1
Guo Jing and Lotus heard yet more footsteps on the stairs and stopped their game. The three Elders of the Beggar Clan who had followed Yang Kang outside earlier approached their table, spread out in a line and bowed.
The one in the middle spoke first, all smiles and pleasantries. "It is not in our nature to stand by and let such wickedness pass without offering help. The vagrant Lu has marked you for death."
He was well fed and portly, and his patched garments could not obscure the airs of one who was born to a landowning family. A lush beard, speckled with gray, framed a smooth face that had never been blemished by the sun.
Lotus inhaled sharply. "What do you mean?"
"He refused to sit and share food with you, did he not?"
"Are you saying he poisoned us?"
"It is our Clan's greatest misfortune that a blackguard like him has infiltrated our ranks. He bestrewed your food with a lethal powder concealed under his nails. All it takes is one flick of his finger. Neither god nor ghost could have detected his handiwork. It gives me no pleasure to be the bearer of this news, but the poison has already taken root in your body. In another hour, no antidote will be able to save you."
"But why, when there is no bad blood between us?"
"I would not be surprised if he found some cause to take offense during your conversation. Please, I urge you to take this remedy now. Your lives are at stake."
The man produced a small paper parcel of medicinal powder from inside his shirt and shared its contents evenly between two cups, which he then filled with wine. He urged Lotus and Guo Jing to drink up.
Of course, Lotus had no intention of taking the antidote offered. How could she not be suspicious of a stranger, especially one associated with Yang Kang?
"We are acquainted with the young lord who came and went only a moment ago," she said. "Please do invite Master Yang to join us."
"Certainly, but the miscreant's poison is most deadly. If you do not—"
"I am very grateful for your kindness." Lotus was being her most gracious self. "Please sit down, sirs, and let's drink together. I often recall the days when Xiao Feng was Chief of the Beggar Clan. What a hero! The way he fought those wulin masters at the Manor of Gathering Sages all by himself! And how he dispatched the villains outside the Shaolin Temple with the Dragon-Subduing Palm! And, at the Yanman Pass, he even made the Khitan Emperor snap his arrow in a pledge never to invade the Song Empire!"
The young girl's knowledge stunned the three Elders.
Count Seven Hong had recounted these tales of past deeds on Rosy Cloud Island, as they built their escape raft, so Lotus would not be ignorant of the history of the people it was her duty to lead.
She continued without waiting for a response. "And Chief Count Seven Hong … His Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms are unparalleled in the martial world. I wonder, sirs, how many of the moves have you learned?"
A flicker of awkwardness passed between the beggars. None of them had yet been granted the chance to learn even one move from their chief—though, Vigor Li, a disciple of Eight Pouches, one level junior in rank, had been taught Dragon Whips Tail.
Lotus was still not giving them a chance to speak. "You said Elder Lu was an expert poisoner, but, pardon me, his skills could not be more commonplace. Last month, Viper Ouyang, Venom of the West, invited me to taste three cups of his poisoned wine. Now, those were remarkable. I do appreciate your kind gesture. Why don't you share it between the three of you?" She pushed the cups back at them.
The smooth-faced man's smile faltered for a moment, as if he was annoyed that she had refused the tampered wine, but he recovered swiftly. Summoning his most benign expression, he said, "Since the lady has found no cause to place her trust in us, of course, we would not be so impolite as to try a stronger means of persuasion. We only have ourselves to blame that our goodwill has been thus rejected. Might I ask the sir and lady to hold my gaze and see if you can detect anything out of the ordinary?"
Their curiosity piqued, Guo Jing and Lotus looked into the man's eyes, which could only be described as two slits sat astride his fleshy cheeks.
Two marbles, set in a pig's face, Lotus thought. Nothing unusual there!
Yet, at that moment, a glow seemed to emanate from them.
"Please, sir and lady, please, focus on my eyes. You mustn't let your sight or mind wander. Now, you feel your eyelids drooping, your head spinning, your body weakening. They are the symptoms of the poison. Yes, poison. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep."
His voice was melodious—intoxicating, even. They began to feel drowsy, their limbs heavy.
A kernel of doubt told Lotus to turn her head, to avoid his gaze, but somehow she found herself unwilling to break eye contact.
"What a grand lake, and what a refreshing breeze!" the man continued. "Please, my good sir and my dear lady, you shall find rest in the gentle caress of the wind. Let yourself drift off. Allow yourself a relaxing nap. Nothing shall trouble you in the quietude and comfort of sleep."
His singsong voice grew more soporific, drawing a series of yawns from the nodding couple. When he was finished, Lotus and Guo Jing were lying face down on the table, breathing softly, in deep slumber.
2
Gentle waves, lapping in the distance. a light wind, cooling the skin. Lotus forced her heavy eyes open. The full moon was peeking out from behind the hills in the east, its glow diffused by the evening mist.
How did it get so late? she asked herself, alarmed. We were having lunch at the tavern a moment ago!
She shifted her sleep-weary body and realized with horror that she had been tied up. She opened her mouth to call to Guo Jing, but all she could feel was the rough knot of a linen cord prickling her tongue. She knew they must have fallen for the tricks of the well-fed beggar, but what manner of sorcery had he used? Nonetheless, she was relieved to see, from the corner of her eye, that Guo Jing was working to free himself.
