Jin Yong


Legends of the

Condor Heroes I





A Hero Born


Translated from the Chinese by

Anna Holmwood





Contents


Title Page

Copyright Page

Introduction

Characters

Prologue

Chapter One

Suddenly a Snow Storm

Chapter Two

The Seven Freaks of the South

Chapter Three

Swirling Sands

Chapter Four

A Dark Wind Blows

Chapter Five

Draw the Bow, Shoot the Condor

Chapter Six

Combat at the Cliff

Chapter Seven

For the Maiden

Chapter Eight

Every Man a Mythical Skill

Chapter Nine

Spear Splits Plough

Appendices

About the Author





First published in the Chinese language as

Shediao Yingxiong Zhuan (1) in 1959; revised in 1976, 2003

First published in Great Britain in 2018 by

MacLehose Press

An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

An Hachette UK company

Copyright © Jin Yong (Louis Cha) 1959, 1976, 2003

English translation copyright © 2018 by Anna Holmwood

Illustrations © Jiang Yun Xing ()

The moral right of Jin Yong (Louis Cha) to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Anna Holmwood asserts her moral right to be identified as the translator of the work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

EBOOK ISBN 978 1 84866 791 4

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.quercusbooks.co.uk





Introduction




DEAR READER,

It begins with a storyteller, with news from the north, a tale of crushing defeat and humiliation, a great Chinese Empire in tatters and fleeing south.

It begins with a court corrupt to the core, willing to sacrifice the Chinese people to the invading Jurchen tribes for the chance of gold and escape.

It begins with two patriots, two farmers self-taught in the martial arts, and one Taoist determined to avenge their deaths.

It begins with two sons, still in their mothers’ bellies when their fathers are slain, divided and taken into enemy hands, brought up far away from their Chinese motherland.

This is the start of an explosive epic of courage, honour and justice by one of the world’s best-loved writers.

You are about to begin a journey that will span the lengths of the Chinese Empire and beyond, traverse centuries, witness dynasties rise and fall in brutal wars and deceitful invasions, brave men fight and die for their homeland and traitors exchange honour for personal gain. You will meet young men and women with remarkable kung fu skills, you will encounter gruff men who, despite appearances, always respect the code of honour that governs the martial arts world. You will be amazed by semi-celestial animals, magic medicinal concoctions and poison-tipped weapons. You will come face to face with princes who manipulate and mothers who are easily manipulated, men whose love is undying and women whose hearts never err.

We start in the year 1205, as the Song Empire has been pushed southwards out of its capital by the Jurchen Jin Empire. Meanwhile, the great Mongol commander Temujin, who will later be known as Genghis Khan, is gathering power and men out on the steppes. We will end the series with the Yuan dynasty, established by Genghis Khan’s grandson Kublai Khan, crumbling as patriots fight to regain China.

Legends of the Condor Heroes spans twelve volumes, split into three larger epics consisting of four volumes each. The first of the trilogy, known simply by that name, follows Guo Jing, son of patriot Skyfury Guo, who is determined to avenge the death of his father and help regain his motherland from the Jin Empire. But as the good-hearted young man discovers, a hero is not merely born, he is honed in the moments when his love and loyalty are most sorely tested.

Set against the backdrop of the Mongol betrayal of their old allies the Song, the next in the trilogy, The Return of the Condor Heroes, known as the greatest love story of martial arts fiction, moves the action into the next generation. We follow Yang Kang’s son as he fights to regain a love nearly lost. Along the way, he meets a giant condor who becomes his companion and teacher, and whose martial skill trumps that of nearly all other fighters of the south.

The third and last set of volumes in the series form Heaven Sword, Dragon Sabre, the story of two legendary martial arts weapons and a world of conflicting unorthodox martial arts cults. The weapons are said to allow the wielder to rule over the martial arts world. The hero of these last books is a bold, handsome young man whose parents were killed in pursuit of these magical weapons. Reluctantly the young man takes leadership of a mysterious cult of kung fu fighters; those outside of it are never sure of its motives, but they have a self-professed mission to “deliver mankind from suffering and eliminate all evil”. To them, it is clear this must include overthrowing the Mongol Yuan dynasty and regaining the imperial house for the Han Chinese. Unfortunately, six other unorthodox cults are determined to thwart them . . .

You hold in your hands the first volume of one of the world’s best-loved stories and one of its grandest epics, a series that can count its fans in the hundreds of millions. And yet this is the first time it has been published in English, despite making its appearance in a Hong Kong newspaper over half a century ago. Jin Yong (pen name of Louis Cha) is the Chinese-speaking world’s best-selling author. Generations of young readers have stayed up past their bedtimes, huddled under covers, following Guo Jing and his descendants in their fight to regain the glories of the past, when the Chinese could lay claim to having the strongest Empire in the world.

Many have considered Jin Yong’s world too foreign, too Chinese, for an English-speaking readership. Impossible to translate. And yet this story of love, loyalty, honour and the power of the individual against successive corrupt governments and invading forces is as universal as any story could hope to be. The greatest loss that can occur in translation can only come from not translating at all.

So, dear reader, all that is left is to enter through these pages into a universe at once fantastical and based on real historical events, one both foreign and intimately familiar, a story full of heart and of remarkable physical prowess.

ANNA HOLMWOOD





Characters



As they appear in this, the first volume of

Legends of the Condor Heroes: A Hero Born



MAIN CHARACTERS

Guo Jing, son of Skyfury Guo and Lily Li. After his father’s death before he was born, he grows up with his mother in Mongolia, where they are looked after by the future Genghis Khan.

Yang Kang, son of Ironheart Yang and Charity Bao, sworn as brother to Guo Jing while both are still in their mother’s bellies.

Lotus Huang is highly skilled in kung fu, but she refuses to reveal the identity of her Master when challenged.

THE SONG PATRIOTS

Ironheart Yang, descendent of Triumph Yang, one-time rebel turned patriot who served under General Yue Fei. Ironheart practises the Yang Family Spear, a technique passed from father to son.

Married to Charity Bao, daughter of a country scholar from Red Plum Village.

Skyfury Guo, sworn brother to Ironheart Yang, he is descended from Prosperity Guo, one of the heroes of the Marshes of Mount Liang. Skyfury fights with the double halberd, in keeping with the Guo family tradition.

Married to Lily Li, Guo Jing’s mother. She escapes the attack on Ox Village and ends up in Mongolia with Guo Jing.

Qu San, owner of Ox Village’s only tavern, he keeps his kung fu skills secret from the rest of the villagers.

Mu Yi, travels all across Song- and Jin-controlled lands with his daughter Mercy Mu, organising a martial contest in order to find her a suitable husband.

SONG IMPERIAL TRAITORS

Justice Duan, an army officer to the Song who, in actual fact, works for the Jin.

Wang Daoqian, a military official in the Song court, he is killed by Qiu Chuji for accepting bribes by the Jin.

THE FIVE GREATS

Considered the five greatest martial artists after a contest was held on Mount Hua. Only two are mentioned in this first book in the series:

The Eastern Heretic Apothecary Huang, a loner and radical who practises his unorthodox martial arts on Peach Blossom Island along with his wife and six students. He holds traditions and their accompanying morals in contempt and believes only in true love and honour. His eccentricity and heretical views make others suspicious of him, an image he himself cultivates.

Double Sun Wang Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen Sect in the Zhongnan Mountains, with the aim of training Taoists in the martial arts so that they might defend the Song against the Jurchen invasion. A real historical figure, he lived from A.D. 1113 to 1170.

THE QUANZHEN TAOIST SECT

A real branch of Taoism, whose name means “Way of Complete Perfection”.

The Seven Immortals, students of Wang Chongyang

Only three of the Immortals make their appearance in this first book of the series:

Scarlet Sun Ma Yu, the oldest of the Immortals, teaches internal kung fu based on breathing techniques.

Eternal Spring Qiu Chuji, befriends Ironheart Yang and Skyfury Guo at the beginning of the series and vows to protect their unborn offspring. To this end, he devises a martial contest with the Seven Freaks of the South. He becomes teacher to Yang Kang.

Jade Sun Wang Chuyi, the Iron Foot Immortal, befriends Guo Jing after hearing of Qiu Chuji’s contest with the Seven Freaks of the South.

Harmony Yin, apprentice to Qiu Chuji.

THE SEVEN FREAKS OF THE SOUTH

Also known as the Seven Heroes of the South when being addressed respectfully by other characters. They refer to themselves as a martial family, despite being of no blood relation.

Ke Zhen’e, Suppressor of Evil, also known as Flying Bat. The oldest of the Freaks, he is often referred to as Eldest Brother. Blinded in a fight, his preferred weapon is his flying devilnuts, iron projectiles made in the shape of a kind of water chesnut native to China.

Quick Hands Zhu Cong the Intelligent is known for his quick thinking and even quicker sleight of hand. His dirty scholar’s dress and broken oil-paper fan, really made from iron, belie his real martial skill. He is particularly knowledgeable in acupressure points, using them to disable his opponents in a fight. At times, he might also use his skills to steal gold and other items, but only from those he thinks dishonourable and thus deserving of such trickery.

Ryder Han, Protector of the Steeds, only three foot in height but a formidable fighter when sitting astride a horse.

Woodcutter Nan the Merciful, known for his kind, if not shy, nature, teaches Guo Jing sabre technique. He fights with an iron-tipped shoulder pole.

Zhang Asheng, also known as the Laughing Buddha, is a burly man dressed as a butcher, whose preferred weapon is a pair of scales. He is secretly in love with Jade Han.

Gilden Quan the Prosperous, Cloaked Master of the Market, is a master of the rules of the marketplace and always looking for a good deal. He fights with the use of a spear.

Jade Han, Maiden of the Yue Sword, is the youngest and only female of the group. She is trained in the Yue Sword, a technique particular to the region surrounding Jiaxing and developed when the Kingdom of Yue was at war with the Kingdom of Wu in the fifth century B.C.

THE MONGOLIANS

The Great Khan Temujin, one of the great warlords who will go on to unite the various Mongolian tribes and assume the name Genghis Khan.

Temujin’s children:

Jochi, Temujin’s eldest son.

Chagatai, the second son.

Ogedai, the third son.

Tolui, the fourth son, and Guo Jing’s sworn brother.

Khojin, one of many daughters whose names are mostly lost to history. Temujin betroths her first to Tusakha, son of his rival Senggum, and then to Guo Jing.

Temujin’s allies and followers:

Jamuka, Temujin’s sworn brother and ally.

Jebe, whose name means “arrow” and “Divine Archer” in Mongolian, is made a commander of Temujin’s men after demonstrating his great skill with a bow and arrow, and showing himself to be a loyal fighter of considerable principle.

Temujin’s Four Great Generals:

Muqali, Bogurchi, Boroqul and Tchila’un.

Temujin’s rivals:

Ong Khan, sworn brother of Temujin’s father.

Senggum, son of Ong Khan.

Tusakha, son of Senggum, is only a few years older than Guo Jing and bullies him and Tolui when they are young.

THE JIN EMPIRE

Wanyan Honglie, Sixth Prince, titled Prince of Zhao, has made conquering the Song his own personal mission, in order to secure his reputation and legacy among his own people. He is an astute tactician, using rivalries and jealousies within the Song court and the wulin to his own advantage.

Wanyan Hongxi, Third Prince, lacks his younger brother’s political sense, especially when dealing with the Mongols.

Wanyan Kang, son of the Sixth Prince Wanyan Honglie, is arrogant and entitled, but possesses considerable martial skill. He fights Guo Jing after refusing to marry Mercy Mu.

Consort to the Sixth Prince, mother of Wanyan Kang.

FOLLOWERS OF THE SIXTH PRINCE WANYAN HONGLIE

Gallant Ouyang, Master of White Camel Mount in the Kunlun Range, nephew to one of the Five Greats, Viper Ouyang, Venom of the West.

The Dragon King Hector Sha controls the Yellow River with his four rather more useless apprentices, whose lack of skill infuriates their Master, despite the fact that it is most likely his foul temper that has prevented them from learning anything more than their rather basic moves.

The Four Daemons of the Yellow River

Shen Qinggang the Strong, whose weapon is a sabre called the Spirit Cleaver.

Wu Qinglie the Bold fights with a spear called the Dispatcher.

Ma Qingxiong the Valiant is known for his Soul Snatcher whip.

Qian Qingjian the Hardy is armed with a pair of axes known as the Great Reapers.

Browbeater Hou, the Three-Horned Dragon, so named for the three cysts on his forehead.

Greybeard Liang, also known as Old Liang, the Ginseng Immortal and, more disparagingly, the Ginseng Codger. He comes from the Mountain of Eternal Snow (Changbai Mountain) up in the northeast, close to the current border with Korea, where he has practised kung fu for many years as a hermit, as well as mixing special medicinal concotions with the aim of prolonging life and gaining strength.

Lama Supreme Wisdom Lobsang Choden Rinpoche, from Kokonor, now known as Qinghai. He is famed for his Five Finger Blade kung fu.

Tiger Peng the Outlaw, Butcher of a Thousand Hands, has command of much of the mountainous region surrounding the Jin capital Yanjing, which would later become Peking.

PEACH BLOSSOM ISLAND

Twice Foul Dark Wind were apprentices of Apothecary Huang, who fled Peach Blossom Island and eloped after stealing the Nine Yin Manual. Husband Hurricane Chen, known as Copper Corpse, and wife Cyclone Mei, known as Iron Corpse, are masters of Nine Yin Skeleton Claw. They killed Ke Zhen’e’s brother, Ke Bixie the Talisman.

THE IMMORTAL CLOUD SECT

Abbot Withered Wood, of Cloudy Perch Temple, is uncle to Justice Duan. He hates his treacherous nephew, but is tricked into enlisting the help of Scorched Wood and the Seven Freaks of the South to fight against Qiu Chuji.

Reverend Scorched Wood, of Fahua Temple, is a fellow disciple of Withered Wood’s martial Master.





Prologue


THE YEAR IS 1205. FOR DECADES THE SONG EMPIRE HAS BEEN fighting an invasion from the north by the Jurchen tribes of Manchuria. Skilled horsemen and keen archers, the diverse Jurchen tribes were first united under the charismatic chieftain Wanyan Aguda in 1115, after which they set their sights on the riches of their Han Chinese neighbours. Within ten years of unification, the newly established Jin Empire had taken the Liao’s southern capital, the city that would be captured and recaptured under successive dynasties and eventually be known as Peking. A brief alliance between the Song and the Jin Empires against the Liao brought peace to the plains of Manchuria, but after the Jin attacked and captured the Song capital in Kaifeng not two years later, the Song have been fighting the Jin ever since. Successive defeats have pushed the Song further south, past the Yangtze and the River Huai, much to the anxiety of the Chinese who have fled with their Empire to safety.

The River Huai has long marked the psychological boundary between north and south China. The south is lush in comparison with the northern steppes and central plains, its landscape criss-crossed with rivers and spotted with lakes. The climate is hotter and more humid, wheat fields give way to rice paddies, and karst peaks soar up into the clouds. Having always been far from the capital in the north, this is a landscape that has long resisted the taming forces of the Empire, where the Great Canal’s manmade torrents flow into the wild rapids of the southern rivers.

But for all its seeming lawlessness, the soils of the south have proved fertile ground for the fleeing Song Empire. Here they have established one of the world’s largest cities, Lin’an, a bustling commercial centre of towering, overcrowded wooden buildings, grand stone courtyard houses, stalls selling pork buns and steaming bowls of noodles, as well as elegantly decorated tea houses serving the finest imperial delicacies of crispy duck, steamed crab, and badger and goose meat.

Despite its grandeur, however, this is a troubled city. The local Chinese population cannot be sure if their officials are working for them, or for the Jin. In the surrounding villages, food is scarce as the Empire diverts resources from hardworking farmers into the army’s fight against the Jin, lining their pockets as they do so. Taxes are crippling and the officials who are supposed to protect them seem to care little for their plight. Far from being a civilising force, the Empire appears to be little concerned for its citizens, and is rather more interested in making its officials rich.

For while the Empire regards the south as unruly, law and order in this part of China is in reality maintained by a proud community of men and women who have trained for years in the martial arts. They name themselves for the symbolic landscape of rivers and lakes that is their home, the jianghu, or even the “martial forest”, the wulin, both metaphors for their community. Organised into sects, schools, clans and bands of sworn brothers, or even travelling as lone “wanderers of the lakes and rivers”, they live by a moral code they call xia. Rivalries between the sects and martial artists are fierce, moves are jealously guarded, and disputes are settled by hand-to-hand combat. But on one thing they are united: the ineptitudes of Song Empire must not be allowed to destroy their country.

Fuelled by patriotic fervour and anger at the corruption eating away at the Empire, a rebellion is taking hold of the countryside. It is up to these martial arts masters of the south to save their country from complete destruction at the hands of the northern tribes.

ANNA HOLMWOOD

Translator of this tale,

Hangzhou (modern-day Lin’an)





Chapter One


Suddenly a Snow Storm



1

THE QIANTANG RIVER STRETCHES FROM THE WEST, WHERE ITS waters swell day and night, past the new imperial capital of Lin’an and the nearby Ox Village, on to the sea in the east. Ten cypresses stand proudly along its banks, their leaves red like fire. A typical August day. The grasses are turning yellow beneath the trees and the setting sun is breaking through their branches, casting long, bleak shadows. Under the shelter of two giant pine trees, men, women and children have gathered to listen to a travelling storyteller.

The man is around fifty, a pinched figure in robes once black, now faded a blue-grey. He begins by slapping two pieces of pear wood together, and then, using a bamboo stick, he beats a steady rhythm on a small leather drum. He sings:

“Untended, the peach blossoms still open,

As fallow fields of tobacco draw the crows.

In times past, by the village well,

Families once gathered to vent their sorrows.”



The old man strikes the pieces of wood together a few more times and starts his story.

“This poem tells of villages, where ordinary people once lived, razed by Jurchen tribes and turned to rubble. One such story concerns Old Man Ye, who had a wife, a son and a daughter, but they were separated from one another by the invasion of the Jin. Years passed before they were reunited and could return to their village. After making the perilous journey back to Weizhou, they arrived to discover their home had been burned to the ground by enemy forces, and they had no choice but to make for the old capital at Kaifeng.”

He sings:

“The heavens unleash unexpected storms,

People suffer unforeseen misfortune.



“Upon arrival,” he continues, “they encountered a troop of Jin soldiers. Their commanding officer spotted the young Miss Ye, by now a beautiful young maiden, and eager to capture such a glorious prize, he jumped down from his horse and seized her. Laughing, he threw her onto his saddle and cried, ‘Pretty girl, you are coming home with me.’ What could the young Miss Ye do? She struggled with all her might to free herself from the officer’s grip. ‘If you continue to resist I will have your family killed!’ the man shouted. With that, he picked up his wolf-fang club and smashed it down on her brother’s head.

“The nether world gains a ghost, just as the mortal world loses one more soul.” He breaks again into song.

“Old Man Ye and his wife threw themselves on top of their son’s body, weeping and sobbing. The commanding officer raised his wolf-fang club and once again brought it down on the mother, and then once more on the father. Rather than cry or plead, the young Miss Ye turned to the soldier and said, ‘Sir, rest your weapon, I will go with you.’ The soldier was delighted to have persuaded her, but just as he let down his guard the young Miss Ye grabbed the sabre from his waist, unsheathed it and held the point of the blade to his chest. Was she about to avenge her family’s death?

“Alas, it was not to be. Being experienced on the battlefield, the soldier knew that if he took a deep breath, tensed his muscles and pushed against the blade, she would tumble to the ground. Then he spat in her face. ‘Whore!’

“But young Miss Ye brought the blade to her neck. That poor, innocent girl.

A beauty made of flower and moon,

And so was taken the sweetest soul that night.”



He alternates between singing and speaking, all the while beating his small drum with the bamboo stick. The crowd is entranced by the old man’s words; they snarl with rage at the soldier’s cruelty, and sigh at the young girl’s sacrifice.

“Dear friends, as the saying goes, ‘Keep honest heart and ever gods in mind. For if evil deeds go unpunished, only evil doth one find.’ The Jin have conquered half our territories, killing and burning, there is not an evil deed they have not committed. And yet no punishment is forthcoming. The officials of our great Empire are responsible for this. China has plenty of men, healthy and willing to fight, yet every time our army faces the Jin they turn and run, leaving us peasants behind to suffer. There are stories, a great many stories just like this one, north of the Yangtze. The south is a paradise in comparison, but still you live each day in fear of invasion. ‘Rather be a dog in times of peace, than a man in times of trouble.’ My name is Old Zhang, thank you for listening to the true story of young Miss Ye!”

The storyteller bangs together the two pieces of pear wood and holds out a plate to the crowd. Villagers shuffle forward and drop a few coins onto it. Old Zhang puts the coins into a pocket and starts gathering his belongings.

As the crowd disperses, a young man of about twenty pushes his way up to the storyteller. “Sir, did you just come from the north?” He is short but strong, with two hairy caterpillar eyebrows stretched across his brow. He is from the north; it can be heard in his accent.

“Yes,” the old storyteller answers, surveying him.

“Then may I buy you a drink?”

“I dare not receive such favour from a stranger,” comes the old man’s reply.

“After a few drinks we will no longer be strangers.” The young man smiles. “My name is Skyfury Guo,” he says, before pointing to a handsome, smooth-faced man behind him. “And this is Ironheart Yang. We were listening to your story, and we enjoyed it very much, but we would like to talk with you, ask you some questions. You bring news from home.”

“Not a problem, young man. Fate has brought us together today.”

Skyfury Guo leads the storyteller to the village’s only tavern and there they sit down. Qu San, the owner, hobbles to their table on his crutches and sets down two jugs of warmed rice wine, before returning to fetch snacks of broad beans, salted peanuts, dried tofu and three salted eggs. Afterwards, he sits down on a stool by the door and gazes out as the sun dips lower towards the horizon. Out in the yard his young daughter is chasing chickens.

Skyfury Guo toasts the storyteller and pushes the simple snacks towards him. “Here, please eat. Out in the countryside, we are only able to buy meat on the second and sixteenth days of the month, so I’m afraid we have none tonight. Please forgive us.”

“The wine is enough for me. From your accents it seems that you are both from the north?”

“We are from Shandong province,” Yang replies. “We came here three years ago after the Jin invaded our hometown. We fell in love with the simple life in the south, as well as the people, and stayed. You said before that the south is a paradise, with only fear of invasion to disturb the peace. Do you really think the Jin will cross the Yangtze?”

The old storyteller sighs. “It is as if gold and silver covers the ground, everywhere your eyes are met with beautiful women, such is the richness and enchantment of the south compared to the north. There isn’t a day that passes that the Jin do not think about invading. But the final decision lies not with the Jin but with the Song Imperial Court in Lin’an.”

This surprises Skyfury Guo and Ironheart Yang. “Why do you say that?”

“We Han Chinese outnumber the Jurchen by more than a hundred to one. If the Imperial Court decided to employ honest and loyal men, our great Empire would prevail. With one hundred of our men against one of their worthless soldiers, how could the Jin army win? The northern half of our country was handed to them by three generations of useless Emperors, Huizong, Qinzong and Gaozong. Grandfather to grandson, they all entrusted our country to corrupt officials who oppressed the common people, and purged all the mighty generals who wished to fight the Jin. Such a beautiful land and they gave it away! If the Imperial Court continues to fill its grand halls with corrupt officials, then they may as well kneel before the Jin and beg them to invade!”

“Exactly!” Skyfury Guo slams his hand down on the table, rattling the bowls, plates and chopsticks.

Ironheart Yang notices their jug of wine is empty and orders another. The three men continue cursing and drinking as Qu San goes to fetch them yet more broad beans and tofu.

“Huh!” Qu San snorts, placing the dishes on the table.

“What is it, Qu San? You disagree?”

“Good cursing! Great cursing! Nothing wrong with that. But do you suppose it would have made any difference if the officials had not been corrupt? With such useless Emperors, generations of them no less, it would have made no difference if the officials had been as honest and good-hearted as the Buddha himself.” He turns and shuffles to his stool in the corner, from where he goes back to gazing at a sky now filled with stars. Qu San has a young face for his forty years, but his back is hunched and wisps of white are threaded through his black hair. From behind he looks like an old man, much aged since losing his wife. He moved to Ox Village only a year or so ago with his daughter, fleeing painful memories.

The three men look at each other in silence, until presently the storyteller speaks. “Yes, you are right. That is quite true.”

Bang! Skyfury Guo slams his hand down on the table once again, this time knocking over a bowl of wine. “Shameful! Disgraceful! How did these sorry excuses for men ever become Emperor?”

“Xiaozong succeeded Gaozong,” the storyteller replies with renewed energy, “and Guangzong succeeded him, and all the while the Jin have controlled half of China. Now Emperor Ningzong has succeeded Guangzong. And all he does is take orders from Chancellor Han. What is our future? It’s hard to say.”

“What do you mean?” cries Skyfury Guo. “We are in the countryside, not Lin’an. No-one is going to cut your head off here. There is not a person in the whole of China who does not call Chancellor Han a crook!”

Now that the topic has moved on to current politics, the old storyteller is beginning to feel nervous and dares not speak straight from the heart as before. He downs another bowl of rice wine and says, “Thank you, gentlemen, for the wine. But before I go, may I offer a modest word of advice? I know you are both passionate men, but still, it is best to be cautious in both word and deed. This is the only way to avoid calamity. With things as they are, the best we normal folk can hope to do is muddle along. Ah, it is just like the old song:

Surrounded by mountains, dancing in halls,

The shores of West Lake echo in song.

Southern fragrances entice and intoxicate

As drunkenly our noblemen mistake Lin’an for Kaifeng!”



“What’s the story behind that song?” Yang asks.

“There is no story,” the old man says, pushing himself to his feet with great effort. “The officials care only for parties and pleasures, and as long as that is the case, they won’t be trying to recover the north any time soon.”

And so the drunken storyteller takes his leave.


2

IT WAS DURING THE THIRD WATCH LATER THAT NIGHT. SKYFURY Guo and Ironheart Yang had been waiting for more than two hours to spear a boar or a muntjac in the woods seven li west of the village, but it was looking increasingly unlikely they would catch anything and they were losing patience.

At that moment a loud smack of wood against metal echoed around the woodland from beyond the tree line. Skyfury and Ironheart looked at each other.

Then came the sound of men shouting:

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Stop, now!”

A shadow had entered the woods and was running in their direction. The moonlight caught a man’s robes and Guo and Yang were able to make him out. It was Qu San. He was jabbing his wooden crutches into the undergrowth. Knowing that he would struggle to outrun the men following him, Qu San flew straight up into the air and back down behind a nearby tree. Guo and Yang looked at each other in astonishment.

“Qu San practises martial arts?”

By now Qu San’s pursuers had reached the edge of the woods. There were three of them, and they stopped, whispered something to each other, and began to walk towards Guo and Yang. They were dressed in military clothing and each carried a sabre, their blades flashing a cold green in the moonlight.

“Damned cripple! We can see you. Come out and surrender!”

Qu San stood utterly still behind his tree. The men were waving their weapons like machetes, swinging and chopping through the straggly bushes, slowly edging closer.

Just then: Thump! Qu San thrust his right crutch out from behind the tree, hitting one of the men squarely in the chest and sending him lurching backwards with a yelp. Startled, the other two men waved their blades in the direction of the tree.

Using his right crutch for leverage, Qu San flew up to the left, dodging the flailing blades and thrusting his other crutch in one man’s face. The man tried to block the crutch with his sabre, but Qu San pulled back and swung his right crutch at the other man’s stomach. Though he needed the crutches to support himself, he wielded them with speed and elegance.

A sabre cut into Qu San’s bundle, ripping the cloth and spilling its contents all over the forest floor. Taking advantage of the distraction, Qu San smashed his crutch down onto one man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Terrified, the last soldier turned to run. Qu San reached between the folds in his robe, and with a sharp flick of his wrist hurled something at him as he fled. It glinted an inky black as it sailed through the air, drawing a curve and landing on the back of the soldier’s head with a dull thud. The man howled and dropped his sabre, his arms waving wildly. He fell forward as if in slow motion, and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. His body spasmed twice, and then he was still.

Guo and Yang watched, their hearts thumping, hardly able to catch their breath. “He just killed government officials. That’s punishable by death.” Guo gasped. “If he sees us he’ll kill us too, to keep us quiet.”

But they had not hidden themselves as well as they had thought. Qu San turned towards them and called out: “Master Guo, Master Yang, you can come out now!” Reluctantly they rose to their feet, grasping their pitchforks so tightly their knuckles turned white. Yang looked at his friend and then took two steps forward.

“Master Yang,” Qu San said with a smile. “Your family’s spear technique is famous throughout our land, but in the absence of a spear, a pitchfork will have to do. Your best friend Guo, however, prefers to fight with a double halberd. The pitchfork doesn’t fit his skills. Such friendship is rare!”

Yang felt exposed; Qu San had all but read his mind.

“Master Guo,” Qu San continued. “Let’s imagine you had your double halberd with you. Do you think together you could beat me?”

Guo shook his head. “No, we couldn’t. We must have been blind not to have noticed you were a fellow practitioner of the martial arts. A master, even.”

“I don’t have full use of my legs. How can I be considered a master?” Qu San shook his head and sighed. “Before my injury, I would have defeated those guards effortlessly.”

Guo and Yang glanced at each other, not sure how to respond.

“Would you help me bury them?” Qu San continued.

They looked at each other again, and nodded.

The two men did their best to dig a large hole using their pitchforks. As they were burying the last body, Yang noticed the black, round object sticking out of the back of the dead man’s head. Yang tugged at it and succeeded in pulling it out. He had seen one of these before. A steel Taoist Eight Trigram disk. He wiped the blood onto the dead man’s uniform and handed it back to Qu San.

“My sincerest gratitude.” Qu San took the Eight Trigram disk and put it back inside his robe. He then spread his outer robe on the ground and started to gather his belongings. Guo and Yang finished shovelling soil into the makeshift grave, and then turned to look at Qu San’s collection, which included three scrolls, as well as several shiny metal trinkets. Qu San put a gold jug and bowl to one side. After tying up his bundle he handed the jug and bowl to the two men. “I stole these from the Royal Palace at Lin’an. The Emperor has done enough harm to the peasants, it’s not really a crime to take something back. Consider these a gift from me.”

Neither man moved.

“Are you afraid to accept them, or is it that you don’t want them?”

“We did nothing to deserve such gifts,” Guo replied. “That’s why we can’t accept them. As for tonight, you don’t have to worry about a thing, Brother Qu. Your secret is safe with us.”

“Ha!” Qu San scoffed. “Why should I be worried? I know all about you – why else would I let you walk away alive? Master Guo, you are the descendant of Prosperity Guo, one of the heroes of the Marshes of Mount Liang. You are skilled in the use of the halberd, as taught to you in accordance with your family’s customs, only your halberd is short rather than long, and has two blades instead of one. Master Yang, your ancestor is Triumph Yang, one of the commanders who served under the beloved General Yue. You are both descended from two of this country’s most loved and respected patriots. When the Jin army conquered the north, you began wandering the lakes and rivers of the south, practising your martial arts. It was then that you became brothers-in-arms. Together you moved here to Ox Village. Am I right so far?”

The two men nodded, astounded by the detail of Qu San’s knowledge.

“Your ancestors Prosperity Guo and Triumph Yang were both rebels before they swapped sides to fight for the Song Empire,” Qu San continued. “Both stole from the government, which was in turn stealing from its own people. So tell me: are you going to accept my gifts or not?”

“We are most grateful. Thank you,” Yang said as he reached out to receive them.

“Back home!” Qu San said, slinging his bundle over his shoulder.

“I got some excellent things tonight,” he continued as the three men picked their way between the trees and out of the woods. “Two paintings by Emperor Huizong and a scroll of his calligraphy. He may have been a useless Emperor, but his skills with the brush were quite superb.”

Once home, Guo and Yang buried their gold and made no mention of the night’s antics to their wives.



AUTUMN SLOWLY gave way to winter. The days were getting colder and the first flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Soon the earth was covered in a veneer of white that shone like polished jade. Ironheart Yang called to his wife, “I’m going to get some food and rice wine before Skyfury and his wife arrive.” Slinging two large gourds over his shoulder, he left for Qu San’s tavern.

The snow was falling more heavily. As he trudged up towards the tavern, he noticed the door was shut tight and even the sign had been removed. Yang banged on the door a couple of times, shouting: “Qu San, I’m here for some wine.”

Silence.

He called out again, but still no response. He walked over to a window and peered inside. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. What’s happened? Yang thought. I hope it’s nothing serious. He spotted Qu San’s daughter playing nearby, but she was too young to give him any answers. As Qu’s inn was the only place to buy wine in Ox Village, Yang had no choice but to brave the blizzard and walk the two miles to Red Plum Village. At least there he would also be able to purchase a chicken for their meal.

When her husband returned, Yang’s wife, Charity Bao, put the freshly slaughtered chicken into a big pot along with some cabbage, tofu and thin bean noodles. As it boiled, she cut and arranged a plate of cured meat and fish, and then went next door to call on Skyfury Guo and his wife Lily Li, who had been suffering of late from morning sickness. Lily did not feel able to eat, so Charity stayed to chat and drink tea, sending Guo ahead.

The two women returned to discover the men sitting by the fire, eating and drinking warm wine. Charity added more wood, then sat down beside her husband. The two men looked agitated.

“What’s the matter?” Lily asked. “Has something happened?”

“We were just discussing the latest troubles at the Imperial Court in Lin’an,” her husband replied. “I was at the Pavilion of Joyful Rain, the tea house by Tranquillity Bridge, yesterday,” Guo added, “when I heard some people talking about that criminal Chancellor Han. One man said all reports at court must now be presented to him, as well as the Emperor, or else they won’t be read. Such arrogance is scarcely to be credited.”

Yang sighed. “Only bad Emperors keep bad Chancellors. Old Huang, who lives outside Lin’an’s Golden Gate, told me a story. One day, when he was out collecting firewood on the mountain, he caught sight of a group of soldiers guarding some officials. It turns out the Chancellor had come on a sightseeing trip with his men. Old Huang was minding his own business, cutting wood, when he heard the Chancellor say, ‘What a delightful country scene, such charming bamboo fences and thatched cottages. Shame there are no chickens clucking or dogs barking.’ Then, at that moment, they heard barking from behind one of the bushes.”

Charity smiled. “That little dog certainly knew how to please the Chancellor.”

“I’ll say! After a couple of barks it jumped out of the bushes. And what kind of dog do you think it was? Turns out it was our honourable friend, the Magistrate of Lin’an, His Excellency Mr Zhao!”

Charity burst into laughter.

“And that’s how he’ll earn his promotion,” Guo concluded.

They continued drinking as the snow fell outside, the wine warming their bellies. After a while, Guo and Yang decided to step outside to cool down. Suddenly the stillness was broken by the sound of feet swishing across the snow. There, up ahead, was a Taoist monk wearing a conical bamboo hat tied under his chin with a ribbon, and a cape speckled with large flakes of snow. He carried a sword on his back, the yellow tassel swinging from side to side as it dangled from the handle. He was the only person braving the weather, a lonely silhouette making rapid progress across the grey-white fields.

“Look at how he skims across the snow,” breathed Guo in admiration. “A master of kung fu.”

“Indeed,” Yang replied in equal amazement. “Let’s invite him in for a drink.”

They hurried to the edge of the field in front of Yang’s house. In the short time it had taken them to run the hundred-odd metres, the monk had already passed by, and was some distance down the raised path that ran between the fields.

“Your Reverence, please stop!” Yang called out.

The Taoist monk turned and gave them a cursory nod.

“Such terrible weather,” Yang continued shouting through the snow. “Why don’t you come inside and drink a couple of bowls of wine to warm up?”

Within seconds the Taoist was standing before them. “Why do you want me to stop?” His reply was as cold as the winter air. “Speak!”

Yang was shocked and angered by the Taoist’s tone, so he looked down at his feet and gave no reply. Guo clasped his fist as a sign of respect and said, “We were drinking by the fire when we saw you pass by alone in the snow. So we thought you might like to join us. Please forgive us if we have offended you.”

The Taoist rolled his eyes. “Alright. If you want to drink, let’s drink,” he said, walking past them and in through Yang’s door.

