as though terrified. But beneath his right palm, the index finger of his left hand was already hidden at the right side of his neck. When Zhao Zhijing’s palm edge came chopping down, Yang Guo’s right hand shifted slightly, and with a soft bo, his left index finger landed exactly on the Houxi⁷² acupoint at the centre of Zhao Zhijing’s palm edge.

Once again, Zhao Zhijing had delivered his own hand onto Yang Guo’s finger for the acupoint to be sealed. Yang Guo had merely anticipated his opponent’s move and placed his finger at the precise location. With the acupoint on his palm sealed, Zhao Zhijing’s arm went numb. Realising he had fallen for another trick, he swept his left foot across in a blind rage. Yang Guo cried out, “Aiyo!” He bent his left arm slightly, positioning his elbow precisely one inch and five fen above his left waist. Zhao Zhijing’s kick arrived, and the Zhaohai⁷³ and Taixi⁷⁴ acupoints on his ankle struck Yang Guo’s elbow tip simultaneously. The kick had been thrown in a fury, carrying ferocious force, the shock to his acupoints was correspondingly severe. His left leg went numb, and he collapsed to one knee.

Sun Bu’er saw her martial nephew humiliated. She reached out with her left arm, pulled him up, and patted his back several times to unseal his acupoints.

Though Sun Bu’er had cultivated the Way for many years, her temperament was still fiercely strong. She saw that Yang Guo’s techniques were bizarre beyond belief and seemed to be the natural nemesis of her own school’s martial arts. Moreover, he had made it look as though he knew no martial arts at all while thoroughly defeating the foremost master of Quanzhen’s third generation, an even more remarkable feat. She was not certain she could beat him herself. “Let us go!” she said. Without bidding farewell to Guo Jing and Huang Rong, she flicked her sleeve, leapt through the study window, and landed on the roof.

Zhen Zhibing had been standing as though his soul had left his body. He wanted to explain the whole matter to Guo Jing and Huang Rong, but Zhao Zhijing said furiously, “What is there left to say?” He tugged at Zhen Zhibing’s sleeve, and the two of them leapt out the window one after another, following Sun Bu’er.

With the eyesight of Guo Jing and Huang Rong, they could naturally tell that Zhao Zhijing had had his acupoints sealed. But Yang Guo had clearly not extended a hand or a finger. Could it be that some hidden expert had secretly helped him?

Guo Jing immediately stuck his head out the window to look around, but there was no one there. He assumed that Zhao Zhijing, just as he was about to strike the killing blow, had suddenly felt a pang of conscience, or had been intimidated by the presence of himself and his wife and dared not follow through. Or perhaps, because Hao Datong had unjustly killed someone, Quanzhen feared that Yang Guo would go to the great hall and proclaim the matter for all the heroes to judge, and Zhao Zhijing had therefore pretended to have his acupoints sealed as an excuse to leave. Huang Rong, however, saw that Yang Guo must have used some trick. But for one thing, she had been behind Yang Guo and, sharp as her eyes were, could not possibly have seen the movements of his fingers and elbow. For another, she had no idea that a martial art like the Jade Maiden Heart Sutra existed, one that could anticipate an opponent’s moves and counter Quanzhen’s martial arts so completely that they had no power to resist. For the moment, she could not figure it out. She was not like Guo Jing, who measured others by his own honourable heart. Seeing the four Quanzhen Daoists sweep out without a word, a gross breach of courtesy, she could not help feeling anger.

She stood lost in thought for a moment, then turned around, and spotted the tips of Guo Fu’s dark green shoes peeking out from beneath the bookshelf. “Fu’er!” she called at once. “What are you doing here?” Guo Fu giggled and came out, making a funny face. “Brother Wu and I were looking for books to read.” Huang Rong knew that the three of them had never been fond of books, how could they suddenly become so studious today? One look at her daughter’s expression told her they must have been hiding there eavesdropping. She was about to scold them when a Beggar Clan disciple reported that guests from afar had arrived. Huang Rong cast one more glance at Yang Guo, then went out with Guo Jing to receive the visitors.

Guo Jing said to the Wu brothers, “Brother Yang was your childhood companion. Treat him well.”

The Wu brothers had never gotten along with Yang Guo. Now, seeing him so destitute, having learned not a shred of martial arts at Quanzhen, and hearing his master curse him as “little beast” and “little bastard”, they looked down on him even more. They summoned a manor servant and told him to attend to Yang Guo and arrange a place for him to sleep. Guo Fu, however, was intensely curious about Yang Guo. “Brother Yang,” she asked, “why does your master not want you?”

Yang Guo said, “Oh, the reasons are many. I am stupid and lazy, my temper is bad, and I do not know how to grovel and serve my master’s relatives, running out to buy horsewhips for them, or donkey whips, and so on…”

The Wu brothers bristled at these pointed words. Wu Xiuwen could not hold back. “What are you saying?” he demanded. Yang Guo said, “I am saying I am useless. I could not win my master’s favour.”