Guo Jing seemed confident that he could rip apart the thickest of ropes using his internal strength. However, as energy coursed to his wrists and ankles, the only response he could discern from his binds was a metallic rattling. They showed no sign of tearing.
Strips of ox leather braided with cables of steel would not give so easily.
He drew deeper into his store of neigong power for another attempt.
Something flat, tapering, and metallic tapped on his cheek. Then it did it again. A sword?
He tilted his head back and saw two beggar youths standing nearby. There were another two by Lotus. The blades in their hands glistened.
Lotus, meanwhile, had been trying to comprehend their situation. She could not hope to escape without a good grasp of the surroundings and the people they were up against. She twisted to her side and was stunned by the sight that greeted her eyes.
She gazed out at the landscape. They appeared to be on some kind of elevation, a hilltop. The water below, shimmering in the moonlight, was partially obscured by a thin fog.
Are we on the islet Jun Hill, in Dongting Lake? she wondered. How is it possible that we have no memory of the journey?
She wriggled to face the other way. Hundreds of beggars surrounded a high platform less than a hundred meters away. They were sitting on the ground in complete silence.
The moon, perfectly round, had now moved higher above the ridge in the distance.
Today is the fifteenth of the seventh month, she recalled. The Beggar Clan Assembly! If I can pass on Shifu's message, surely they will obey their own chief. But how do I remove this gag?
She waited. No one among the beggars spoke. Her patience was wearing thin, but there was nothing she could do.
Before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her numbed body had started to ache. The moon was making gentle progress in the sky. By now, it illuminated half the platform.
She thought of Li Po's poem:
Brushing lightly the bright lake to reveal the jade mirror,
Painting with cinnabar and azurite to trace Jun Hill.
Except that Li Po wasn't gagged and bound when he stood here, composing poetry! Somehow, she saw the humor of their predicament.
Moonbeams now grazed the large characters inscribed above the platform: Terrace of the Yellow Emperor. She was reminded of her father's stories about the great rivers and lakes of China. Legend had it that the Yellow Emperor cast a three-legged bronze ritual cauldron on the shore of Dongting Lake before ascending to the heavens on the back of a dragon.
BEFORE LONG, the platform was fully bathed in moonlight.
Dok, dok, dok.
Pause.
Dok, dok, dok.
Pause.
The beggars thumped their sticks into the ground in unison. Sometimes they beat fast, sometimes slow. Some notes sounded high, others low. After the eighty-first strike, silence reigned again.
Four beggars stood up. Lotus recognized them immediately: Surefoot Lu and the three Elders of the Washed, from the tavern.
Once they had taken up their positions at the four corners of the platform, the rest of the beggars rose to their feet, crossed their arms over their chests, bowed deeply and sat down again. The men moved as one, in spite of their great number.
The rotund, wealthy-looking beggar—who had forced Guo Jing and Lotus into their current plight—began: "Brethren, calamity has struck the Beggar Clan. Ruination, indeed! Chief Hong has departed this life, in Lin'an!"
Not a sound. Only a palpable sense of shock.
One beggar fell forward. Surging waves of sobs and thuds followed, as grieving men beat their chests and stamped their feet. The cacophony shook the trees and rippled out onto the lake.
Count Seven Hong was much loved and respected by his clansfolk.
Tears streamed down Guo Jing's face, but his cries were stifled by the gag. Now, he understood why they had not been able to find Shifu in the palace.
Meanwhile, Lotus maintained a clear head. The fat beggar tricked us with sorcery. Why believe him now? He has to be lying.
"Elder Peng, who was present at the chief's departure?" Surefoot Lu's voice cracked as he spoke.
"Elder Lu, do you think someone would be so audacious as to spread such lies about our chief?" the well-fed beggar shot back. "The man who witnessed the chief's passing is here with us. Please, Squire Yang, tell our brethren about this tragic event."
Yang Kang strode forward to stand before the platform, a green bamboo cane in his hand. His presence silenced the crowd, except for the odd whimper from time to time.
"It happened one month ago, when Chief Hong was in Lin'an. He became embroiled in a martial contest. Indeed, he was surrounded…" He paused to allow his words to sink in.
"Who?"
"Impossible!"
"How?"
"He must have been outnumbered!"
Exclamations rose from every direction.
A month ago? Shifu was with us! He's lying! So relieved was Guo Jing that he almost forgot to be angry with his deceitful sworn brother.
Lotus cursed Yang Kang. He is no different from that old liar Qiu Qianren, spinning tall tales about people dear to me.
Yang Kang raised both hands to signal that he had more to say, and waited for the crowd to settle.
"Chief Hong died at the hands of the Lord of Peach Blossom Island—also known as Apothecary Huang, Heretic of the East—aided by the Seven Taoists of the Quanzhen Sect."
Yang Kang hoped he sounded convincing. His survival depended on the beggars believing this baseless claim. He had been told by Viper Ouyang that Count Seven Hong's days were numbered. The Old Beggar could not hope to survive the injury caused by Ouyang's Explosive Toad kung fu.
But Guo Jing … He had stabbed the young man. Left him to bleed dry in the Song Imperial Palace. How come…?