This made Yang even angrier. Without thinking, he grabbed the Taoist’s left wrist and tugged. “We don’t know how to address you, Your Reverence.” But the Taoist’s hand slipped through Yang’s fingers like a fish. Yang knew he was in trouble and stepped back, but before he could pull away he felt a sharp, hot pain as the Taoist tightened his grip around his wrist. No matter how hard he struggled he could not free himself, and he felt all his strength draining away as his arm went limp.

Guo could see from his friend’s crimson cheeks that he was in a lot of pain. “Your Reverence,” he said. “Please sit.”

The Taoist laughed coldly. He let go of Yang, walked deliberately into the centre of the room and sat down in one smooth movement. “You two young men are obviously from the north but pretending to be farmers here in the south. Your accents give you away. And what’s more, why would two farmers know kung fu?” He, too, spoke with a Shandong accent.

Yang felt embarrassed and angry, and retreated to the back room. There he found a small dagger in a drawer, which he tucked into his shirt before returning to the front room. He poured out three bowls of wine, raised his as a toast, and downed its contents without a word.





The Taoist looked past the two men, and out towards the snow falling outside. He neither drank nor spoke. Guo guessed that the monk was suspicious of the wine, so he took the bowl intended for their guest and drank it down in one gulp. “The wine gets cold quickly. Let me pour you another bowl, Your Reverence. A warm one.” He filled a clean bowl and handed it to the Taoist, who in turn drank it down in one.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if you had drugged the wine,” the Taoist replied. “It wouldn’t have affected me.”

Yang had had about as much as he could take. “We invited you into our home to drink with us, not to try and hurt you. If this is how you are going to behave, please leave now! It’s not as if we gave you sour wine or rotten food.”

The Taoist ignored him, and grabbed the wine gourd. He poured and drank three more bowls of wine in quick succession, and then untied his bamboo hat and threw it on the floor, along with his cape. For the first time, Guo and Yang could properly examine his face. He was around thirty years of age, with slanted eyebrows and a square jaw, his cheeks flushed red. His eyes had a penetrating quality. Next, he untied the leather bundle from his back and threw it down on the table.

Together, Guo and Yang jumped up in disgust as from out of the bundle rolled a bloody human head.

A scream came from the corner where Charity had been standing, and she ran into the back room, followed by Lily Li. Yang’s hand moved to his chest to make sure the dagger was in place. The Taoist gave the leather bundle a shake, and two more bloody lumps of flesh fell out. A heart and a liver.

“You good-for-nothing Taoist!” Yang shouted as he pulled the dagger from his chest and lunged at the monk.

The Taoist was amused. “You want to fight?” He tapped Yang’s wrist with his left hand. A numbing pain shot down through Yang’s hands to his fingers. Before he realised what was happening, the dagger was gone.

Guo was astounded. His friend’s kung fu was much better than his own, but even Yang was powerless against the monk. Guo knew the move was the legendary Bare Hand Seizes Blade, but he had never actually seen anyone perform it. Guo reached for the wooden bench he had been sitting on, just in case he had to block the dagger.

But still the Taoist ignored them. Instead, he turned his attention to the heart and liver, which he began hacking to pieces with Yang’s dagger. Then, without warning, he roared. The tiles on the roof rattled, and he chopped down so hard, the objects on the table jumped and the table split in two. The head rolled onto the floor.

Yang was furious. He reached for an iron spear in the corner and marched outside into the snow. “Come. I’ll give you a lesson in the art of the Yang Family Spear!”

“A government lackey like you knows the Yang Family Spear?” The Taoist smiled as he followed Yang outside.

Guo ran back to his house to fetch his double halberds. By the time he got back, the Taoist was standing ready, his sleeves flapping in the wind.

“Unsheathe your sword!” Yang cried.

“I’ll fight you traitors with my bare hands,” was the Taoist’s only reply.

Without warning, Yang launched straight into Deadly Dragon Flies the Cave, his spear a smear of red as the tassel spun and the tip swirled towards the Taoist’s chest.

“Impressive!” the monk called as his upper body arched backwards until it was almost horizontal. He then spun to the left and swung back up again. Once on his feet, his palm flipped upwards and knocked the spear away from Yang’s hands.

Ironheart Yang had spent years practising with his spear, ever since his father taught him his first moves as a young boy, a variant of the southern tradition. The northern tradition had been lost many years ago. His ancestor Triumph Yang led an army of three hundred Song soldiers against forty thousand invading Jin at the Battle of Little Merchant Bridge, with his spear his only weapon. They killed over two thousand Jin men that day, including their highest-ranking commander. The Jin’s arrows had fallen like rain, but Triumph Yang merely snapped the shafts from the arrowheads lodged in his flesh and carried on fighting. He gave his life for his country on that battlefield. When the Jin army burned his body, over two jin of molten metal flowed into the mud beneath him. After this battle the Yang Family Spear became famous all across China’s great plains.

Ironheart Yang may not have been a true master of the technique like his forefathers, but those years of training had not been in vain. He thrust, swung, flicked, blocked, the point of his spear glinting silver in the sunlight, the tassel a blur of red.

Yang’s moves may have been quick, but the Taoist dodged them with ease. The Yang Family Spear consisted of seventy-two separate moves, and after having used seventy-one without success, Yang was exhausted and desperate. He lowered his spear, turned and walked away. But just as he had anticipated, the Taoist came after him, and drawing together all the strength he had left, Yang pulled his weapon up into both hands, twisted at the waist and thrust it back at the Taoist’s face. Known as the Returning Horse, this move was traditionally used to break enemy formations. Triumph Yang had in fact used it to kill General Yue’s brother before he left the rebels and joined the Song army.

The Taoist clapped his hands together, clamping hold of the spear’s point just before it plunged into his left cheek. “Excellent!” Yang put all his weight behind the spear and pushed, but it did not move. Alarmed, he tried pulling it back instead, but still he could not free his spear from the Taoist’s grip. The Taoist chuckled. Suddenly he moved his right hand, and quick as light he struck the handle of the spear with his palm. Yang felt the base of his thumb and index finger go numb, and instantly the weapon fell to the snow at his feet.

“You appear to know some Yang Family Spear after all.” The Taoist smiled. “Sorry if I offended you. Will you do me the honour of telling me your name?”

Still in shock, Yang answered without thinking, “My family name is Yang, my given name Ironheart.”

“Are you a descendant of General Triumph Yang?”

“Yes, he was my great grandfather.”

The Taoist cupped his fist and nodded his head in respect. “I mistook you for scoundrels, but it turns out that you are descended from patriots. Please forgive me. May I be so bold as to ask this gentleman’s name?”

“My name is Skyfury Guo.”

“He is my brother-in-arms,” Yang said, “the descendant of Prosperity Guo, one of the heroes of the Marshes of Mount Liang.”

The Taoist bowed again. “Your humble servant was rude, and quick to make assumptions. Please forgive me.”

Guo and Yang bowed in return. “Not at all. Would the Reverend please come in for more rice wine?” Yang said, picking up his spear.

“Of course! I’d be delighted to join you.”

Charity and Lily Li had been observing the fight anxiously from the doorway, and at this they scuttled back inside to warm the wine.

They sat at the table and the men asked the Taoist his name. “My name is Qiu Chuji.”

Yang jumped up in surprise, and Guo was similarly aghast. “Master Eternal Spring?”

“That is the name my Taoist friends gave me.” Qiu Chuji smiled. “I dare not claim such a name myself.”

“Master Eternal Spring of the Quanzhen Sect,” Guo said, “I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” The two men cast themselves onto the packed earth floor of the cottage and kowtowed.

Qiu Chuji leapt up from his bench and helped them to their feet. “I killed a traitor today,” he began to explain. “The government’s men were chasing me, and then you gentlemen suddenly invited me in for a drink. We are close to the capital here and it is clear that you are not ordinary farmers, so I became suspicious.”

“My friend here has always had a temper,” Guo said with a smile. “And then he tried to fight the Master. You were right to be suspicious.”

“Indeed, farmers aren’t usually that strong. I thought you were undercover government dogs.”

Yang smiled. “You weren’t to know.”

The men continued to drink and chat until Qiu Chuji pointed at the battered head lying on the floor: “That’s Wang Daoqian. He was a traitor. Last year he was sent by our Emperor to convey his respects to the Jin Emperor on the occasion of his birthday, but once there, he agreed to help them invade the south. I pursued him for ten days before at last catching him.”

“We are so lucky to have met the Master,” Yang said. “Won’t you stay a couple of days?”

But just as Qiu Chuji was about to answer, his expression froze and hardened.

“What’s wrong?” Guo asked.

“Someone has come for me. Whatever happens, you two must stay inside. Do not come out under any circumstances. Do you understand?” The two men nodded. Qiu Chuji picked up the human head and went outside, where he jumped up into the branches of a tree and hid among its dense crest of leaves.

Guo and Yang had no idea what had just happened. They could hear nothing save for the howling of the wind. They waited, until a few minutes later they could discern from the west the faint sound of hooves beating against frozen ground.

“How did he hear that?” Yang asked in a whisper. The rhythmic thudding of the hooves was growing louder and on the horizon a cloud of snow was making its way towards the village. Before long, ten riders dressed in black appeared and reined in a hundred metres from their door.

“The footprints stop over there. It looks like there’s just been a fight.” Several of the men jumped down from their horses and inspected the footprints in the snow. “Search the house!” the man who appeared to be their officer barked. Two more men jumped from their horses and hammered on the door.

Suddenly something came flying through the air from a nearby tree, thwacking one of the men on the head, with such force that it cracked open his skull. The other men started to yell as they surrounded the tree. One man picked up the object and cried out in shock: “His Excellency Wang’s head!”

Their commanding officer pulled out a sabre and the remaining men rushed to form a ring around the tree trunk. The leader shouted another order, and five men raised their bows and shot into the dense clump of leaves above them.

Yang reached for his spear, but Guo grabbed at his arm and hissed, “Master Eternal Spring told us not to go outside. Let’s wait a while at least. If he gets into trouble we can help him then.” Just then an arrow came hurtling from the branches above and hit one of the men, still on his horse. He cried out, dropped from the horse’s back and landed in the snow with a dull thud.

Qiu Chuji removed his sword, jumped down from the tree, and sliced through two of the men before the soldiers could react.

“It’s the Taoist!”

Qiu Chuji bowed quickly and then sha, sha, sha! slashed his sword through the whipping wind, knocking another two men from their horses. Yang watched in awe, trying to follow the movement of the Master’s sword. Qiu Chuji had obviously held back during their duel; if he had not, Yang would be dead by now.

Qiu Chuji moved as if he were being carried by the wind as he bounced and hopped between the horses, branches and the ground. His next opponent was the commanding officer, who continued to bark orders at his men. He had a certain gift for fighting, but Guo and Yang could tell Qiu Chuji was deliberately prolonging the duel so as to use breaks in their fight to outmanoeuvre the other men. If he killed the leader before he managed to kill his men, they might run.

By now there were only six men left. The officer knew they could never defeat the Taoist, so he turned his horse and tried to escape. Qiu Chuji reached out with his left hand and grabbed the horse’s tail. Pulling on it lightly, Qiu Chuji lifted himself from the ground. Before he had landed on the horse’s back, he had already sliced his sword straight through the officer’s back to the base of his spine. Qiu Chuji threw the body from the horse, grabbed hold of the reins, and started to chase the others, his blade dancing silver against the grey-white of the storm. Screams were swallowed by the wind as one body after another fell to the ground and plumes of blood decorated the snow.

Qiu Chuji stopped and looked around him. The only sound came from the three riderless horses galloping into the distance, their hooves pounding at the softly packed snow. He rode back to where Guo and Yang stood by the door, waved, and called, “How did you like that?”

Guo and Yang opened the front door and stepped slowly out. “Your Reverence, who were they?” Guo asked, still in shock.

“We’ll know when we search them.”

Guo walked over to the commanding officer’s body and leaned down to take a look. His torso was sliced in two, and lay in a pond of blood. Guo reached for a leather pouch still fastened around the man’s waist, and removed an official-looking document. It was from Magistrate Zhao, and stated that an order had come from the Jin ambassador that Song government troops were to assist them in capturing Wang Daoqian’s murderer. Guo’s hands shook with rage as he rose to his feet. He was just about to show the document to the other two men when Yang called out. He had found some tags written in the Jurchen language on some of the bodies. There were Jin soldiers among these men.

“Our government has now given free rein to enemy soldiers to capture and kill patriots within our own borders?” Guo exclaimed. “Song officials now take orders from the Jin?”

“Even our Emperor must refer to himself as an official of the Jin.” Yang sighed. “Our officials and generals are now no more than their slaves.”

“We monks are supposed to be merciful and good in heart and action, we are not supposed to harm any living being,” Qiu Chuji added bitterly. “But I could no longer withhold my anger, not when faced with traitors and enemies who do nothing but torture our people.”

“You were right to kill them!” Yang said.

“They deserved to die!” Guo added.

Ox Village was small, and in a snowstorm like this everyone kept to their homes. If there had been any witnesses it was doubtful they would come out and ask questions. Yang went to fetch two shovels and a hoe, and the three men buried the bodies. Lily Li and Charity fetched brooms and began sweeping the bloodstained snow until the stench began to make Charity retch. A white mist descended in front of her eyes and with a gasp she fell to her knees.

Yang dropped his shovel and ran over to her. “What’s the matter?”

But Charity closed her eyes and did not answer. Her face and hands were now as white as the snow that fell upon them.

Qiu Chuji hurried over, took hold of Charity’s wrist and felt her pulse. A smile burst across his face. “Congratulations!” Yang looked aghast as Qiu Chuji grabbed his hand.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Charity came to with a faint grunt. The three men were standing above her. Feeling shy, she scrambled to her feet, and with Lily’s help went inside, where her friend poured her a cup of tea.

“Your wife is pregnant.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am master of nothing and can claim to know a little of only three things. Of these little kung fu tricks I am a mere novice, and as for poetry I am able to write a few couplets, but no more. But I can safely say that if I can lay claim to any expertise, it is in the field of medicine.”

“Your Reverence, if yours are only ‘little kung fu tricks’, then we are merely children playing.”

Having finished burying the bodies, the men collected their tools and went inside to celebrate.

Yang could not stop smiling. If Qiu Chuji wrote poetry, he reasoned, he would be the perfect person to name his child, as well as Guo’s. “My brother Skyfury’s wife is pregnant as well. Could we trouble Your Reverence to think of two names for our children?”

Qiu Chuji sipped from his bowl of rice wine and thought for a while. “For Master Guo’s child I suggest Guo Jing, meaning ‘Serenity’, and for Master Yang’s child, Yang Kang, meaning ‘Vitality’. This will remind them of the humiliation of the year Jingkang, when Kaifeng was sacked and the Emperor captured by the Jin. These names can be used for girls just as well as boys.”

He reached into his shirt, removed two daggers, and put them on the table. They were identical in every way, each with a green leather sheath, a gold cross guard and an ebony handle. He picked up one of the daggers and on the handle swiftly carved the characters for “Serenity Guo” as if writing with brush and ink. Then he carved “Vitality Yang” on the handle of the other. He turned to the two fathers-to-be and said, “I don’t have anything else suitable with me, only this pair of daggers. For the children.”

The two men received them and thanked him. Yang unsheathed his. The blade was cold in his palm, and sharp.

“I came to possess these daggers quite by accident. They are extremely sharp, but they are too small for me to use. They would be perfect for the children. In ten years’ time, if I am still lucky enough to be of this world, I will return to Ox Village and teach them some kung fu.”

The two men were delighted and thanked the Reverend repeatedly.

“The Jin are occupying the north and torturing the people there,” Qiu Chuji went on as he took his last gulps of rice wine. “The situation cannot continue for long. Gentlemen, please take care of yourselves.” Then he stood up and made for the door. Guo and Yang jumped to their feet and tried to make him stay, but he had already slipped out into the storm.

“Masters like him come and go like the wind.” Guo sighed. “We were lucky to meet him today. I was hoping to talk to him some more, but alas it was not to be.”

Yang smiled. “Brother, at least we witnessed Master Eternal Spring killing Jin soldiers.” He held up the dagger and unsheathed it again. Gently stroking the blade, he suddenly looked up at his friend. “Brother, I’ve just had a foolish idea. Tell me what you think of it.”

“What is it?”

“If our children are boys, they will be sworn brothers. If they are girls, they will be sworn sisters—”

“And if we have one boy and one girl, they shall be married,” Guo cut in. The men laughed and embraced.

At that moment, Lily Li and Charity emerged from the back room. “Why are you so happy?” Yang repeated their agreement and they blushed, happy their families would forever be united.

“Let’s swap the daggers now as our pledge,” Yang suggested. “If they turn out to be sworn brothers or sisters, we can switch back. If they are to be married—”

“Then apologies, but both daggers will belong to my family,” Guo interrupted.

Charity laughed. “You never know. Maybe we will be the ones to have a boy.”

The men swapped daggers and gave them to their wives for safekeeping.


3

YANG WAS SLUMPED AT THE TABLE, PLAYING WITH THE DAGGER, more drunk than he had realised. Charity helped her husband into bed and collected the dishes. The navy blue sky was dotted with stars, but there was still enough light for her to go outside and collect the chicken cages. Just as she was pulling the back door shut, however, she caught sight of some blood on the snow only a few metres from the house. I must clean it up right away, or else there could be trouble. She hurried to collect her broom and stepped out again into the icy night.

But the blood did not stop there. She followed it with her broom all the way to the pine trees behind the house. The snow had also been disturbed; someone had clearly dragged themselves through it towards the woods. There, by an old grave tucked in between the trees, she spotted a large black mound on the snow.

Charity approached to get a better look. A body! One of the men Qiu Chuji had been fighting earlier. She was about to go and wake her husband to ask him to bury it when it struck her that someone could come past at any moment and see the body. No, it would be better to pull it into a nearby bush and then go and tell her husband. She edged towards it and, summoning all her strength, she took hold of its black clothes and pulled.

Suddenly the body twitched and groaned.

Was it a ghost? Fear paralysed her. She watched it for a minute or so, but it did not move. Reaching for her broom, she gently poked it. The body groaned again, only this time the sound was much quieter. He was still alive. She approached and peered over the body. There, embedded in the back of his shoulder, was a large wolf-fang arrow. The snow was still falling, albeit much lighter now, and a thin layer of snowflakes had settled on the young man’s face. He would soon freeze to death out here.

Charity had always been exceptionally kind-hearted, ever since she was a young girl. She was forever bringing home injured sparrows, frogs and even insects, which she would nurse back to health, and those she could not save she would bury, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her father, a country scholar from Red Plum Village, had named her for this unusual sensitivity, and her mother was never allowed to slaughter any of their roosters or hens. Any chicken served at the Bao family table for dinner had to be brought home from the market. Indeed, Charity had not changed much as she grew older, and this was one of the things Ironheart Yang loved about her. Their backyard was still a sanctuary for chickens, ducks and every other sort of small creature that chose to make its home there.

There was no way she could let this man die in the snow. She knew he must be bad, but she could not leave him here. She scrambled to her feet and ran back to the house to discuss it with her husband. But Yang had fallen into a deep sleep, and no matter how she shook him, he would not wake up.

Deciding that she should save the man first and worry about the consequences later, she ran to the herbal medicine cabinet and fetched her husband’s blood-clotting powder, and then found a small knife and some pieces of cloth. She grabbed the jug of warm wine that was still on the stove, and ran back outside. He had not moved. Charity helped him sit up and she trickled the leftover wine into his mouth. She knew a bit of basic medicine. The arrow sat deep in his flesh, and pulling it out might cause him to lose a lot of blood. But if she did not remove it, there would be no way of caring for the wound. So she took a breath, cut around the arrowhead, and tugged as hard as she could. The man screamed and instantly passed out. Blood spurted from the wound, covering her shirt in bright red splashes. Her heart was thumping in her chest but, steadying her shaking hands, she sprinkled the blood-clotting powder over the sore and bandaged it as tight as she could with the scraps of cloth. After a short time he began to regain consciousness.

Charity was so frightened her arms could barely muster the strength to hold the man up, let alone move him. But she had an idea. She went to the small barn by the side of the house and found a loose wooden plank. She pushed the plank under the man and shunted him onto it, and then dragged the plank through the snow back to the barn, as if pulling a sled.

Knowing he was safely sheltered, she crept back inside the house to change out of her bloodied shirt and wash her face and hands. She then ladled a bowl of leftover chicken soup, lit a candle and went back to the barn. His breathing was now steady, if weak. Charity approached the man and urged him to sit up again so that she could feed him the soup.

She held the bowl to the man’s lips with her right hand, and in her left she moved the candle so that the warm glow highlighted his sculpted features and elegant nose. This was the first time she had been able to take a good look at his face and she almost gasped. He was so handsome. The blood rose in her cheeks and her hand began to tremble, splashing a drop of candle wax onto his smooth forehead.

He winced, and for the first time looked up at her. There, before him, was a face as delicate as a flower, two cheeks flushed pink like rose petals, and a pair of kind eyes sparkling like stars reflected in a river.

“Are you feeling any better?” Charity whispered. “Here, drink the rest of the soup.” The man tried to take the bowl in his hands, but he was too weak and nearly spilled the hot broth on himself. Charity quickly took the bowl back and continued to feed him, one spoonful at a time.

By the time he finished the bowl, some colour had returned to his cheeks. He looked up at the heavenly creature nursing him with such care, but Charity squirmed under his gaze. Hastily she clambered to her feet, and fetched an armful of straw to keep him warm. Taking the candle with her, she slipped out of the barn and back inside the house.

She did not sleep well that night. Her husband was plunging his spear through the man’s chest. The man lunged at her husband with his sabre. The man chased her between the pine trees. Every few hours she woke from a new nightmare, damp with sweat. As the sun warmed her eyelids, she began to stir, and she turned to discover that the other side of the bed was empty. She sat up. Had her husband found the man? She climbed down, folded the quilt, put on her outer robe and hurried into the front room. He was sitting at the table, sharpening the head of his spear. She nodded, before slipping outside towards the barn and pushing open the door. But she saw no-one there, just a messy pile of straw. The man had gone.

There, beyond the barn, a fresh trail in the snow led out towards the pine trees behind the house. For a minute or so she was lost in her thoughts as she stared out in the direction in which the man had left. A gust of icy wind rushed at her cheeks, and as if wakening her to her body, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and her legs buckled. She stumbled back inside, where her husband greeted her with a proud grin: “I made you and the baby some rice porridge.”

She smiled weakly, and sat. He would only get angry and jealous if he knew about the events of the previous night, so, she reasoned, she would have to keep them to herself.



WINTER GASPED its last breath and spring returned. Charity’s belly had ballooned, and preparations for the baby’s arrival had pushed almost all thoughts of the man in black from her mind.

The Yang family had just finished dinner, and Charity was huddled by the small pool of light cast by their lamp, sewing new clothes for her husband. Yang was hanging up the two pairs of straw sandals he had just finished weaving, ready for the spring.

“I’m going to see Carpenter Zhang tomorrow to see if he can fix the plough I broke this morning.” Yang looked over at his wife. “Please don’t make me any more clothes. Rest, my dear. Think of the baby.”

Charity looked up at her husband and smiled, her fingers still moving the needle swiftly through the cloth. Yang walked over to where she was sitting, and took the sewing from her. Charity stretched, blew out the lamp, and together they went to bed.

At midnight, Charity was suddenly snapped out of her dreams by her husband sitting up in bed. In the distance, to the west, came a faint sound of hooves drumming against the dirt. Before long it could be heard from all directions.

“Why are there so many horses?”

Yang jumped down from the bed and started dressing. The drumming was growing louder; a neighbour’s dog started barking. “We’re being surrounded.”

“What’s happening?” Charity’s voice was trembling.

“I have no idea,” her husband replied, handing her the dagger Qiu Chuji had given them. “Take this, to protect yourself!” He unhooked his spear from the wall.

By now the sound of hooves had subsided into an intermittent clatter, largely drowned out by the horses neighing and their masters shouting. Yang opened one of the shutters at the front of the house and looked outside. A company of soldiers had surrounded the entire village, the light from their torches illuminating his neighbours’ cottages. Some of the riders were struggling to still their excited horses as they rode among the houses.

“Find the traitors,” the man in charge shouted to his men. “They must not get away!”

Were they here for Qu San? Yang had not seen the tavern keeper since before winter had come and gone. Even he would struggle to fight off so many men.

Suddenly one of the soldiers shouted something that made Yang’s heart freeze in his chest. “Skyfury Guo! Ironheart Yang! Come out now and face the consequences of your treacherous actions!”

Charity had joined her husband by the window. These words made the blood drain from her cheeks.

“They come chasing innocent citizens when the traitors are among their own ranks!” Ironheart said. “Skyfury and I can’t possibly fight so many men at once. Our only option is to run. Don’t worry, I will protect you with my spear.” He fetched a bow, slung it across his back and wedged some arrows in his belt. He then reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I’ll pack,” she replied.

“Pack? We’re leaving everything.”

“But . . . our home?” A tear had crept from the corner of her eye and was making its way down her cheek.

“We’ve got to focus on getting away first. We can start another home elsewhere.”

“But what about the chickens? And the cats?”

“Silly girl, thinking about them at a time like this?” He paused and then continued. “What would they do with your chickens and cats?”

“They eat chickens.”

Just then a red-orange light came flickering through the window, throwing shadows across their simple furniture. The soldiers had just set fire to two thatched cottages nearby. Two foot soldiers were walking towards them along the main road through the village. “Skyfury Guo! Ironheart Yang! If you don’t come out now we’ll set fire to the whole village!”

A red rage rose in Yang, and before Charity could stop him, he had opened the door and stepped out. “I am Ironheart Yang. What do you want?”

Two soldiers dropped their torches in fright and backed away.

One of the other men rode his horse up to the front of the Yang family house and stopped. “So you are Ironheart Yang? Come with us to see the magistrate.” Turning to the foot soldiers, the man barked, “Take him!”

Four men ran towards him. Yang twirled his spear in a Rainbow Crosses the Sky, and swept three of the soldiers to the ground. He followed this with a Deafening Spring Thunder, picking up one of the soldiers with the shaft of his spear and throwing him into two other men. “First you must tell me what crimes I am being charged with.”

“Traitor!” the man on the horse bellowed. “How dare you resist arrest?” He may have sounded brave, but he was noticeably reluctant to come any closer.

Another man on horseback drew level with the first man. “Come without a fight and there will be no new charges to add to your existing crimes. We have the official documents for your arrest here.”

“Let me see them!”

“What about the other traitor, Skyfury Guo?”

Skyfury thrust his upper body out of the window of his house, along with a bow and arrow, and called, “Here I am!” He aimed the arrow at the first man on horseback.

“Put down your bow. Only then will I read the document to you.”

“Read it now!” Guo pulled the arrow all the way back.

Glancing at the other man on horseback, he rolled out the document and began reading. “Skyfury Guo and Ironheart Yang of Ox Village, Lin’an Prefecture, are charged with collusion with the intent of wrongdoing. A warrant for their arrest has been issued in accordance with the laws of the Great Song Empire, in the name of the Ningzong Emperor.”

“Which official issued the order?” Guo asked.

“Chancellor Han himself.”

Guo and Yang were taken aback. What have we done that could merit the ire of Chancellor Han? Yang thought to himself. Did they find out about Qiu Chuji’s visit?

“Who is the accuser?” Guo added. “Based on what evidence?”

“We only have orders to capture you and bring you to the court at Lin’an. If you want to plead your case, you can do so with the judge.”

“The court at Lin’an only knows how to harass innocent citizens. Everyone knows that!” Guo called back. “We’re not falling for that lie!” He shifted his arrow so it was now pointing at this soldier.

“So you are resisting arrest?” the first man on horseback called back. “Another crime to add to the list.”

Yang turned to his wife and whispered, “Quickly, put on some more clothes. I’ll get his horse for you. Once I shoot their commanding officer, the rest of the men will panic.”

He drew his bow from his bag and shot an arrow, hitting the officer in charge in the chest. “Aiya!” The force knocked him from his horse and he fell with a thud into the dirt. The soldiers started shouting in surprise: “Seize them!” The foot soldiers ran forward. Yang and Guo began firing arrows as fast as they could, and within seconds they had killed seven more men between them. But there were still too many soldiers.

Howling, Ironheart Yang swung his spear up above his head and charged forward. The soldiers shrank back in surprise and fear. He made straight for an official sitting astride a white horse, and lunged his spear at him. The man tried to block it with his own lance, but Yang was too quick, plunging his spear deep into the official’s thigh. He lifted the man like a piece of meat on the end of a skewer, and flicked him from his horse.

Yang then dug the other end of his spear into the ground and flipped himself onto the back of the horse. Squeezing his calves, he jolted the horse forward. It reared, before leaping straight towards the house. Yang speared another soldier by the door, leaned down and scooped Charity up with one arm. “Brother, follow me!”

Guo was spinning his double halberd at the crowd of men, holding his wife behind him with his other hand. The remaining soldiers were frightened and began shooting arrows in panic.

Yang galloped over to Guo and Lily, and dropped down from the horse’s back. “Sister, get on.” Against her protests, he threw her up onto the horse. Charity took hold of the reins and started to move the horse forward. The two men followed on foot, spearing and slicing any soldiers brave enough to approach.

Suddenly, a thundering of hooves sounded in the west. Yang and Guo glanced at each other and started looking for an escape route. Just then Charity screamed; the horse had been hit by an arrow. It lurched forward and landed on its front knees, before falling to its side and throwing the two women to the ground.

“Brother, you look after them,” Yang said. “I’ll get another horse.” Clutching his spear, Yang ran straight into the crowd of soldiers ahead. A dozen or so formed a line, raising their bows at Yang.

There were just too many soldiers, Guo reasoned, and their chances of escaping with their wives was not looking good. Perhaps they should give themselves up and argue their case in court? None of the men had survived the fight against Qiu Chuji that winter’s afternoon, so there could be no witness to say they had been part of it, let alone killed any of the soldiers themselves. “Ironheart, stop!” Guo called. “Let’s go with them!”

Yang halted in surprise and ran back, dragging his spear in the dirt.

The officer in command of this second group of soldiers ordered the men not to shoot and instead surround the traitors. “Throw down your weapons, and you will be spared!”

“Brother, don’t fall for their lies,” Yang hissed. Guo shook his head, looked his friend straight in the eye and, holding his gaze, threw his double halberd to the dirt. Yang looked across at his wife. Fear seemed to reach out of her eyes and cling to him. He sighed and threw his spear to the ground. Ten spearheads appeared inches from their faces, and eight foot soldiers stepped forward to bind their hands.

Yang held his head high, a sneer spread across his face. The officer in charge walked his horse forward and lashed Yang across the cheek with his whip. “Damned traitor! Are you really not afraid to die?”

“And what’s your name?” came Yang’s reply, a snarl rather than a question.

This drove the man on the horse even wilder with rage. “Justice Duan – His Excellency Duan to you! And don’t forget it. You can tell them about me when you reach the gates of hell!”

Yang stared back at the man without blinking, his eyes fixed on Duan’s.

“I’ve got a scar on my forehead and a birthmark on my right cheek,” Duan continued. “Know who I am now?” At this he whipped Yang across the other cheek.

“He’s a good man, he’s done nothing wrong,” Charity called out. “Why are you beating him?”

Yang spat at Duan and a globule of phlegm landed on his birthmark. Furious, Duan pulled out his sabre. “I’m going to kill you right now, you disgusting traitor!” He lifted his sabre high above his head and brought it down in a clumsy slash. It was not hard for Yang to step out of the way. Two foot soldiers moved their spears to Yang’s sides and pushed the metal tips against his taut muscles, pincering him. Duan raised his sabre again and swung it down somewhat more elegantly than before. Unable to move sideways, Yang could only pull back. Despite appearances Duan had in fact practised some martial arts, and immediately he thrust his sabre forward. The blade had a sawtoothed edge, and this time he managed to swipe it through Yang’s left shoulder. He pulled back again for another chop.

At that moment Guo jumped up and thrust his feet at Duan’s face. Duan tried to block Guo’s feet with his sabre, but despite having his hands tied behind his back, Guo managed to twirl his left leg away and round Duan’s sword, while jabbing his right foot into Duan’s stomach.

“Spear them!” Duan coughed. “Our orders were to kill them should they resist arrest.”

But Guo had kicked two men to the ground. Duan came from behind him and swung his sabre down hard, severing Guo’s right arm at the shoulder. Yang had been trying to struggle free from the ropes around his wrists, but seeing his oldest friend so badly wounded gave him a new surge of strength. He snapped his bonds, punched the closest soldier, and grabbed his spear. By now he had nothing to lose: he could fight or they would all die. He speared two more in quick succession.

Duan shrank back in fear. He could see renewed and ferocious determination in Yang’s eyes, the fear of killing government troops now gone. The remaining soldiers ran.

Rather than give chase, Yang turned to his friend. He crouched down beside Guo. Blood was pumping from the wound in crimson spurts and his cream robe was already drenched down one side. Tears ran like rivulets down his cheeks.

Guo forced a smile. “Ironheart, don’t worry about me. Go. Go!”

“I’m going to fetch a horse,” Yang said. “Whatever happens, I’m going to save you.”

“No, don’t worry.” Guo passed out.

Ironheart Yang removed his shirt so he could bandage up the wound. But Duan’s sword had sliced through Guo’s shoulder and into his chest. It would be impossible to stem the bleeding. Guo came round again and called, “Brother, save our wives. I’m not going to make it.” Then he gasped and died.

Ever since they were little, the two friends had always thought of each other as flesh and blood. Rage surged in Yang’s chest, and he recalled they had once sworn to each other, “Together we will die, same day, same month, same year.” Yang looked around him. He had no idea what had happened to their wives amid the chaos.

“Brother, I will avenge your death!” he cried out, grabbing hold of his spear and charging towards the nearest group of soldiers.

By now the soldiers had resumed their formation. Justice Duan issued an order, and a swarm of arrows came flying straight at Yang. But he marched ahead through the storm, knocking the arrows aside. One military officer swung his sabre hard at Ironheart’s head, but Ironheart ducked and tucked himself underneath the belly of his horse. The sabre was left to swipe blindly through the air. The officer was trying to turn his horse when a spear pierced through his back and into his heart. Yang lifted the corpse and flicked it off the end of his spear, before mounting. He waved his spear at the remaining soldiers. None dared fight him, choosing instead to flee.

Yang continued to chase them for a while until he caught sight of one of the officers riding away, with a woman slung over his horse. Ironheart jumped down from his horse and skewered one of the foot soldiers with his spear. Taking the soldier’s bow and arrow, he aimed as best he could, with the light from the burning houses as his only guide, pulled back and fired. The arrow speared the horse’s behind, sending the animal to its knees and the two riders tumbling to the ground. Ironheart fired another arrow, killing the officer. He then ran over to the woman, who was struggling to sit up.


4

CHARITY THREW HERSELF INTO HER HUSBAND’S ARMS IN RELIEF.

“Where is our sister Lily Li?” Yang asked.

“Up ahead. She was captured by soldiers.”

“Stay here and wait for me. I’m going to find her.”

“But there are more soldiers coming!” Charity replied, aghast.

Ironheart turned to watch a cluster of torches approaching.

“Brother Guo is dead,” Yang said, turning back to Charity. “I have to find Lily Li, to save his family line. The heavens will take pity on us, I will come back for you!”

Charity clung to her husband’s neck and would not let go. “We were never to part,” she said, tears gathering. “You said so yourself. We’re going to die together.”

Ironheart took her in his arms and kissed her. He then peeled her arms from around his neck and picked up his spear. He ran a few dozen metres, then stopped and looked back. There she sat, crouched in the dust, crying. The soldiers were upon her.

Ironheart turned and wiped the mixture of tears, sweat and blood from his cheeks with his sleeve. The Guo family must have descendants.

He carried onwards on foot until he spotted a stray horse, and a man nearby. “Which way did the soldiers go?” he demanded.

“That way.” The man pointed. Ironheart belted the horse with his heel, and spurred onwards.

Then, a scream. A woman’s scream, in the woods by the road. He jerked the horse round and charged straight at the trees. Lily Li had wrestled her hands free from the ropes and was fighting off two foot soldiers. She was a strong, robust country girl; the foot soldiers laughed and cursed, but they could not overcome her. Ironheart was upon them, and with two jabs speared them both. He then pulled Lily up behind him and together they raced back to where he had left his wife.