Guo Fu smiled sweetly. “Your master is a Daoist. Does he have a daughter too?” When Yang Guo saw her smile, like a rose suddenly blooming, bright and alluring, his heart stirred despite himself. A faint blush rose to his cheeks, and he turned his head away. Guo Fu had always had the Wu brothers wrapped around her finger and had long stopped thinking anything of it. But now, seeing Yang Guo’s expression, she knew he had been smitten by her beauty. She felt a secret satisfaction.

Yang Guo gazed toward the western wall, where a pair of scrolls hung. The first line read: “Peach blossoms fall like shadows, the divine sword takes flight.” The second: “Jade-green tides rise with the sounding of the jade flute.”⁷⁵ He had seen this couplet before, in the Sword-Testing Pavilion on Peach Blossom Island, and knew it was written by Huang Yaoshi. But the couplet here was signed: “Scribbled in illness by the Wanderer of the Five Lakes.”⁷⁶ He was only a few years older than the three people before him, yet his heart felt as though it had aged more than ten years. Seeing the words “Wanderer of the Five Lakes”, he thought of how his loved ones were either dead or gone, how he himself drifted east and west, no different from a wastrel. The satisfaction he had felt moments ago at forcing Zhao Zhijing to flee in disgrace vanished completely. A cold, bleak loneliness swept over him. He lowered his head, sunk in sorrow.

Guo Fu spoke softly, “Brother Yang, you should go and rest now. I will come and talk with you tomorrow.” Yang Guo said flatly, “All right.” He followed the manor servant out of the study. Faintly, from behind him, he heard Guo Fu scolding the Wu brothers: “If I want to talk to him, what business is it of yours? If his martial arts are poor, I will ask Father to teach him myself.”