When Yang Kang had seen his sworn brother very much alive, sitting with Lotus in the tavern, that afternoon, he had panicked. He sent the Elders of the Washed to capture them and dispatch them for good. He knew that, once the deed was done, it would not be long before Lotus's father Apothecary Huang, Guo Jing's shifus the Six Freaks of the South, and the Quanzhen Sect found out he was involved in their deaths. He was not worried about the Freaks and their mediocre martial arts. Yet, Apothecary Huang and the Quanzhen monks would be tough to deal with. If he could unleash the full force of the Beggar Clan on them … That should keep him safe, surely?
The names Yang Kang uttered had turned the air thick with anger and a burning desire for vengeance.
The men gathered here were notable members of the Beggar Clan and they were all familiar with the martial reputation of the Seven Immortals of the Quanzhen Sect. Apothecary Huang's name was less well known, since he had not set foot beyond the shores of Peach Blossom Island for years. Still, some of the beggars knew he ranked alongside their chief as one of the Five Greats. If these Masters banded together, it was plausible that even the mighty Count Seven Hong would …
"Brethren, listen to me."
From a corner of the platform, a short-limbed, stocky man spoke. He appeared to be the oldest among the Four Elders, his eyebrows and beard more gray than black.
Silence followed his request. His authority was clear.
"There are two important matters at hand," Elder Jian of the East said, once he had everyone's attention. "First, we must follow Chief Hong's instructions in appointing the nineteenth Chief of the Clan. Second, we must come up with a plan to avenge our late chief."
"Above all else," Surefoot Lu cried above the roars of agreement, "we should first honor the chief's spirit!"
He grabbed a handful of earth and shaped it into a crude figurine to represent Count Seven Hong. He placed it reverently on the edge of the platform, facing the crowd. Then he prostrated and wailed at the top of his voice. Once more, the beggars bawled at the memory of their beloved chief.
Shifu is alive and well! Lotus protested silently. You'd have known, if you hadn't tied us up for no reason. Go on! Cry! Serves you right, you stinking beggars.
Elder Jian clapped thrice and the beggars began to collect themselves. When there was some semblance of order, he spoke again: "We brethren have gathered here today on Jun Hill, in Yuezhou, to hear Chief Hong appoint his successor. Now that tragedy has befallen our Clan, we must carry out his last wish. If he left no final command, then it will be up to the Four Elders to nominate the next chief. This rule has been passed down through the Beggar Clan, generation after generation. Is it not so, brothers?"
A collective howl of confirmation.
"Squire Yang, please tell us if Chief Hong spoke any last words," the portly Elder Peng said.
The appointment of the chief was a most significant event for the Beggar Clan. The group's future depended on their leader. Not so long ago, under the seventeenth leader, Chief Shi, the Clan's sway in the jianghu had begun to wane. Though skilled in the martial arts, as a figurehead he was weak and muddled, and he allowed the division between the Washed and the Unwashed to widen beyond repair.
When Count Seven Hong succeeded, he meted out severe punishment for clansmen who attempted to sow discord, thus containing the infighting and enabling the Beggar Clan to regain its former position of influence.
This history was well known to the beggars in attendance. They waited for the announcement with bated breath.
Yang Kang lifted the green bamboo cane over his head with both hands. "Chief Hong suffered grievous injuries at the hands of villains. I chanced upon the Master and gave him refuge in the vault of my house. Once his enemies were gone, I sent for the best physicians. Alas, we were unable to save him." He paused, giving the beggars a moment to mourn. "Before Chief Hong passed away, he bestowed on me this bamboo cane, along with the formidable responsibility of becoming the nineteenth Chief of the Beggar Clan."
Gasps of surprise echoed. No one had expected a young man who looked as if he had only known wealth and rank to be chosen to rule the Beggar Clan.
Yang Kang had come across the two beggars who brought him here to Yuezhou soon after he found the bamboo cane in the tavern in Ox Village. Using his charms to tease out their story, it did not take him long to realize that their obsequiousness was all due to his possession of the cane. Needless to say, all the while, he was concealing the truth of how it had come into his possession.
The beggars, in the presence of the chief's cane, answered truthfully and in great detail, so that, by the time they arrived in Yuezhou, Yang Kang had acquired a working knowledge of the operation of the Beggar Clan, as well as a good idea of its reach and influence in the jianghu. The finer points of the complex system of rules that governed the secret society were still unclear to him—no Clan member would volunteer such information to an outsider, even if he were the bearer of the cane—but he judged that he knew enough to risk declaring himself the next chief. After all, Count Seven Hong had been severely wounded by Viper Ouyang. How could a half-dead man travel all the way to Yuezhou to dispute his claim? Judging by the respectful way he was being treated, he was confident that, once he had been named chief, his subjects would never dare challenge his authority. So, after turning the idea over and over in his head during the journey, he came up with the foolproof tale he had just presented.
He knew that, if he stumbled over a word or blushed even for a moment, the horde of paupers would beat him to a pulp. But, with Count Seven Hong's death all but assured, the cane in his possession and Guo Jing and Lotus Huang captured, who could discredit his story?
Since ancient times, it has been known that those who wish to achieve greatness must first endure great danger. Considering the benefits the title would bestow upon him, he judged the immediate risks to be well worth running.