But there was no-one to be found.

Morning was approaching. Ironheart dismounted his horse and searched for any trace of his wife by the day’s first light. There, a trail; someone had been dragged through the dirt. His wife, captured by soldiers.

Ironheart jumped back up onto the horse and booted it in the stomach. The horse was galloping at full speed when a bugle sounded and a group of ten soldiers dressed in black and on horseback charged onto the path. The first man was wielding a wolf-fang club but Ironheart blocked it, parrying with his spear. The man then planed the club towards Ironheart’s stomach – an unusual move in these parts.

The wolf-fang club was a heavy weapon, and not generally popular in the wulin. The Jin army, however, were known to favour it. The Jurchen had grown up strong in the fight against the freezing climate, east of the Liao River. When the Jin invaded the north, the wolf-fang club had been their weapon of choice.

Ironheart was growing suspicious and recalled his brother’s words. Judging by range and quality of the man’s skills, he must be of high rank in the Jin army. But what was he doing here? Ironheart quickened his spear and struck the man from his horse. The rest fled in shock.

Ironheart turned to check that Lily Li was unhurt. At that moment, an arrow whistled through the air towards him and buried itself in his back.

“Brother!” Lily Li cried.

It felt like ice piercing his heart. So this is it, Ironheart said to himself. But I must defeat these men first, so Lily can escape.

With the last of his strength he lifted his spear, spurred his horse and rushed at the new crowd of soldiers that had appeared. But the pain was too much. A dark curtain drew across his eyes and he fainted, slumped over his horse.


5

THE MOMENT HER IRONHEART HAD PUSHED HER AWAY, CHARITY felt as if her heart had been sliced in two by her husband’s own blade. The soldiers were upon her within seconds. There was no escape.

One of the officers held a torch to her face.

“It’s her,” he said. “Who’d have guessed those two southerners alone could have caused our men such injury.”

“At least we can say we were the ones to complete the job,” another said. “They’ll have to give us at least ten taels of silver for our efforts.”

“Huh!” the first officer snorted. “I’ll just be happy if the generals leave a few coins for us.” He turned to the bugler. “Time to go back.”

The bugler brought his instrument to his lips and blew.



THEY KEPT riding. Charity tried to swallow her tears. What had happened to her husband? The sun had now risen. People started to appear on the road, but they slipped away again at the sight of the soldiers. Charity was surprised, however, to find the men polite in both word and deed, so after some time she began to relax.

After several more li, they heard shouts coming from up ahead. Another group of men clad in black charged at them from the side of the road.

“Disgusting vermin!” their leader shouted. “Murdering innocent subjects! Get down from your horses!”

The highest-ranking officer was furious. “How dare you bandits show your faces out here on the outskirts of the capital? Get away, now!”

The men in black rushed forward. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for with their superior kung fu.

Charity was quietly excited. Maybe her dear Ironheart’s friends had come to rescue her?

In the chaos, an arrow came flying towards Charity from behind and hit her horse in the rump. It jerked and began racing forward. Charity desperately wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck for fear of falling. Before long, she heard the beating of hooves against the dirt behind her. A black horse drew level with hers and then edged in front. The man riding it was spinning a rope, and with a swish! it flew through the air and looped over the head of Charity’s horse. The man pulled on the rope, drawing them level and then slowing them. He whistled, stopping his animal dead. Charity’s horse was pulled to a halt, neighing and rearing.

Charity was worn out after such a long and eventful night. Terror and grief had weakened her so she could no longer hold the reins. She fainted, flopping from the horse and to the ground.



CHARITY FELT herself waking gradually. She did not know how long she had been asleep. A cosy feeling cloaked her, and she imagined herself to be lying on a soft bed, wrapped in a thick cotton quilt. As she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a fine green canopy decorated with flowers above her, and as she turned, a lamp lit on a bedside table. Was she imagining it? Or was there a man in black sitting by her bed?

Hearing her stir, the man stood up and parted the bed curtains. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

Charity was still half asleep, but the man seemed familiar.

“You still have a fever,” the man murmured, placing his hand on her forehead. “Don’t worry, the doctor will be here soon.”

Dazed, Charity fell back into the comfort of sleep.

Later, she was dimly aware of a doctor examining her and someone feeding her medicine. She felt almost paralysed by exhaustion.

Then, suddenly: “Ironheart! My dear Ironheart!” She broke from her dream with a start. Someone stroked her shoulder, consoled her.

The sun was high in the sky by the time she next woke. A groan rose from deep within her. Someone came to the bed and pulled aside the curtain. She looked at him, and shock shot through her. The handsome, friendly-looking man standing before her was none other than the injured soldier she had saved in the snow all those months ago.

“Where am I? Where is my husband?”

The young man gestured for her to be quiet. “There are soldiers everywhere out there looking for us. We’re staying with a local farmer. Your humble servant begs your forgiveness, my lady, I had to lie to the farmer and say that I am your husband. Please don’t say anything.”

Charity blushed and nodded. “Where’s my husband?”

“My lady is still weak. I will tell you everything once you feel better.”

A jolt went through Charity; the tone of his voice was enough to tell her it was serious. She gripped the corner of her quilt and asked again, her voice shaking, “He . . . What happened?”

“Worrying will accomplish nothing now. Your health is the most important thing.”

“Is he dead?” she pressed.

“Was Squire Yang tall, with broad shoulders, around twenty? Did he use a spear?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

Knowing he had no choice but to tell her now, he nodded. “Squire Yang was unlucky. Those hateful soldiers killed him.” He shook his head and sighed.

Pain pulsed in her chest and she fainted. When she came to again she instantly began sobbing. The man tried to soothe her.

“How did he die?” she stuttered between sobs.

“I saw him fighting a group of soldiers earlier today. He killed a few of them. But then . . . one of the soldiers crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back with his spear.”

The shock temporarily knocked her out again. For the rest of the day she neither drank nor ate. The man did not force her, and instead attempted to distract her with chatter.

After some time, Charity began to feel guilty for not asking the man any questions. “May I ask sir’s name? How did you know we were in trouble and needed help?”

“My surname is Yan, my given name is Lie. I was passing by with my friends when we saw those soldiers harassing you. We decided to help, and as it turns out, the heavens decreed that I should save my own saviour. We were destined to meet again.”

His words made her blush and she turned away from him. But her mind was working as his story struck her as suspicious. She turned back to face him. “Are you one of them?”

Yan Lie looked surprised.

“Weren’t you one of the soldiers who tried to capture the Taoist that day? That’s how you got hurt?”

“I was unlucky, that’s all. I was coming south and was passing through your village on my way to Lin’an. But then an arrow came out of nowhere and hit me in the back. If it weren’t for my lady’s benevolence, I would have died out there. But why were they trying to catch the monk? Taoists catch ghosts – why would a soldier want to catch a monk? They’ve got it all muddled.” He looked amused.

“So you were just passing through? You weren’t with them? I thought you were also coming after the Taoist. I wasn’t sure I should help you that day.” She then went on to tell him why the soldiers were there and how Qiu Chuji killed them all.

Charity continued talking, until she caught him staring at her, captivated. She fell silent.

“My apologies.” He smiled. “I was just thinking about how we’re going to escape without getting caught by the soldiers.”

Charity started to cry. “My husband’s gone – how can I live on? It is my duty, as his wife. I should do the honourable thing.”

“Madam, your husband was murdered by rebel soldiers and his death is yet to be avenged. How can you think of suicide? Squire Yang was a hero in life. He’ll never find peace beneath the Nine Springs of the Underworld if he hears you talking like that.”

“But I’m just a feeble woman. How can I possibly avenge his death?”

“My lady’s burden,” Yan Lie said in righteous anger, “I will gladly assume. Do you know who the culprit is?”

Charity thought for a while before answering. “Their leader was called Justice Duan. He has a scar on his forehead and a birthmark on his cheek.”

“We have a name and distinguishing features. It doesn’t matter if he runs to the ends of the earth or the corners of the sea, we will bring him to justice!” He went outside and came back with a bowl of rice porridge and some peeled salted eggs. “But you won’t get your revenge if you don’t take care of your health first.”

Charity agreed this made sense, took the bowl and started to eat. She then fell back into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, Charity arranged her clothes and got out of bed. She went to the mirror and brushed her hair, found a piece of white cloth and fixed a white flower in her hair, out of respect for her husband. But the sight of the beautiful woman in the mirror, widowed at such a young age, plunged her back into the depths of her grief and she started weeping bitterly.

Just then Yan Lie walked in. He waited for a pause in her sobs. “The soldiers have retreated. Let’s be on our way,” he said softly.

Charity followed him out. Yan Lie handed the master of the house a piece of silver, and then brought the two horses round. Her horse’s wound had been taken care of.

“Where to now?” Charity asked.

Yan Lie hushed her with a look, and helped her up onto her horse. Together they began riding northwards, side by side.

“Where are you taking me?” Charity asked again, several li thence.

“First we’re going to find somewhere to lie low. Once everything has calmed, I will go back and bury your husband. Then I will kill Justice Duan!”

Charity was mild in character and rarely put forward her own suggestions. Furthermore, the events of the previous night had left her all alone in the world, and she was just grateful that Yan Lie had a plan.

“Master Yan, how am I ever to repay you?”

“My lady, you were the one to save me!” he exclaimed. “I will be your humble servant for the rest of my days, through fire and rain, even in the face of the cruellest torture.”

“I only hope we can kill that horrible man as soon as possible, so that I can join my husband in the knowledge he has been avenged.” Tears tumbled down her cheeks.

They rode for a full day before stopping for the night at an inn in Chang’an. Yan Lie told the innkeeper they were married and got one room. This made Charity extremely nervous, but she remained silent, and instead gripped Qiu Chuji’s dagger under her clothes. If he does anything untoward, I’ll kill myself, she decided.

Yan Lie instructed one of the men to bring them two bundles of rice straw. Once the man left, he locked the door and arranged the bundles on the floor. He then lay down on one of them and drew a rug over himself. “Sleep well, my lady,” he said, and closed his eyes.

Charity’s heart was thumping. Thoughts of her dead husband tore at her insides, and she sat staring into the darkness for over an hour before eventually blowing out the candle with a sigh. Clutching the dagger, she climbed onto her bundle of straw and slept in her clothes.



BY THE time Charity woke the next day, Yan Lie had already readied the horses and was requesting breakfast. Charity was grateful he was proving to be such a gentleman, and began to think perhaps she need not be so worried. Breakfast consisted of fried strips of chicken and tofu, ham, sliced sausage, smoked fish and a small pot of the most deliciously fragrant rice porridge. Charity was from a simple but honest background and had lived off the land since marrying into the Yang family. Breakfast for her usually consisted of pickles and a small piece of tofu. She only got to eat such varied fare at Spring Festival or wedding banquets. She ate, but felt a little uncomfortable.

After they finished, an inn boy came in with a bundle. Yan Lie had already left the room.

“What’s this?” Charity asked.

“As soon as the sun was up, Master went out and bought new clothes for Madam. He says you are to wear them.” He placed the bundle on the floor and left.

Charity opened the bundle and was surprised to find a mourning dress made from white silk, with a complete set of matching accessories, from stockings, shoes, underwear to a padded jacket, silk scarf and sash.

“He’s thought of everything,” she muttered. “What an unusual young man.”

She dressed in her new clothes, but just knowing Yan Lie had selected them made her blush. She had left home in a hurry and her own clothes were now torn and dirty after a night on the road. The new outfit did cheer her a little. When Yan Lie returned, she noticed he too was dressed in expensive new clothes.

And so they set off again, riding in single file, or sometimes side by side. Spring was just turning into summer south of the Yangtze. Willows by the side of the road reached out and brushed against their shoulders as they passed, flowers filled the air with their intoxicating scent, and the fields were covered in a green quilt of new shoots.

Yan Lie spent the entire journey idly chatting in order to distract Charity from her grief. Charity’s father, a minor scholar, was the most educated man of their small village, and her husband and his sworn brother had both been straightforward, simple men. Never had she met a man as refined and cultured as Yan Lie. His every word revealed a depth and sharpness of thought. But they seemed to be heading further and further north, away from Lin’an, and he had not mentioned the subject of avenging her husband’s unjust death all day. She could hold back no longer: “Master Yan, do you know the whereabouts of my husband’s body?”

“Of course I wish to look for Squire Yang’s body and give him a proper burial, it’s just that I killed government men while rescuing my lady. Right now it’s very dangerous for me to go back there; they would kill me as soon as I set foot in Lin’an. In any case, soldiers are out everywhere looking for my lady. Squire Yang committed treason by killing officials of the Song Empire, after all, and that’s a serious crime. When they capture the relatives of a traitor, the men are beheaded and the women forced into prostitution. I’m not so worried about my own safety, but I couldn’t leave my lady without protection. They would do terrible things to you.”

Charity nodded at his sincerity.

“I have given the matter considerable thought,” Yan Lie continued. “The most important thing is to give your husband a proper burial. So we are heading for Jiaxing where I can obtain enough silver to send someone to Lin’an to take care of it. If Madam will only find peace in the knowledge that I have organised it personally, then I will first make sure you are safe in Jiaxing, and then go back myself.”

Charity thought it would be expecting too much to ask him to take such a big risk for her, so she replied, “If Master can find someone trustworthy to handle it, then I suppose that will do.” She paused, and then continued, “My husband also had a friend – they were sworn brothers – by the name of Skyfury Guo. He died alongside my husband. I’m sorry to trouble you by asking this, but if you could ensure that he too is buried properly . . . Well, I would . . .” She was interrupted by her own tears.

“It’s no trouble,” Yan Lie replied. “Just leave it to me. As for avenging their deaths, the traitor Justice Duan is a government official, so it’s going to be difficult to kill him. Besides, we need to be especially careful right now. We’re going to have to be patient and wait for our moment.”

Charity knew Yan Lie was right, but she was desperate to see Justice Duan dead so she could join her husband in the next world. But who knew when such an opportunity would arise? She would have to be patient. The tears flowed even faster.

“I don’t care about getting revenge,” she stuttered between sobs. “Even a hero like my husband was unable to defeat him. I’m just a wretched woman – how can I wait for him to be brought to justice? Just let me join my husband.”

Yan Lie paused to think. “Madam, do you have faith in me?”

Charity nodded.

“Then the only answer,” he said, “is to continue north, away from the soldiers. The Song officials can’t catch us up in the north, we’ll be out of danger as soon as we cross the River Huai. Once things have calmed, we’ll come back south to avenge these heroes. Please be assured, my lady, I will see to it that justice is done.”

I have no family now, Charity thought to herself, hesitating. If I don’t follow him, where is a woman like me to make a life for herself? I saw those soldiers attack my husband and burn our home with my own eyes. Had they captured me, I would have suffered a fate worse than death. Yet this man is neither friend nor relative. Should a widow like me be travelling on her own with a young man like him? But he would no doubt stop me if I tried to commit suicide. All she knew for sure was that the road ahead would be difficult and uncertain, and her guts felt twisted with worry. She had been crying for days now and it felt as if she had no tears left.

“If my lady doesn’t agree with any part of my plan, then please tell me. I will do anything Madam asks.”

He was so accommodating that it made Charity feel guilty. Other than taking her own life, she could see no other way. “Then let’s do as you suggest,” she said, unable to look up.

Yan Lie visibly rejoiced, and exclaimed, “I am forever in Madam’s debt, for you saved my l—”

“Please don’t mention it again,” Charity interrupted.

“Of course.”



THAT NIGHT, they stopped at another inn in the town of Wudun, and once again Yan Lie arranged for them to stay in the same room. He had been noticeably less reserved since Charity had agreed to go with him to the north, and occasionally he would become a little too excited. She was beginning to feel uneasy again, but as he was yet to do anything improper as such, she decided he must just be trying to show his gratitude.

They arrived at Jiaxing around noon the next day. It was one of the biggest cities in western Zhejiang, where the rice and silk trades had thrived for centuries. Known as Drunken Plums in ancient times and Bounteous Grains during the Five Dynasties, it had changed its name to Jiaxing following Emperor Xiaozong’s birth in the city.

“Let’s find a place to rest,” Yan Lie suggested.

Charity, however, was concerned the soldiers might find them. “It’s still early, let’s press on.”

“The markets here are good and Madam’s clothes are worn. We should buy you some new ones first.”

“But you bought these only yesterday,” Charity said. “You call these worn?”

“The roads are dusty; clothes lose their shine after only a couple of days. Besides, Madam is so beautiful, it wouldn’t be right for you to wear anything but the finest.”

Charity enjoyed his compliment, even if she could not admit it, but she looked away. “I’m in mourning—”

“But of course,” he replied at once. “I understand.”

Charity was quiet. She was indeed a beautiful young woman, but her husband had never once told her so. She stole a glance at Yan Lie. He seemed sincere. A flutter went through her, but it was tinged with anxiety.

Yan Lie asked passers-by for a place to stay and was directed to the Elegant Waters Inn, the largest in the city. After freshening up, Yan Lie and Charity ordered some snacks in their room and sat facing each other, eating. Charity had wanted to ask for a separate room, but did not know how to phrase it. Her cheeks alternated between bright crimson and pallid white as they ate, her worries pressing constantly against her chest.

“Please make yourself comfortable, my lady. I’m just going to buy a few things. I’ll be back soon.”

Charity nodded. “Please don’t spend too much.”

Yan Lie smiled. “It’s such a shame Madam is in mourning and cannot wear pearls or gems. Anyhow, I could never spend too much, even if it was my greatest desire.”





Chapter Two


The Seven Freaks of the South



1

YAN LIE STEPPED OUT INTO THE CORRIDOR. A YAWNING MIDDLE-AGED man was shuffling towards him, his leather slippers scuffing along the floorboards. He seemed to be half smiling, perhaps even winking at him. His clothes were ragged and spotted with grease, his face grimy as if he had not washed in weeks, and he fanned himself with a broken black oilpaper fan.

His dress showed he was a man of some education, but his filthy appearance disgusted Yan Lie, who scuttled on, pressing himself against the wall so as not to brush up against him. Just as they were passing each other, however, the man broke into a harsh, hollow laugh, flipped his fan shut and tapped it against Yan Lie’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Yan Lie cried, unable to deflect the fan in time.

Another dry laugh, and the scholar shuffled away, his slippers scuffing against the floorboards. The man then turned to one of the men working at the inn and said, “You there, young man. I may look as if I’ve fallen on hard times, but I travel with silver in my pocket. It’s not me you should be watchful of, but those men in fancy clothes pretending they are important. They seduce respectable women, eat without paying, take rooms and never settle the bill. Keep an eye out for those types. I would make them pay in advance, just to be sure.” He had already disappeared down the corridor before the attendant could reply.

Yan Lie was furious. The attendant glanced at Yan Lie, walked up to him and bowed.

“Please don’t take offence, sir,” the attendant simpered, “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .”

“Take this, and make sure you put it somewhere safe!” he snorted, reaching beneath his shirt for his silver. But the colour drained from his face. He had tucked at least forty or fifty taels in there before leaving his room, but they were gone.

The attendant straightened himself and puffed up his chest. So the scholar was right, and not just bitter. “What’s that? No money?”

“Wait here,” Yan Lie replied. “I have some in my room.” I must have forgotten it as I hurried out, he thought. But back in his room, he opened his pouch to discover all his gold and silver had vanished. He had no idea when it could have been taken. Madam Bao and I both went to the lavatory at the same time just now, he said to himself, but we were only away from the room for a matter of moments. Could someone have stolen it in such a short space of time? The thieves of Jiaxing were impressive indeed.

The attendant poked his head through the door. Yan Lie was still puzzled, his hands empty. “Is this woman even your wife?” The attendant was angry now. “If you’ve kidnapped her, we will be implicated!”

Charity was mortified, her cheeks flushed crimson. Yan Lie took one large stride towards the door and slapped the back of his hand against the attendant’s face, knocking out several teeth.

The attendant brought his hands to his bleeding cheeks. “First you don’t pay, then you start a fight!” he cried.

Yan Lie kicked the attendant in the behind, sending him crashing out the door.

“Let’s go, we can’t stay here any longer,” Charity said, shaken.

“Not to worry.” Yan Lie smiled, grabbing a chair and sitting by the door. “We are going to get our silver back first.”

Before long, the attendant came rushing back in with a group of thugs, each armed with a club. Yan Lie smiled. “A fight?”

He leapt up and snatched a club from the hand of one of the men, faked a right, jabbed to the left, and knocked half the men to the ground. They were used to turning up and merely intimidating their opponents, but it was obvious their fighting skills were nothing compared to this wealthy guest’s, so the remaining men threw down their clubs and swarmed out of the room. The others scrambled to their feet and followed.

“This is serious,” Charity said, her voice shaking. “The authorities might come after us.”

“That is exactly my intention,” Yan Lie said.

Charity did not know what was going on, so decided to stay quiet. Within the hour, shouting could be heard outside and a dozen government runners burst into the courtyard holding sabres and shorter broadswords.

Over the sound of clanging metal, Yan Lie heard a man say: “Kidnapped her and then assaulted you? How dare he! Where is this crook?”

The men rushed in. Yan Lie was sitting perfectly still in a chair. He cut an intimidating figure in his expensive clothes.

“You, what’s your name?” the man in charge demanded. “What are you doing here in Jiaxing?”

“Fetch me Gai Yuncong!” came Yan Lie’s reply.

The men were surprised and angered to hear him use the Governor of Jiaxing’s name so casually. “Have you lost your mind? How dare you use the Honourable Governor’s given name?”

Yan Lie removed a letter from inside his shirt and threw it on the table. “Deliver this to Gai Yuncong and see if he comes.”

The man in charge walked over to the table, took the letter and read the characters on the front. He was visibly shocked, but hesitated, unsure if the letter was genuine. “Watch him, make sure he doesn’t get away,” he hissed as he dashed out of the door.

Charity sat, her heart thumping and her cheeks deathly pale.

It was not long before another dozen government men came crowding into the room, two among them clothed head-to-toe in full ceremonial dress. They ran over to Yan Lie, dropped to their knees and kowtowed at his feet: “Your humble servants Governor Gai Yuncong of Jiaxing and Magistrate Jiang Wentong bow before Your Excellency. Your humble servants were not informed of Your Excellency’s arrival; please forgive us such an improper reception.”

Yan Lie waved at them and lifted himself from his seat a little. “I was robbed of some silver this morning. May I trouble you two good sirs to investigate?”

“Of course.” Gai Yuncong nodded, waving two of his men over. They each carried a tray; one glowed the warm yellow of gold, the other glinted the dazzling white of silver. “Your humble servant is ashamed to admit such brazen and odious villains roam free in our county, and that they have stolen from Your Excellency. The fault is all mine. Will Your Excellency accept this as a small token of our regret?”

Yan Lie smiled and nodded. Gai Yuncong further presented Yan Lie with a letter. “Your humble servant has just had the Governor’s residence cleaned, and Your Excellency and His Lady are cordially invited to stay there as long as Your Excellency may wish.”

“That won’t be necessary. I like it here, it’s peaceful. We don’t want to be disturbed again,” he said, his face darkening.

“Yes, of course! Should Your Excellency require anything, please let me know. Your humble servant will take care of it.”

Yan Lie did not reply but waved them away, at which the two men ushered the others out.

The attendant had been cowering in fear, but now the innkeeper dragged him over to Yan Lie and made him kowtow and beg for mercy, declaring they would accept whatever punishment His Excellency might choose to mete out. Yan Lie took an ingot of silver from the plate and threw it on the ground. “There’s your payment. Now go.” The attendant froze in stunned silence, but the owner judged there to be no malice in Yan Lie’s actions, so he grabbed the piece of silver, bowed a few times and pulled the attendant out of the door.

Charity was as uneasy as before. “What was so special about that letter? Why would an official be so frightened after reading it?”

“I don’t actually have any authority over them,” Yan Lie said, “but these officials are useless. Zhao Kuo likes to surround himself with worthless men. If he doesn’t end up losing his land, then there’s no justice in this world.”

“Zhao Kuo?”

“Emperor Ningzong of Song.”

“Shhh!” Charity was horrified. “You can’t use His Majesty’s given name. Someone will hear.”

Yan Lie was pleased that she cared for his safety. “It’s fine. That’s what we call him in the north.”

“The north?”

Yan Lie nodded and was about to explain when they heard the sound of beating hooves outside. Another group of men on horses stopped in front of the inn. A warm flush of red had just returned to Charity’s snowy cheeks, but the sound of horses’ hooves brought back memories of her capture only days before and once again they faded to ashen white. Yan Lie’s brow wrinkled, displeasure clearly etched across his face.

Footsteps echoed around the courtyard outside as the men, dressed in brocade, entered the inn. “Your Royal Highness!” They saluted Yan Lie in unison, dropping to their knees.

“You found me at last,” Yan Lie said with a smile.

Charity was now even more surprised. She watched as they stood up, her eyes tracing the muscles beneath their clothing.

“Everyone outside.” Yan Lie waved at them. The men barked their assent and filed out. He then turned to Charity. “What do you think of my men? How do they compare to the Song’s soldiers?”

“These men don’t fight for the Song?”

“I suppose I should be honest with you. These are elite forces fighting on behalf of the Great Jin Empire!”

“Then, you’re . . .” There was a tremble in her voice.

“Madam, I cannot lie anymore. My name is not Yan Lie. There are two characters missing. I am in fact Wanyan Honglie, the Sixth Prince of the Jin, titled Prince Zhao.”

Charity had been weaned on her father’s stories of how the Jin had ravaged Song lands and massacred the peasants of the north, and how the Song Emperors had let themselves be captured. Her husband’s hatred for the Jin ran even deeper. Had she really spent the last few days with a Jin prince?

Wanyan Honglie could see the expression on Charity’s face change. “I’ve long heard about the wonders of the south,” he continued, “so last year I asked my father, the Emperor of the Jin, to send me to Lin’an to act as envoy for the New Year Celebrations. And in any case, the Song Emperor still had not paid his annual tribute, a few hundred thousand taels of silver, so my father wanted me to collect that as well.”

“Annual tribute?”

“Indeed, the Song Emperors pay us a tribute of silver and silk so we won’t invade. They always claim they cannot collect enough in taxes in order to pay it promptly. But this time I demanded it from Chancellor Han. I told him that if they did not pay within a month, I’d lead Jin soldiers to the south myself to collect in full.”

“How did Chancellor Han respond?”

“In the only way he could: the silk and silver were in the north before I even left the city!” He laughed. Charity frowned and did not answer. “Of course, they didn’t really need me to chase the tribute,” he continued. “A special envoy would have been good enough. But I wanted to see the beauty of the south myself, the scenery, the people, their customs. I never imagined I would meet my lady, and that you would save my life! Luck was shining on me, indeed.”

Charity’s head swirled and panic was rising within her.

“And now I’m going to buy some more clothes for you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Charity replied without looking up.

“The money the Governor gave me himself from his own pocket would be enough to buy my lady a new outfit every day for a thousand years! Please don’t be afraid, Madam; the inn is surrounded by my men, nobody can harm you.” With that, he left.

Charity was left with her thoughts of all that had happened since the day she first met him. He, a royal prince, treating a lowly widow with such kindness. His intentions had to be dishonourable. Her husband was dead, leaving her, a poor wretched woman, all on her own, and instead of running away she had ended up she knew not where. Panic pulsed through her again. She hugged her pillow close, her tears running into it.



WANYAN HONGLIE tucked the gold and silver into his shirt and walked in the direction of the market. He watched as the local peasants went about their business. There was something dignified about them despite the simplicity of their situations, and he could not help but admire them.

All of a sudden, drumming hooves. A horse appeared up ahead, galloping towards him. The street was narrow and filled with market stalls and people shopping. Wanyan Honglie jerked to the side just as the sandy-coloured mare came sailing through the sea of people. Miraculously the horse drifted through the crowd without knocking against a single person or kicking anything over, each stride light, each jump smooth, as it skimmed over a stall selling ceramics and baskets of vegetables. It was as if the horse was floating across open grasslands, rather than charging through a busy market street.

The horse was handsome, towering and muscular. Wanyan Honglie drew his eyes from the horse up to the rider and was surprised to see a short, beefy man, straddling it as if he were sat astride a lump of meat. His arms and legs were short, as was his almost non-existent neck, making his enormous head look as if it had been pressed into his shoulders.

Incredible, Wanyan Honglie thought, unable to contain himself.

The man turned towards Wanyan as he floated past, revealing cheeks red and blotchy from too much rice wine, and a nose shiny and round like a persimmon stuck in the middle.

Such a fine horse, I must have it whatever the price, Wanyan Honglie thought to himself. At that moment, two children ran out into the lane from the opposite direction, chasing each other, straight into the horse’s path. Surprised, the horse kicked out. Just as the beast’s left hoof was about to strike one of the children, the man pulled hard on the reins and lifted out of the saddle, pulling the horse up, its hooves narrowly grazing the tops of the children’s heads. Disaster averted, the man sat back in his saddle.

Wanyan Honglie stared in amazement; there were many fine riders among his people, yet this man was surely the finest horseman he had ever seen. If I took him back with me to the capital, my army could conquer the world, he thought. Much better than merely buying the horse. He had been scouting out locations to station troops throughout this trip south, where to cross rivers, even noting the names and competencies of every county official he passed on the way. Such remarkable talent is going to waste here in the south where the government is so corrupt, he said to himself. Why not offer him a position with me? It was decided: he was going to take him back to the Jin capital in the north to cultivate his talents.

He started running after the horse, afraid he would lose them. He was about to call out after them, but the horse halted suddenly at the corner of the main road. The abruptness with which animal and rider stopped was remarkable; this alone would have convinced him of the man’s superior capabilities. He watched as the rider jumped down from his saddle and entered a shop.

Wanyan Honglie hurried closer and peered at a large wooden sign inside: LI PO’S LEGACY. He stepped back and looked up at the large gold-lettered sign hanging from the eaves: Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, written in the finest calligraphy, and beside it, By the hand of Su Dongpo, one of the Song’s best calligraphers, poets and statesmen. Such imposing luxury; this must be one of the town’s best taverns. I’ll treat him to a fine meal and plenty of drink, Wanyan Honglie said to himself. I couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity.

Just then the stocky man came scuttling back down the stairs carrying a large wine jug, and waddled up to his horse. Wanyan Honglie slipped out of view.

The man looked even fatter and uglier up close. He could not have been more than three foot, about the height of his horse’s stirrups, with shoulders almost as broad as he was tall. He struck the neck of the jug a few times, swiped the top half off so that it became a basin, and placed it before the animal. The horse reared up onto its hind legs, neighed with delight and started drinking the contents. Wanyan Honglie could smell it from where he was standing. Blushing Maiden, a famous fragrant wine from Shaoxing. Aged for ten years, he deduced from a longer sniff.

The man walked back into the tavern and threw a large sycee ingot of silver onto the counter. “Bring us three tables of your best food, two with meat, one vegetarian,” he instructed.

“Certainly, Third Brother Han.” The innkeeper smiled. “Today we have the finest perch from the River Song, the perfect accompaniment to some of our best rice wine. Take back your silver, eat first.”

“What? The wine is free, is it?” he said in a strange voice and with a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Are you suggesting Third Brother Han is a villain who eats without paying?”

The innkeeper chuckled, taking it in good jest, before calling to the waiters, “Boys, get to work and prepare Third Brother Han’s food!”

“Yes, sir!” the men responded.

He’s not especially well dressed, Wanyan Honglie said to himself, but he spends generously and is treated with respect. He must be important. Looks like it’s not going to be easy to persuade him to continue further north. I’ll keep watching to see who he’s inviting to dinner.

He slipped upstairs, found a seat by a window and ordered a jug of wine and a few dishes.


2

THE GARDEN OF THE EIGHT DRUNKEN IMMORTALS SAT ON THE banks of South Lake. It was late spring and the water was clear like a sheet of blue-green jade. A light mist clung to the water’s surface, which trembled as leisure boats scored ripples across it. The lake too was scattered with the emerald leaves of the water chestnut. South Lake produced the sweetest, most tender water chestnuts for miles around, crisp and refreshing.

Wanyan Honglie’s eyes drew in the scene and he felt relaxed and contented. Just then a long, narrow boat came skating across the water, its bow jutting upwards. He was not paying particular attention at first, until he noticed that it had overtaken another boat which only moments before had been some way out in front. As it came closer he noted the passenger and someone at the back with a paddle, wearing a cape made from rushes. To his surprise, the oarsman was in fact a woman. She twisted the paddle lightly, slicing the boat through the water like an arrow. The boat alone must have weighed at least one hundred jin, Wanyan Honglie reflected, which meant both oarswoman and oar must be exceptionally strong.

With just a few more twists the boat pulled up beside the tavern. Sunlight glinted off the paddle. It must have been made of metal. The woman tied the boat to a wooden post at the foot of the tavern’s stone steps and jumped adroitly onto land, taking the paddle with her. The man in the boat picked up a shoulder pole with two bundles of firewood and followed her up the stairs to the first floor of the restaurant.

“Third Brother!” the woman called out to the rider, and sat beside him.

“Fourth Brother, Seventh Sister, you’re early!” he replied.

Wanyan Honglie surveyed the two new arrivals. She looked to be around seventeen or eighteen, slim, with large eyes, long eyelashes and skin white like snow. A pretty girl of the local rivers and lakes. She had removed the straw hat to reveal her gorgeous black hair, which hung, like inky clouds from a painting, around her face. She may not be as beautiful as my Madam Bao, but she has a certain charm, he thought to himself.

The man with the firewood looked to be in his late twenties, dressed from head to toe in black, with a coarse rope tied around his waist – into which was tucked a small axe – and straw sandals on his feet. His hands and feet were huge, his expression honest but dull. He put down the shoulder pole and leaned it against the table. Large enough to sit eight, it creaked and shot back a few centimetres under the weight of the pole. The pole did not appear to be remarkable in any way, black and glossy with a slight bend in the middle, each end capped by a small sheath, Wanyan observed. It too must have been cast from metal.

Just as they took their seats, the sound of footsteps echoed on the stairs and two more people emerged.

“Fifth Brother, Sixth Brother, you’re here.”

The first man was tall and sturdy, and must have weighed some two hundred and fifty jin. His shirt was open and he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing a bushy chest and arms covered in thick black hairs. Over this he wore a greasy butcher’s apron, with a foot-long knife tucked into its strings. Behind him came a shorter man, his skin pearly white, a felt cap perched on his head. He carried a set of scales and a bamboo basket.

At that moment, they heard what sounded like someone beating metal against stone. The sound grew louder. A man appeared, dressed in rags, dragging an iron staff up the stairs. Wanyan Honglie thought he looked to be around thirty, with razor-sharp features and a greying complexion. His eyes were covered in a white film.

The others stood up and announced in unison: “Big Brother.”

“Big Brother, sit here,” the woman said, patting the seat beside her.

“Thank you,” the blind man replied. “Second Brother isn’t here yet?”

“Second Brother just arrived in Jiaxing,” the butcher replied. “He should be here any moment.”

“That’s him,” the woman said, smiling, as they heard the sound of leather slapping against the steps.

Wanyan Honglie froze. There, at the top of the stairs, appeared a broken black oilpaper fan.

It quaked briefly, and then behind it followed a head. It was him.

“He took my money,” Wanyan Honglie growled, anger germinating inside him. The man grinned at him, stuck out his tongue and turned to greet the others. This was Second Brother.

They’re clearly important fighters of the jianghu, Wanyan Honglie thought. They could do a lot for me. The filthy one may have stolen my money, but it will be of no consequence if I can persuade them to come with me to the north.

Second Brother took a swig of wine and began reciting a poem, his head swaying from side to side as the words dipped and soared:

“Ill-gotten gains, let them go,

For the Jade Emperor is about to blow!”



He reached into his shirt and removed ingot after ingot, laying them out neatly on the table. Eight gold, two silver.

Wanyan Honglie recognised them by their size and lustre – they were his! But caution overcame his anger. I can understand how he took the ones from my room, that was easy, but my shirt? He tapped me with his fan, but otherwise I didn’t feel a thing.

It soon became clear the seven martial siblings were the hosts, and they were waiting for guests. The innkeeper had placed only one set of chopsticks and a cup at each of the two remaining tables. Two guests. I wonder if they will be as strange, Wanyan Honglie thought to himself.

One cup of tea later, they heard someone reciting Buddhist scriptures at the bottom of the stairs. “Amituofo!”

“Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is here,” the blind man said.

“Amituofo!”

At that moment, an emaciated monk, spindly like a twig, appeared at the top of the stairs. He must have been around fifty years of age, dressed in jute robes. In his hand he carried a piece of firewood, one end scorched black. What could it be for? Wanyan Honglie wondered.

The monk greeted his seven friends and the man in rags led him to one of the empty tables. “He came looking for me,” the monk said, hovering above his seat before sitting, “but I knew at once that he was too strong. I must thank the Seven Heroes of the South for your kind help and ever solid sense of justice; I am forever in your debt.”

“Do not thank us, Venerable Monk Scorched Wood,” the blind man replied. “It is we who are indebted to your daily kindness. How could we just look on when Your Reverence was in trouble? Why did this fellow challenge Your Reverence to a fight? He obviously doesn’t think much of us masters of the southern wulin. There was no need—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the stairs began to creak. Indeed, it was so loud it sounded as though a water buffalo or some other giant creature was coming up the stairs.

“You can’t take that up there!”

“You’re going to break the floorboards!”

“Quick, stop him! Bring him back down!”

The innkeeper and his men were clamouring, but the creaking continued and only grew louder.

Wanyan Honglie was aghast. There, at the top of the stairs, stood a Taoist carrying a full-sized temple censer made of bronze, usually used for burning large quantities of paper money and sticks of incense. It was Elder Eternal Spring, Qiu Chuji.

The real purpose of Wanyan Honglie’s previous trip had been to gain favour with important officials under the Emperor, so that when the Jin invaded the south, they would have secret allies inside the Song court. He was accompanied on his travels by a Song envoy, Wang Daoqian, who had done everything he could to exact the highest bribes from the Jin for his cooperation. Having long been protected by the northern barbarians, he was a symbol of the worst excesses of Song corruption. But as soon as they entered the city, he was happened upon by a Taoist, who had chopped off his head. Fearful his scheme had been uncovered by the Taoist, Wanyan Honglie fled with his aides. With the help of Lin’an’s finest soldiers, they returned to track the assassin, chasing him all the way to Ox Village, where they engaged him in battle, only to discover he was an exceptional practitioner of the martial arts. Qiu Chuji caught Wanyan Honglie in the shoulder with an arrow before he had even launched one punch, and then went on to kill the rest of Wanyan’s men. Had Wanyan Honglie not fled and chanced upon Charity’s kindness, Qiu Chuji would have made Ox Village his grave.

Wanyan Honglie collected himself. Qiu Chuji had barely glanced in his direction and seemed far more concerned with Scorched Wood and the Seven Heroes of the South. Perhaps the Taoist had defeated him so quickly he could not recognise him? He calmed himself and turned his attention to the enormous censer the Taoist was carrying.

At four foot in diameter, it must have weighed more than two hundred jin on its own, but a waft of fragrant rice wine told Wanyan Honglie that it was not empty and must be considerably heavier. And yet the Taoist looked perfectly comfortable holding it. The weight continued to make the floorboards groan, and downstairs the innkeeper, his men and the other guests had pressed through the main door and out onto the street, fearful that the ceiling was about to collapse.

“We thank the esteemed Taoist for gracing us with his presence,” Scorched Wood said coldly, “but why has he brought with him the bronze incense burner from my temple?”

Qiu Chuji raised his left hand out of respect. “I went first to the temple, but the Abbot Withered Wood told me the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood had invited me to the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals to drink wine with him. I assumed the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood wouldn’t be alone, and I was right.”

“Let me introduce the Seven Heroes of the South.”

“I have long heard spoken the great deeds of the Seven Heroes of the South. Your reputation precedes you, and today I am lucky enough to make your acquaintance myself. It has been my life’s great wish.”

“This is Elder Eternal Spring, Qiu Chuji, of the Quanzhen Sect,” Scorched Wood explained to the Seven Heroes. Turning to Qiu Chuji, he continued. “This,” he said, gesturing to the blind man, “is their leader, Flying Bat Master Ke Zhen’e, Suppressor of Evil.”

He went on to introduce the others, one by one. Wanyan Honglie listened carefully, committing each name to memory. The second was the dirty man who had stolen his silver, Quick Hands Zhu Cong the Intelligent. Next came the short, rotund man who arrived on a horse, Protector of the Steeds, Ryder Han. The fourth man to be introduced was the farmer carrying firewood, Woodcutter Nan the Merciful. Fifth was the burly man in a butcher’s apron, Laughing Buddha Zhang Asheng. The young man who carried the scales was called Gilden Quan the Prosperous, also known as the Masked Haggler. Last came the young oarswoman, Maiden of the Yue Sword, Jade Han. She was the youngest.

Qiu Chuji bowed at each in turn as they were introduced. He was still holding the heavy bronze censer in his right hand but did not appear tired. Meanwhile, the other customers started venturing back inside and some even climbed the stairs, curious to see what was going on.

“We are a martial family, often called the Seven Freaks of the South,” Ke Zhen’e began. “We are mere eccentrics, we daren’t call ourselves martial arts masters. We have long been great admirers of the Seven Disciples of the Quanzhen Sect, and greatly respect Elder Eternal Spring for using his wuxia skills solely in the name of justice. Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is in turn most considerate and warm-hearted. How, may I ask, might he have offended Elder Eternal Spring? Please do us the honour of letting us act as peacemakers. While you both may pray to different deities, you have still both chosen a life of the temple, and are great men of the wulin. Why not air past grievances and drink together?”

“Venerable Monk Scorched Wood and I are strangers to one another,” Qiu Chuji replied. “There is no ill will between us. If he surrenders the women, I will return to Fahua Temple and offer my sincerest apologies.”

“Surrender which women?”

“Two of my friends were betrayed by the Song government and died violent deaths at the hands of marauding Jin soldiers,” Qiu Chuji replied. “Each left behind a widow without family or friends. Master Ke, do you think I should ignore this injustice?”

The cup in Wanyan Honglie’s hand shook, spilling a little wine onto the table.

“They need not be friends of ours for us to feel compelled to act. We would only have to hear of such a story to be moved, it is our duty as members of the wulin.”

“Indeed! And so I am asking our friend the monk to hand over the two wretched widows. He has assumed the robes of a holy man, so why is he detaining them in his temple? The Seven Heroes live by the wulin’s code of honour; can you explain this logic to me?”

Scorched Wood and the Seven Freaks were astonished by Qiu Chuji’s words, as was Wanyan Honglie. Does he mean the wives of Ironheart Yang and Skyfury Guo? he asked himself.

Scorched Wood’s normally sunken cheeks flushed crimson with anger. It took him a while to gather the words to reply. “How can you make such dishonourable accusations?” he stammered. “They are nonsense.”

This angered Qiu Chuji even more. “You are also a great man of the wulin. How dare you lie to me!” he cried, and with one hand flung the bronze censer full of wine at Scorched Wood.

The frightened crowd gathered at the top of the stairs now pushed at each other in a scramble back down.

The monk dived out of the way. Laughing Buddha Zhang calculated he would be able to catch it, despite its weight. He strode forward, moved his inner strength to his arms and roared. The censer swooped at Zhang Asheng and stopped in his arms, the muscles in his shoulders and back bulging as his body absorbed its momentum. He lifted the censer above his head, but the weight was too much for the floor beneath him and his left foot tore through the wooden floorboards. A scream went up from downstairs. Zhang Asheng stepped forward, his arms slightly bent, and performed Open the Window and Push Back the Moon, thrusting the censer back at Qiu Chuji.

Qiu Chuji caught the censer with his right hand and held it above his head. “The Seven Heroes of the South are deserving of their reputation!” Then he turned to Scorched Wood. “What about the women? You have captured them and are keeping them in the temple. What do you want with them? If you hurt so much as one strand of their hair, I will grind your treacherous bones to dust and burn your temple to the ground!”

“His Holiness Scorched Wood is a virtuous and eminent monk,” Zhu Cong said, flicking his fan and nodding. “How could he possibly do such a terrible thing? Your Reverence must have heard this rumour from some lowly beggar. Who could believe such fabrications!”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Qiu Chuji cried with rage. “How could it be a fabrication?”

The Seven Freaks froze.

“You have come south to establish your name – why ruin mine in the process?” Scorched Wood cried. “Ask the people of Jiaxing, could Scorched Wood the Monk be capable of such an evil deed?”

“Fine.” Qiu Chuji smiled coldly. “You have supporters. Without them, defeat would be certain. But I will not let this go. You are hiding two women in a sacred temple, which is sin enough. Why kill their husbands, two such loyal patriots?”

“Elder Eternal Spring claims the Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is hiding the women, and the Venerable Monk insists he is not,” Ke Zhen’e summarised. “Why don’t we go to Fahua Temple and see who is telling the truth? I may be blind, but the rest of my martial family are perfectly able to see.” The others agreed.

“Search the temple?” Qiu Chuji smiled. “I have already searched it several times, but even though I saw them enter, I could not find them inside. I don’t understand it. So it is up to our friend the monk to hand the women over!”

“Perhaps they were not women,” Ke Zhen’e interrupted.

“What?”

Ke Zhen’e gazed unseeing at Qiu Chuji, his face still with perfect solemnity. “They must be goddesses. Either they have made themselves invisible or else they have disappeared into thin air.” The other Freaks tittered.

“I see you are mocking me. The Seven Freaks have allied themselves with the monk.”

“Our skills may not seem much to a Master of the Quanzhen Sect. You may laugh at them, perhaps. But here in the south we can claim some fame. People say, ‘Those Seven Freaks may be crazy, but they are no cowards.’ We may not be masters of the wulin, perhaps, but we will not stand by and watch a friend be bullied.”

“The Seven Heroes of the South do indeed claim a fine reputation, I have long heard of your skill. But this matter does not concern you, there is no need to be sullied by such murky matters. Let me deal with the Venerable Monk myself. Please forgive me, my friend; come with me.” Qiu Chuji reached his left hand to take Scorched Wood by the wrist, but Scorched Wood twisted free of his grip.

The fight was starting.

“Elder Eternal Spring!” Ryder Han cried. “Are you deaf to reason?”

“What is it, Third Brother Han?”

“We believe Venerable Monk Scorched Wood is telling the truth,” Ryder Han replied. “If he says he doesn’t have them, then he doesn’t have them. Such a steadfast and respected member of the wulin cannot be lying.”

“So if he is not lying, then it is I who is the liar?” Qiu Chuji was furious. “I, Elder Eternal Spring, am to distrust my very own eyes? Seeing as they are so easily deceived, perhaps I should gouge them out and present them as a gift? They are useless to me. So, to confirm, you are allied with the monk?”

“Yes!” the Seven Freaks responded in unison.

“In that case, please everyone take a cup of wine. Let us first drink, then we fight.” He lowered his right arm, put the bronze censer to his mouth and took a long gulp. “Here, for you.” He flung the bronze censer at Zhang Asheng.

How am I going to drink from it, even if I catch it above my head? Zhang Asheng thought to himself. He retreated back two steps and placed his hands outstretched before him, but as the censer came hurtling towards him he opened his arms and let it crash against his chest. He carried some extra weight in that area, so his flesh absorbed the impact as if it were a soft cushion. With a deep breath, he thrust forward his chest and wrapped his arms around it. Gripping it tightly, he dipped his head and drank from the bowl. “Delicious!”

He pulled his arms away and let the censer balance a few moments, before pushing it away in a move known throughout the wulin as Two Hands to Move a Mountain. Wanyan Honglie watched in amazement.

Qiu Chuji caught the censer, drank another large mouthful of wine before propelling it towards Ke Zhen’e. “Master Ke, please!”

He’s blind, how will he catch it? Wanyan Honglie thought. But he was unfamiliar with the extent of the Seven Freaks’ martial skill, and the fact that Brother Ke was the most accomplished among them. Using his hearing alone, Ke could place a flying object to within a centimetre just by listening for the rush of air around it. He sat calmly, focused, seemingly unconcerned by Qiu Chuji’s cry. Then, at the last possible moment, up shot his hand, and he struck the censer with his walking staff. He caught the censer and it spun like a plate on a bamboo stick. Ke Zhen’e then tipped the staff and the censer dipped, spinning a stream of rice wine from the rim. Ke Zhen’e opened his mouth and drank three or four mouthfuls, the spray drenching his clothes. He then jerked the stick with the lightest of touches, righting the censer, before flicking it up in the air. As it fell, he hit the censer one more time, sending it back, ringing, to Qiu Chuji.

“Master Ke must spin plates in his spare time!” Qiu Chuji laughed as he caught the censer with ease.

“We didn’t have much money when I was a child, I used to spin plates to help my parents,” Ke Zhen’e said, through gritted teeth.

“Honest work makes the man,” Qiu Chuji said. “A toast to Fourth Brother Nan!” He took another gulp of wine and sent the censer to Woodcutter Nan.

Clang! Woodcutter Nan said nothing, but stopped the censer with his shoulder pole and scooped a handful of wine as it fell. He then spun his pole horizontally, dropped onto his right knee, placed the pole on his left, caught the censer with the other end of the pole and, pushing downwards, flicked it back into the air.

As the censer flew back in the direction of Qiu Chuji, Gilden Quan spoke. “I never turn down a good deal, let me drink.” He appeared at Woodcutter Nan’s side and waited for the censer’s return. Just as it was falling, he too fished out a handful of wine, caught the censer with his feet and then kicked it back at Qiu Chuji. The backwards momentum sent him flying into the wall behind, where he slid to the ground.

“Wonderful, simply wonderful!” Zhu Cong declared, flicking his broken fan.

Qiu Chuji caught the censer and drank again. “Wonderful, wonderful. Now a drink for Second Brother.”

“Aiya! I’m a master of the mind, not of the body. I can’t hold my drink. I’ll be drunk in seconds.” The censer was already making its way back towards him before Zhu Cong could finish. “Help, it’s going to squash me!”

He dipped his fan into the wine, drank, then struck the bottom of the censer, flicking it away. At that point, the floorboards creaked and a large crack appeared. “Help!” he cried as he fell through.





Everyone knew he was playing the fool. Wanyan Honglie, however, was still marvelling at Zhu Cong’s use of the small fan, which appeared as strong as Woodcutter Nan’s shoulder pole.

“What about me?” Jade Han called, and with the tap of her right foot she flew up into the air like a swallow. In an instant she had jumped over the censer, lowered her head and drunk from it, before landing nimbly on the window ledge. She was a master of lightness qinggong kung fu and swordsmanship, but she was not the strongest and realised it would have been beyond her to catch the censer and launch it back at the Taoist.

The censer, meanwhile, flew past Jade, through the window and out onto the crowded street. Alarmed, Qiu Chuji raced out to stop it, but with a whoosh! and a whistle, Ryder Han swept past the Taoist, calling his horse round onto the street. Everyone gathered upstairs ran to the window to watch Ryder Han career into the censer, knocking them both onto the back of his horse. The horse lurched forward and steadied itself, then turned back towards the tavern and started climbing the steps. The treads creaked and cracked under its weight, but somehow it made it upstairs.

Ryder Han was in fact balanced beneath the horse’s belly, his left foot caught in a stirrup and his hands holding the censer on the saddle. The horse was fast and steady on the stairs. Once at the summit, Ryder Han flipped back onto the horse’s back, leaned down and drank from the censer, before pushing it off the horse with his left arm. He then snorted, cracked his whip and jumped out of the window, landing the beast with ease on the street outside. Ryder Han then dismounted and walked back up the stairs, arm in arm with Zhu Cong.

“The Seven Heroes of the South are worthy of their reputation indeed,” Qiu Chuji responded. “I am humbled by your skills. As long as Venerable Monk Scorched Wood vows to release the women, I will trouble him no further and leave.”

“Elder Eternal Spring,” Ke Zhen’e replied, “in this matter you are mistaken. Venerable Monk Scorched Wood has spent decades living a life free from bodily temptations, he is a virtuous and devout Buddhist whom we have long admired. Fahua Temple is also one of Jiaxing’s most sacred Buddhist sites. How could he be hiding respectable women inside?”

“There are always those who claim good reputations falsely,” Qiu Chuji declared.

“Elder Eternal Spring believes us to be lying?” Ryder Han was struggling to control his fury.

“I choose to believe my own eyes.”

“So what is Elder Eternal Spring going to do now?” Ryder Han bellowed. The power of his voice more than made up for his short stature.

“This matter did not concern the Seven Heroes to begin with, but as you insist upon getting involved, you must be confident in your skills. I am a mere novice, so I can only suggest we fight it out. If I lose, the Seven Heroes may decide how the matter is to be settled.”

“If this is Elder Eternal Spring’s desired recourse, please lay out the rules,” Ke Zhen’e said.

Qiu Chuji hesitated, then spoke. “There is no feeling of enmity between us and I have always admired the Seven Heroes of the South. To take up weapons or use our fists will only harm our friendship. We will do it like this . . . Innkeeper!” he called out. “Bring us fourteen large bowls!”

The innkeeper had been hiding downstairs, but as all was quiet upstairs he went to fetch the bowls.

Qiu Chuji instructed him to fill them from the censer. “A drinking competition,” he said, turning to the Seven Freaks. “For every bowl you drink, I will have one, until we have our winner. How about that?”

Ryder Han and Zhang Asheng were drinkers, so they agreed.

“But this is one against seven,” Ke Zhen’e contended. “It could never be an honourable win for us. Could Elder Eternal Spring devise another contest?”

“What makes you so sure you’ll win?”

“Fine! Then I’ll start!” Jade Han retorted. She was forthright by nature, particularly for a young woman. “I have never known anyone to treat us with such disrespect.” She grabbed a bowl of wine and gulped it down in one, her snowy cheeks blooming cherry red.

“Miss Han is quite the brave young squire!” Qiu Chuji exclaimed. “Men, please!”

The other men each picked up a bowl and drank. Qiu Chuji downed bowl after bowl as each was emptied. The innkeeper was now in higher spirits and cheerfully refilled the bowls. Within moments, they had been drained again.

By the third round of drinks, Jade Han’s hands were shaking so much she could not lift the bowl to her lips. Zhang Asheng took the bowl from her: “Sister, I will finish for you.”

“Elder Qiu, is that acceptable?” she asked.

“Of course, I don’t mind who drinks.”

They drank another round before Gilden Quan was also forced to stop.

By now Qiu Chuji had downed twenty-eight bowls, and to the surprise of the Seven Freaks, he appeared entirely sober. Wanyan Honglie was still watching and was even more shocked. I hope they get this Taoist drunk and finish him off, he said to himself.

Gilden Quan calculated there were still Five Freaks left, each capable of drinking for two men, and good for at least another three, maybe four, rounds. Could the Taoist really take another twenty bowls of wine in his belly? The volume alone would be too much; victory had to be theirs. But at that moment, he happened to glance down at Qiu Chuji’s feet, where a large puddle had formed.

“Second Brother,” he whispered in Zhu Cong’s ear. “Look!” He pointed down at the floor.

Zhu Cong glanced down. “This isn’t good. He’s using his inner strength to force the wine out through his feet.”

“Amazing. What now?”

Zhu Cong paused to think. “With this little trick, he could drink a hundred more bowls. We need another contest.”

He stepped back and without warning dropped through the hole in the floorboards he had created earlier. “I’m so drunk!” he called as he fell. They started another round, but by now the floor beneath Qiu Chuji’s feet was soaked through as if a spring had appeared underneath the boards. Woodcutter Nan, Ryder Han and the others had also noticed, and were applauding such an amazing feat of inner strength, while Zhu Cong climbed back to join them.

Ryder Han placed his bowl back on the table, ready to admit defeat. But Zhu Cong looked at him meaningfully and turned to Qiu Chuji. “Elder Eternal Spring’s display of inner strength is quite remarkable, we are indeed much in admiration. But we are still five against one. It does not seem an honourable fight.”

This surprised Qiu Chuji. “Then what does Second Brother Zhu suggest?”

“Let me take you on, one on one,” Zhu Cong said, smiling.

The others were puzzled. Zhu Cong was clearly the most drunk; why would he take the Taoist on by himself? But they also knew that, while their brother liked to appear the fool, in actual fact he had a belly full of tricks. He always had the best plan in any given situation.

“The Seven Heroes are competitive, that’s for certain.” Qiu Chuji chuckled. “How about this: if Second Brother Zhu and I can finish what’s left of the wine, and neither passes out, then we’ll say it is I who has lost.”

The censer was still half full; they would have to have bellies like two laughing Buddhas to be able to finish it. But Zhu Cong was unconcerned. “I may not be famed for holding my liquor, but I did once drink a few sturdy men under the table while on my travels,” he said, fluttering his fan in his right hand and waving the sleeve of his left. “In one!” he cried, and drank.

Together they drained bowl after bowl. “What a drinker!” Qiu Chuji exclaimed.

“I once went to India, where the king challenged me to a drinking competition with a water buffalo. They never determined who won.”

Qiu Chuji knew he was being made fun of, but he didn’t care. He did notice, however, that despite the nonsense and the wild gesticulating, Zhu Cong was keeping pace. He did not seem to be expelling the liquid by the use of inner strength, and his belly had swollen in size. Was he able to expand it with just the force of his mind?

“Two years ago I went to Siam,” Zhu Cong continued. “That was even crazier. The Chancellor brought out an elephant to see who would win. The idiot drank seven barrels. How many do you think I had?”

Qiu Chuji knew Zhu Cong was making it up, but he could not help himself. “How many?”

Zhu Cong’s tone suddenly turned solemn and, lowering his voice, he hissed, “Nine.” Then, raising his voice again, he cried, “That’s it, drink up!”

Zhu Cong’s movements were growing ever wilder as he oscillated between drunk and crazy, but together they finished the wine. The other Freaks had no idea Zhu Cong could drink so much, but they were happy, if a little uneasy.

“Brother, what a feat. I salute you!” Qiu Chuji said, genuflecting in admiration.

Zhu Cong laughed. “Elder Eternal Spring used his inner strength, but I had to resort to external skills. Take a look!” He flipped backwards and landed, holding a wooden bucket. A quick swirl released the sweet aroma of Blushing Maiden rice wine. Only Ke Zhen’e knew what his martial brother had been doing, and Zhu Cong’s stomach was now perfectly flat. The Seven Freaks of the South convulsed with laughter. Qiu Chuji’s cheeks went pale.

He was Quick Hands Zhu Cong, sleight of hand was his forte. This was no new trick, it had been handed down from generation to generation. Always a flourish, always a back flip. One back flip, a gold fish. Another back flip, a bowl of water. It continues – another back flip, another bowl with a fish swimming inside. Audiences in raptures. Zhu Cong had fetched the bucket when he dropped through the hole in the floorboards, of course, and the mad gesticulating was designed to distract Qiu Chuji. A true magician’s illusions cannot be deduced even with hundreds of eyes watching, and Qiu Chuji had not the merest notion that Zhu Cong would devise such a scheme.

“You call that drinking?” he said.

“And what about you? My wine is in this bucket, yours is on the floor. What’s the difference?”

And he paced up and down, slipping on the puddle of wine at Qiu Chuji’s feet. Qiu Chuji caught him. Zhu Cong jumped back and started walking in a circle. “Such a beautiful poem!” he cried out abruptly.

“Since ancient times mid-autumn’s moon,

Radiant, as icy winds clean the night;

Heavy hangs the Milky Way

As water dragons vault the seas.”



He almost sang the lines, stretching out the words.

Qiu Chuji was speechless. That’s the poem I started writing around Mid-Autumn Festival last year but did not finish, he thought to himself. I keep it on me at all times, as I can never think of the next four lines. But I have never shown it to anyone. He reached into his shirt, only to find the poem missing.

Zhu Cong spread the poem out on the table, a smile unfolding across his face. “Elder Eternal Spring is not only a peerless master of the martial arts, but his poetry is quite exquisite. Wondrous!”

I did not feel a thing, Qiu Chuji said to himself. What if he had tried stabbing me instead of merely stealing a poem? He could have killed me. But he showed mercy. This quelled his anxiety. “As Master Zhu finished the censer of wine with me, I will keep my word and admit defeat. Let it be known that, today, here in the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, Qiu Chuji was defeated by the Seven Heroes of the South.”

“Please, please,” the Seven Freaks exclaimed politely. “It was all just a silly game.”

“And Elder Eternal Spring displayed an inner strength none of us could ever hope to equal,” Zhu Cong added.

“I may be admitting defeat,” Qiu Chuji replied, “but the fact remains, those two widows of my friends must be rescued.” He cupped his hands in a sign of respect and picked up the censer. “I’m going to Fahua Temple.”

“But you have admitted defeat. How dare you continue to trouble Scorched Wood the Monk?” Ke Zhen’e was furious.

“They are in grave danger. Victory, defeat, it’s all irrelevant. Great Hero Ke, if your friend was killed and his widow left to suffer all manner of insults, would you stand back and do nothing?” Suddenly his expression changed. There was a pause. “You called for backup? Even if you bring ten thousand men on ten thousand horses, I won’t give in!”

“We are seven, no more,” Zhang Asheng said. “Why would we call on anyone else?”

But Ke Zhen’e had also heard it. The clanging of metal. Men were approaching. “Everyone get back!”

They all heard it now and reached for their weapons. Moments later there came a clattering from below.

Men in Jin army regalia appeared at the top of the stairs.

Qiu Chuji respected the way the Seven Freaks of the South conducted themselves and had assumed they were ignorant of Scorched Wood’s true nature. He had been careful not to offend them. But Jin soldiers? Rage surged inside him. “Scorched Wood!” he said. “Seven Freaks! Jin soldiers? How dare you claim to be righteous members of the wulin?”

“Who called on the Jin?” Ryder Han cried back.

These men formed part of Wanyan Honglie’s personal retinue. Rumours were spreading of a violent confrontation at the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, and Wanyan Honglie had not returned.

“Excuse me if I don’t stay any longer! But this is not over.” Still carrying the censer, Qiu Chuji went towards the stairs.

“Reverend Qiu, there’s been a misunderstanding!” Ke Zhen’e said, rising from his seat.

Qiu Chuji did not stop. “A misunderstanding? You’re the heroes, you tell me why you called on Jin soldiers to help you.”

“We didn’t,” Ke Zhen’e replied.

“I’m not blind,” Qiu Chuji retorted.

If there was one thing Ke Zhen’e could not abide, it was being laughed at for his impairment. “But I am, it’s true,” he snarled, planting his iron staff on the floor.

Qiu Chuji said nothing, raised his left hand and struck his palm against the forehead of one of the Jin soldiers, killing him instantly. “That’s what I can do!” And with a flick of his wrist, he pushed him down the stairs.

Horrified, the soldiers lunged at Qiu Chuji with their lances, but he flicked each one away without turning. The men were ready to charge when Wanyan Honglie called for them to stop.

“This loathsome Taoist is beyond belief,” he said, turning to Ke Zhen’e. “Why don’t you all join me for a drink and we can discuss how to deal with him?”

Ke Zhen’e was furious. “Get the hell out of here!”

Wanyan Honglie was visibly taken aback.

“Brother said, ‘Get the hell out’!” Ryder Han cried, shunting Wanyan Honglie in the left hip with his right shoulder. Wanyan Honglie stumbled a few steps backwards, as the Seven Freaks and Scorched Wood fled.

Zhu Cong was last. He tapped Wanyan Honglie on the shoulder as he passed. “Have you sold the girl you kidnapped? Why not sell her to me?” Zhu Cong had not known who Wanyan Honglie was when they first met, but he had realised instantly Wanyan Honglie and Charity were not husband and wife. He had heard Wanyan boast of his wealth and decided to teach him a lesson. Now it transpired he was of some rank in the Jin army. Justice done then, surely?

Wanyan Honglie reached into his shirt and, as expected, his gold was gone. He was relieved he had not approached Ryder Han about joining him in the north. Given their fighting skills, he had no desire to reveal to the Seven Freaks that Madam Bao was with him. He rushed back to the inn. They would leave for the Jin capital that night.


3

THE NIGHT QIU CHUJI CHANCED UPON SKYFURY GUO AND Ironheart Yang, he had travelled back to Lin’an in some distress. He spent the next few days resting by West Lake. At its north end towers Ge Peak, where the Taoist Ge Hong made his renowned immortality pills. Qiu Chuji’s mornings were spent sightseeing and his afternoons in the temple practising martial arts and reading from the Taoist canon.

As he was strolling along Qinghefang Lane one day, he noticed a small group of soldiers staggering towards him, swinging their helmets and dragging their armour and broken weapons behind them. They had just been defeated in battle. We are not at war with the Jin at the moment, Qiu Chuji thought, and I have not heard talk of bandits lately. What battle have they been fighting? He asked people on the street but no-one knew. His curiosity piqued, he followed the soldiers back to their camp at Command Post Six.

Late that night, Qiu Chuji crept into the camp. There he found a soldier and dragged him outside into a nearby alley for interrogation. The soldier, fast asleep only moments before, now had a blade at his throat. He told Qiu Chuji everything he knew about the events in Ox Village, including Skyfury Guo’s death and Ironheart Yang’s injuries. It was unlikely Ironheart had survived, but no-one knew of his whereabouts. The wives were captured, but their captors had been ambushed by another group of men while riding back. A bloody fight ensued and they lost many of their number.

Qiu Chuji grew ever more furious as the story went on, but the soldier had just been following orders. There was no use getting angry with him. “Who is your commander?”

“Justice Duan.”

Early the next morning, a pole was erected in front of the camp, bearing a severed head. A warning. Qiu Chuji recognised it at once; it was Skyfury Guo. These men were descended from loyal patriots, he said to himself. They invited you to drink with them and yet you repaid their kindness by bringing death upon them and destroying their families. Picking up a stone, he flung it at the flagpole, splintering it.

He waited until darkness, climbed the pole and took down Guo’s head. He then went to the shores of West Lake, where he buried it. Placing his palms together, he bowed, and with tears spilling down his cheeks he made a promise: “Brother Guo, Brother Yang, I swore I would pass my kung fu skills on to your children. When I make a promise, I keep it. If I don’t make martial arts heroes of them, I will not be fit to face you both in the afterlife.”

First, he would find Justice Duan and kill him. Then he would rescue the widows and settle them somewhere safe so they could give birth and continue the Guo and Yang family lines.

For two nights he searched Command Post Six, but Justice Duan was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he lived in luxury, rather than alongside his soldiers? On the third night, he made his way to the commander’s residence: “Justice Duan, I know you’re in there! Come out at once!”

Duan was inside and happened to be questioning Lily Li over the disappearance of her husband’s head – which bandits did Guo count among his friends? – when he was interrupted by the disturbance outside. He poked his head through the window and saw a Taoist breaking through a crowd of his men, a soldier in each hand.

“Loose your arrows!” those of rank were shouting, but the men either had no bows or else no arrows.

Justice Duan was furious, drew the sabre from his belt and ran out. “Is this a rebellion?”

He brandished the weapon at Qiu Chuji, but the Taoist stopped, cast aside the soldiers and grabbed Duan’s wrist. “Tell me, where is that foul dog, Justice Duan?”

A searing pain shot through Duan’s wrist and body. “Is Your Reverence looking for Commander Duan? He . . . You’ll find him on a pleasure boat on the West Lake. I’m not sure if he plans to return this evening.”

Taking this stranger at his word, Qiu Chuji released him. Duan then turned to two nearby soldiers. “Take the Reverend to the lake. He’s looking for Commander Duan.”

The soldiers hesitated.

“Hurry!” Duan growled. “Or the commander will be angry!”

The two men understood, turned and left. Qiu Chuji followed.

Justice Duan was too frightened to remain at the camp, so he gathered some men and Lily Li, and hurried to Command Post Eight. The commanders frequently enjoyed an evening drink together. Duan’s friend was furious when he heard what had happened to him. But just as the eighth commander was about to order some of his men to track down this vile Taoist and have him killed, an altercation was heard outside. The Taoist had come to them. The soldiers must have cracked under Qiu Chuji’s questioning.

Justice Duan ran, taking his men and Lily Li. This time they made for Command Post Two at Quanjie, outside the city. It was more remote and therefore less easy to find. Duan was frightened; the image of the Taoist fighting his way through a whole crowd of soldiers would not leave him. His wrist was also throbbing and beginning to swell. The army doctor examined it and determined he had broken two bones. After being treated with ointment and fitted with a splint, Duan decided he could not return to his encampment, but would have to stay at Command Post Two for the night.

Duan slept soundly until midnight, when he was awoken by more shouting outside. Reports came that one of the sentries had vanished.

He leapt out of bed, sensing that the guards must have been captured by Qiu Chuji. As long as he stayed in army camps the Taoist was going to find him. And he was too skilled a fighter for Duan. So what now? The Taoist seemed determined to catch him. Duan’s men might not be able to protect him. As panic started to take hold of him, he remembered his uncle, a monk of exceptional martial skill now residing in Cloudy Perch Temple. The Taoist’s arrival had to have something to do with Skyfury Guo’s death, so he would take Lily Li with him for security. He forced the widow to disguise herself as a soldier and dragged her out into the night.



HIS UNCLE had assumed holy robes many years before, taking the name Withered Wood. He was now Abbot of Cloudy Perch Temple, but had once been an officer in the army and received his martial arts training from the Masters of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a branch of the Shaolin school dominant in the areas of the jianghu straddling southern Zhejiang and Fujian.

Withered Wood had always despised his nephew and did as much as he could to avoid any association with him, so when Duan arrived at the temple door in the middle of the night, his response was less than welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

Duan knew the extent of his uncle’s hatred for the Jin, so he could not possibly tell him the truth: that he had helped the enemy kill two patriots. Uncle would have him killed there and then. But Duan had spent the journey concocting a story. He knelt before his uncle, and under the monk’s cold gaze, kowtowed. “Uncle, I beg for your help. I am being threatened.”

“You’re an officer in the army, people thank the heavens above for every day that you’re not bullying them. Who would trouble you?”

“Indeed, I deserve it,” Duan replied, putting on his best performance. “Uncle is right. Some friends and I went to Blushing Cherry Lodge by Lingqing Bridge the day before yesterday to enjoy the atmosphere.”

Withered Wood snorted. The story had not started well. The ladies of Blushing Cherry Lodge did not provide the kind of atmosphere respectable men enjoyed.

“I usually visit one girl in particular, my mistress I suppose. She was drinking and singing with me, when without warning a Taoist came bursting in. As soon as he heard my girl singing, he demanded she join him instead . . .”

“Ha! Nonsense. Men of holy robes do not frequent such obscene places.”

“Exactly. I made some comment to that effect and ordered him to leave. But the Taoist turned nasty and started cursing me. Then he said I shouldn’t bother picking fights when I’d be losing my head soon anyway.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He said the Jin will be crossing the Yangtze within days and are going to kill the entire Song army.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. I got angry and started arguing with him. Even if the Jin did come south, I said, we would fight to defend this great country. And there was nothing to say we would be defeated.”

Justice Duan’s words were calculated to rouse emotion in his uncle, and the Abbot nodded as his nephew spoke. These were the only sensible words to have come out of his nephew’s mouth since the day he emerged from his mother’s womb.

Duan saw they were having the desired effect, so continued. “We then got into a fight, but as you know, I’m no match for a Taoist trained in the martial arts. He pursued me and I had nowhere to go. Uncle, you’re my only hope.”

“I am a monk,” Withered Wood said, shaking his head, “I cannot understand these petty fights over a woman’s attentions.”

“I ask for Uncle’s help just this once. It will never happen again.”

Withered Wood could not help but think of his brothers in the army and fury rose within him. “Fine, you can hide here in the temple for a few days. But no trouble.”

Justice Duan nodded.

“You’re an army officer.” Withered Wood sighed before continuing. “Such debauched behaviour. What will we do if the Jin really do decide to cross into the south? Back when I was a soldier . . .”

Duan may have threatened Lily Li into silence, but she was listening to every word.


4

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON AN ATTENDING MONK RAN IN to speak with the Abbot.

“There’s a Taoist in a rage outside. He says Commander Duan must come out at once.”

Withered Wood sent for Justice Duan.

“It’s him, the Taoist,” Duan said, trembling.

“What a despicable excuse for a monk. To which sect does he belong?”

“I have no idea where this crook is from. I don’t think his martial arts are anything special. But he’s strong, to be sure. Stronger than me.”

“Then I shall speak to him,” Withered Wood said, and made for the Great Hall.