杨过 – Yáng Guò. His name meaning “fault or transgression”; his courtesy name Gaizhi means “to correct it”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
洪七公 – Hóng Qīgōng. Literally Hong the Seventh Lord; the numeral seven marks seniority among sworn brothers. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Gugu (姑姑) — Literally “paternal aunt,” but used here as a term of respectful address for a young woman of the older generation. Yang Guo uses this to address Xiaolongnü, his shifu. ↩
郭伯母 – Guō Bómǔ. Yang Guo’s term of respect for Huang Rong, wife of Guo Jing. ↩
尾生 – Wěi Shēng. Figure from ancient lore who drowned rather than break a rendezvous beneath a bridge when floodwaters rose. ↩
亢龙有悔 – Kànglóng Yǒuhuǐ. Literally the soaring dragon has regrets. First stance of the Eighteen Palms of Dragon Subduing. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
达尔巴 – Dá’ěrbā. Tibetan personal name. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
金轮国师 – Jīnlún Guóshī. Mongol Empire’s national teacher and martial arts adept. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Enlightened Master Lingzhi (灵智上人). Qinghai monk who appeared in The Legend of the Condor Heroes. Subordinate of Wanyan Honglie with some martial prowess, but his skills were considered crude by the standards of true masters. ↩
欧阳锋 – Ōuyáng Fēng. His name meaning “blade” or “cutting edge”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
华山论剑 – Huàshān Lùnjiàn. Literally sword discussion at Huashan. Use of discussion is key as the participants were engaged in a martial arts exchange and a philosophical debate on mastery, rather than just a physical contest. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
九阴真经 – Jiǔyīn Zhēnjīng. Legendary martial arts compendium compiled by Huang Shang during the Northern Song dynasty. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
郭靖 – Guō Jìng. His name meaning “tranquillity” or “pacification”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
黄蓉 – Huáng Róng. Her name meaning “lotus” or “hibiscus”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Toad (蛤蟆). “Stinking Toad” (臭蛤蟆) was Hong Qigong’s derogatory nickname for Ouyang Feng, mocking his signature Toad Skill (蛤蟆功). Word triggers deep recognition in Ouyang Feng’s fractured mind because it is tied to his core martial identity. ↩
Serpent Staff (蛇杖). Ouyang Feng’s signature weapon. Steel staff with a cleft head, in which live venomous snakes were kept. Serpents could strike unexpectedly during combat. His staff techniques were ferocious and unpredictable. ↩
打狗棒法 – Dǎgǒu Bàngfǎ. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
气 – qì. Vital energy or life force that circulates through the body. In martial arts, qi cultivation is the foundation of neili. ↩
丹田 – dāntián. Cinnabar field, a key energy centre in the body in Daoist internal alchemy and Chinese martial arts. Lower dantian, below the navel, is the primary centre for storing and cultivating qi. ↩
Chen hour (辰时). Fifth of the twelve shichen in the traditional Chinese time system, corresponding to 7:00–9:00 AM. ↩
Shen hour (申时). Ninth of the twelve shichen, corresponding to 3:00–5:00 PM. ↩ ↩²
Lu silk (鲁缟). Reference to the saying “a spent arrow cannot pierce even thin Lu silk” (强弩之末不能穿鲁缟), from the Records of the Grand Historian. Lu was a state famed for its fine white silk. Proverb means that even the most powerful force, once exhausted, becomes impotent. ↩
棒打双犬 – Bàng Dǎ Shuāng Quǎn. Literally staff strikes two dogs. First stance of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique. ↩
天下无狗 – Tiānxià Wú Gǒu. Literally no dogs under heaven. Ultimate stance of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique. ↩
Book of Changes (易经). Yijing or I Ching, one of the Five Classics of Chinese philosophy. Its core principle is that all phenomena are in constant flux, and that extremes inevitably reverse — when yin reaches its limit, it transforms into yang, and vice versa. This principle underlies the highest levels of neili cultivation in Jin Yong’s martial arts universe. ↩
Taiji (太极). Supreme Ultimate, the fundamental principle of Chinese cosmology. Represented by the famous taijitu diagram (☯), it depicts yin and yang in dynamic, circular interdependence. Here, the merging of Hong Qigong’s orthodox and Ouyang Feng’s reverse Nine Yin Manual energy into a harmonious whole mirrors the taiji principle at its deepest level. ↩
里 – lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately one-third of a mile or five hundred metres. ↩
Thousand-li steed (千里马). Literally “thousand-li horse.” A term for a horse of exceptional speed and endurance, capable of covering a thousand li in a single day. Term is also used metaphorically for a person of outstanding talent who has not yet been recognised. ↩
淮河 – Huái Hé. Major river in central China, traditionally marking the boundary between north and south. ↩
陆无双 – Lù Wúshuāng. Her name meaning “peerless” or “without equal”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
李莫愁 – Lǐ Mòchóu. Her name meaning “do not sorrow”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
小龙女 – Xiǎolóngnǚ. Literally little dragon maiden. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Wife (媳妇儿). Yang Guo’s mocking reference to Lu Wushuang, whom he jokingly called his “wife” during their earlier encounter when he disguised himself to rescue her. ↩
Wu brothers (武氏兄弟). Wu Dunru (武敦儒) and Wu Xiuwen (武修文), the sons of Wu Santong (武三通). Disciples of Guo Jing, they are both infatuated with Guo Fu and fiercely competitive with each other for her attention. ↩
郭芙 – Guō Fú. Her name meaning “lotus”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
武敦儒 – Wǔ Dūnrú. His name meaning “earnest scholar”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
武修文 – Wǔ Xiūwén. His name meaning “cultivate literature”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Wang the Thirteenth (王十三). Low-ranking two-bag disciple of the Beggar Clan. His name follows the clan’s informal naming convention, where numbers often replace given names among the lower ranks. ↩
大胜关 – Dàshèng Guān. Strategic pass between Henan and Hubei; site of Lu Manor and the Hero Assembly. ↩
郝大通 – Hǎo Dàtōng. His name meaning “great penetration”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