THE RIFT that had grown in the Beggar Clan between the Washed and the Unwashed had divided the whole membership. The Washed dwelled in houses, feasted on meat and wine, took wives and kept concubines. All this they declared by sewing patches on otherwise perfectly intact clothes. They were often men of the jianghu or admirers of the Clan's upright conduct. Some joined hoping to tap into the Clan's vast networks, others because they were friends with someone already in the Clan, but none of them had ever begged on the streets.
The Unwashed were beggars in the truest sense of the word. They never made purchases with silver, ate from the same table as people outside the Clan, or fought those without martial-arts training.
The two groups were uncompromising in their views and quarreled constantly. Count Seven Hong would wear clean but patched clothes for one year and dirty rags for another, in order to demonstrate his impartiality. However, gourmand that he was, it was impossible for him to live on scraps and leftovers, so he never fully adhered to the rules practiced by the Unwashed, even though their way of life was closer to the true roots of the Clan.
Of the Four Elders, Count Seven had always turned to Surefoot Lu first on any matter. He would have long since appointed Lu as his successor, had Lu not let his temper get the better of him on several important occasions.
Understandably, the Washed members had been dreading this gathering at Yuezhou. They had long suspected that Surefoot Lu would be next in line to take over the Clan, as he was the most righteous and the best fighter, not to mention the beggar most trusted by the chief. They were also aware that, although three of the Four Elders were of the Washed, the majority of the clansmen in the lower ranks were genuine beggars who adhered to the way of life of the Unwashed.
The Elders of the Washed were always searching for ways to improve their situation and reform the Clan in their image, but they had held back from doing anything untoward, out of respect for Count Seven Hong. When Yang Kang arrived in Yuezhou with the green bamboo cane and news of the chief's death, they saw, through their grief, their long-hoped-for opportunity to crush the Unwashed. They noticed the young man's ornate clothing and fastidiousness about food, and were confident that they could persuade him to side with their cause. So, they welcomed Yang Kang with great courtesy, hoping to learn from him the chief's final thoughts on the matter of the succession before the Assembly.
Yet, Yang Kang would not reveal a thing. He could not risk these senior figures of the Beggar Clan changing their mind about him. How could he have known that the Elders of the Washed cared little for the identity of the new chief, as long as Surefoot Lu did not ascend to the role?
The three Elders of the Washed—Jian, Peng, and Liang—seemed pleased by Yang Kang's claim to be the next chief. They shared a conspiratorial look, with the slightest nod of their heads.
"Squire Yang holds in his hands the Clan's most revered object," Elder Jian added, once he had given the crowd a moment to absorb Yang Kang's words. "If anyone among our brethren has any doubts, please come up to examine it yourself."
Surefoot Lu shot Yang Kang a sideways glance. This boy is to be our chief? To lead the brothers of the Beggar Clan?
He could hardly contain his indignation, but, though he struggled to accept the idea, he reached out courteously for the bamboo cane.
Green and glossy like jade. The very cane that had been passed down from chief to chief, there was no doubt about it.
Chief Hong must have given it to him as a token of gratitude for his attempts to save his life, Surefoot Lu told himself. Who am I to disobey our leader's wishes? I will serve this young man with courage and a loyal heart, for the sake of Chief Hong and his legacy.
With that thought, Surefoot Lu lifted the cane over his head with both hands and offered it to Yang Kang in an appropriately ceremonial manner.
"We shall obey Chief Hong's last command and bow to Squire Yang as the nineteenth Chief of the Beggar Clan," Surefoot Lu pledged, to thunderous cheers.
Guo Jing and Lotus watched in desperation, but they could not break out of their restraints. Guo Jing recalled Apothecary Huang's warning that Yang Kang would try to become the Chief of the Beggar Clan. He feared the destruction his sworn brother would wreak upon the group. Meanwhile, Lotus was waiting for Yang Kang to make a decision about how he would deal with them. Although she knew he would not let them off easily, it would give her an opportunity to improvise a response.
"I have neither the wisdom of age nor the knowledge of experience." Yang Kang was all humility. "This is too great a responsibility."
"Squire Yang need not be so modest," Elder Peng said immediately. "It is Chief Hong's last command, and we, your brethren, shall serve you with one heart."
"Indeed!" Surefoot Lu cried, full of conviction. Then, he cleared his throat noisily, and spat.
Right in Yang Kang's face. Phlegm splattered on his right cheek.
Stunned by the sudden insult, Yang Kang barely had a chance to react before he felt three more gobs of sputum land on him.
This is it! he thought, frightened and disgusted. They must have seen through my guise.
Tensing, he prepared himself to flee. He knew he had little chance of outrunning the beggars, and yet, he was not going to remain and submit himself to fate.
The Four Elders crossed their arms over their chests and prostrated themselves on the ground.
Mystified, Yang Kang, for once, was lost for words.
The beggars had, by now, ordered themselves by rank, and they approached their new chief in line, coughing and hawking.
Slime flew with each show of obeisance.
Is this their way of showing submission? Yang Kang was bewildered. How could he have known that this was customary at the appointment of a new chief? The act of expectoration was a reminder for the leader of the beggars of the treatment his followers received by society at large. As their figurehead, he must first submit to the insult suffered by all those under his command.