Qiu Chuji was just then engaged in a tussle with the guards, trying to push his way into the Inner Hall. Withered Wood walked up to him and, using his neigong inner strength, tried to push Qiu out with minimal pressure to the shoulder. To his surprise, however, the Taoist’s upper arm felt like fresh cotton. He tried to pull back but it was too late; he was stumbling backwards, and with a peng! his back smacked against the altar table, which collapsed, the incense burner and candles crashing down around him.

“What brings Your Reverence to my humble temple, may I ask?” Withered Wood said from where he sat, smarting.

“I am looking for a beggar by the name of Duan.”

Withered Wood understood the extent of the Taoist’s kung fu, so tried another tactic. “We spiritual men must show mercy and benevolence. Why is the monk behaving as if he were no more enlightened than a mere farmer?”

Qiu Chuji ignored him and strode into the Inner Hall. Justice Duan had already escaped into a secret chamber with Lily Li. Cloudy Perch Temple was fogged with plumes of incense as worshippers crowded the halls for spring pilgrimage season. He would struggle to find the commander in there. Qiu Chuji snorted and left.

Justice Duan emerged from his hiding place.

“Who is he?” Withered Wood said. “He could have killed me if he’d wanted to.”

“He’s an agent working on behalf of the Jin. Why else would he be picking a fight with an officer of the Song?” Duan replied.

At that moment, the attendant monk came back in to confirm that the Taoist had left.

“Did he say anything as he went?” Withered Wood said.

“He said he would not rest until the temple had surrendered Commander Duan.”

Withered Wood glared at his nephew. “You’re not telling me the whole truth. The Taoist is accomplished in the martial arts; you would never come out of an encounter with him alive.” He paused briefly before continuing. “You can’t stay here. I only know of one person who could fight this Taoist: a fellow disciple of my Master. His name is Scorched Wood. I think you should seek shelter with him for a while.”

Withered Wood provided Duan with a letter and hired a boat to take him through the night to Jiaxing to seek refuge with Scorched Wood of Fahua Temple.


5

SCORCHED WOOD COULD BARELY COMPREHEND WHAT HAD just happened. He left the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals with the Seven Freaks and together they made their way back to his temple.

“My martial brother Withered Wood sent his nephew Justice Duan and another young man to me with a letter and asked me to protect them,” he explained. “Elder Qiu is one of the Seven Masters of the Quanzhen Sect, who all trained under the great shifu Double Sun. Among them Elder Qiu is said to be the best. He may be a bit coarse, but he doesn’t seem the type of man to stir up trouble without good cause. He can bear no grudge against an old monk like me. There must have been some grave misunderstanding.”

“Let us speak with the two young men and ask them what’s going on,” Gilden Quan suggested.

“Good idea. They haven’t told me their story yet,” Scorched Wood said.

He was just about to send for Justice Duan when Ke Zhen’e spoke. “Qiu Chuji has quite the temper. He clearly doesn’t think much of us wanderers of the southern wulin. The Quanzhen Sect may command a great reputation in the north, but they can’t behave like that down here. A martial challenge, that’s the answer. We take him on, one at a time. Only the honourable need apply.”

“We should fight him together,” Zhu Cong said.

“Eight against one? Doesn’t sound very honourable to me,” Ryder Han said.

“We’re not going to kill him, only calm him enough so that he will listen to what the Venerable Monk has to say,” Gilden Quan said.

“Won’t it damage our reputation if word gets out among our friends in the wulin that Scorched Wood the Monk and the Seven Freaks fought Qiu Chuji together, eight against one?” Jade Han said.

Just then came a terrible clanging, a bell in the Great Hall.

“He’s here,” Ke Zhen’e said, jumping to his feet.

They ran towards the sound. Another clang, and then the sound of metal tearing. It was him, slamming the bronze censer against the large bell which hung from the centre of the ceiling. Qiu Chuji’s whiskers stood spiky like a porcupine, his eyes fixed and round. The Seven Freaks weren’t to know this was extreme behaviour for the otherwise mild Taoist. Days had passed with no sign of the traitor Justice Duan and anger had been smouldering inside him.

Qiu Chuji’s frustration was erupting.

The Seven Quanzhen Masters’ reputations only made the Seven Freaks even more determined to fight. Had Qiu Chuji been just another unknown wanderer of the wulin they might have been content to resolve the dispute by other means.

“Sister, we’ll go first!” Ryder Han cried to Jade, who was in fact his cousin on his father’s side. Ryder Han was the most impatient of the Seven Freaks. He pulled the Golden Dragon whip from his belt and performed a move known as Wind Disperses Swirling Clouds at Qiu Chuji’s hand. Jade Han drew a long sword and lunged at Qiu Chuji’s back. But the Taoist’s reactions were quick, twisting his wrist so that the whip struck the censer instead, and dipping his body to let Jade Han’s sword pass by him.

In ancient times, the two southern kingdoms of Yue and Wu were long at war. The King of Yue, Gou Qian, kept himself ready for combat at all times by sleeping on a bed of straw and drinking from a gall bladder. But the Wu army was universally acknowledged to be superior, mainly due to General Wu Zixu’s strategic prowess, learned under the master tactician Sun Tzu. One day, however, a beautiful young woman, accomplished in the art of the sword, arrived in Jiaxing, then located just inside the Yue border. One of the kingdom’s highest-ranking ministers, Fan Li, asked if she would teach them her skills so they might defeat the Wu. So it happened that Jiaxing came to be the home of this particular sword technique, passed from master to disciple, generation to generation. It was, however, designed for battle, for slicing generals and puncturing horses. When used against the masters of the wulin, it lacked the necessary agility and forcefulness. It was not until the dying years of the Tang dynasty that the repertoire came to be expanded by a swordsman familiar with the martial arts of ancient times, who added his own moves and made it faster and more complex.

Jade Han had studied the technique to such a level as to earn her the nickname Maiden of the Yue Sword.

It took no more than a few moves, however, for Qiu Chuji to assess the extent of her skills. All he needed to defeat her was speed; she was fast, but he could be faster. With the censer in his right hand, he blocked Ryder Han’s Golden Dragon whip and with his left palm he struck Jade Han, seizing her sword. Within seconds she had been beaten back, taking shelter behind a statue of the Buddha.

Woodcutter Nan and Zhang Asheng rushed forward. Qiu Chuji’s left palm shot out at Zhang Asheng’s face. Zhang bent backwards, but the move was a diversion. Qiu Chuji’s foot struck Zhang’s wrist, sending a sharp pain up his arm and forcing him to drop his knife. Zhang was better with his bare fists, however. Balancing on his left foot, he faked a right, roared, and punched with his left with all his strength.

“Beautiful!” Qiu Chuji said as he dodged to the side. “Such a shame!”

“What do you mean?”

“You are so accomplished and yet insist upon associating with that evil monk and living in thrall to the Jin.”

“You are the most brazen of traitors,” Zhang cried. “You’re the thrall!” He struck three times at Qiu Chuji, each blow dodged or blocked with use of the censer. Two of Zhang’s punches clanged squarely against the bronze vessel.

The Seven Freaks were losing, despite their four-to-one advantage. Zhu Cong gestured at Gilden Quan and together they launched themselves at the Taoist. Gilden Quan always carried a large steel balance, the arm of which could be used as a spear or club, the hook as a flying claw, and the weight as a hammer on a chain. One scale, therefore, became three weapons. Zhu Cong, in turn, preferred to strike the metal frame of his broken oilpaper fan against his opponent’s pressure points, while dodging dancing weapons.

Qiu Chuji spun the censer, angling it in front of him like a shield. Using his free hand, he chopped and grabbed, slipping punches through the weaknesses in the Freaks’ defences. The weight of the vessel may have slowed his movements, but it also made it almost impossible for the Seven Freaks to land a blow, which gradually drained their strength.

Scorched Wood looked on, growing ever more anxious his friends might get hurt. “Stop, everyone!” he cried. “Listen to me, please!”

But men of the wulin do not stop mid-fight.

“You good-for-nothing!” Qiu Chuji shouted back. “No-one wants to listen to your prattle. Watch this instead!” Alternating at speed between punches and slaps, in a move known as the Flying Mountain, Qiu Chuji chopped at Zhang Asheng.

“Your Reverence, please stop!” Scorched Wood cried.

But with two more fighters yet to join in, Qiu Chuji was in fact growing tired and afraid; he had no desire to die in this crumbling temple deep in the swampy south. Yet now he understood his opponents’ weaknesses he had to push on.

Zhang Asheng was specially trained in Iron Shirt kung fu, by which he had toughened his skin to withstand the sharpest weapons. He was used to wrestling bulls bare-chested in the slaughterhouse, so his muscles were as hard as if covered in a thick layer of hide. Gathering the qi to his shoulders, he prepared himself for Qiu Chuji’s attack. “Go on!”

Qiu Chuji’s palm struck his shoulder, and with a crack! the bone in Zhang’s upper arm snapped.

Zhu Cong tapped his metal fan at Qiu Chuji’s Jade Pivot pressure point just below the collarbone, trying to break the flow of the attack.

But Qiu Chuji was energised by his small victory and made a grab at the weapons aimed at him.

“Hai!” Gilden Quan cried as Qiu Chuji seized one end of his scales. With a tug, Qiu Chuji pulled him closer. Blocking Woodcutter Nan and Zhu Cong with the spinning censer, he then struck Gilden Quan on the crown of the head.

At this point Ryder Han and Jade leapt in, aiming at Qiu Chuji’s chest with their weapons. Qiu Chuji was forced to dodge to the side, letting go of Quan. Quan was dripping with sweat, but before he could get clear he felt a sharp kick to his side. He fell to the ground and was unable to get up again.

Scorched Wood the Monk had not wished to fight the Taoist and somehow had hoped to calm him with words. But he could not stand by as his friends were being hurt, not when they had come to his aid. Rolling up his sleeves, he picked up a piece of charred firewood and sprang at Qiu Chuji’s armpit.

But Qiu Chuji sensed the move. He’s going for my vital points, he realised, focusing.

Judging from the cries and moans, Ke Zhen’e, meanwhile, understood that two of his martial brothers had been badly hurt. He took up his metal staff and was about to join the fray when Gilden Quan called out, “Brother, your iron devilnuts, one in the direction of the Prospering and another towards the Small Surpassing!” Before he could finish, Ke had already fired the two metal projectiles, one between Qiu Chuji’s eyebrows and the other at his right hip bone.

Qiu Chuji deflected them with the spinning censer, but he was surprised by their weight and the accuracy of Ke Zhen’e’s aim. These weapons were unique to Ke Zhen’e, with points shaped like bat wings, only sharper, and quite unlike the round water chestnuts that grew in his hometown around South Lake. Ke had learned to use them before he was blinded.

The other Freaks had cleared the way. Gilden Quan continued shouting instructions, using points of the wheel from the I’Ching to denote directions. “Towards the Inner Truth, and the Radiance. Good. Now he’s at the Darkening Light.” After so many years of practice, it was as if the martial brothers were seeing with the same pair of eyes. Gilden Quan was the only one of the Freaks who could guide him in this way.

Within seconds Ke Zhen’e had fired a dozen iron devilnuts, forcing Qiu Chuji back as he fended them off. But still the Taoist was unharmed.

He can hear Brother Quan’s instructions as well as I can and can prepare, it suddenly occurred to Ke Zhen’e. No wonder I’m not hitting him. Gilden Quan’s voice was fading, and in between calls Ke could hear his brother moaning from the pain. He had not heard anything from Brother Zhang in a while. He could not even be sure he was still alive.

“The Fellowship . . . Aim . . .”

But instead Ke Zhen’e threw four devilnuts at once, two at the Self-Restraint and the Diminishing to the right of the Fellowship, and the other two at the Abundance and Radiance positions on the left.

Qiu Chuji stepped to the left in anticipation of Gilden Quan’s instructions.

At that moment, two yelps.

One of the devilnuts struck Qiu Chuji’s right shoulder. Ke Zhen’e fired another in the direction of the Diminishing and instead hit Jade Han in the back.

The blow did not hurt exactly, but Qiu Chuji started to feel numb in his upper arm. Poison! he realised in surprise. A chill spread to Qiu Chuji’s heart, but rather than surrender, he drew all his last strength and launched himself at Woodcutter Nan.

Woodcutter Nan saw the attack coming, planted his feet firmly, and taking up his carrying pole blocked the Taoist with a Lock Across the River. But rather than withdraw his attack, Qiu Chuji struck the centre of the pole with a hai! Vibrations shot through Nan, tearing the skin between his thumb and forefinger on both hands. Blood spurted everywhere and the pole fell to the ground with a loud clatter. The punch caused Nan serious internal injuries, his legs shook and spots flickered before his eyes. A sweet, metallic taste gurgled in his throat, and scarlet spit stained his clothes as he coughed.

Qiu Chuji was losing sensation in his shoulder and was struggling to keep the censer aloft. Once again gathering his qi, he performed a sweeping kick, which Ryder Han jumped.

“Where are you going?” Qiu Chuji cried, tipping the censer over. Ryder Han tried to back flip in mid-air, but it came straight for him. He wrapped his head in his arms and curled into a ball. The censer crashed onto the floor, trapping him inside.

Qiu Chuji drew his sword. With a tap of the foot, he shot straight up and sliced through the rope attaching the giant bell to the ceiling. It must have weighed over one thousand jin, but Qiu Chuji guided it with the gentlest of pushes. The room shook as it landed on top of the censer. There was no way Ryder Han could escape now.

Qiu Chuji was a little sore after these exertions, and beads of sweat the size of soybeans clung to his forehead.

“Throw down your sword!” Ke Zhen’e cried. “Or you won’t leave here alive.”

But the evil monk Scorched Wood was colluding with the Jin and keeping women hidden in his temple, and Qiu Chuji was inclined to believe the Seven Freaks were not much better. Not everyone could be deserving of their reputation. Qiu Chuji would rather die than bow before these traitors and surrender. He held his sword high.

Only Ke Zhen’e and Zhu Cong were still capable of fighting. Using his staff, Ke Zhen’e blocked the exit.

Qiu Chuji was determined to get out. He thrust his sword at Ke Zhen’e’s face, but Flying Bat Ke sensed the whoosh! of air as the sword approached. Sword and staff interlocked, and to his surprise, Qiu Chuji nearly lost his weapon. Is the blind man’s inner strength more powerful than mine? He withdrew his sword and tried once more, and was met yet again with the staff. Only now did he realise how much power he had lost in his right shoulder; it was not that Ke was particularly strong, but rather that he, Qiu Chuji, was growing weaker. He swapped his sword to his left hand and performed a move he had learned as a young student but had never before used in combat: the Sword of Mutual Demise. With a flash of the blade, he struck simultaneously at Ke Zhen’e, Zhu Cong and Scorched Wood’s vital points.

The move was a tacit acknowledgement of relative weakness, and involved aiming at an enemy’s acupressure points. It took great skill, but nevertheless utilised the same essential techniques as common street scraps between bandits and hooligans. Many years previously, the Quanzhen Sect faced a particularly fierce adversary who had lived many years in the untamed west. Only their shifu could have defeated him, but he had long since passed away. The Seven Masters knew this man alone could destroy their sect and they feared his return to the Middle Kingdom. They did have one move against him, the Plough Formation, but it required all seven Masters at once to be effective. The Sword of Mutual Demise was designed for lone combat against precisely this great master of kung fu. The strategy was to ensure his death through one’s own, as a sacrifice to protect one’s brothers. Qiu Chuji would not normally need to use such an extreme move on the Seven Freaks, but he was growing weaker from the poison. It was time to make use of his Master’s greatest lesson.

Ten moves into the sequence, Ke Zhen’e was hit in the leg.

“Brother Ke, Brother Zhu, why not let the Taoist go?” Scorched Wood cried, distracting Ke Zhen’e long enough for Qiu to strike him in the ribs. Ke fell, screaming in pain.

Qiu Chuji was struggling to keep his balance. The whites of Zhu Cong’s eyes were shot through with blood, but he continued to fight, shouting and insulting Qiu Chuji as he circled him. Ke Zhen’e could not place the sound made by the Taoist’s sword, and he was caught again, this time in the right leg. Ke Zhen’e toppled forward with a thud.

“You dog, you dirty Taoist!” Zhu Cong shouted. “The poison will soon reach your heart. You’ll see.”

Qiu Chuji’s brow scrunched with rage and he stumbled at Zhu Cong, clutching his sword in his left hand. But Zhu Cong was trained in lightness kung fu. He took off, flying around the Great Hall, bouncing off the many statues of the Buddha dotted around it.

Qiu Chuji stopped, panting. His strength was waning, his vision becoming blurred. His focus turned to finding an escape route.

Then, a thud.

One of Zhu Cong’s cloth shoes hit him with considerable force in the back.

Qiu Chuji swayed, and a blanket of mist clouded his eyes. He was losing consciousness.

Thud!

This time it hit him against the back of the head: a wooden fish, one of the percussive instruments the monks used while chanting the scriptures. Zhu Cong had found it by one of the Buddhas. Such a powerful blow to the head would have killed most people, but Qiu Chuji had spent years training his inner strength. But this time his vision went black. This is it, he said to himself. Master Eternal Spring has today met his fate at the hands of these shameless villains! His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.

Zhu Cong approached Qiu Chuji and stretched his fan to tap the pressure point in the centre of his chest. At that moment, Qiu Chuji’s left hand twitched. Zhu Cong knew he was in trouble. He blocked his heart with his right arm, but felt a force in his abdomen that sent him backwards, blood spraying from his mouth. He landed with a crash.

Qiu Chuji could barely move.



THE OTHER monks of Fahua Temple were not practised in kung fu and had been ignorant of their Abbot’s skills, choosing to flee rather than take part. But since silence had descended upon the Great Hall, the bravest among them ventured to peek inside, only to see the floor strewn with bodies and the hall painted in blood. Horrified, they ran to find Justice Duan.

Justice Duan was still hiding in the cellar. That the fight had turned out to be so bloody only pleased him, and he sent one of the monks back to check if the Taoist was among the injured, or perhaps even dead. Only once the monk had returned to report that Qiu Chuji was lying motionless, his eyes shut, did Duan feel safe enough to emerge with Lily Li.

He approached Qiu Chuji and prodded him with his foot. The Taoist replied with an almost imperceptible moan. He was still alive. Duan pulled the dagger from his belt and leaned in. “You filthy Taoist!” he snarled. “You’ve chased and harassed me. Today I take my revenge. Prepare to join your friends in the next world.”

“You mustn’t hurt him,” Scorched Wood called from where he lay.

“Why not?”

“He’s a good man. Just a little short-tempered,” Scorched Wood said. “There was a misunderstanding.”

Justice Duan scoffed and aimed his dagger at Qiu Chuji’s face. Qiu Chuji’s eyes remained closed, but unbeknownst to Duan, he was gathering his qi. With a sudden movement he struck at Duan’s shoulder, cracking the bones with a deafening crunch. Duan’s dagger spun across the floor.

Scorched Wood summoned the last of his strength and threw the piece of burnt wood in his hand at Duan. Duan tried to duck, but he was too slow, and the lump of wood struck him in the corner of the mouth, knocking three teeth clean out of his gums. The pain was intense and Duan was furious. He snatched the dagger from the floor, and ran at the Abbot, aiming the blade at his head. One of the younger monks grabbed him by the arm and another around the neck. Enraged, Duan turned the knife on them.

Qiu Chuji, Scorched Wood and the Seven Freaks were too badly injured to do anything other than watch.

Just then, a howl.

“You filthy villain!” It was Lily Li. “Stop!” She had been waiting all this time to get her revenge. Now her captor was about to kill yet more righteous men, she could wait no longer. She ran and jumped up onto his back and wrestled with all her strength. With one broken arm, Duan could not put up much of a fight.

She was dressed in army uniform, so the others had assumed her to be part of Duan’s retinue. Her attack took them all by surprise. But it was Ke Zhen’e who first realised this young man was in fact a woman, just from her voice. “Venerable Monk Scorched Wood,” he said, turning to the Abbot, “you’ve misled us and put us in grave danger. You had a woman hiding in your temple all along!”

Scorched Wood realised at once what had happened. This one small oversight had not only caused injury to himself, but also great harm to his friends. He planted his fist on the floor and, pushing himself to his feet, spread his hands and rushed at Justice Duan. Again Duan managed to dive out of the way, but Scorched Wood’s approach was clumsy and he ran head first into one of the temple columns and was killed instantly.

Justice Duan was terror-stricken. He could stay not a moment longer. Grabbing Lily Li, he ran.

“Help! No! He’s kidnapping me!”

Lily Li’s shouts faded into the distance.





Chapter Three


Swirling Sands



1

THE MONKS SOBBED BITTERLY AT THEIR ABBOT’S DEATH, BUT quickly turned to bandaging the wounded and carrying them to the temple guesthouse.

A knocking from inside the bell in the hall suddenly interrupted their work. The monks looked at each other: was it a monster? They began chanting “The King’s Sutra”, accompanied by the mysterious banging. Eventually some among them pulled the bell aside and together lifted the censer. To their horror, out rolled a ball of flesh. The monks jumped back in fright. The ball then slowly uncurled and stood up; it was Ryder Han. He was unaware of how the fight had ended, but immediately spotted that Scorched Wood was at eternal rest and his martial family gravely injured. Taking up his Golden Dragon whip he marched towards where Qiu Chuji was lying and raised it above the Taoist’s head.

“Third Brother, no!” Gilden Quan cried.

“Why not?”

“You mustn’t,” was all his brother could manage through the pulsing pain in his stomach.

Ke Zhen’e had been struck in both legs, but he was not badly hurt and was as alert as ever. He removed a vial of antidote from inside his shirt and instructed one of the monks to administer it to Qiu Chuji and Jade Han. He then explained all that had happened to his third martial brother.

“Where is Duan?” Ryder Han demanded.

“We’ll find the scoundrel soon enough,” Ke Zhen’e replied. “First you must help your brothers, they are badly wounded.”

Zhu Cong and Woodcutter Nan’s injuries were the most serious, and the kick to Gilden Quan’s stomach had done its damage too. Zhang Asheng’s arm was broken and his chest thumped with pain, but at least he was conscious once again.

The monks sent runners to report the day’s events to Withered Wood at Cloudy Perch Temple, and to start making arrangements for Abbot Scorched Wood’s funeral.



IT TOOK a few days for the poison to dissipate. Qiu Chuji was in fact well-versed in the medicinal arts and spent his time mixing herbal recipes and giving massages to the Freaks. Before long they were able to sit up in bed. Together they gathered in the monks’ sleeping quarters.

Eventually Jade Han broke the silence. “Elder Qiu is wise and capable, and the Seven Freaks are not exactly amateurs. And yet this dog tricked us into turning on each other. If word gets out, we’ll be laughed out of the wulin. Your Reverence,” she said, turning to Qiu Chuji, “what do you think we should do?”

Qiu Chuji held himself very much responsible. If only he had spoken calmly with Scorched Wood, surely the truth would have come out. “What do you think, Brother Ke?”

Ke Zhen’e was short-tempered by nature, and had only become more so following the events which led to his being blinded. He considered the defeat of his martial family at the hands of the Taoist an event of unparalleled humiliation, and his leg was spasming with pain. His answer, therefore, was rather short. “Elder Qiu has no respect for anyone, so long as he carries his sword. Why ask us our opinion?”

Qiu Chuji was stunned by this response, but understood Ke Zhen’e’s anger. He got to his feet and bowed to each in turn. “Please forgive my ill manners. I have wronged each one of you. I beg for your forgiveness.”

Zhu Cong and the Seven Freaks bowed too, all except Ke Zhen’e, who pretended not to notice. “My martial brothers and I are no longer worthy of involving ourselves in matters of the martial world. We shall take to fishing or collecting firewood. As long as Your Reverence would be so good as to allow us a horse and leave us alone, we will live out the rest of our days in peace.”

Qiu Chuji blushed at Ke Zhen’e’s reproof. He sat stiffly, saying nothing, and then took to his feet. “It was I who was at fault. I will not insult you further by wasting your time with my chatter. As for Abbot Scorched Wood’s death, the responsibility is mine and I will ensure that the villain Duan meets my blade. Now I must go.” Qiu Chuji bowed once more and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Ke Zhen’e called after him.

Qiu Chuji turned. “Was there anything else, Brother Ke?”

“You have caused each of us great injury,” Ke Zhen’e said. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What was Brother Ke hoping for? I will do everything in my power to please you.”

“Your tone is most rude. You can’t just expect us to swallow it,” Ke Zhen’e answered, his voice quiet.

The Seven Freaks could be generous and just, but they were also afflicted by an exaggerated pride, bordering on arrogance. It was not for nothing they were named the Seven Freaks, after all. As individuals they were accomplished, but together they were formidable. This was their first taste of defeat. Some years previously, they triumphed over the Huaiyang Gang on the shores of the Yangtze River, defeating more than a hundred men. Jade Han was only a child at the time, but she had killed two. From that day on, their fame spread throughout the jianghu. To be defeated by a lone Taoist was intolerable; all the more so that they were responsible for the death of their good friend Scorched Wood, and for no just cause. No, Qiu Chuji was to blame: he had been impetuous. Never mind that he had been right about a woman hiding in the temple. Skyfury Guo’s wife, no less.

“I was gravely injured,” Qiu Chuji said, “and would have died, had it not been for Brother Ke’s antidote. So I must admit defeat this time.”

“If that is so,” Ke Zhen’e replied, “then leave us the sword on your back as proof, so there can be no more fighting.”

Only Ryder Han and Jade Han were fit for combat, and there was no way they could prevail alone. Ke would rather his martial brothers die by his own hand than by the Taoist’s blade.

I have saved them face by admitting defeat, Qiu Chuji said to himself. What else do they want? “The sword is my protection, just like Brother Ke’s staff.”

“Are you ridiculing my condition?” Ke Zhen’e raised his voice.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Everyone is injured, we cannot fight again,” Ke Zhen’e growled. “But I invite Your Reverence to meet us back in the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals this very day one year from now.”

Qiu Chuji frowned. Suddenly an idea hit him. “Of course we can arrange another fight, but I should set the rules. Although perhaps we needn’t go another round as I already lost the drinking contest to Brother Zhu and have lost again in the temple.”

Ryder Han, Jade Han and Zhang Asheng took to their feet and the others straightened themselves as much as their injuries allowed. “We are happy to fight one more round. Our opponent may choose the time, the place and the rules.”

Qiu Chuji smiled. They were indeed competitive. “So you will agree to my suggestion, no matter what?”

Zhu Cong and Gilden Quan were confident they stood a chance at victory, whatever perverse or clever trick the Taoist came up with. “You decide!”

“The word of a gentleman . . .” Qiu Chuji said.

“. . . is as true as a horseman’s whip!” Jade Han finished.

Ke Zhen’e made no reply.

“If my terms are deemed unsuitable, I will of course admit defeat,” Qiu Chuji continued. It was an obvious tactic, playing to their vanity.

“Just give us the rules,” Ke Zhen’e said.

Qiu Chuji sat back down. “The method I have devised may seem protracted, but it is a true test of skill rather than brute force or momentary bravery. Every martial artist is trained to fight with fist and blade, there is nothing special about that. And besides, we have our good reputations to protect. We are not mere thugs.”

If we’re not going to fight, then what? the Seven Freaks wondered. Another drinking contest?

“This challenge, seven against one, will not only determine who has more skill, but also determination and stamina, as well as tactical intelligence. By the end, we will know who is worthy of the name ‘hero’.”

The Seven Freaks were boiling over with anticipation.

“Tell us!” Jade Han said.

“If the challenge involves mixing together elixirs of immortality or charms to drive away ghosts we must accept defeat now,” Zhu Cong said, smiling.

Qiu Chuji smiled back. “And I wouldn’t want to compete with Brother Zhu in a contest of pickpocketing and filching.”

“Tell us!” Jade Han was growing ever more impatient.

“At the heart of our dispute lay a misunderstanding. All because the lives of two descendants of loyal patriots are in danger. It is to this matter we must return.”

Qiu Chuji began relating the story of how he met Skyfury Guo and Ironheart Yang, the fight in the snow and his pursuit of Justice Duan to this very temple. The Seven Freaks were just as disgusted with the corrupt Song court as with the brutal Jin, and vowed their allegiance to the brothers Guo and Yang.

“The woman Commander Duan kidnapped was Skyfury Guo’s widow, Madam Li. You saw her, I am sure.”

“I remember her voice – I could never forget it,” Ke Zhen’e said.

“Good,” Qiu Chuji continued. “I know not where Ironheart Yang’s widow is to be found, however. But I have met her, and you have not. So, my suggestion is—”

“We find Madam Li and you find Madam Bao, and whoever succeeds first will be determined the winner. Am I right?” Jade Han interrupted.

“Finding them may not be easy, but it is hardly a test worthy of determining a hero. No, my proposal is more complicated.”

“What is it?” Impatience was now getting the better of Ke Zhen’e.

“Both women are pregnant. We will find them, make sure they are safe and help them with the birth. As the children grow and mature . . .”

The Seven Freaks were astonished at where this was going.

“Then what?” Ryder Han urged.

“We will train them. Once they have reached the age of eighteen, we and other invited masters of the wulin will gather at the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals. First we will feast, and then our disciples will fight each other.”

The Seven Freaks looked at each other.

“Were we to fight and the Seven Heroes defeat me, the glory of the victory would be tainted by the fact that you outnumber me. But in passing our skills on to one disciple each, we will better see whose skills are worthy of earning them the title ‘Master’.”

“So it shall be!” Ke Zhen’e cried, thumping his staff against the temple floor.

“But what if Madam Li has already been killed by Commander Duan?” said Gilden Quan.

“That is a matter for fate,” Qiu Chuji replied. “If the heavens have favoured me, then so be it.”

“Fine,” Ryder Han rejoined. “We will have helped those poor widows and their unborn children even if we lose, which is the noblest course of action.”

“Exactly, Brother Han,” Qiu Chuji said, gesturing his approval. “I would be most grateful if the Seven Heroes took care of my dead brother Guo’s child and raised him to adulthood.” He turned and bowed to each one in turn.

“You have been exceedingly clever with this plan,” Zhu Cong said, “as it will involve eighteen years of hard work.”

Qiu Chuji’s countenance changed and he started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Jade Han challenged.

“The Seven Heroes have a reputation for generosity and a willingness to help others in need,” Qiu Chuji said. “Heroes with a strong sense of justice, they say.”

“And?” Ryder Han and Zhang Asheng demanded in unison.

“But I see now this was a gross exaggeration.”

The Freaks were incensed and Ryder Han slammed his fist on the bench. But Qiu Chuji continued before he could interrupt.

“Since time immemorial, martial heroes have sworn allegiance to one another. They have been prepared to die for friendship. ‘In times of peril, who cares for mine own flesh.’ Justice was the only honourable consideration, for who could baulk at giving their life for such a noble cause? Could you imagine Jing Ke or Nie Zheng hestitating over such a matter? The Yang and Guo families are in grave distress and in need of our assistance, and you quibble over the details of our contest?”

Zhu Cong’s cheeks were hot with shame. He was an educated man and knew well the righteous conduct of ancient men described in the biographies from Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian. “Yes, Your Reverence is correct to point this out. I was mistaken. We will do just as you suggest.”

“Today is the twenty-fourth day of the third lunar month,” Qiu Chuji began, standing up. “We shall meet again on this very same day, eighteen years from now, at noon, at the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals. With the other heroes of the wulin as our witness, we will see who among us is truly deserving of the title ‘Master’.” And with a flick of his sleeve, he left.

“I’m going to look for Justice Duan,” Ryder Han announced. “We can’t let him go to ground, or we’ll never track him down.”

As the only one not to have sustained any injury, he marched out of the door, swung himself up onto his famous golden steed, Wind Chaser, and went in pursuit of Commander Duan and Lily Li.

“Brother, brother!” Zhu Cong called after him. “You’ve never laid eyes on them before!”

But it was too late; Ryder Han was impatient by nature and his horse true to its name.


2

JUSTICE DUAN GRABBED AT LILY LI, SLIPPED OUT OF THE temple and began running. Some distance thence, he looked back, and was relieved to see no-one following them. He slowed the pace and made for the river. There he spotted a small boat, jumped down onto the bow and, brandishing his sword, ordered the ferryman to start moving. The land south of the Yangtze was criss-crossed with a spider’s web of rivers. Canals and boats were the usual mode of transportation, just as northerners travelled the plains by horse and carriage. No boatman would dare disobey an official, so the man unfastened the moorings and pushed the boat out away from the city.

What a mess! Duan’s thoughts were an internal tussle. If I go back to Lin’an, my uncle will surely have me killed. I’d better go north. With any luck the Taoist and the Seven Freaks will have perished from their injuries and my uncle from his anger. Then I will be able to return and resume my post.

He instructed the boatman to follow the river northwards. Duan changed out of his official’s clothes and forced Lily Li to do the same.

They swapped boats several times on their way north. After ten days they arrived in Yangzhou, where Duan stopped at an inn. But just as they had settled in, he heard someone outside asking the innkeeper if a Commander Duan had come this way. He peered through a crack in the door. There stood an extraordinarily ugly, stumpy man accompanied by a pretty young girl. They spoke with heavy Jiaxing dialects. The Seven Freaks, he deduced. As luck would have it, the Yangzhou innkeeper was struggling to understand them, giving Duan enough time to grab Lily Li and slip out the back door. She tried to call out, but Duan silenced her, boxing her around the ear despite the searing pain in his arm. He then dragged her back to the water.

They were back on the Grand Canal within minutes and on their way north again. This time, they did not stop until they arrived at the garrison post of Liguo on the shores of Lake Mount Wei, just inside the borders of Shandong province.

Lily Li spent every waking hour wailing and cursing her captor. Duan was no gentleman, to be sure, but he never had any improper intentions, as far as she could discern; she was a somewhat plain country girl with unbound feet, who was by now much swollen with child. Instead, they bickered and scuffled, and never had a moment’s peace. He may have been a commanding officer in the Song army, but his martial arts were poor, and fighting Lily Li with only one arm was taking all his strength.

Within days, however, the short man and the pretty girl had caught up with them. Duan wanted to hide in their room, but knowing her rescuers had come, Lily Li started screaming. Duan seized a cotton quilt and stuffed it into her mouth, hitting her as he did so.

Lily Li was proving to be a liability. He would be better off killing her, he reflected. After they heard Ryder Han and Jade Han leave, Duan drew his sabre.

Lily Li had been waiting for a chance to avenge her husband, but Duan tied her hands and legs every night before bed. She saw a murderous glimmer in his eyes, and whispered to herself, “Dear husband, please protect me and help me kill this villain. I will be with you soon.”

She reached into her shirt and removed the dagger Qiu Chuji had given her. She had hidden it so well that Duan was unaware of its existence.

Duan sneered and raised his sabre. Lily Li was prepared. She summoned her strength and ran at Duan, dagger first. A gust of cold air skimmed Duan’s cheeks. He twisted his weapon, hoping to knock the dagger from her grasp. Yet its blade was so sharp that it sliced crisply through the sabre’s blade. The tip of Lily’s dagger chipped off and ricocheted in the direction of Duan’s ribcage. He stumbled backwards as it slashed open the front of his shirt, and scored his flesh with a bloody stripe. Had Lily used just a little more force, the blade would have eviscerated him. He grabbed a chair and held it in front of him. “Put the dagger down and I won’t hurt you!”

Too exhausted to fight anymore, and with the baby kicking inside her, Lily crumpled in a heap on the floor, panting. But she held the dagger firm.

Duan manhandled her onto another boat and together they headed further northwards to Linqing, Dezhou, and on to Hebei province.

Lily Li was not making escape any easier. She screamed and shouted nonsense when they stopped at inns or travelled in boats, attracting considerable attention. She would tear at her clothes and pull strange faces. Had she gone mad? At first Duan believed it must be so. But after a few days he realised she was leaving a trail of clues for her rescuers. Summer had passed and an autumn chill cooled the air. They were by now far into the Jin-controlled north, but Duan was running out of silver and his enemies were still close behind.

They travelled until they reached the Jin Empire’s capital, Yanjing. There they would find a quiet place to hide, and Duan would get rid of her. The Seven Freaks would never find them in such a large city.