赵志敬 – Zhào Zhìjìng. His name meaning “aspiring to reverence”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
甄志丙 – Zhēn Zhìbǐng. His name meaning “aspiring to the third stem”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
孙不二 – Sūn Bùèr. Her name meaning “not two”, signifying non-duality. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Pure Tranquillity Wanderer (清净散人). Daoist title of Sun Bu’er, reflecting her ascetic cultivation and aloof temperament. ↩
陆冠英 – Lù Guànyīng. His name meaning “crowned hero”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
陆乘风 – Lù Chéngfēng. His name meaning “riding the wind”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
黄药师 – Huáng Yàoshī. His name meaning “medicine master”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
程瑶迦 – Chéng Yáojiā. Her name meaning “jade” combined with a transliterated Buddhist name element. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Guiyun Manor (归云庄). Lu Chengfeng’s manor on Lake Tai, originally built by him after his exile from Peach Blossom Island. It was burned to the ground by Ouyang Feng. Name suggests “returning clouds,” evoking the misty, ethereal beauty of the Lake Tai region. ↩
Masters Ma, Liu, Qiu, and Wang (马刘丘王). Four senior Masters of Quanzhen: Ma Yu (马钰), Liu Chuxuan (刘处玄), Qiu Chuji (丘处机), and Wang Chuyi (王处一). Along with Hao Datong, Sun Bu’er, and Tan Chuduan (谭处端, deceased), they form the Seven Masters. ↩ ↩²
Yin Zhiping (尹志平). In the original editions, the third-generation Quanzhen disciple who violated Xiaolongnü. In the third edition, this role and name were changed to Zhen Zhibing (甄志丙). Yin Zhiping remains a separate, more honourable character in the revised canon. ↩
马钰 – Mǎ Yù. His name meaning “precious jade”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
过儿 – Guò’ér. Affectionate diminutive of Yang Guo’s name, with the diminutive suffix -er indicating affection or familiarity. ↩
Peach Blossom Island (桃花岛). Huang Yaoshi’s island domain off the coast of Zhejiang. Place of breathtaking beauty, filled with peach trees that bloom in perpetual spring, it is also a labyrinth of deadly traps and formations designed by Huang Yaoshi’s genius. ↩
蓉儿 – Róng’ér. Intimate nickname for Huang Rong, with the diminutive suffix -er indicating affection or familiarity. ↩
丘处机 – Qiū Chǔjī. His name meaning “dwelling in opportunity”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
穆念慈 – Mù Niàncí. Her name meaning “cherishing kindness”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
江南七怪 – Jiāngnán Qī Guài. Group of seven martial artists from Jiaxing who followed their own code of honour. They took a bet to find and train Guo Jing and spent years in the Mongolian steppes fulfilling the vow; their integrity and loyalty were legendary. ↩
孙婆婆 – Sūn Pópo. Literally Granny Sun; pópo is a familiar term for an elderly woman. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
古墓 – Gǔmù. Underground tomb complex beneath Zhongnan Mountain, home of the Ancient Tomb School. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Baihui (百会). “Hundred Convergences” acupoint at the crown of the head (GV-20). One of the most vital points in the body; a heavy strike here is invariably fatal. ↩
Shangxing (上星). “Upper Star” acupoint, located one inch within the hairline above the forehead (GV-23). Another lethal vital point, especially vulnerable to palm strikes. ↩
Peach Blossom Falling Petal Palm (桃华落英掌). Signature palm technique of Huang Yaoshi’s Peach Blossom Island school. Deceptively graceful, like petals drifting from a peach tree, it strikes without warning and from unpredictable angles. Huang Rong used it to test Yang Guo’s martial arts. ↩
蛤蟆功 – Hámá Gōng. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Heavenly Mountain Flying Crossing (天山飞渡). First technique taught to Quanzhen disciples. Simple but effective kick that blends hard and soft force. Zhao Zhijing used it to test whether Yang Guo had learned even the most basic Quanzhen martial art. ↩
Retreating Horse Stance (退马势). Defensive counterpart to “Heavenly Mountain Flying Crossing,” also taught on the first day of Quanzhen training. It is a simple evasive step backward. Yang Guo’s refusal to use it was his way of claiming he had learned nothing. ↩
Dahuo (大豁). Acupoint on the inner ankle. Yang Guo positioned his thumb to seal this point, forcing Zhao Zhijing to abort his kick or seal his own acupoint. ↩
Purple Lightning Pierces the Clouds (紫电穿云). Sophisticated Quanzhen palm technique. It feints toward one target before striking another mid-motion, making it difficult to defend against. One of the advanced techniques that the Jade Maiden Heart Sutra was specifically designed to counter. ↩
玉女心经 – Yùnǚ Xīnjīng. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
王重阳 – Wáng Chóngyáng. His name meaning “double yang”, the ninth day of the ninth lunar month. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
林朝英 – Lín Cháoyīng. Her name meaning “facing the hero” or “morning hero”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩
Houxi (后溪). “Back Stream” acupoint on the palm edge (SI-3). Sealing this point causes numbness in the arm and hand. ↩
Zhaohai (照海). “Shining Sea” acupoint on the inner ankle (KI-6). ↩
Taixi (太溪). “Great Stream” acupoint on the inner ankle (KI-3). ↩
Peach blossom couplet. Couplet “桃花影落飞神剑，碧海潮生按玉箫” (Peach blossoms fall like shadows — the divine sword takes flight / Jade-green tides rise with the sounding of the jade flute) was composed by Huang Yaoshi. It captures the dual essence of his martial arts: the “Peach Blossom Falling Petal Divine Sword” (桃华落英神剑) and the “Jade-Green Tides Flute Melody” (碧海潮生曲), the latter being a sonic attack that disturbs the opponent’s neili. Couplet appears in both the Sword-Testing Pavilion on Peach Blossom Island and, as Yang Guo discovers, in Lu Guanying’s manor at Dasheng Pass. ↩
Wanderer of the Five Lakes (五湖废人). Signature Huang Yaoshi used on the couplet at Lu Guanying’s manor. “Five Lakes” refers to the great lakes of China — a term for wandering the rivers and lakes. Addition of “wastrel” or “useless person” (废人) reflects Huang Yaoshi’s self-deprecating humour and his lifelong sense of alienation. For Yang Guo, encountering this phrase triggers a deep resonance with his own sense of being adrift and worthless. ↩

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