This spectacle brought Lotus back to the day when Count Seven Hong had named her Chief of the Beggar Clan, on Rosy Cloud Island. She remembered the speck of spittle on the hem of her skirt and his apology: "When it becomes official to the Clan, there will be a disgusting ritual, I am afraid. It will be hard on you." She had assumed he had been unable to aim his spit accurately, due to his injuries, but now she realized he had done it on purpose and his cryptic warning referred to this very rite Yang Kang was enduring. She understood why he had been vague; she might well have refused, out of pure disgust.
At long last, the beggars present had finished paying homage. "Chief, ascend the Terrace!" they cried as one.
Yang Kang eyed the platform. It was not particularly high. He knew an elegant move that would show off his kung fu. He flexed his toes, and up he flew.
Yet, to the Elders, who had honed their craft over decades, the fanciful leap contained little substance. All it had demonstrated was that the new chief was a novice of the martial arts, albeit somewhat gifted and with some training at the hands of a master. He was still young, after all.
Standing tall on the Terrace of the Yellow Emperor, Yang Kang projected his voice: "Although we have yet to apprehend Chief Hong's murderers, I have captured two of the accomplices."
"Where?"
"Cut them into pieces!"
"Make them suffer!"
The crowd erupted again.
"Bring them here!" Yang Kang ordered.
Guo Jing was also eager to find out whom Yang Kang had caught—that is, until he saw a portly beggar waddling toward him. That was when he understood.
Elder Peng grabbed Guo Jing with one hand and Lotus with the other, before hurling them down in front of the Terrace.
"Chief, allow me to speak," Surefoot Lu said. "They are disciples of Chief Hong. Why would they harm him?"
"They plotted a crime most vile." Yang Kang spat the words out. "They sought to destroy their own teacher!"
"Chief Yang saw it with his own eyes," Elder Peng added. "Are you saying he's mistaken?"
"Allow me to speak, Chief!" A man rushed to the front of the crowd. "I know them. They are heroes. Righteous and moral. By my life, they'd never harm Chief Hong."
The speaker was, of course, Vigor Li, whom Guo Jing had saved from Gallant Ouyang, back in Baoying. Li knew how fond the chief had been of the young couple.
"They are good people—good friends of the Clan!"
A younger man spoke up—Prosper Yu. He had been in Baoying with Vigor Li, where they had tried to thwart Gallant Ouyang's prurient plan to abduct Emerald Cheng.
"Speak through your leader." Elder Liang glared at the Unwashed upstarts. "You know full well you are not permitted to interrupt."
Realizing what an affront it would be to directly challenge their senior, Vigor Li and Prosper Yu stepped back, fuming in silence.
Li and Yu's protest chimed with the doubt gnawing at Surefoot Lu. They were men under his command and he trusted them.
"This lowly member of the Clan would never be so bold as to cast doubt on the chief." The Unwashed leader chose his words carefully. "Nevertheless, it is of the utmost importance that we avenge the wrong suffered by Chief Hong, and I beg the chief to extract every piece of information possible first."
"Of course! I will wring the truth out of them." Yang Kang already had a plan, and turned to his captives. "You have no need to speak. Nod if what I say is true, shake your head if it's untrue. If you try to fool us…" He tailed off and flicked his wrist.
Elder Peng unsheathed his sword and Elder Liang his saber. Guo Jing and Lotus each felt the sharp, cold point of a blade pressed to their back.
This was a tactic Lotus knew well. Last time she had witnessed its use was during that sweet and romantic encounter at the inn, in Ox Village. She and Guo Jing had been concealed in the hidden chamber, watching Laurel Lu try to ask Emerald Cheng to marry him. But the young lady was too shy to speak, so he asked her to answer with a nod or a shake of her head.
Lotus also remembered using the method on Gallant Ouyang, on Peach Blossom Island, when he came with his uncle, Viper Ouyang, to seek her hand. She bridled at the idea that she was about to suffer the same indignity at the hands of this treacherous snake.
Though fury had drained the blood from her face, she still had her wits about her. She needed to find a way to raise Surefoot Lu's suspicions with her responses, so that he would press for verbal answers. If she could speak, she was certain that she could convince everyone present that Yang Kang was deceiving them.
But Yang Kang also knew who he was up against. Guo Jing's simplemindedness would play into his hands, so he had him brought forward first.
"She is Apothecary Huang's daughter, is she not?" he asked loudly.
Guo Jing ignored the question and closed his eyes.
Elder Liang pressed his saber a little harder against Guo Jing's back and growled, "Yes or no?"
Guo Jing had been planning to deny Yang Kang the satisfaction of a reply, but then it occurred to him that the truth would come out, whether he answered or not. He nodded.
The daughter of Chief Hong's killer!
"Kill her!" the crowd exploded.
"Brethren, please," Yang Kang said, in an attempt to quell the masses before turning once more to Guo Jing. "Apothecary Huang gave you her hand, did he not?"
Nod.
Yang Kang pulled out the dagger tucked into Guo Jing's belt. "Qiu Chuji, one of the Seven Taoists of the Quanzhen Sect, gave you this, did he not?"
Nod.
"Your name is carved on the hilt, is it not?"
Nod.
"Ma Yu, another Quanzhen monk, taught you kung fu, and his martial brother, Wang Chuyi, saved your life. Is it not so?"
Nod.
"When Count Seven Hong was grievously injured, you were by his side, were you not?"
Nod.