But before they reached the city gates, a group of Jin soldiers stopped them and commanded them to carry supplies. The soldiers were travelling north with an emissary, charged with presenting the northern Mongolian tribes with Jin imperial ordinances. Ordinary Han Chinese citizens were being forced to act as porters. Lily was dressed in men’s clothing, but as she was so short was given a lighter pole. Duan was left to stagger under his one-hundred-jin load.

Duan tried protesting their treatment, but reply came in the form of several lashes across the head. This was not an alien situation to Duan, it was just that previously he had been the one holding the whip. A crucial difference.

Octobers in the north were bitter, the sky swirled with snow and sand, and shelter was hard to come by. They lined up alongside the three hundred Jin soldiers, and together they trudged through open country. One by one they caught the faint sound of shouting carried on the wind from up ahead, and in the distance they could make out a cloud of sand kicked up by a throng of horses.

They fast approached: a defeated tribe from beyond the Gobi, swathed in furs. The Jin ranks dispersed, throwing their weapons behind them. Those without horses escaped on foot, but were soon crushed in the stampede.

Lily Li dropped her pole and ran in the opposite direction to the others. She could not see where Duan had gone, but no-one was taking any notice of her.

She ran and ran, until after some distance she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. She collapsed behind a sand dune and fainted. There she remained until long after nightfall, when she woke to what in her confusion sounded like the cries of a baby. Her mind a fog, she wondered if she might in fact have passed into the afterlife, but the wails were getting louder. With a sudden jerk, she felt something warm between her legs. There was a break in the snow and a bright round moon peered from behind the clouds. She was awake now, and her chest was heaving with heavy sobs. Her baby was born.

She sat up and took the baby into her arms. A boy. Still crying, she bit through the umbilical cord and wrapped him tight to her bosom. His eyes shone in the moonlight, beneath two thick eyebrows. His cries were strong and carried far. These were no conditions for giving birth, but the sight of her baby gave Lily Li a strength she had never before known. She rolled over onto her knees, and pulled them both into a small ditch nearby to take shelter. There she cried for her baby’s father, lost forever.

They made the ditch their home for the night. The next day, when the sun was high in the sky, Lily Li summoned the courage to move. She looked out across the steppe at the dead men and horses scattered everywhere. Not a survivor to be seen.

She found some food in the knapsack of a dead soldier, as well as a knife and flint. She sliced some flesh from a horse and cooked it over a fire. Then she skinned another, wrapping one hide around the baby and another around herself. She and the baby lived like this for ten days, eating horse meat preserved in the snow, until she had regained enough strength to take her child and make her way east in the direction of the rising sun. The hate and anger she had been carrying with her was now transformed into love, and on she walked, doing her best to protect her son from the cutting desert winds.

She walked for days, the ground around her gradually turning ever greener. As the sun began to set, she saw two horses approaching on the horizon. The riders pulled on their reins and stopped to ask if she needed assistance. They were Mongolian shepherds, and did not know Chinese, but instinctively they understood the young mother’s story. They brought her back to their gers and gave her food and a place to rest. They were moving camp the next morning in search of fresh pasture, but before departing they gave her four lambs for her new family.

And so it came to pass that Guo’s son was born and raised on the Mongolian steppe.


3

YEARS PASSED. LILY LI NAMED THE BOY GUO JING AS QIU Chuji had suggested. He was a slow developer, speaking his first words only at the age of four, but he was strong and able to herd cattle and sheep all by himself. Mother and son depended on each other for survival, living a simple yet back-breaking existence. They learned Mongolian, but when together, still spoke in the Lin’an dialect of Chinese. The boy’s soft voice saddened his mother. “You should also be able to speak your father’s Shandong tongue, but I never learned it in the short time we had together,” she would say.

It was October, the air was growing colder. Guo Jing, now six years old, rode each day out to pasture, accompanied by his sheepdog. Just as the sun was at its highest, a large black bird appeared in the sky. It hovered above the herd briefly, then swooped. One of the young sheep broke free and ran.

Guo Jing jumped onto his pony and galloped seven or eight li before at last catching it. Just as he was about to turn back with the sheep, a deep rumble came echoing across the steppe. Was it thunder? He was not sure what it was, but it frightened him. It grew louder, until a horse’s neigh rose above it, followed by more horses and men shouting.

He had never heard anything like it. He hurried the sheep up a small hill and into a nearby clump of bushes. Safely hidden, he ventured a glimpse out.

Through the plumes of dust an army was racing towards him. Guo Jing watched as the commanding general barked an order, and the army broke into two and within seconds assumed formation. They wore splendid white turbans, into which they had stuck coloured feathers.

A brief silence, then a blast of horns from the left. Another army. Three rows charged forward. The young man leading them, an elongated figure in a red cape, held his sword high. The two armies clashed and a bloody battle commenced. The advancing army had fewer men and were beaten back before long, but support was quick to arrive and the fighting grew ever more fierce. And just as the battle appeared to be waning, a blast of horns came again from the east, shaking the remaining men into new life.

“The Great Khan Temujin has arrived! The Great Khan has arrived!”

The fighting continued, but now the soldiers kept looking over in the direction of the horns.

Guo Jing followed their gazes eastward. A cloud of sand swelled, until through it broke a group of riders, holding high a pole from which hung white hair. Their cheers grew louder, bolstering the riders’ allies and scattering the hitherto tight formations of their foe. Guo Jing watched from deeper under cover as the banner approached the very hill upon which he was standing.

A tall, middle-aged man was prominent among the riders. He wore a helmet made of shiny metal and his chin laid growth to a brown tuft of beard. Guo Jing did not know this was the leader of the Mongolians, the Great Khan Temujin, later to be known throughout history as the mighty Genghis Khan; he did not even know what the word “khan” meant. But he understood the man’s power, and it frightened him.

Temujin and a few of his men sat astride their horses, watching the battle below. Presently they were joined by the young man dressed in the red cape, who called to the Khan.

“Father, we are outnumbered. Should we retreat?”

“Yes, take your men to the east.”

He turned back to the battlefield. “Muqali, accompany the Second Prince and his men back to the west. Bogurchi, you and Tchila’un go north. Kublai, you and Subotai, south. When my banner is raised and the bugle sounds, turn back and attack.”

The men rode down the hill and within moments the Mongolian army was on the retreat.

“Capture Temujin, capture Temujin!” The enemy forces, meanwhile, were trying to fight their way up the hill.

Temujin stood firm at the top, protected from coming arrows by a wall of shields. Three thousand men, led by Temujin’s brother-in-arms Kutuku and his bravest general Jelme, were mounting a valiant defence at the foot of the hill.

The ground shook with the clash of swords and roar of battle. Guo Jing watched, now just as excited as he was frightened.

The fighting continued for an hour or so, as thousands of enemy soldiers mounted charge after charge. Temujin’s elite guard lost some four hundred men, but killed at least ten thousand. And yet arrow-fire remained intense. Combat was especially savage on the north-eastern side, where the Khan’s ranks looked as if they might collapse at any moment.

“Father, isn’t it time to raise the banner?” Ogedai, Temujin’s third son, implored.

Temujin’s eyes were sharply focused like an eagle’s, never moving from the battlefield. “But their men are not yet spent,” he answered gruffly.

The enemy soldiers mounted a renewed attack on the northeastern side under the command of three of their best generals, each with his own black banner. The Mongol forces were steadily losing ground. Jelme came riding up the hill.

“Khan, our men can’t hold on much longer!”

“Can’t hold on? Call yourself a man fit to lead men?”

Jelme’s cheeks flushed. He grabbed a sword from one of Temujin’s guard, turned and howled as he charged forward, hacking a bloody path through the enemy, right up to the black banners. The generals pulled back hard. Jelme stabbed all three bannermen in quick succession, then threw down his weapon, grabbed the flags and returned to Temujin, planting them upside down at the Khan’s feet.

Fighting continued. An enemy commander dressed in black appeared from the south-west. Within seconds, he had shot a quiver’s worth of arrows, each taking one Mongol soldier. Two Mongol commanders charged at him with their spears. Both commanders were shot from their horses.

“Lovely!” Temujin said, just as an arrow lodged in his neck. Another followed close behind, heading straight for his stomach.

Temujin reared his horse. The arrow sank deep into the steed’s chest, so only the feathers remained visible. The horse fell to the ground. Temujin’s men watched in shock. The enemy were pouring up the hill, howling as loudly as their lungs would allow. Ogedai pulled the arrow from his father’s neck, tore the shirt from his back and began bandaging the wound.

“Don’t worry about me, son,” Temujin said. “Defend the pass!”

Ogedai turned and shot down two enemy soldiers.

Kutuku had been leading an attack from the west, but his men were forced to retreat after using up all of their arrows.

“Kutuku,” Jelme said, his eyes red. “You run like a scared rabbit?”

“Run?” Kutuku replied. “We have no more arrows.”

Temujin threw Kutuku a handful of arrows from where he lay in the mud. Kutuku loaded his bow and shot the closest general, then ran down the hill and retrieved his horse.

“Excellent, my brother!” Temujin said as Kutuku returned.

“Why not raise the banner and sound the horns?” Kutuku suggested, his cheeks smeared with blood.

Temujin pressed against the wound in his neck. Blood pulsed through his fingers and down his wrist. “Not yet. The enemy still have life left in them.”

“We are not afraid to die here on the field,” Kutuku said, dropping to his knees, “but the Khan is in grave danger.”

Temujin took the reins and struggled up onto the saddle. “We must defend the pass!” he said as he spurred his horse. Raising his sabre, he sliced through three enemy soldiers charging up the hill towards them.

Temuji’s reappearance took the enemy by surprise. Now was the time.

“Raise the banners! Sound the horns!”

A howl went up. One of the guardsmen stood on his horse and raised the white horsehair banner. The horns sounded. The deafening blast was instantly drowned out by the roar of battle, as line after line of soldiers thundered forward.

The enemy outnumbered the Mongols, but they were now facing an attack from all sides. The outer forces broke within moments, and the fighting engulfed the central guard. The general in black was barking orders, but morale was crumbling.

It took the Mongol army less than an hour to obliterate their opponents. Those left alive fled, including the general in black, who galloped off towards the horizon.

“Three jin of gold to whoever catches him!” Temujin called.

A dozen of Temujin’s best men sped after the fleeing general.

The general turned and fired back at his pursuers, knocking man after man from his horse, until they dropped back and let him go.

Temujin’s men had claimed a resolute victory over their longstanding enemy, the Tayichi’ud. Temujin was flooded with memories of his capture at their hands, their beatings and insults, the torture and the yoke. Today’s victory had gone some way to redressing that humiliation. His heart quickened, and a laugh bubbled up from within. The earth shook with the shouts of his men as they withdrew from the bloody field.


4

GUO JING WAITED UNTIL DARKNESS HAD FALLEN AND THE soldiers charged with clearing the battlefield had left, before emerging from his bush and starting back.

It was well past midnight by the time he arrived home, where Lily Li had been waiting with ever increasing alarm. Guo Jing was met by a relieved mother’s arms. He described to her all he had seen. Lily Li listened to her son’s stammering, clumsy account, and was reminded of her late husband – his twitching caterpillar eyebrows, his fascination with battle – and it felt like the thrust of a blade to her heart.

A few days later, Lily Li left for the nearest market, some thirty li hence, with two wool blankets. Guo Jing, meanwhile, took the sheep out to pasture as usual. Out in the grassland, his mind galloped back to the fight. He spurred his horse, raised his whip and shouted, herding his flock, imagining himself to be a general leading his men.

Just then the beating of hooves could be heard in the east. A horse was approaching. At first it appeared to be riderless, but Guo Jing realised as it drew close that its master was resting his head on the mane. It stopped and the rider looked up.

It was the black general from the battle, his face soiled with blood and dirt. In his left hand he held what remained of his sabre, not more than a hilt – it, too, covered in blood. This was his only weapon. His left cheek had been slashed, with blood pouring from the wound, as had his horse’s legs. The man shuddered, locking his bloodshot eyes on Guo Jing.

“Water . . . Some water please?” the man managed to gasp.

Guo Jing ran the short distance back home and emerged with a bowl of water. The man grabbed it and drank it all down at once. “Another bowl!”

Guo Jing fetched another. Blood turned the water red as he drank. The man laughed, then his face twitched and he fell from his horse.

Guo Jing did not know what to do. But before long the man regained consciousness. “Some water for my horse. And how about something to eat?” he said.

Guo Jing re-emerged with some chunks of cooked lamb and more water.

Food seemed to energise the man, and once finished he struggled to his feet. “Thank you, brother!” He then slipped a thick gold bracelet from his wrist and handed it to Guo Jing. “Here – for you.”

Guo Jing shook his head. “Mother says you should never expect anything in return for common kindness.”

“You’re a good boy!” the man said, replacing the bracelet. He then tore a section from his sleeve and began bandaging the horse’s wounds as well as his own.

Then, from the east, came the sound of more horses.

“Won’t they let me go?” the man growled.

On the horizon, rolling waves of dust were already visible. They were coming this way.

“Boy, do you keep a bow and arrows in the house?”

“Yes!” Guo Jing replied, and ran back inside.

The man was visibly relieved, but relief quickly turned to disappointment when he saw Guo Jing reappear with the small bow and arrow he used for playing. “I meant the kind for fighting – a big one!”

Guo Jing shook his head.

The riders were getting closer, their banners now visible in the distance. The black general realised he would not be able to outrun them on an injured horse.

“I can’t fight them by myself, so I’m going to hide,” he said to Guo Jing. But there was nowhere suitable in or around the small thatched cottage. He was desperate. The only place he could think of was the large pile of drying hay nearby.

“I’m going to hide in there,” he said, pointing. “Chase my horse away as far as you can. Then find somewhere to hide and don’t let them see you.” With that, he scrambled into the haystack.

Guo Jing whipped the man’s horse and it cantered far into the distance before stopping to munch on some fresh grass. Guo Jing mounted his colt and took off in the opposite direction.

The riders had spotted people ahead, and sent two men on before them. They soon caught up.

“Boy, have you seen a man on a black horse come past this way?”

Guo Jing was no good at lying, so he did not answer. The men asked again, and again, but still the boy refused to speak.

“Let’s take him to see the Prince,” one of the men suggested. They took hold of Guo Jing’s reins and rode with him back to the cottage.

I won’t tell them anything, Guo Jing decided as they approached his home.

There stood a tall, thin man draped in a red cape, encircled by a crowd of soldiers. Guo Jing recognised the man: he had taken part in the battle on the hill only two days before.

“What did the boy say?” the Prince barked.

“He’s frightened and won’t speak.”

The Prince cast his eyes around him until they fell upon a black horse grazing in the distance. “Is that his horse? Bring it here,” he said.

Ten soldiers split into pairs, surrounded the horse and led it back.

“This is Jebe’s horse, is it not?”

“Yes, sir!”

The Prince approached Guo Jing and struck him lightly across the head with his whip. “Where is he? Tell me. You can’t fool me.”

Jebe gripped his broken sabre even tighter, his heart thudding. He knew this was Temujin’s eldest son, Jochi, famed for his brutality. The boy was going to give him away; he had to be prepared to fight.

Guo Jing was in pain but fought back his tears. “Why did you hit me?” he asked, holding his head high. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“You’re a stubborn boy,” Jochi growled as he whipped Guo Jing once more. This time tears gathered in Guo Jing’s eyes.

Jochi’s soldiers had been searching the house, and two men even poked at the haystack with their spears, but as luck would have it, they did not hit Jebe.

“He can’t have got far without his horse. Boy, are you going to tell me where he is?” Jochi struck Guo Jing across the head three more times, each time a little harder. Guo Jing made a vain attempt to grab the Prince’s whip.

Then came the sound of horns in the distance.

“The Great Khan is coming!”

Jochi lowered his whip. The soldiers rushed to gather around the Khan as he stopped in front of them. “Father!”

Temujin’s injuries were grave. The Khan had summoned his last reserves of energy to fight out the battle, but fainted several times after Jebe fled. His general Jelme and third son Ogedai took turns sucking the blood clots from his wounds, and together his four sons and best generals waited by his bed through the night until he was out of danger. Early the next morning, the Khan’s men rode in search of Jebe, swearing they would catch and quarter him. One small group found him around dawn that morning and a fight ensued, but the black general had prevailed.

“Father, we found his horse!” Jochi announced, pointing it out for the Khan.

“The horse is no good to me. I want the man!” Temujin replied.

“Of course, Father, we’ll find him,” Jochi said. He went back to Guo Jing, unsheathed his sabre and swung it menacingly above the boy’s head. “Well? Are you going to tell me now?”

The earlier beating had emboldened the boy. “No!”

Temujin noted the boy did not claim ignorance. “Trick it out of him,” Temujin whispered to his third son.

Ogedai approached Guo Jing with a smile and plucked two resplendent peacock feathers from his helmet. “These are yours if you tell me.”

“No!” Guo Jing insisted.

“Release the dogs!” An order from Temujin’s second son, Chagatai. The soldiers brought forth six of Chagatai’s beloved mastiffs, led them to where Jelme’s horse was grazing to catch Jebe’s scent, and then let them loose. They ran straight for the cottage and out again, roaring and barking.

Guo Jing was no friend to Jebe, but he had admired the general’s bravery on the battlefield, and Jochi’s whipping had only strengthened his resolve. Guo Jing whistled to his sheepdog. Chagatai’s mastiffs were circling in on the haystack, but Guo Jing commanded his dog to block them. Chagatai shouted and the mastiffs pounced. Howls, barks, teeth clashing. Though outnumbered, Guo Jing’s sheepdog fought back bravely, but within moments he was covered in large gashes. Guo Jing cheered between his tears.

Temujin, Ogedai and the rest of their men knew Jebe must be in the haystack, but as there was no escape for the black general they decided to enjoy the dogfight first.

But Jochi could not wait and took his whip to Guo Jing. The boy rolled on the grass in pain, close to where Jochi was standing. Then suddenly he jumped up and grabbed hold of Jochi’s right leg. Jochi tried to shake him off, but Guo Jing was surprisingly strong. Jochi’s brothers started laughing and even the Great Khan had to hide a smile. Jochi’s cheeks flashed scarlet. He pulled out his sabre and swung at Guo Jing’s head. Just as the blade was about to slice the boy’s head clean from his neck, out from the haystack popped a broken sabre to block his swing. Jochi felt his fingers shake and he nearly dropped his weapon.





Jebe scrambled out from under the hay and pulled Guo Jing behind him. “Taken to bullying children now? Have you no shame?”

The soldiers surrounded Jebe, spears at the ready. He had nowhere to go. Jebe threw down his broken sabre. Jochi made to punch Jebe in the chest.

“Go on, kill me!” the black general shouted back, instead of defending himself. “Shame I won’t be granted the honour of dying at the hands of a true hero.”

“What did you say?” Temujin cried.

“Were I to die on the battlefield, defeated by a hero, I would have no regrets. But today an eagle has fallen and is about to be eaten by ants.”

Jebe then howled. Chagatai’s hunting dogs had pinned Guo Jing’s sheepdog to the ground and were chomping and snarling at it, but Jebe’s call stopped them, and they retreated, tails between their legs.

“Great Khan, such arrogance is not to be tolerated,” one of Temujin’s men cried, stepping out from the crowd. “Let me fight him!”

“Fine! You show him,” Temujin replied. It was one of his best generals, Bogurchi. “If there’s one thing we have plenty of, it’s heroes.”

“I’ll kill you. So you may die with no regrets,” Bogurchi cried, as he stepped forward.

“And who are you?” Jebe replied, eyeing the sturdy man opposing him.

“My name is Bogurchi! Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

Jebe felt a shiver go through him. So this is the famous Bogurchi? Jebe said to himself. His fame precedes him; he is a hero among the Mongols. But he rolled his eyes and snorted, feigning indifference.

“You are named for your great skills with the bow and arrow,” Temujin said to Jebe. “Why not see who is more skilled: you, or my sworn brother here?”

“You are a sworn brother to the Great Khan?” Jebe turned to Bogurchi. “In that case, I’ll take pleasure in killing you first.”

The Mongol soldiers burst into laughter. Bogurchi’s unparalleled fighting skills had made him famous across the steppe. Jebe may well be a talented archer, but was he a match for the great Bogurchi?

As a boy, Temujin had been taken prisoner by his father’s former allies, the Tayichi’ud, and taken to the banks of the Onon River, where they thrust his head through the flat wooden panel of a cangue. There they drank, and lashed him with their whips. Temujin waited until his captors were incapacitated with drink before knocking the guard over the head with the cangue, still locked around his neck, and escaping into the forest.

The Tayichi’uds called a search across the steppe. A young man by the name of Tchila’un took pity on Temujin, and, risking the wrath of the Tayichi’ud, broke the cangue from Temujin’s neck, burned it, and sheltered the fugitive in a cart of fleeces. Presently the Tayichi’ud men came and searched Tchila’un’s home. The men spotted the cart and began removing the fleeces, one layer at a time. Just as they were about to uncover the future Khan, Tchila’un’s father interrupted the soldiers.

“The weather is so hot, how could he be hiding in the fleeces? He would be dead by now.”

The summer solstice was upon them, and sweat poured from their bodies like storm rains. The old man spoke sense, so the soldiers left.

Temujin had fled home, and now, along with his mother and younger brother, was forced to keep moving across the steppe, surviving on wild rats and his horsemanship to keep them ahead of their pursuers.

One day, eight of Temujin’s white horses were stolen by a rival tribe. Temujin was giving chase when he encountered a young man, milking his horse. Had he seen where the thieves had fled? This was Bogurchi. “We both know the hardships a man faces in these grasslands. Let us be friends,” he said.

They rode together for three days before at last catching up with the thieves. They fought side by side. Their arrows slayed hundreds of men, and together they recovered the horses. Temujin offered to give Bogurchi four, but Bogurchi refused. “This I did for friendship, nothing more.”

In one another they found a bond deeper than any other.

Temujin now gave his bow to Bogurchi and jumped down from his steed. “Ride my horse, use my bow and arrows. It will be as if I killed him myself.”

“As you command.” Bogurchi took the bow in his left hand, the arrows in his right, and jumped up onto Temujin’s beloved white horse.

“Give your horse to Jebe,” Temujin said to Ogedai.

“He is most fortunate indeed,” Ogedai said, dismounting. One of the bodyguards led the horse to Jebe.

“I am surrounded,” Jebe said to Temujin, once seated on Ogedai’s horse. “You could have killed me easier than a sheep. I dare not ask for more favours. Just give me a bow – no arrows are necessary.”

“No arrows?” Bogurchi said.

“That’s right. I can kill you with just a bow.”

Again the Mongolian soldiers guffawed.

“How he boasts!”

“What a braggart!”

Temujin ordered them to give Jebe one of their best bows.

Bogurchi knew Jebe’s shot was precise. But to fight without arrows? Bogurchi realised Jebe must be planning to send his arrows back at him. He squeezed his thighs and Temujin’s horse sprang forward.

Jebe pulled on his reins. Bogurchi nocked an arrow, pulled back and shot. Jebe reached out. The arrow was in his hand.

Impressive, Bogurchi said to himself.

Another arrow.

Jebe listened as it cut through the air. This one he couldn’t catch. He pressed his body flat against the horse’s back. The arrow passed above, ruffling the hairs on his head. He spurred, turned his horse, hauled himself upright. But Bogurchi fed his bow quickly, and two more arrows came whistling towards him. He slipped down from his saddle, his right foot still hooked into the stirrup, and held himself inches from the ground slipping by below. There he fluttered at the horse’s feet, like a trapped kite. He turned, loaded the arrow he had caught, fired it and flipped back into the saddle.

“Amazing,” Bogurchi breathed. He shot at the approaching arrow. The arrowheads clashed, twisted and sank into the sand. Cheers rose from Temujin and his men.

Bogurchi nocked an arrow, aimed left, waited for Jebe to react, and shot right. Jebe knocked the arrow away with his bow into the dirt. Bogurchi fired three more arrows in a rapid flurry, all of which Jebe dodged with ease. Jebe spurred his horse, leaned down, picked three arrows from the dirt, bent his bow and shot.

Bogurchi leapt up and stood on his saddle in an extravagant display. Balancing on his left foot, he kicked the flying arrows away with his right, before pulling back his bow with all his power and letting fly. Jebe jerked to one side and shot an arrow at Bogurchi’s, splitting it along the shaft.

Bogurchi was growing uneasy and increasingly impatient. He fired a blur of arrows. Unable to catch so many in succession, Jebe contrived to avoid them. But still the arrows kept coming, thick and fast, until he was struck in the left shoulder. The crowd cheered.

Smiling, Bogurchi reached for another arrow, intending to kill Jebe. His hand felt into his quiver’s deepest corners. There were none left. He always took sufficient supplies with him into battle: two quivers around his waist and six on the horse. But he was not using his own mount now; he was riding the Khan’s. He pulled the horse round, stooped, and swept at the moving grass.

Jebe knew this was his chance, and fired an arrow square into Bogurchi’s back. A gasp rose from the crowd. It was a painful blow, but despite the force of the shot, the arrow failed to penetrate Bogurchi’s clothing and fell to the ground. Bogurchi reached down and inspected the arrow. Jebe had removed the arrowhead.

“I avenge the Great Khan! You needn’t show me any mercy!” Bogurchi cried, sitting back in the saddle.

“Jebe shows no mercy to his enemies. I have killed you, in all but deed.”

Temujin had been watching in distress, but his fears were allayed when he realised Bogurchi was unhurt. He would have exchanged ten thousand sheep, oxen and horses to keep his best general and friend from being killed. “Enough!” Temujin called. “You have proven your prowess. We no longer seek vengeance upon you.”

“I am not asking the Khan to spare my life.”

“Then what do you want?”

“It is him I wish to be spared!” Jebe answered, pointing at Guo Jing standing by the door. “All I ask is that the Khan troubles the child no more. As for myself,” he continued, “I wounded the Khan and deserve punishment. Come, Bogurchi!” He pulled the arrow from his shoulder and loaded his bow, the blood still dripping from the tip.

“Fine! Let’s fight!”

A deluge of arrows rushed from Bogurchi’s bow, forming a chain through the air.

Jebe hooked his foot through the stirrup, tucked himself under his horse’s belly, and aimed. Bogurchi’s white colt pulled left without his master’s command, but Jebe had been swift, and the arrow hit the horse in the forehead, bringing it crashing to the ground.

Bogurchi fired as he rolled, splitting the bow in Jebe’s hand. Jebe cursed, and steered his horse away from Bogurchi’s arrows. Cheers rose from the spectators.

He’s an impressive archer, Bogurchi had to admit. He bent his bow, aimed at Jebe’s back and let go.

The arrow hit Jebe in the back of the head. Jebe convulsed and fell from his horse, the arrow landing in the grass beside him. But Bogurchi too had removed the arrowhead. He loaded another arrow and held it aimed at Jebe. “Great Khan!” he cried, turning to Temujin. “Have mercy and let him go!”

“Will you not surrender?” Temujin responded.

Jebe’s stubborn defiance was overcome. He ran over to Temujin and knelt at his feet.

Temujin smiled. “From this day forward, you fight with me!”

Mongolians often turn to song to express their feelings. Kneeling before the Khan, Jebe began to sing:

“The Great Khan is merciful, as befits his name,

Which I will repay with my protection,

With contempt of fire and water,

And rebel against dark seas and rupturing cliffs.

Take our enemies, gouge out their hearts!

I will go wherever I am needed.

For the Khan I am always willing,

Ten thousand miles by sun or moon!”



Temujin produced two gold ingots and gave one each to Bogurchi and Jebe.

“Great Khan, may I give this to the boy?”

“You may do with your gold as you please,” Temujin replied.

Jebe approached Guo Jing and held out the ingot, but Guo Jing shook his head: “Mother says you should never expect anything in return for common kindness.”

Temujin admired the boy’s bravery, but liked him even more after hearing this. “What an impressive young man!” Then, turning to Jebe: “Bring him to me later.” He then left, instructing a squad to mount the dead horse on the backs of two others, and to follow behind.

Jebe was exhausted, but pleased with the outcome. He lay in the grass to rest and wait for the boy’s mother to return.

“You’re a good boy, you did the right thing,” Lily Li said to Guo Jing after Jebe told her of her son’s fearless conduct, even if the wounds on his face did trouble her. But how would the boy avenge his father’s death if he remained a shepherd his whole life? No, it would be better to let him train with the Great Khan’s men. So mother and son agreed to go with Jebe, and join Temujin’s tribe.

Jebe was put in command of a team of ten under Temujin’s third son, Ogedai. Jebe and Bogurchi held each other in great esteem, and became loyal friends. Nor did Jebe forget his debt to Guo Jing. He took good care of mother and son, and decided he would teach Guo Jing all his skills with the bow and arrow, as soon as the boy was old enough.


5

ONE DAY, GUO JING WAS PLAYING WITH SOME OF THE OTHER children when two riders came galloping into the encampment with urgent news for the Khan. They rushed to Temujin’s ger and within moments the horns were sounded and soldiers ran from their tents. The men were organised into squads of ten, each with its own commander. These were then organised into companies made up of ten squads, battalions of one thousand men and, finally, divisions of ten thousand, each with their own commander. Temujin kept close control of his army through this chain of command.

Guo Jing and the other children watched as the men took up their weapons and mounted their horses. Another horn blast sounded, and the ground shook as the horses gathered into formation. By the end of the third blast, silence had descended as all fifty thousand men were lined up before the encampment’s main gate. Only the occasional horse’s snort broke the quiet; no-one spoke, no clanging of weapons was heard.

“Of our many victories the Jin Empire knows,” Temujin cried as he walked through the main gate with his three sons. “The Jin Emperor sent his Third and Sixth Princes here today to appoint your Khan an officer of the Jin!”

The soldiers raised their weapons and hailed their Khan. The Jin controlled all of northern China by the force of a strong and disciplined army; their influence stretched east to the seas and west to the deserts. The Mongols, in contrast, were just one of many nomadic tribes on the steppe. To be named an official of the Jin Empire was an honour for Temujin.

The Khan ordered his eldest son Jochi to lead his ten-thousand-strong corps to welcome their guests. The remaining forty thousand men would wait in formation.

News of the growing power of northern tribes such as Temujin’s worried the Jin Emperor Wanyan Jing, titled Ming Chang. In reality, the Princes were not here just to secure an alliance between the Mongols and the Jin Empire, but to ascertain at first hand their capabilities in case of future conflict. The Sixth Prince, Wanyan Honglie, was the very same Prince who had travelled to Lin’an, where he was wounded by Qiu Chuji, and on to Jiaxing, where he encountered the Seven Freaks of the South.

After some wait, a blot of dust appeared on the horizon, announcing Jochi’s return with the two Princes, Wanyan Hongxi and Wanyan Honglie, and their force of ten thousand elite soldiers, dressed in the finest brocade and armour. Those on the left of the formation were armed with spears and those on the right with wolf-fang clubs. The clanking of their armour was audible for miles. Sunlight glinted on their uniforms of silk and metal, and they shone ever more resplendent as they came into view. The brothers rode side by side, while Temujin and his men stood by the road, waiting.

As they drew near, Wanyan Hongxi caught sight of the children watching, and laughed. He puffed himself up, reached into his shirt for a handful of gold coins and threw them at them. “A gift!”

But, to Mongolians, throwing coins like this was the height of disrespect. These children were descended from soldiers and generals. Not one of them moved to pick up the coins.

“Come on, you little devils!” Wanyan Hongxi cried, throwing another handful of coins in frustration.

This angered Temujin and his men even more. They may not have had the grand outward trappings of other great civilisations, but the Mongolians were a refined people. They did not swear, even against their gravest enemies or in jest. To step inside a ger was to be treated with utmost hospitality, whether friend or foe, and a guest was to return this favour with decorum. They may not have understood Wanyan Hongxi’s heavily accented Mongolian, but they understood his attitude all too well.

Guo Jing had grown up on stories of Jin scorn, and of how they had invaded his motherland China, corrupted its officials and killed its greatest general, Yue Fei. He stepped forward now. “We don’t want your money!” he cried, picking some coins from the dirt. He ran and hurled them as hard as he could at the Third Prince.

Wanyan Hongxi ducked, but one struck him on the cheekbone. Temujin’s men cheered.

It did not especially hurt, but such humiliation at the hands of a six-year-old boy was too much. He swiped a spear from one of his guards. “I’ve got you, you little devil!”

“Brother!” Wanyan Honglie said, realising the situation was getting out of control. But it was too late: the Third Prince had already thrown the weapon. Guo Jing turned, rather than stepped aside. At the last possible moment, an arrow came from the left, like a meteor shooting for the moon, and hit the spear on the head, deflecting it. Guo Jing ran back to the other children, the cheers of Temujin’s men shaking the ground beneath him.

The arrow belonged to Jebe.

“Third Brother, forget about him!” Wanyan Honglie hissed.

The cheers of Temujin’s men left Wanyan Hongxi shaken. He glared at Guo Jing. “Little bastard,” he muttered.

Temujin and his sons stepped forward and led the Princes to the Khan’s ger, where they served their guests koumiss and plates of lamb and beef. With the help of interpreters, Wanyan Hongxi read the royal decree, conferring upon Temujin the title of “Queller of Northern Uprisings”. Temujin knelt before Wanyan Hongxi and accepted the title and a golden belt, a symbol of his allegiance to the Jin Empire.



THAT NIGHT the Mongolians honoured their guests with a lavish feast.

“Tomorrow, my brother and I will bestow Ong Khan with a title,” Wanyan Hongxi stuttered, drunk on koumiss. “Will our Queller of Uprisings join us?”

Temujin was delighted and agreed at once. Ong Khan, a Kerait, was recognised as leader of the northern tribes of the steppe. He was the richest, and commanded the most men, but was known to be fair and magnanimous in his treatment of others. He was universally liked and respected. Ong Khan was sworn brother of Temujin’s father. After Temujin’s father was poisoned and Temujin fled, it was Ong Khan who took him in as his own son. Not long after Temujin was married, his wife was captured by the Merkits. It was only after receiving help from Ong Khan and Jamuka, Temujin’s sworn brother, that Temujin managed to defeat the Merkits and reclaim his wife.

“Is the Jin Empire granting titles on anyone else?” Temujin asked.

“No,” Wanyan Hongxi said. “There are only two men of note in the northern steppe: Ong Khan and the Great Khan Temujin.”

“No-one else would be worthy of a title,” Wanyan Honglie added.

“I disagree. There is one man the Princes are perhaps unfamiliar with,” Temujin said.

“Is that so? Who?” Wanyan Honglie said.

“My sworn brother, Jamuka. He is most righteous and commands his men with a just hand. May I ask the Princes to bestow an official title on him as well?”

Temujin and Jamuka had grown up together, cementing their friendship with a bond of brotherhood when Temujin was just eleven, a custom known among the Mongolians as anda, sealed with an exchange of gifts. Jamuka and Temujin swapped hunting stones made from deer bone. After the boys became anda, they went to the Onon River while it was still frozen over and threw them out across it. When spring came the boys swore their brotherhood again, Jamuka giving Temujin a whistling arrow he had carved himself from two ox horns, while Temujin presented his friend with a cedar arrowhead.

When they reached manhood, they lived with Ong Khan. They would compete every day to see who could rise first and drink a cup of yoghurt from Ong Khan’s own jade cup. After Jamuka and Ong Khan helped recover Temujin’s wife, the sworn brothers exchanged gifts once more, this time gold belts and horses. By day the men drank wine from the same cup and at night slept under the same blanket.

Their tribes, however, were eventually forced to take different directions in the search for fresh pasture, and the two men were separated. But both tribes flourished and their loyalty endured. It was natural that he should wish for his anda to be honoured as well.

“We don’t have titles to give to all you Mongolians. How many do you think we have?” Wanyan Hongxi stammered, by now half drunk. Wanyan Honglie cast his brother a meaningful look, but was ignored.

“Fine, give him my title instead.”

“Does a title mean so little you would give it away?” Wanyan Hongxi cried.

Temujin stood up. Without uttering another word, he downed the contents of his cup and left. Wanyan Honglie was left to diffuse the situation with some hasty and not particularly amusing jokes.



THE NEXT morning, just as the sun was climbing above the horizon, Temujin mounted his horse and went to inspect the five thousand mounted horses already lined up in formation. The Jurchen Princes and their men were still sleeping.

Temujin had at first been impressed by the Jurchen army; they appeared strong and well equipped. But still sleeping? Temujin snorted. Now he saw they were undisciplined and libertine. “What do you think of the Jin?” he asked Muqali.