Lotus cursed silently. Silly boy. Shake your head! If you keep denying, he'll have to let you speak!
Yang Kang grew sterner and fiercer with each accusation. To the beggars, each nod of Guo Jing's head was a confirmation of his crimes. They had not realized that the questions posed had little to do with any wrongdoing, and that it was all a ploy. Now, even Surefoot Lu believed that Guo Jing and Lotus Huang were guilty. He went up to Guo Jing and kicked him.
"Brethren, since they have confessed, we shall not make them suffer unduly. Elder Peng, Elder Liang, make it quick."
Guo Jing looked at Lotus and found her smiling at him.
She was content. The prospect of dying by his side comforted her. It was she, Lotus Huang, who would share him in the next life, now, and forever after. Not Khojin, the Mongolian princess to whom he was betrothed.
Bewildered by Lotus's reaction, Guo Jing tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky, looking in a northerly direction. He thought of his mother, far, far away, in Mongolia. His eyes were drawn to the glow of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper, and the sight reminded him of the fight that had taken place not long ago between the Seven Immortals of the Quanzhen Sect, Cyclone Mei, and her shifu, Apothecary Huang.
He had never possessed a memory for details, but, in this moment, he felt a sudden clarity. He could see before his eyes, blow by blow, how the Seven Immortals had used the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation to attack and defend, and how, by shifting positions, they had lured their opponents into the snare, before closing in on them.
So immersed was he in what he could recall from the fight, he had not noticed Peng and Liang standing over him, weapons raised.
"Not so hasty!" Surefoot Lu darted into his clansmen's way. Then, as he worked to remove Guo Jing's gag, he asked, "What exactly happened to Chief Hong? Tell me everything."
"There's no need to ask him," Yang Kang cut in. "I've told you all you need to know already."
"Chief, we need to know everything. We must hear it from everyone present, even those who have confessed."
Beads of sweat appeared on Yang Kang's hairline. He knew he could not block Surefoot Lu's interrogation, lest it reveal he had something to hide. Yet, if he let Guo Jing speak, his position would be fatally compromised.
Yang Kang's mind raced as he tried to think of a solution. To his surprise, Surefoot Lu was forced to ask the same question, over and over. Guo Jing did not seem to be hearing a word. He did not even notice his gag had been removed. He simply stared at the night sky, lost in thought.
Lotus watched Yang Kang gesture at the beggar Elders, and the blades were raised once more. If only she could do something to snap Guo Jing out of his daze.
3
Swoooooosh! a purple flame skimmed over the lake. Two flashes of blue flew up into the night sky, several li hence.
Peng and Liang shared a look of surprise and recognition.
"Chief, an important guest has arrived," Elder Jian announced.
"Who?" Yang Kang snapped.
Jian lowered his voice: "The leader of the Iron Palm Gang." He would not wish to make the new chief seem ignorant in front of his people.
"Huh?"
"A force to be reckoned with, in this region," Jian explained patiently. "We must receive our distinguished visitors with utmost courtesy, since the leader has come in person. I fear it would not befit us to be seen with traitors. I suggest we deal with the prisoners later."
"As you say, Elder Jian. Prepare to receive our honored guest."
Not long after—boom, boom, boom!—three successive flares painted the sky over Jun Hill a fiery red.
Boats could now be seen on Dongting Lake, approaching the small islet. The beggars, each clutching a torch, waited in reverential anticipation.
Even though the visitors from the Iron Palm Gang were familiar with lightness kung fu, it took them a short while to reach the Terrace of the Yellow Emperor at the summit of Jun Hill.
Guo Jing and Lotus Huang were placed among the followers of the Beggar Clan, watched over by Elder Peng's men.
Lotus had been observing Guo Jing. The young man was mumbling into the starry night, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He's gone mad, she thought, before turning her mind to the newcomers. She prayed they might offer a diversion to help them escape.
Surrounded by a blaze of torches, several dozen black-clad fighters led an elderly man to the Terrace. Lotus took one look—arrowroot shirt, palm-leaf fan—and her heart sank.
Qiu Qianren!
Elder Jian strode forward and greeted Qiu Qianren with a show of ceremony. After a short, polite exchange according to the customs of the jianghu, he turned to Yang Kang. "This is Master Qiu of the Iron Palm Gang. His kung fu is feared throughout the wulin." Then he addressed Qiu Qianren: "Chief Hong has, sadly, passed into the next world. This is Chief Yang, whom we have appointed today as our next leader. He is a true hero of the younger generation. I trust a great new friendship shall blossom between our clans."
"The pleasure is all mine." Yang Kang deployed his most charming smile. He remembered this old fraud from Roaming Cloud Manor, but he made sure his face betrayed no hint of recognition.
Everyone regards you as a master, but, with this hand, I will show the world your charlatan ways, Yang Kang thought, as he reached out to greet him. He was eager to take this chance to show the beggars that a man of true prowess was now in command.
Qiu Qianren took his outstretched palm. At that moment, Yang Kang charged it with all his internal energy.
It was as if Yang Kang had wrapped his fingers over a piece of red-hot coal. He pulled, but he could not free himself. The pain traveled up to his heart. He doubled over. Two streams of tears flowed down his pale cheeks.
The four beggar Elders leaped to Yang Kang's aid.