“A thousand of our men could defeat five thousand of theirs,” was Muqali’s reply.

“Just what I thought,” Temujin said with a smile. “But they say the Jin has more than a million men at its command. We have only fifty thousand.”

“But you can’t lead one million men into battle at once. If we were to fight them, we could take ten thousand today and another ten thousand tomorrow.”

“We always agree when it comes to military strategy.” Temujin patted him on the shoulder. “A man weighing one hundred jin can eat ten oxen, each weighing ten thousand jin. He just needs time.” They laughed.

Temujin pulled at his reins. Then he caught sight of his fourth son Tolui’s horse without its rider. “Where is Tolui?”

Tolui was only nine years old, but Temujin treated his sons in the same way he did his troops, with an iron discipline. Anyone breaking his rules was punished.

Temujin’s men were uneasy. General Boroqul, Tolui’s mentor, was overly concerned. “The boy never sleeps late. Let me see.”

Just as he turned his horse, he saw two children running towards him holding hands. The boy with a strip of brocade tied around his forehead was Tolui, the other was Guo Jing.

“Father!” Tolui was excited.

“Where have you been?” Temujin demanded.

“Guo Jing and I swore an oath of brotherhood down by the river. Look, he gave me this,” Tolui said, waving an embroidered red handkerchief Lily Li had made for her son.

Temujin recalled with fondness the time he and Jamuka became sworn anda, two innocent children just like those standing before him now. “And what did you give him?”

“This!” Guo Jing said, pointing to his neck, to the gold necklace Temujin’s son usually wore.

“From now on, you must love and look after each other,” Temujin said.

They nodded.

“Now, mount your horses,” Temujin said. “Guo Jing is coming with us.”

The boys climbed into their saddles in excitement.

After yet another hour’s waiting, the Jin Princes emerged from their gers, washed and dressed at last. Wanyan Honglie caught sight of the Mongolian soldiers waiting in formation and sent a hurried order to his men to get ready. But Wanyan Hongxi believed in making the Mongolians wait, to let them know who had the power. He ate at a leisurely pace, accompanying the snacks with a few cups of wine, and then mounted his horse. It took another hour for the ten-thousand-strong Jin army to muster before setting off.

They marched northwards for six days until they were met with a delegation sent by Ong Khan consisting of the Khan’s son Senggum and his adopted son Jamuka. When word reached Temujin that his sworn brother was up ahead, he galloped on. The two men jumped from their horses and embraced. Temujin’s sons followed close behind to greet their uncle.

Jamuka was tall and spindly, Wanyan Honglie observed, his upper lip decorated with the finest threads of gold. His eyes were quick. Senggum, in contrast, was pale and flabby, no doubt from having lived a life of opulence. He looked nothing like the men hewn by the harsh climate of the steppe. He was haughty and showed a noticeable disregard for the Great Khan.

Together they rode on again for another day. Then, just as they were approaching Ong Khan’s camp, two of Temujin’s advance guards came riding back. “The Naiman are blocking the way ahead. Some thirty thousand of them.”

“What do they want?” Wanyan Hongxi was anxious after hearing the translation.

“To fight, it would seem.”

“They’ve really brought thirty thousand men?” Wanyan Hongxi stuttered. “Isn’t . . . Aren’t we outnumbered—”

Temujin did not wait for Wanyan Hongxi to finish. Turning to Muqali he said, “Find out what’s going on.”

Muqali rode on with ten bodyguards while the rest of the entourage waited. He was back before long. “The Naiman say that since the Great Jin Empire granted a title to our Khan, the Princes should bestow one on them too. If Your Excellencies don’t, they will take you hostage until such a title is forthcoming. Not only that, they want a rank of higher status than that given to our Great Khan Temujin.”

“Demanding a title?” Wanyan Hongxi’s cheeks had gone pale. “That’s sedition. What should we do?”

Wanyan Honglie started organising his troops into their fighting positions as a precaution.

“Brother,” Jamuka said, turning to Temujin, “the Naiman frequently steal our livestock and harass our people. Are we really going to let them get away with this? What do Your Excellencies want us to do?”

Temujin had by now surveyed the terrain and concocted a plan. “Let’s show the Princes how we do things here on the steppe.” Temujin let out a cry and cracked his whip twice. Five thousand Mongolians howled in response, startling the Jin Princes.

Up ahead, the Naiman were approaching.

“Brother,” Wanyan Hongxi said, “order our men to charge. These Mongols don’t know how to fight.”

“Let them go first,” Wanyan Honglie whispered.

Realising his brother’s intentions, Wanyan Hongxi nodded. The Mongolian soldiers howled again, but still they did not move.

“Why are they howling like animals?” Wanyan Hongxi said. “Shouting alone isn’t going to make them turn back.”

Boroqul was positioned on the left flank. He turned to Tolui, who along with his sworn brother Guo Jing had joined his voice with the other men. “Follow me and don’t fall behind. Watch and learn.”

Just then enemy soldiers appeared through the dust up ahead. Still the Mongols howled, still they did not move.

Wanyan Honglie was growing more and more anxious. The Naiman were fierce and might attack at any moment.

“Fire!”

The first row of Jin men released several rounds of arrows, but the Naiman were still beyond reach. They were charging at speed towards them. Wanyan Hongxi began to panic, his heart thudding. “Why don’t we just give them what they want?” he said to his brother. “We can make up some title, something high ranking, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t cost us anything.”

With two cracks of Temujin’s whip, the Mongols fell silent and split into two flanks. Temujin and Jamuka each took one. Leaning low in their saddles, they galloped towards higher ground on either side, calling orders to their men as they rode. The riders split off into small groups as they ascended, covering all positions. Now they had the height to their advantage, they loaded their bows and held them high.

The commander of the Naiman too looked for higher ground. But the Mongolians had erected walls made from layers of sheep’s fleece to shield them from incoming arrows. The Naiman shot up at the Mongolians, but their arrows fell short, or were caught up in the fleece barricades.

The Mongolians returned fire, and the Naiman fell back in chaos and confusion.

Temujin watched the tumult from his position high on the left. “Jelme, attack the rear!”

Armed with his sabre, Jelme charged, one thousand men behind him, and blocked the Naiman retreat.

Jebe took up his spear and pressed to the front of the charge. His target was the Naiman commander-in-chief; he would kill him as an expression of gratitude to Temujin.

Within moments the Naiman rearguard fell apart and the foremost ranks were in chaos. The Naiman commander hesitated, giving Jamuka and Senggum time to join the charge. Facing attack on all sides, the Naiman fell into disarray. Abandoned by their commander, the remaining men threw down their bows, dismounted and surrendered.

The Mongols had killed over a thousand Naiman men, captured two thousand more and gained almost as many horses before the rest of the army fled. They had lost no more than a hundred of their own.

Temujin ordered the captives be stripped of their armour and split into four groups, one for the Wanyan brothers, one for his adoptive father Ong Khan, one for his sworn brother Jamuka and one for himself. Mongolians whose relatives had died in battle received compensation: five horses and five slaves.

The battle now over, Wanyan Hongxi burst into nervous laughter. “They want a title?” he said, turning to his brother. “How about ‘Conqueror of the Northern Queller of Uprisings’?”

For all his brother’s jokes, Wanyan Honglie was feeling decidedly nervous. The Empire would be in trouble if Temujin or Jamuka ever united the northern tribes and took command of the steppe.

The Mongols were a genuine threat.

He was still mulling this over when yet more dust appeared on the horizon. Another army approaching.





Chapter Four


A Dark Wind Blows



1

“TAKE UP YOUR WEAPONS, ANOTHER ARMY IS COMING!” WANYAN Hongxi cried.

Moments later, the scouts returned. “Ong Khan is here to welcome the Princes in person.”

Temujin, Jamuka and Senggum rode out ahead.

From the clouds of dust an army emerged, led by Ong Khan. He drew close, rolled down from his horse and knelt before the Princes, flanked by his adopted sons Temujin and Jamuka. He was a heavyset man with a head of glittering silver hair. His robe was made from the finest black panther furs fastened with a gold belt.

Wanyan Honglie too dismounted and returned the gesture of respect, but Wanyan Hongxi remained in his saddle, deigning only to cup his fists in the most perfunctory manner.

“Your humble servant received advice of your treatment at the hands of the Naiman,” Ong Khan began. “I hope Your Excellencies were not too affronted. I sent my men as fast as I could. Thankfully, with Your Excellencies’ grace upon them, my three boys were able to prevail without my men.”

Ong Khan then led the Wanyan brothers back to his ger. The inside walls were lined with leopard and fox furs and decorated with the most elegant furniture money could buy. Even his personal guards were better dressed than Temujin Khan himself. Horns were regularly sounded and could be heard for miles around. The Jin Princes had never witnessed such grandeur beyond the bounds of the Great Wall.

Once Ong Khan’s new title had been bestowed, they settled down to a banquet of spectacular proportions. Female slaves danced late into the night and the celebrations became ever more raucous. Quite a contrast to the simple and somewhat rustic welcome provided by Temujin. Wanyan Hongxi in particular was enjoying the feast and had spotted two girls that took his fancy. Ideas began forming, but it did not occur to him to ask Ong Khan’s permission.

The koumiss skins were now half empty. Wanyan Honglie turned to Ong Khan. “Your heroism is known across the steppe and even those of us from within the Great Wall have long admired your prowess. But I would like to meet some younger Mongolians of distinction.”

“My adopted sons are the two greatest heroes we Mongols can claim,” was Ong Khan’s response. He smiled.

Senggum, a son born of Ong Khan’s own loins, was sitting nearby and did not take kindly to this remark. He downed yet another cup of koumiss.

“What about your own son?” Wanyan Honglie asked, noticing Senggum’s displeasure.

“He will succeed me upon my death, of course,” Ong Khan said. “But in comparison to his adopted brothers? Jamuka is quick witted. Temujin is even more courageous. He rose to his current position with only the help of his own fortitude and valour. I ask you, who wouldn’t want to serve such a fine man?”

“Is that to say Ong Khan’s generals are not as impressive as Temujin’s?” Wanyan Honglie continued.

Temujin noticed the Sixth Prince was trying to stir resentment among them. He prepared himself for the response.

Ong Khan stroked his beard and at first did not reply. He took another long swig from his koumiss skin.

“Not so long ago the Naiman came past this way and stole several thousand of my livestock. Had it not been for Temujin and his Four Great Generals, we would never have recovered them. He may not have many men under his command, but they are without exception all of singular bravery and skill. Your Excellency must have noticed this today.”

Senggum’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet and he slammed his golden cup down on the table.

“My current fortune has nothing to do with skill, but is merely a reflection of my adoptive father’s generosity and attention,” Temujin added hastily.

“Temujin’s Four Great Generals? Who are they? I would like to meet them,” Wanyan Honglie said, changing the subject.

“Why not summon them to our party?” Ong Khan asked Temujin. Temujin clapped his hands and, within moments, four men marched into the ger.

The first man was gentle-looking and pale in complexion, more of a scholar than a fighter. This was the master strategist Muqali. The second was of sturdy build, his eyes intense like a bird of prey. He was Temujin’s good friend, Bogurchi. The third, Tolui’s teacher Boroqul, was short but quick in movement. The last man was covered in scars from battle, his face a bloody red. This was the man who had saved Temujin’s life all those years ago, Tchila’un. These were the founding commanders of the rising Mongol Empire, Temujin’s Four Great Generals.

Wanyan Honglie could not help but admire them and toasted each in turn.

“Today there was a commander dressed in black who led the charge through the Naiman ranks. What is his name?” Wanyan Honglie said once the generals had finished their koumiss.

“I just recruited him, he is our newest squad leader,” Temujin answered. “Everyone calls him Jebe.”

“Then why not invite him to drink with us as well?”

Temujin obliged and issued the command.

Jebe entered the ger and performed the gestures of gratitude appropriate to his rank and invitation. But just as he was about to drink, Senggum interrupted him.

“How dare you, a mere squad leader, drink from my golden cup?”

Jebe held the cup against his lips, shaking with rage at such an insult. He glanced at Temujin.

For the sake of my adoptive father, I will overlook Senggum’s rudeness, Temujin decided. “Bring it to me,” he announced. “I am thirsty, I will drink it!” He took the cup from Jebe’s hands and emptied it. Jebe gave Senggum a dirty look, turned and made for the door.

“Come back!” Senggum said, but Jebe ignored him and left.

“Brother Temujin may have his Four Great Generals, but I have something capable of besting them all, should I choose to use it.” Senggum was growing ever more enraged that things were not turning out as he wished. Senggum and Temujin were no anda; they were brothers only in the loosest sense.

“Really? And what is that? What force could be so potent?” Wanyan Hongxi’s interest had been piqued.

“Come outside and I will show you,” Senggum said.

“We are drinking, why stir up trouble?” Ong Khan said.

“I’m bored – let’s go and take a look.” Wanyan Hongxi stood up and walked out. He liked the idea of trouble. The others had no choice but to follow.

The soldiers had lit hundreds of fires and were gathered around them, celebrating. Seeing the Khans emerge, those on the western flank scrambled to their feet, sending a rumble echoing around the camp. Within moments they were lined up and had settled into perfect silence. These were Temujin’s men. In contrast, Ong Khan’s troops to the east were slow and disorganised. Titters could be heard as they joked among themselves.

Ong Khan’s men may outnumber Temujin’s, but they are far less disciplined, Wanyan Honglie concluded.

“More drink!” Temujin cried. He had noticed Jebe’s pained expression in the glow of the fire. A large jug was brought to him. “Today’s victory over the Naiman was the result of collective bravery,” he announced.

“Because we are led by Ong Khan, Temujin Khan and Jamuka!” the men replied.

“But today, I saw one man whose bravery deserves special mention. He charged the enemy rear no less than three times. Dozens of men were felled by his bow. Who do I mean?”

“Squad Leader Jebe!” the soldiers answered again.

“No, not Squad Leader Jebe . . . Commander Jebe!”

For a moment there was silence, then the men began to cheer.

“Jebe is a great fighter! He deserves to be commander!”

“Bring me my helmet,” Temujin said to Jelme. Jelme returned moments later and presented it to him.

“This is the helmet I wear into battle. This is the helmet I wear when I slay our enemies.” Temujin lifted it high above his head for everyone to see. “Now, this warrior will drink from it.”

He poured the jug’s contents into the helmet. Bringing it up to his lips, he drank from it and then offered it to Jebe.

Jebe lowered his head in gratitude and knelt on one knee to receive the honour. He finished the remaining koumiss.

“Even the world’s most precious diamond-studded golden cup could never compare to my Khan’s helmet,” he said quietly. Temujin smiled as Jebe passed it back to him and he put it back on his head.

Cheering erupted. Everyone in the camp already knew of Jebe’s humiliation and even Ong Khan’s retinue believed Senggum to have behaved badly.

Temujin is greatly revered, Wanyan Honglie said to himself as he watched events unfold. Jebe would gladly die a thousand times for him. Jin officials believe the north to be populated by ignorant barbarians, but it is obvious we have grossly underestimated these people.

“And what about this thing you possess that is capable of defeating Temujin’s Four Great Generals?” Wanyan Hongxi said, leaning back in the tiger-pelt chair his servants had carried out for him.

“Your Excellency, are you prepared to see something very special?” Senggum replied. Ha! These Generals are nothing compared to my secret weapons, Senggum said to himself with a smile. “Where are my brother Temujin’s Generals?”

The Generals came forward and bowed before their superiors. Senggum turned and whispered something to his most trusted servant, who nodded and then ran off. Soon after, two loud roars reverberated around the camp and a pair of giant golden, spotted leopards appeared from behind the ger. They stalked towards them in the darkness, their eyes glowing like jade lanterns. Terrified, Wanyan Hongxi gripped the handle of his sabre. Only when they came closer to the fires did he see that they were, in fact, being restrained by ropes held by two burly men. These men were solely charged with caring for Senggum’s most prized possessions. The animals snarled and clawed, their muscles taut and ready. Wanyan Hongxi’s heart convulsed and he wriggled in his seat. The men hardly seemed capable of holding back two such powerful beasts.

“Brother, if your Four Great Generals can subdue my leopards barehanded, then I will stand forever corrected,” Senggum said, turning to Temujin.

Temujin’s Generals were incensed. First you humiliate Jebe, now you degrade us? Are we mere wolves to be prodded and played with? Is it our duty to fight leopards?

Temujin could barely hide his displeasure. “I love these men as I love myself – why should I let them fight with leopards?”

“Is that so?” Senggum laughed. “Then why call them your Four Great Generals, or whatever their names are? Clearly they are cowards.”

Tchila’un was particularly short of temper and could withstand these insults no longer. He stepped forward. “My Great Khan, they may laugh at us, but we cannot allow them to humiliate you. I will fight these beasts.”

Wanyan Hongxi was delighted, so much so that he pulled a ruby ring from his finger and threw it on the ground. “Yours, if you win.”

Tchila’un did not even look at the ring and instead prepared to charge. But Muqali pulled him back just in time. “We are famous across the steppe for having defeated so many of our enemies. But can a leopard command an army? Can a leopard ambush or surround a whole company of men?”

“Brother Senggum, this is yours. You win,” Temujin said as he bent down, picked up the ring and gave it to Senggum. Senggum put the ring on one of his fingers, held it high and laughed. Ong Khan’s men roared.

Jamuka said nothing, a frown carved across his brow. Temujin looked calm. The Four Great Generals returned to their men, bitterly embarrassed.

Wanyan Hongxi felt cheated. He asked for two female slaves and retired to his ger for the night.


2

THE NEXT MORNING TOLUI AND GUO JING WERE PLAYING IN the grasslands far from the main camp when they spotted a white rabbit up ahead. Tolui raised his small bow and arrow, aimed and hit it in the belly. The shot lacked power, however, and the rabbit ran away with the arrow still embedded in its fur. Howling, the two boys ran after it.

Before too long, the rabbit collapsed. The boys cried out in delight and were just about to retrieve the animal when a group of children emerged from a wooded area nearby. One boy of around twelve years of age made a grab for the creature, pulling out the arrow and throwing it to the ground. He then gave the boys a fierce look and ran away.

“Hey, I shot that rabbit. It’s mine,” Tolui shouted after him.

The boy turned around and came back. “Says who?”

“It’s my arrow, isn’t it?”

The older boy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes bulged. “This rabbit was my pet, you’re lucky I’m not asking you to pay me back for killing it.”

“You’re lying, it’s obviously wild,” Tolui said.

The boy was furious. He stomped up to Tolui and shoved him. “Watch what you’re saying. My grandpa is Ong Khan and my papa is Senggum. Do you know who they are? It’s mine now, even if you did shoot it. What are you going to do?”

“And my father is Temujin!” Tolui said.

“Ha! So what? Your father is a coward. He’s scared of both my grandpa and my papa!” This was Tusakha, Senggum’s only son. Senggum had waited years and sired several daughters before at last fathering the long-awaited boy. Tusakha was the youngest and therefore most spoiled, and Senggum let him bully the other children. It had been years since Temujin, Ong Khan and Senggum had met, and the last time their sons played together they were but small children. As far as they were concerned, this was their first encounter.

“Says who? My father isn’t scared of anyone!”

“When your mother was kidnapped, it was my grandpa and papa who retrieved her and gave her back to your father. Did you think I didn’t know that? I’m taking your precious little rabbit. What are you going to do about it?”

Senggum had long been envious of Temujin’s fame and he had been sure to let everyone know the part he had played in the recovery of Temujin’s wife. His son had heard the story many times. Temujin, on the other hand, had always considered it an immense embarrassment and had never spoken of it to Tolui.

Tolui was so angry his cheeks turned purple. “You’re a liar! I’m going to tell my father!” He turned and started walking away.

“So what?” Tusakha laughed. “Your father’s Four Great Generals were so scared of my father’s leopards last night that they couldn’t move.”

This only made Tolui even more furious and he could barely form the words to respond. “My father isn’t scared of tigers, so why should he be scared of leopards? But there is no dignity in fighting wild animals.”

Tusakha stepped up to the boy and slapped him across the face. “How dare you talk back to me? Don’t you know who I am?”

Tolui was startled and his cheek throbbed. Tears collected in his eyes but he did not let the other boy see.

Guo Jing had been watching from the sidelines, silently boiling up inside with anger. He could stand it no longer. He lunged and rammed his head squarely into Tusakha’s stomach, knocking him flat on his back.

Tolui clapped and then grabbed Guo Jing’s hand. The boys ran.

“Kill them!” Tusakha screamed. Tusakha’s friends ran after the two young boys and Tusakha followed close behind. They were older and Tolui and Guo Jing were quickly outmuscled. Within moments they had been pinned to the ground.

“Ready to surrender?” Tusakha spat, punching Guo Jing in the back. Guo Jing tried to wrestle the boy off him but Tusakha was too heavy. Tolui had two on top of him.

Just then the sound of horse bells was heard coming from beyond a sand dune and a small group of riders appeared. The first, a short, plump man on a golden steed, caught sight of the fight in the distance. “Excellent. A brawl.”

As he rode closer for a better look he realised that it was two children being bullied by a gang of older boys. They were trapped, the punches came hard and their faces were swollen and bruised blue.

“Shame on you! Let them go!” he shouted.

“Mind your own business!” Tusakha yelled back, “Don’t you know who my father is? I can do what I want and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“What a spoiled child. Let go of them!” The rest of the group rode up to join the first man.

“Third Brother,” the woman in the group said. “Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Let’s go.”

“But look at them! What kind of fighting is this?”

It was the Seven Freaks of the South. They had followed Justice Duan’s trail all the way up here to the northern steppe before losing him, and for six years now they had been roaming the grasslands in search of Skyfury Guo’s wife, Lily Li, and the child she was assumed to have borne. Despite having learned Mongolian, they were no closer to finding them. The Seven Freaks were stubborn and competitive and they would never think to concede to Qiu Chuji before the eighteen years were up.

“Two against one, we can’t allow that.” Jade Han hopped down from her horse and pulled the two children sitting on Tolui from his back.

Thus freed, Tolui struggled to his feet. Tusakha hesitated for a moment and Guo Jing seized his chance, flipping over and crawling out from between Tusakha’s legs. The two boys then started to run.

“Get them!” Tusakha yelled, leading the rest of his gang in pursuit.

Smiles spread across their faces as the Seven Freaks watched the little Mongolian children fighting and they were reminded of their own youthful misadventures.

“We have to go,” Ke Zhen’e said. “The market will close soon and we must ask around today before everyone goes home.”

Tusakha’s gang of bullies had, by then, caught up with Tolui and Guo Jing.

“Now do you surrender?” Tusakha demanded. Tolui, still furious, shook his head fiercely.

“You asked for it!” The boys pounced on them again.

Suddenly, a flash of cold, silver light caught Zhu Cong’s eye just as he was turning away. A small dagger had appeared in Guo Jing’s hand.

“Now who’s the coward?”

Lily Li had given Guo Jing the dagger Qiu Chuji had left them to protect him from evil spirits. Now he could put it to use against these bullies.

Tusakha’s gang shrank back.

What an unusually bright blade, Zhu Cong thought, I should take a closer look. Zhu Cong had spent his entire life stealing from government treasuries and the vaults of the rich, so he was quite the expert in spotting objects of value. He pulled sharply at his horse’s reins and turned back. There stood the young boy, dagger in hand. It flashed blue again in the sun. There could be no doubt, this was a weapon of rare quality. But how did it end up in the hands of a little boy? He looked at the children more closely and only then did he notice they were all wearing expensive shirts made from leopard skins, all except for the boy with the dagger. What Guo Jing lacked in fancy clothing he made up for with a golden crown nestled on top of his head. These children were clearly all members of influential, wealthy Mongol families. The boy must have stolen his father’s favourite knife, Zhu Cong thought. No harm in taking from kings and aristocrats. Having made up his mind, he jumped down from his horse and approached the children, a sweet smile on his face.

“Come on now, stop fighting. Play nice.” At that moment, he darted into the circle of children and grabbed the knife. Many years of training meant he could seize a blade with his bare hands. Only the best martial arts masters would be able to stop him; a small child like Guo Jing had no chance.

Having secured the dagger, Zhu Cong ran out and jumped back onto his horse. Laughing, he then jerked the reins and galloped off to catch up with the rest of the Seven Freaks.

“Well, today wasn’t a total loss, I managed to snatch myself this little gem.” He was still laughing.

“Second Brother, you’re never going to grow out of that childish habit of yours, are you?” Laughing Buddha Zhang Asheng said.

“What little gem? Let me see.” Gilden Quan was always curious. Zhu Cong threw the dagger at him.

A shard of blue light shot across the sky, breaking into a rainbow of colours. The Seven Freaks gasped in wonder.

“How beautiful!” Gilden Quan cried as the dagger flew towards him, a shiver shooting down his spine. He reached out and caught the dagger by the handle. He examined it more closely. There on the grip were carved two characters: Yang Kang. This is a Han name, he said to himself. How did a Han dagger end up here in Mongolia? Yang Kang? Yang Kang? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a martial arts master named Yang Kang. But why would this Yang Kang possess such an exceptional weapon if he was not a hero of the wulin?

“Big Brother! Do you know anyone by the name of Yang Kang?”

“Yang Kang?” Ke Zhen’e searched his memory before shaking his head. “I’ve never heard the name before.”

Yang “Vitality” Kang was the name Qiu Chuji had given the baby in Charity Bao’s belly. Charity’s husband Ironheart Yang and Skyfury Guo had swapped the daggers as a testimony to their brotherly bond and so it ended up here, in the hands of a small boy of the Mongolian steppes. Of course, the Seven Freaks were not to know all this.

“Qiu Chuji is looking for Ironheart Yang’s widow. Could this Yang Kang have something to do with him?” Gilden Quan said.

“If we find Ironheart Yang’s widow and take her to the Garden of the Eight Drunken Immortals, we’ve at least won half a victory over that old monk, I suppose.” Zhu Cong smiled. After six years of searching, even such a far-fetched connection was too much to ignore.

“Let’s go back and ask the boy,” Jade Han suggested.

Ryder Han’s horse was the fastest so he rode first, only to discover the boys still fighting. Once again, Tolui and Guo Jing were pinned to the ground. Ryder Han ordered the children to stop, but they ignored him. Growing impatient, he grabbed two and threw them to one side.

Now feeling intimidated, Tusakha pointed at Tolui and said, “You dogs come back tomorrow and we’ll finish this then!”

“Fine. Tomorrow it is!” Tolui said as Tusakha led his gang away. As soon as he got home he would ask his brother Ogedai for help. Ogedai was his favourite sibling, as well as the strongest.

“Give it back!” Guo Jing reached out to Zhu Cong. His face was covered in blood.

“Fine,” Zhu Cong waved the blade back and forth in front of Guo Jing’s face. “But first you have to tell me where you got it.”

“My mother gave it to me,” Guo Jing said, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. It was still bleeding.

“And who is your father?”

Guo Jing had never known his father and the question rendered him speechless. He could only shake his head in reply.

“Is your surname Yang?” Gilden Quan asked. Once again, Guo Jing shook his head. The child did not appear to be too sharp, the Seven Freaks reflected.

“Who is Yang Kang?” Zhu Cong probed further. Guo Jing shook his head.

Zhu Cong handed the dagger back to Guo Jing. Whatever anyone might say, the Seven Freaks were always true to their word.

“You can go home now.” Jade Han fished out a handkerchief and gently wiped the blood from Guo Jing’s face. “Don’t go getting into any more fights. You’re too small, you’re no match for them yet.”

The Seven Freaks then climbed back onto their horses. Guo Jing watched as they rode off to the east.

“Guo Jing, let’s go home,” Tolui said.

The Seven Freaks had already ridden some distance, but Ke Zhen’e caught the two magic words, faint though they were: Guo Jing. The name made his entire body shake. He jerked his horse around and galloped back to the children.

“Boy, is your last name Guo? You are Han Chinese, not Mongolian, is that right?”

“Yes,” came Guo Jing’s reply.

“What is your mother’s name?”

“Ma,” Guo Jing answered, which made Ke Zhen’e scratch his head.

“Can you take me to see her?”

“Ma isn’t here.”

“Sister, you ask him,” Ke Zhen’e suggested, sensing hostility in Guo Jing’s replies.

Jade Han hopped down from her horse. “What about your father?” Her voice was warm.

“My father was killed by bad people. When I grow up, I’m going to kill them and avenge him.”

“What was your father’s name?” Jade Han was so excited that her voice was trembling. But Guo Jing just shook his head.

“Who killed your father?” Ke Zhen’e cut in again.

“His . . . his name is Justice Duan.”

Lily Li had lived these last years in the shadow of her fear, even out here on the steppe, and she had realised that her chances of ever returning to the south were remote at best. If something were to happen to her with her son still ignorant of who had killed his father, she would never forgive herself. So as soon as he was old enough to understand, she told him all about the bad man who had come riding into their village. But why had she not told Guo Jing Skyfury’s name? Lily Li was an illiterate country girl and she had only ever referred to her husband by the traditional “Brother” as a sign of respect. She had never thought to ask his given name. Guo Jing, therefore, had only ever known his father as “Papa”.

Justice Duan: the name stunned the Seven Freaks into silence, even when whispered so softly. Not even three bolts of lightning striking the ground at their feet could have shocked them more, and the sky was a most beautiful clear blue that day. It felt as if the earth were shaking and the wind had turned. After a brief pause, Jade Han cried out and grabbed at Zhang Asheng’s shoulder in order to stop herself from collapsing. Zhang Asheng in turn started beating wildly at his chest. Gilden Quan threw his arms around Nan the Merciful’s neck and Ryder Han did a back flip on his horse. Ke Zhen’e threw his head back and laughed, while Zhu Cong spun on the spot. Tolui and Guo Jing watched them, puzzled by such a funny sight.

It took some time for the Seven Freaks to settle.

“Merciful Bodhisattva, thank you, thank you!” Zhang Asheng dropped to his knees and prayed.

“Boy, let’s sit down,” Jade Han said to Guo Jing. But Tolui tugged at Guo Jing’s sleeve. He was in a hurry to get home and speak to Ogedai, and he had a bad feeling about the seven strangers with their strange accents and even stranger behaviour. Yes, they had helped them scare off Tusakha and his friends, but now he wanted to leave.

“I have to go,” Guo Jing said. He took hold of Tolui’s hand and together they began to walk away.

“Hey! Hey! You can’t go now. Your friend can go home by himself,” Ryder Han said, a note of desperation in his voice.

Ryder Han’s pockmarked face scared the two little children, and they started to run. He chased after them and was about to wrap his chubby fingers around the back of Guo Jing’s neck when Zhu Cong stopped him.

“Brother, your manners!” Zhu Cong lightly slapped Ryder Han’s hand. Zhu Cong then ran round in front of the two little children, picking up three stones from the ground. “I’m going to do some magic, do you boys want to see?”

Guo Jing and Tolui were curious enough to stop and watch.

Zhu Cong held out his right hand, placed the stones in the middle of his palm and clenched his hand into a fist. “Gone!” he said, opening it again. Indeed, it was empty. The boys were amazed. Zhu Cong then pointed at the hat perched on top of his head. “In there!” He then removed it, revealing the pebbles inside. Guo Jing and Tolui clapped their hands and squealed in delight.

Just then they heard the cries of a flock of wild geese making their way towards them in an arrow formation. This gave Zhu Cong an idea.

“Now my brother will show you a trick.” He fished out a handkerchief, handed it to Tolui and pointed at Ke Zhen’e. “Blindfold him.”

“Are we playing hide-and-seek?” Tolui asked hopefully, as he put the blindfold on Ke Zhen’e.

“No, better than that. He is going to shoot a wild goose out of the sky,” Zhu Cong answered, producing a bow and an arrow.

“That’s impossible. I don’t believe you,” Tolui said.

As they were talking, the wild geese flew straight overhead. Zhu Cong flicked his wrist and tossed the three stones in his hand into the sky. The stones shot straight upwards, startling the birds. The lead goose squawked and began turning the formation in another direction. Ke Zhen’e drew his bow as far back as it would go and released, hitting a goose square in the belly. The bird whistled to the ground and landed with a thud, the arrow still in its stomach.

Tolui and Guo Jing exploded into whoops and cheers. They ran over to retrieve the goose and brought it back to Ke Zhen’e.

“Remember those boys who ganged up on you? If you learn some martial arts you won’t ever have to worry about them again,” Zhu Cong said.

“We’re going to fight them again tomorrow and I’m going to get my big brother to help,” Tolui said.

“Get your big brother to help?” Zhu Cong scoffed. “Only weak children do that. I’ll teach you some moves and I guarantee you will beat those boys tomorrow.”

“Two against seven?”

“Yes.”

“Teach me.” Tolui was excited by the thought of beating Tusakha all by himself.

“How about you? Don’t you want to learn too?” Zhu Cong asked Guo Jing, who was standing further away, looking hesitant.

“Ma told me I shouldn’t fight. I don’t want to make her angry.”

“Little coward.” Ryder Han smiled.

“If that’s true, then why did you fight those boys just now?” Zhu Cong pressed.

“Because they started it.”

“So what are you going to do when you come face to face with Justice Duan?” Ke Zhen’e said.

“I’m going to kill him!” Guo Jing’s eyes flashed a fiery red.

“Your father was an expert in martial arts and yet Justice Duan still managed to kill him. How are you going to avenge your father if you don’t learn?”

Ke Zhen’e’s question silenced the young boy.

“You’re going to have to,” Jade Han concluded.

“See that mountain over there?” Zhu Cong pointed at a solitary peak to his left. “If you want to learn martial arts, then meet us up at the top tonight at midnight. But you must come by yourself. No-one else can know about this, apart from your little friend here. Do you think you’re brave enough? Are you scared of ghosts?”

Guo Jing could not take his eyes away from Zhu Cong, but Tolui was growing impatient. “Teach me instead, I want to learn!”

Zhu Cong grabbed Tolui’s wrist, hooked his left foot behind the boy, and moments later Tolui was on the ground.

“Why did you do that?” Tolui demanded as he climbed back to his feet.

“That was kung fu. Can you do it?” Zhu Cong smiled.

Tolui was a clever child and understood. Copying Zhu Cong, he pretended to trip an imaginary foe. “Teach me something else.”

Zhu Cong faked a punch at Tolui’s face. Tolui dodged to the left, but Zhu Cong had his right hand in position, waiting. There was no force behind the punch however, and it barely nudged Tolui’s nose.

“Teach me something else!” Tolui was enjoying himself. Zhu Cong bent down and pushed his shoulder upwards into the little boy’s stomach, sending him flying into the air. Gilden Quan jumped up, caught him and gently put him back on safe ground.

“Mister, teach me something else!”

“You’ll be able to fight off most adults with just those three moves.” Zhu Cong smiled. “That’s enough.” He turned to Guo Jing. “Can you do them?”

Guo Jing shook his head. The Seven Freaks were even more disappointed. Compared to his friend, Guo Jing seemed very slow indeed. Jade Han sighed, and rubbed at her reddened eyes.

“I say we stop wasting our energy,” Gilden Quan said in their southern dialect, so Guo Jing and Tolui could not understand. “Why don’t we take the mother and son back south and hand them over to Qiu Chuji? We may as well admit defeat.”

“The boy doesn’t have it in him, he has no natural understanding of kung fu,” Zhu Cong agreed.

“He doesn’t have an ounce of fight in him. I don’t see how we could win,” Ryder Han added.

“You can go home now,” Jade Han said to the two children, waving them away. Tolui grabbed hold of Guo Jing’s hand and they skipped happily off.

The Seven Freaks had spent six long, hard years searching the steppe for Guo Jing. Their joy at finding him had been fleeting in the extreme. Perhaps it would have been better if they had never found him.

Ryder Han beat the ground in frustration, whipping the sand into a whirlwind. The other Freaks tried to calm him, but he would not stop. Only Woodcutter Nan the Merciful was yet to speak.

“What are you thinking, Fourth Brother?” Ke Zhen’e asked.

“A fine boy,” Woodcutter Nan replied.

“What do you mean?” Zhu Cong said.

“The boy. I wasn’t so bright when I was young.” Woodcutter Nan smiled.

Nan’s words brought the others a glimmer of hope and their mood lifted.

“Yes, you’re right! When has anyone ever called me smart?” Zhang Asheng added, looking across at Jade Han.

“Let’s see if he comes tonight,” Zhu Cong said.