Elder Jian, the most senior in age and rank, struck the end of his steel staff on the stone-paved ground in warning. Sparks flew.
"Master Qiu, you are our guest," he said, struggling to contain the rage in his voice. "And Chief Yang is young. What compelled you to test his martial training thus?"
"I took his hand in courtesy," Qiu Qianren replied, his voice frosty, still maintaining his grip. Then he paused and let his strength flow back down and through his hand. Yang Kang yelped in agony. "It is your honorable chief who wished to test me." He stopped speaking again and Yang Kang squealed once more. "Chief Yang was intent on crushing my old bones." Yet again, Yang Kang's shrieks punctuated his words.
Having said his piece, Qiu Qianren flung Yang Kang's hand away. Now barely conscious, the young man collapsed. Surefoot Lu caught him just before he hit the ground.
"Master Qiu, what—?"
Qiu Qianren swung his palm at Elder Jian's face.
With both hands, Jian thrust his staff forward, intending to parry the move, and Qiu grabbed at the head of the weapon. Even before Qiu's fingers had fully closed around the metal pole, an uncanny force was pushing it down and wresting it out of Jian's grasp.
Tightening his grip, the beggar, whose martial skills were not inconsequential, managed to hold on.
Just then, the air parted on Jian's left side.
Bong!
Qiu hewed at the midpoint of the staff with his free hand. The force of the blow was sufficient to tear away the skin between Jian's thumb and forefinger.
Jian had no energy left in his blood-soaked hands to cling to the staff.
Qiu snatched the weapon and swung it, using its tip to whisk away Elder Peng's saber and Elder Liang's sword. Then he drew the staff to his side. The simple movement sent his elbow squarely into Surefoot Lu's face.
In mere moments, Qiu Qianren had beaten back all Four Elders of the Beggar Clan. Shocked, the rest of the beggars clutched their weapons. They were ready to mobilize against the Iron Palm Gang. All it would take was one word from their chief.
Holding one end of the staff with both hands, Qiu Qianren flung it at a distant boulder. The steel pole pierced the rock, and the drawn-out clang of metal against stone filled the stunned silence.
Lotus Huang could not believe her eyes. Was the old cheat really so accomplished, after all? It was him all right, his features illuminated by the blazing torches and the full moon above.
He must be in league with Yang Kang and Elder Jian, she thought, searching for an explanation. The staff—there is something queer about it. Another trick.
She turned to Guo Jing. He was still staring at the sky.
Could the night's events have driven him mad? Why else would he be studying the heavens when there was a fight playing out, right before their eyes? Perhaps, in struggling to reconcile his duty to marry Khojin and his love for Lotus, he had taken leave of his senses? Forced to keep a close watch on her beloved, Lotus was unable to closely follow Qiu Qianren's antics.
But, after standing in silence for some time, Qiu Qianren spoke, drawing her eyes toward him. "Like the water in the river and the water in the well, the Iron Palm Gang and the Beggar Clan have never crossed paths. I came here in good faith. I do not understand why I was greeted with such a provocation."
Elder Jian was relieved to find restraint in Qiu Qianren's words, in spite of the iciness of his tone.
"A misunderstanding, Master Qiu," he replied, a tremble of fear discernible in his voice. "Your mighty reputation spreads across the four seas, and we, the brothers of the Beggar Clan, have always admired you and held you in the highest esteem. It is our greatest honor that you deigned to grace our Clan Assembly with your presence. Each and every one of us here wishes you only the warmest welcome. Not one of us would dream of treating you with disrespect."
Qiu Qianren held his head high and said nothing. He let the uncomfortable moment simmer before responding. "What a shame that Chief Hong has passed through to the immortal realm. The martial world will be poorer for his loss. And what a pity that the famous Beggar Clan has appointed this young man as its new chief."
The Elders looked at each other, unsure how to reply. Yang Kang had, by now, regained consciousness. Of course, he was maddened by the insult, yet what could he do but swallow the humiliation? His hand still felt as if it were being held over a raging fire, and his fingers were swollen like thick batons of Chinese yam.
Ignoring his awkward hosts, Qiu Qianren continued, "In truth, there is a matter that brought me here today. And I also come bearing gifts."
"We look forward to learning how we can be of assistance," Elder Jian said with exaggerated humility.
"The other day, I sent a few young men to run some errands for me. Somehow, they managed to vex two of our friends of the Beggar Clan and were badly beaten. I cannot deny that their martial training was rudimentary, but if this encounter were to become known in the jianghu … well, the Iron Palm Gang can ill afford to lose face in such a manner. So, I ask you to humor this aged fellow, for I have come all this way to learn from these two kinsmen of the Beggar Clan."
"Who were the culprits?" Yang Kang cried. "Step forward and beg Master Qiu's forgiveness. Now!" It did not cross his mind that he had a duty to safeguard the well-being of those he claimed to lead. The last thing he wished to do was upset Qiu Qianren even further.
The vagrants bristled at their new chief's cowardly response. Count Seven Hong would have never subjected them to such an injustice.
Once more, Vigor Li and Prosper Yu emerged from the crowd.
"Chief, allow me to speak," Vigor Li said. "The fourth rule of our Clan states that each and every one of the clansmen should always act according to the moral code of xia. They must be righteous, deliver those in suffering, and aid those in hardship.