“Not likely,” Gilden Quan said. “I’m going to find out where he lives first.”

He mounted his horse and trailed the boys, keeping his distance. He watched from afar and made note of which ger Guo Jing entered.



THAT NIGHT the Seven Freaks waited for Guo Jing on the deserted hilltop, watching the stars move through the sky. By quarter to ten, there was still no sign of the boy.

“Our reputation reaches from east to west.” Ryder Han sighed. “But today we must concede defeat to that stinking Taoist.”

“The Quanzhen Sect is resisting the Jurchen in the north, protecting the Chinese there,” Zhu Cong said. “They are patriotic and virtuous. The Seven Masters are exceptional in all aspects of the martial arts, everyone in the wulin admires them, and Qiu Chuji is considered the foremost among them. Losing to him will not destroy our reputation. And in any case, we are saving an honourable patriot’s line of descent. There will be praise once our friends in the south find out.”

Zhu Cong’s words brought comfort and the other Freaks nodded in agreement.

In the west, layer upon layer of thick black cloud was building. Above them the sky was still a clear, deep blue. An anxious gust of wind blew its way from the north-west and the moon hovered high above, ringed by a yellow halo.

“It looks like rain,” Jade Han remarked. “He’s not coming.”

“Then we will go to him, tomorrow morning,” Zhang Asheng said.

“The boy is allowed to be a bit dull, but we have problems if he’s afraid of the dark. Aiya!” Ke Zhen’e shook his head.

“Look! What’s that?” Ryder Han said, pointing deep into the bush. There, illuminated by the moonlight, were three strange-looking white objects.

Gilden Quan went to investigate. Three piles of neatly stacked human skulls!

“It must have been the children who arranged them like this . . . Wait, what’s that? . . . Second Brother, come quick!”

His sudden change in tone unsettled the others. The Seven Freaks rushed over, all except Ke Zhen’e.

“Look at this!” Gilden Quan picked up one of the skulls and handed it to Zhu Cong. Zhu Cong inspected it and observed five holes in the cranium, into which he slotted his fingers and thumb. Almost a perfect fit. The gap for the thumb was too big and the one for his little finger a bit tight.

This was no child’s toy.

Zhu Cong’s face fell. He bent over and picked up two more skulls. These too had the same holes punched into them. Could someone have made these holes with their fingers? he asked himself. But surely no-one could break through bone with their fingers? The thought was terrifying.

“Were they made by some kind of man-eating mountain monster?” Jade Han asked.

“Yes, definitely a monster of sorts,” Ryder Han said.

“But what monster would arrange the skulls in such neat piles?” Gilden Quan muttered to himself.

“How have they been arranged?” Ke Zhen’e joined them.

“In three pyramids, each consisting of nine skulls,” Gilden Quan said.

“In three layers, am I right? Five on the bottom, then three, then one on top?”

“Yes,” Gilden Quan said in surprise. “How did you know, Big Brother?”

“Two of you, take one hundred steps to the north-east and northwest. Quickly! What do you see?”

Master Ke was rarely rattled, but now he seemed acutely alarmed. The other Freaks did not waste a second. Splitting into two groups, they began counting steps in both directions. Before long Jade Han called out from the north-east, just as Gilden Quan shouted from the north-west.

“Skulls!”

“There are skulls here too!”

Ke Zhen’e flew over to Gilden Quan and hissed, “No-one make a sound. Our lives depend on it.” He then rushed over to where Jade Han was standing and repeated his instructions. The Freaks were astounded.

“What is it? Monsters or human foes?” Zhang Asheng whispered.

“Two of the most violent beings that ever existed. They killed my brother.”

The other Freaks rushed to join them, just in time to hear Ke Zhen’e’s explanation. This elder brother, Ke Bixie the Talisman, was considered even more skilled than Ke Zhen’e, as the Freaks all knew. His killer must have been terrible in the extreme. The Seven Freaks kept no secrets from each other, but though they had learned of Ke Bixie’s death before, this was the first time they had heard their brother mention any details of the circumstances behind it. Ke Zhen’e picked up a skull and felt for the holes. He slotted the fingers of his right hand into them.

“They managed it. They finally managed it,” he mumbled, before turning to the others. “Are there three piles here too?”

“Yes,” Jade Han said.

“Nine skulls in every pile?”

“One pile has nine, the other two eight.” Jade Han again.

“Count the ones over there too.”

Jade Han ran over, before returning moments later. “Seven in each pile. All newly decapitated. There’s still flesh on the bone.”

“Then they’ll be back soon,” Ke Zhen’e said quietly, handing the skull to Gilden Quan. “Replace this. Don’t leave any sign that we were here.”

Gilden Quan arranged everything as it had been and returned to Ke Zhen’e’s side. Everyone was looking to their Big Brother, waiting for an explanation.

Ke Zhen’e turned his face up to the sky and the others watched as it twitched. “Copper and Iron Corpse.”

“But aren’t they dead?” Zhu Cong said in disbelief. “How can they still be alive?”

“I thought so too. But it looks as if they have been hiding here, practising their Nine Yin Skeleton Claw,” Ke Zhen’e said. “Mount your horses and head south, as fast as you can. Don’t come back for me. Keep riding for one thousand li and then wait for ten days. If I do not join you by the eleventh day, there is no need to wait any longer.”

“Brother, what are you saying?” said Jade Han. “We have sworn an oath in blood to live and die together. How can you tell us to leave?”

“Go, go now.” Ke Zhen’e waved them away. “We don’t have time for this.”

“What must you think of us? Are we such cowards that we’d leave you here alone?” Ryder Han was furious.

“The Seven Freaks fight and die together,” Zhang Asheng cut in. “That’s the way it has always been. What reason do we have to run?”

“These two possess incredible martial skill. Now that they’ve mastered the Nine Yin Skeleton Claw, we cannot prevail. To stay would be pointless.”

Ke Zhen’e was a proud man who did not admit defeat easily, not even in the face of a great master such as Qiu Chuji. He always chose to fight. Copper and Iron Corpse must be endowed with a power beyond their comprehension.

“In that case, we’ll all go,” Gilden Quan said.

“They condemned me to a life of daily mourning,” Ke Zhen’e said, his voice raw. “I must avenge my brother.”

“Share your blessings and your hardships too will be shared,” Woodcutter Nan replied.

Ke Zhen’e paused. His martial family valued loyalty above all else; to even suggest they leave without him must have offended them greatly, he realised. But they were putting themselves in great danger. “Fine. But you must be careful,” he said. “They are married, Copper Corpse is the husband, Iron Corpse the wife. Together they are known as Twice Foul Dark Wind. They started practising the Nine Yin Skeleton Claw about two years ago, and, in doing so, killed many a fine warrior of the jianghu. My brother was invited to help stop them and he sent someone to ask me to join them. But we were looking for Lily Li. I didn’t want to abandon our search, especially as we had just received new clues as to her whereabouts, and as they already had many great fighters for their cause, I decided that I was not needed. I never expected it to take us so long to find Guo Jing. I was told about my brother’s fate at the hands of Twice Foul Dark Wind last spring and only then did I hear their story and learn of the real extent of their kung fu. I knew I would not be able to avenge my brother’s death for some time, and fearing the consequences for my martial family, I decided not to tell you.”

Ke Zhen’e paused. “Sixth Brother, take one hundred steps to the south and check if there is a coffin.”

Gilden Quan counted his steps . . . Ninety-nine, one hundred. No coffin. He looked more carefully. There, poking through the dirt, was the corner of a stone slab. He tried pulling at it, but it would not budge. He turned and waved at the others, who rushed to join him. Zhang Asheng and Ryder Han stooped down and together they pulled and panted and at last loosened the lid. The Seven Freaks peered into the grave beneath. By the moonlight they could make out two bodies, dressed in Mongolian robes.

“Those demons will be back soon to use these bodies for practice. I’ll lie in here and take them by surprise. You find places to hide nearby. Whatever you do, do not let them know you’re here. Come out only when I’m in trouble and show them no mercy. It might not be the honourable way to fight, but they are too ruthless, too skilled. We will all be killed otherwise.”

The Freaks nodded as he spoke, his voice quiet and steady.

“They notice everything, even the slightest disturbance or sign of something unusual. They can sense things from great distances.”

Ke Zhen’e lay down in the grave. “Replace the cover, but leave a slit so I can breathe.”

The Freaks gently shifted the slab back into place. Taking their weapons, they slid in among the trees and bushes and hid.

Jade Han had never seen her Big Brother like this before. She was as much intrigued as scared and made sure to hide close to Zhu Cong.

“Who are these people? Copper Corpse and Iron Corpse I mean,” she whispered across to him.

“Two years ago, Ke Bixie sent a messenger to Master Ke, but he didn’t want you all to find out so he asked me to go with him. He wasn’t sure if the messenger was who he said he was. The man told us that Copper Corpse and his wife Iron Corpse were disciples of the Lord of Peach Blossom Island, out in the Eastern Sea.”

“Peach Blossom Island? Then that means they’re from Zhejiang, just like us?”

Zhu Cong nodded. “That’s right. People say the Lord expelled them. They are skilled to be sure, but also cruel in the extreme. They come and go like ghosts. Our friends in the jianghu said they disappeared after killing Master Ke’s brother. We all thought they must be dead. But they were hiding here in Mongolia all along.”

“What are their real names?”

“Copper Corpse is otherwise known as Hurricane Chen. His cheeks are scorched brown, hence the name, his expression always deathly still.”

“And Iron Corpse?”

“Her name is Cyclone Mei.”

“Big Brother mentioned something called Nine Yin Skeleton Claw. What kind of kung fu is that?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard of it either.”

Jade Han glanced across at one of the skulls close by. Its black cavernous eye sockets were staring out at her. A shiver went through her and she turned. “Why didn’t Big Brother tell us? Maybe . . .”

Before she could finish, Zhu Cong’s hand clapped over her mouth and he pointed down the hill. Jade Han poked her head up from the bushes and saw a long shadow in the distance skimming across the sand.

I should have been keeping watch, not chatting, Jade Han said to herself.

Within moments the shadow had reached the foot of the hill. It belonged in fact to two figures moving at great speed, as if glued together.

“Such monstrous kung fu,” Ryder Han said to himself.

The Freaks held their breath and waited for the smudge of black to climb towards them. Zhu Cong gripped his broken fan and Jade clutched her weapon, pushing the blade into the dirt so the moonlight would not catch it. The swishing sound of their feet reached them first. Their hearts were pounding and each second seemed to last forever. A north-westerly wind was picking up and the black clouds on the horizon rolled like mountains on the move, edging ever closer.

Moments later, all was silent. The footsteps had stopped. In the distance before them stood two silhouettes. One wore a leather cap as if in Mongol dress. Beside him, long ribbons of black hair fluttered in the wind.

There they are, Jade Han whispered to herself. Now let’s see their skills.

The woman circled the man, slowly at first, her joints cracking as she moved. She began picking up speed and the crackle became an ever-quickening rhythmic accompaniment.

Her inner strength is quite something, Jade Han said to herself. No wonder Big Brother was so frightened.

Cyclone Mei thrust her palms out and back at rapid speed. Her elbows snapped and her hair stuck out like the bristles of a brush.

A chill ran to Jade Han’s heart and the hairs on her body stood on end.

Then, without warning, Cyclone Mei’s hand struck at the Mongol man’s chest.

He can withstand such force? The Freaks watched in amazement as he fell backwards. But she had already spun behind him and hit him in the back. So she circled him, whipping up a wind around them, faster and harder. He made no sound. On the ninth strike, she leapt straight into the air and came down, head first, swiped his cap and plunged her hand through the top of his head.

Jade Han tried to scream but the terror silenced her.

The woman planted her feet and cackled. The man had collapsed into a heap on the dirt and did not move. Her fingers were smeared with blood and spots of brain. She stretched them out before her, examining them in the moonlight. She was still laughing. She turned and Jade Han caught sight of her face: gruesome but rather beautiful. It was a hideous smile.

This was not her husband, they realised. He was just for practice.

All was silent. She reached down and tore the clothes from the dead man’s back. In the north, men wore thick leather coats against the cold, but she ripped it as if it were made of paper. She then pulled open the skin across his torso and removed his organs one by one, surveying them in the moonlight. The Freaks watched as she threw down the pulpy remains. In nine strikes of her hand she had turned his insides into a squelchy mess without breaking a single bone.

Jade Han drew her sword, inch by inch, and prepared to attack, but Zhu Cong stopped her. Iron Corpse is alone, he thought to himself, we might be able to overcome her, seven against one. But we have to fight them separately, Iron Corpse first. Her husband might be hiding somewhere close. Big Brother should take the lead.

A quick inspection of her progress; a smile: Cyclone Mei was satisfied. She sat down with her back to Jade Han and Zhu Cong, her face raised to the moon, and started breathing in long and steady breaths. They watched her body rise and fall.

If I were to use Lightning Ignites the Sky now, I could probably spike my sword right through her, Jade Han said to herself. But if I missed, I would ruin our whole plan. She trembled with indecision.

Zhu Cong was barely breathing. He became aware of a chill as sweat ran down his back. He looked up and noticed the black clouds in the west had spread out above them. The sky was a sheet of imperial green paper splashed with black ink. Lightning flashed a spotlight on them and fear caught in their hearts. Thunder echoed and the air was hot and sticky, as if the clouds had formed a heavy blanket over them.

After some time, Cyclone Mei rose to her feet and pulled the corpse to the grave where Ke Zhen’e was hiding. She reached for the stone cover.

The Freaks held tighter to their weapons, ready for what was to come.

Mei turned. A rustle of leaves. But the air was still. She looked up into the branches of a nearby tree and saw the shape of a human silhouetted against the moonlight.

A piercing howl, and she was up in the branches.

It was Ryder Han. His short stature allowed him to shelter among the foliage. Just the slightest shift of his feet had given away his hiding place. He pulled out his Golden Dragon whip and performed a move known as Black Dragon Fetches Water, directing all his force at Mei’s wrist. But, to his surprise, she did not move to avoid it and instead grabbed hold of the other end. Ryder Han yanked with all his strength but this only pulled her closer. She struck out with a bolt of lightning energy. But a gust of wind buffeted her, and Ryder Han had released his weapon and flipped from the branch.

Mei followed close behind, her hand held like a claw aimed at his back.

A cold gust of air rushed at the back of his neck and he pushed forward. Woodcutter Nan was waiting beneath with Gilden Quan. Nan threw a bone-piercing awl and Gilden Quan shot a concealed arrow from his sleeve.

Mei deflected both projectiles with a flick of her middle finger and, with a loud tearing noise, ripped a piece from of Ryder Han’s shirt. He tapped his foot, intent on shooting up into the air. But Mei had already landed in front of him.

“Who are you?” she cried. “Why are you here?” Her clawed fingers dug into his shoulders and he felt a searing pain as if ten iron spikes had been implanted into his flesh. He aimed a flying kick at Mei’s abdomen. She blocked him with a chop, snapping a bone in his foot. He threw himself to the ground and rolled to safety.

Mei went to stamp on his lower back but a shoulder pole came gliding towards her and smashed against her ankle.

Mei lurched back, but within moments was surrounded. From the right came a scholar holding a metal fan and a young girl clutching a sword. From the left, two men, one sturdy with a butcher’s knife and another gaunt and carrying some strange military weapon. Before her, a muscular peasant wielding the shoulder pole. And yet more footsteps. The man with the whip. She had no idea who they were, but there was no doubt they were of the wulin.

There are too many of them, Mei thought, I’d better kill them quickly. As long as that bastard of a husband of mine is safe. I’ll start with the girl.

She leapt at Jade Han, her claws aimed straight at the young girl’s face. Zhu Cong launched his iron fan at the Arching Pool vital point on the inside of Mei’s elbow, but she was unaffected. She went again for Jade Han, who met the attack with a Mist Hangs Over the River, slicing her sword at Mei’s arm. Mei flipped her wrist and reached for Jade Han’s blade. Jade shrunk back, just as Zhu Cong struck once again at Mei’s elbow. The move should have paralysed Mei’s arm instantaneously, but instead Zhu Cong watched it extend towards him as she grabbed at his head.

Zhu Cong avoided her talons only at the last moment.

Doesn’t she have any vital points? he asked himself, shaking.

Ryder Han found his whip and, brandishing their weapons, the Freaks closed in from all sides. But Mei’s hands were as if made of steel and she countered each move with a scratch of her nails. The Freaks recalled the holes in the tops of the skulls and shrank back with fear. And it wasn’t just her hands; the rest of her body seemed to be equally resistant to their attacks. Gilden Quan struck her twice in the back with his weights, but to no effect. She seemed only to fear Zhang Asheng’s knife and Jade Han’s sword. Gilden Quan was too slow and she tore a bloody piece of flesh from his arm.

As Zhu Cong was well aware, all practitioners of kung fu have at least one weak point, a spot so tender that all you have to do is touch it to kill them. But what about this witch? Where is hers?

His fan danced around her pressure points, first the Hundred Convergences on the crown of her head and the Ridge Spring on her throat, then the Spirit Gate on her abdomen and the Central Pivot in the middle of her back. Within seconds, he had tapped at least twelve, trying to ascertain which part of her body she was most protective of. That would be his answer.

Mei realised what he was doing. “You lowdown beggar,” she shouted. “This old hag has been training for years. I have no weak point!”

She snatched Zhu’s wrist, but he was quick, and before she could dig her nails into his arm he flipped his wrist over and placed his fan into her palm. “There’s poison on that fan.”

Mei froze and then dropped it. Zhu Cong pulled away. He examined the back of his hand. It was scored with five bloody stripes. A cold sweat crept across his body. This was going to be a long fight, he realised. Three Freaks were already injured. They would never overcome Copper and Iron Corpse together. He looked across at his martial brothers. Zhang Asheng, Ryder Han and Gilden Quan were sweaty and exhausted. Woodcutter Nan was more practised in neigong inner strength, however, and Jade Han looked as if she still had some energy.

But Cyclone Mei was just getting started.

Then, in the cold light of the moon, Zhu Cong spotted three piles of skulls to his left. A shiver travelled through him as an idea took hold. “Run! Save yourselves!” he shouted, as he rushed over to the grave where Ke Zhen’e was hiding. The Freaks began retreating towards him as they fought.

“You little bastards,” Mei snarled. “I don’t know which stinking hole you’ve crawled from. Kill me, just you try! But it’s too late to get away now.” She charged forward. Nan, Gilden Quan and Jade Han tried to engage her in combat, while the others tugged and heaved, at last managing to pull the stone aside.





Meanwhile, Mei had wrapped her arm around Nan’s shoulder pole and was trying to scratch out his eyes.

Zhu Cong pointed at the sky and beckoned with his hand: “Come, we need you!” He seemed to be calling for help from the spirit world.

Mei’s eyes followed the direction of Zhu Cong’s fingers. But all she could see was a thick blanket of cloud covering half the moon. Was there anyone up there?

Nan ducked away.

“Seven paces ahead!” Zhu Cong shouted. Ke Zhen’e threw six poisoned devilnuts, two at head height, two towards her middle and two below the waist. Then, with a loud cry, he jumped out of the hole and the other Freaks charged. Mei screamed as two of the projectiles hit her in the eyes. She threw her head back so that they would not penetrate her skull and enter the brain. But within moments she was descended into a darkness from which she would never return.

She thrust her palms down, but Ke Zhen’e had dodged to one side and her hands thudded into the stone slab. Now even more enraged, she kicked at it, sending it flying. The Freaks watched on, keeping their distance.

Mei scrabbled around in her blindness, grabbing and scratching. Zhu Cong gestured to the others to keep back. She was a crazed tiger, a she-devil, pulling at trees, breaking branches, kicking up sand. The Freaks held their breath. She began to feel a tingling in her eyes. The poison. “Who are you?” she cried. “Tell me, so I know before I die.”

Zhu Cong gestured at Ke Zhen’e to stay silent, but realised his brother would not be able to see.

“Cyclone Mei.” Ke Zhen’e’s voice was sharp like a shard of ice. “Do you remember a fellow kung fu master by the name of Flying Divine Dragon, Ke Bixie the Talisman? I am his brother, Ke Zhen’e, Suppressor of Evil.”

A long cackle burst from Mei’s throat. “I’ve never seen you before, old fellow! You come to avenge Flying Divine Dragon’s death? With poisoned devilnuts?”

“That is correct.”

Mei sighed and did not reply.

The moon had almost disappeared behind the clouds and the light that remained was dim and almost cold to the touch. They all felt it. Mei was still, as if turned to stone, whip in one hand, the other limp by her side. A grey light glinted from her long, sharp nails. A long, silver Python whip was coiled up like a snake on the ground before her. It was a powerful weapon, but she was yet to master it. It was her Nine Yin Skeleton Claw they feared. The wind beat at her hair so that it stood like spikes from her forehead.

Jade Han was positioned in front of her and watched as two streams of blood flowed from her eyes and down her neck.

“Brother!”

Zhu Cong and Gilden Quan shouted together. But Ke Zhen’e had already sensed the rush of air at his chest. He drove his staff into the dirt and flew up, landing in the top branches of a nearby tree. Mei’s whip had not met its target and she was propelled forward. She wrapped herself around Ke Zhen’e’s tree, lodging her nails into the bark.

The move had taken them all by surprise. Had their eldest martial brother reacted a moment later, he would have been skewered on her talons.

Mei responded with a strange and piercing howl that carried far on the wind.

She was calling her husband Copper Corpse for help, Zhu Cong realised. “Kill her!”

Summoning all his energy, he aimed at Mei’s back. Zhang Ahsheng took a nearby stone and launched himself at her head.

Unlike Brother Ke, she was not used to relying on her hearing alone for defence. She heard a low-pitched rush of air as the stone came towards her, but she could not tell where it was coming from.

Zhu Cong’s punch landed with a heavy thud and she screamed in pain. Zhu Cong continued, but Mei slashed her claws at him, forcing him back.

Just as the other Freaks closed in, a long howl, much like the one Mei had used only minutes before, arrived on the wind, and it cleaved through them. Another followed in quick succession, this time much closer.

“Copper Corpse!”

Jade ran to look down towards the plain below. A shadow was speeding towards them, screeching as it drew nearer.

Mei was now on the defensive, concentrating her internal energy on halting the spread of the poison through her body, while she waited for her husband.

Zhu Cong indicated to Gilden Quan that they should hide themselves in the bushes. Judging by his speed, Copper Corpse’s skills were even more impressive than his wife’s.

Just then Jade Han cried out. There, climbing the hill, was a smaller figure, moving much more slowly. It was a child.

Guo Jing.

She ran to fetch him.

Guo Jing was not very far away now, but Copper Corpse was gaining ground. Jade Han hesitated. She could not possibly take Copper Corpse on by herself. But nor could she leave the child. She ran faster and called down to Guo Jing, “Quickly, boy!”

Guo Jing looked up and yelped in delight, unaware of the danger coming from behind.

Zhang Asheng watched Jade Han as she ran further into danger. His heart convulsed and he could barely catch his breath. He had to protect her.

The other Freaks paused and watched the events unfolding further down the hill, weapons at the ready.

Jade Han reached Guo Jing and grabbed hold of his little hand. She turned back up the hill, but after only a few metres she felt his hand slip from hers. Guo Jing cried out. She swung round. Copper Corpse Hurricane Chen had seized him.

Jade Han tapped her foot and spun into a Nodding Phoenix, feigning a right at his armpit. She then moved sidewards, raised the tip of her sword and aimed at his eyes: the very height of Yue Maiden Sword technique.

Chen tucked the boy under his left arm and deflected the blade with his right elbow. He then thrust his palm in a Drive the Boat Downstream. Jade spun her weapon round, moved back and sliced it at him. But his arm seemed to grow by half a foot and, although she should have been far enough out of reach, his palm somehow struck her on the shoulder and she fell.

It was all over in seconds.

Copper Corpse moved closer, intent on clawing at Jade’s head with his nails, strong enough to penetrate bone. Zhang Asheng was by now only a few metres away and he threw himself on top of her. Down came Copper Corpse’s claw and ripped through Zhang Asheng’s back.

Zhang Asheng howled and thrust his broadsword up at Chen, but Copper Corpse blocked it with his hand, knocking the weapon out of Zhang’s grip. He then beat Zhang back down with his palm.

More Freaks charged forward. Only Ke Zhen’e held back.

“My dear harpy, are you alright?” Hurricane Chen called over.

“They blinded me!” Cyclone Mei growled back from where she was slumped against a tree. “Bastard husband of mine, if you let even one of these scoundrels go, I will kill you myself.”

“Don’t worry, old crone,” Chen called back, “they won’t get away from me alive. Are you in pain? Don’t move.” He made for Jade Han’s head again; she escaped in a Lazy Donkey Roll. “You won’t get away from me!” he shouted.

Zhang Asheng was flat on the ground, badly hurt and confused, but he sensed that his beloved Jade was yet again in danger. Gathering the last of his energy, he kicked out at Chen’s hand. Chen plunged his fingers into Zhang’s leg. The pain shot through him, but he straightened and flung his arms around Chen’s waist. Copper Corpse grabbed hold of Zhang’s neck and tried to throw him off. Fearing he would attack Jade again, Zhang refused to let go. Chen punched him in the head. Zhang fainted and his arms flopped.

Meanwhile Jade had clambered to her feet and now launched herself at Hurricane Chen in a twirling display of qinggong lightness kung fu.

“Fifth Brother, are you hurt?” she shouted as she spun.

The other Freaks were now close. Zhu Cong and Gilden Quan were first to lunge at Copper Corpse with their weapons.

Chen was surprised to see so many accomplished practitioners of the martial arts so far out here on the steppe. “Old hag!” he shouted. “Who are they?”

“They follow Flying Bat Ke Zhen’e, brother of Flying Divine Dragon.”

“We’ve never met these dogs before, but they will die today.” But Copper Corpse could not conceal his concern for his wife’s injuries. “Dearest crone, is it serious? Will you make it?”

“Kill them quick,” Mei snarled back. “I’m not dead yet.”

But Chen could tell it was bad; the fact that she was not coming to his aid was sign enough.

Still, Ke Zhen’e held back.

Hurricane Chen threw Guo Jing aside and launched himself at Gilden Quan. But Gilden Quan ducked, grabbed Guo Jing and somersaulted out of Chen’s way in a move known across the wulin as the Mischievous Cat Catches the Mouse. He executed the move perfectly, impressing even Chen.

Copper Corpse was cruel by his very nature, and the stronger his opponent, the more he wanted to make them suffer a painful death. Moreover, an attack on his wife was an attack on him. Twice Foul Dark Wind had trained in two of the wulin’s most dangerous techniques, the Nine Yin Skeleton Claw and Heartbreaker Palm, and Chen had mastered almost the full repertoire of both.

He howled and propelled himself into attack.

But Ryder Han too charged forward and at the very last moment rolled onto the ground, where he began striking at Chen’s legs in a move known as Rolling Whip. Thus distracted, Chen felt a blow to his back from Nan’s shoulder pole. He yelped, spun around and scratched back.

Nan did not have time to pull back his weapon, so he bent backwards into an Iron Bridge. He heard a cracking sound and watched in amazement as Hurricane Chen’s arm extended at the elbow, his bony hands grazing the top of his brow. Near misses were common in fights among masters of the wulin. But just as he thought it had extended to its limit, Chen’s arm reached for his forehead. How was he going to get out of this? Chen’s palm was now just above Nan’s face, his finger poised to puncture his skull.

Nan grabbed hold of Chen’s wrist, just as Zhu Cong jumped up onto Copper Corpse’s back, hooking his arm around Chen’s neck and pulling tight.

Just then thunder reverberated around them and darkness unfolded across the desolate mountaintop as the last of the moon was blocked out by the clouds. Raindrops as big as soybeans started falling from the sky.

A terrible crunching sound and a rush of air followed the thunder; Nan’s arm was broken in two and Zhu Cong had received a blow to the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. Copper Corpse panted, catching his breath.

“Everyone get back!” Ryder Han called through the darkness. “Seventh Sister, are you alright?”

“Shh,” Jade silenced her brother as she moved closer.

“Second Brother, are you alright?” Ke Zhen’e was concerned by what he was hearing.

“We can’t see anything,” Gilden Quan replied. “It’s pitch black.”

The heavens are smiling on us! Ke Zhen’e said to himself, knowing this only played into his hands.

Three of the Freaks were injured. The situation had looked hopeless. But now, as the heavens cracked open, they held their breath and kept utterly still. Ke Zhen’e listened. He could hear a man gasping not ten steps away from him and he knew it was not one of his martial brothers. He reached for his poisoned devilnuts and raised his hand.

Six devilnuts flew in quick succession.

But Hurricane Chen sensed them coming and jumped, narrowly dodging all six. Now he knew where they were coming from. Silently he lunged forward, his claws ready. But Ke Zhen’e had leapt to the side and, from his new position, thrust his staff outwards. Fighting by night and day were all the same for him. Chen struck out in all directions. He could not tell if his aim was true.

Ryder Han, Jade Han and Gilden Quan, meanwhile, were fumbling in the dark, trying to help their brothers. Elder Brother Ke was in the most danger, of course, but they were no good to him. Through the pelting rain, they heard the swooshing of Chen’s hands and Ke Zhen’e’s iron staff. It felt like they had been fighting for hours. Then came two loud blows and a piercing howl; Copper Corpse had been hit.

A flash of lightning illuminated the scene.

“Brother, lightning, watch out!” Gilden Quan cried a warning.

But Hurricane Chen had orientated himself in that moment of clarity. He gathered his qi to his left shoulder, strode straight at Ke’s staff and grasped hold of it, scratching at Ke with his other hand. Flying Bat Ke released his weapon and leapt backwards. Copper Corpse clenched his fist, reached and punched Ke’s chest with the force of all his internal energy. Ke Zhen’e was blasted backwards and Chen threw the staff like a spear, roaring with pride. The thunder sounded a booming accompaniment.

Another double flash lit up the sky. Ryder Han saw the staff heading for his brother. He flicked his Golden Dragon whip and caught it.

“Now you, you dog!” Hurricane Chen cried, about to launch a flying kick. But Copper Corpse stumbled over something at his feet. He reached down with his claws and grabbed it: Guo Jing.

“Let me go!” the child shouted.

Chen snorted. Another flash of cold light.

Guo Jing looked up at the sallow face staring down at him, its eyes like hollow caverns. He pulled the dagger from his belt and plunged it through the man’s bellybutton until the blade was fully engulfed by his flesh.

A cry cut through the thick air and Hurricane Chen fell backwards. Guo Jing had found Copper Corpse’s chosen vulnerable spot, the point he always tried to protect in a fight. A plain fruit knife would have been enough to kill him, let alone Guo Jing’s dagger. He had not thought to protect himself against a child. Their encounter at the foot of the hill had told him the boy was no expert in the martial arts. But it is as they say: the swimmer is the one to drown, the cart always breaks on flat ground. No-one could have foreseen that a master of the wulin such as Copper Corpse would die at the hands of a boy with no training whatsoever.

Guo Jing was still just as terrified and now stood to one side, his mind a muddle. He opened his mouth to cry, but no sound came out.

Mei had started running at the sound of her husband’s pained cry. She stumbled, scrabbled and crawled to get to him. “My loving bastard, big brother, what happened?”

“I can’t . . . Run, little sister.” His voice was faint.

“I will avenge you.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

“I don’t want to leave you, little sister, dear wife. I . . . I can’t look after you anymore. From now on, you must fight alone. Take care . . .”

And so Hurricane Chen rasped his last breaths and died.

Despite her distress, no tears fell down Mei’s cheeks. She took her husband in her arms. “Dearest filthy dog, I don’t want to leave you either. Don’t go!”

Morning’s first light was painting the sky a blue-grey. Now able to make out the faintest outlines around them, Ryder Han, Jade Han and Gilden Quan rushed in to attack.

Mei was blind and dizzy from the poison. Ke Zhen’e’s iron devilnuts would have killed her long ago, were it not for the years Mei and her husband had spent learning Nine Yin Skeleton Claw, ingesting small quantities of arsenic to increase their internal strength, neutralising the more toxic elements through regularised breathing techniques. It was a ridiculous method to be sure, but it had at least given her a certain level of immunity, which served her well now.

Thus agitated, she put up her last defence, swift and fierce. The Freaks could not get near her.

Ryder Han was becoming increasingly impatient. Our reputation will be good only for sweeping the floor if anyone finds out the Freaks cannot overcome Cyclone Mei, blind and injured, he thought to himself. He kept changing the speed and direction of his whip and cracked it three times against her back. Jade Han noticed her stumble. She and Gilden Quan moved in.

Just as they thought they had her, an angry gale rose, thrashing up the dirt and gravel into a wild dance. The black clouds above once again cut out all remaining light.

The Freaks dropped to the ground and waited for the storm to pass.



IT TOOK hours for the rain to grow lighter and for cracks of sunlight to break through the clouds. Ryder Han scrambled to his feet and howled. Mei had disappeared, along with her husband’s body. He looked around him; there, lying on the ground, his fellow Freaks were soaked through. He caught sight of Guo Jing’s face peeping out from behind a nearby rock.

Three of the Freaks were unhurt and they started tending to their brothers. Nan the Merciful had broken an arm, but thankfully that was the extent of his injuries. Ke Zhen’e and Zhu Cong had managed to fight off Copper Corpse’s attack with their inner strength, so they too were not too badly affected. But Zhang Asheng had been caught twice by the Nine Yin Skeleton Claw, as well as receiving a punch to the head. He was just about conscious, but his prospects looked bleak.

The Freaks were distraught, especially Jade Han. She had long known Zhang Asheng was in love with her. But she was a bold young woman more concerned with martial arts than immediate affairs of the heart and he had always laughed off his feelings. Thinking time was on their side, they had never admitted to each how they really felt. But now he was dying, and all because he had tried to protect her. Jade Han took Zhang Asheng into her arms and wept.

Zhang Asheng, normally so jovial, looked up at her and managed a smile. He opened his butcher’s hands, large like fans, and stroked Jade Han’s hair. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Sister, I’m fine.”

“Fifth Brother,” she said, choking on her tears, “let me be your wife.”

Zhang Asheng laughed, overcome by a moment of the purest joy, but the pain was turning his vision hazy.

“Fifth Brother, don’t worry, in my heart I am already wedded to you. I’ll never marry anyone else, as long as I live. And once I die we will be together, forever.”

“Sister, I have not taken care of you as I should have.” Zhang was struggling to speak. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You took the very best care of me, I’ve always known that. I’ve always loved you.”

Zhang Asheng smiled as if he had never smiled before.

With his eyes full of tears, Zhu Cong turned to Guo Jing. “Did you come to learn martial arts from us?”

“Yes.”

“Then from now on you must do as we say.”

Guo Jing nodded.

“We will be your shifus,” Zhu Cong said through his tears. “But your Fifth Shifu is about to return to the heavens, so go to him and pay your respects.”

Guo Jing did not understand what Zhu Cong meant, but nevertheless he approached the injured man and kowtowed before him, making sure to tap his forehead against the ground several times.

Zhang Asheng forced a smile. “That’s enough.” He grimaced. “You’re a good boy. I won’t be able to teach you my skills, but that’s just as well. They would have been no use to you. I’m big and clumsy and too lazy to practise. I relied on my strength. If only I’d put in more effort, I wouldn’t be lying here today . . .” He was losing consciousness.

Jade Han put her ear to his lips and heard him whisper. “Teach him well. Don’t let that stinking Taoist win.”

“Don’t you worry, the Seven Freaks never lose,” she whispered.

Zhang Asheng chuckled one last time, closed his eyes and departed.

The Freaks were overcome with sadness. They had spent the last few years in each other’s company, day in, day out, searching for Lily Li and her son. Now one of their brothers was lost, here, in a strange and cruel land. After the tears had run dry, they dug a grave and buried him. The sun was already high in the sky by the time they had covered his final resting place with a large rock to mark the site.

Gilden Quan and Ryder Han went looking for Cyclone Mei, but any footprints she might have left had been wiped away by the storm. They travelled for miles without finding any trace before returning to the hill.

“She can’t have got far in the desert without being able to see,” Zhu Cong said. “Big Brother hit her with his poisoned devilnuts; she’s probably dead by now. Let’s take the child home first and treat our wounds. Then those who were not hurt last night can take up the search.”

The Freaks nodded, shed their last tears on their brother’s grave and left.