"Several days ago, Prosper Yu and I came upon our friends from the Iron Palm Gang as they were attempting to abduct a household of honest women. We could not stand by and let this act of depravity take place, so we intervened."
"It doesn't matter what happened. Ask Master Qiu for his forgiveness," Yang Kang demanded.
Vigor Li and Prosper Yu glanced at each other. If they refused, they would be defying their chief, but how could they tarnish their good names by seeking pardon from a wrongdoer?
"Brethren, if Chief Hong were still alive, he would never allow us to suffer such an indignity. I would rather die than be so abused!" Vigor Li appealed to his fellow members before pulling a blade from the rags he was wearing and plunging it into his heart. Prosper Yu knelt over him, retrieved the knife, and turned it on himself, his body falling lifeless over that of his comrade.
The beggars were seething with rage. Much as they would have liked to unleash carnage on the Iron Palm Gang, they could not break the hallowed rule of unconditional obedience to the chief.
A faint smile crept across Qiu Qianren's face. "Since the first matter has resolved itself quickly, allow me to present this to the Beggar Clan."
Qiu's men opened the chests they had brought with them, removing several dozen trays of gold, silver and glittering jewels. One by one, they were set down before Yang Kang.
The Beggar Clan had never seen such a dazzling display of wealth.
"The Iron Palm Gang keeps its bellies full, but we could never have put together such a lavish gift ourselves," Qiu Qianren smirked. "I have been entrusted by the Sixth Prince of the Great Jin Empire to bring this to you."
"Where is the Prince? I should like to meet him." Yang Kang was overjoyed at this mention of his father.
"The Prince's herald came to my abode several months ago with this offering and a message for the Beggar Clan."
So, Papa arranged this before he came south? Why does he want to court a bunch of beggars? He's never before mentioned any plans to bring them onto our side. Yang Kang nodded at Qiu Qianren to indicate that he was interested in hearing more.
"The Prince of Zhao has long admired the heroes of the Beggar Clan and bade me to personally proffer this token of friendship on his behalf."
"We are overwhelmed by the honor," Yang Kang gushed.
"Chief Yang, I must say, you are far more understanding than your old Chief Hong." A hollow laugh.
"Master Qiu, I wonder if the Prince shared any specific instructions?" Yang Kang was desperate to find out more.
"Who would be so presumptuous as to issue instructions to the great Beggar Clan? The Prince once mentioned in passing that the north, with its impoverished people and barren lands, is not quite the ground for realizing grand visions—"
"The Prince would like us to move to the south?"
"Chief Yang is most perceptive, and I must admit that I have been lacking in manners. The Prince did tell me that he could not fathom why the Beggar Clan are so partial to the bitter cold of the north, when the regions of Jiangnan and Huguang in the south enjoy such a pleasant climate and such great wealth."
"We are most grateful to receive guidance from the Prince and Master Qiu. It would be improper of us not to heed it."
Qiu Qianren had not expected his task to be so easy.
This new young chief did not show even the merest hint of reluctance, he observed with surprise. Perhaps because of the fright I have given him. Still, the beggars have been based in the north for generations, are they really so easily persuaded to uproot themselves? What if they change their minds, after I've left? I should make him promise.
Yang Kang seemed to have guessed Qiu's mind. "Today, I, Chief Yang, hereby give my word that the Beggar Clan will retreat south of the Yangtze River, and will never traverse those waters for the north again."
"Chief, allow me to speak," Surefoot Lu interjected. "We are beggars and we live on alms. Our numbers can be counted in the hundreds and thousands, our clansfolk are scattered across Song Empire lands, free to roam according to our will. Why should we be confined? I entreat the chief to think the matter thrice over."
"If we refuse this gesture of goodwill from Master Qiu, it will make us appear discourteous." By now, Yang Kang had grasped his father Wanyan Honglie's motives. The Beggar Clan had been a persistent nuisance to the Jin Empire north of the Yangtze River. Every time the Jurchen army marched south to attack the Song, the beggars would disrupt the rear guard, kill commanders, and burn food supplies. If the pests moved south, it would smooth the way for the Jin to conquer the Song.
"I shan't take a single thing for myself," he said, gesturing to the riches on display. "Elders, please divide this handsome bounty among our brethren—"
Surefoot Lu could not believe his ears. "Chief Hong is known by all throughout and beyond the Empire as the Beggar of the North. Furthermore, we, the members of the Beggar Clan, are righteous and loyal to our country and its ruler, the Song Emperor. We have been at odds with the Jurchen for generations. We cannot accept anything from those people. Never will we be forced south of the Yangtze. Never, never, never!"
Taking note of Yang Kang's darkening countenance, Elder Peng said, "Is it your responsibility, or the chief's, to make decisions for the Clan?"
"I shall meet my death before I go against what I know to be right," Surefoot Lu declared with pride.
"Elder Jian, Elder Peng, Elder Liang, what say you?" Yang Kang asked.
Jian and Liang both thought it unwise to move south, but Peng harbored no such hesitation. "As a subordinate, I always follow the chief's command."
His words unleashed uproar among the gathered beggars.
Yang Kang was at a loss as to how to calm the angry mob. The Elders of the Washed shouted for order, but few heeded them, as the most riotous among the crowd were the Unwashed.
"Elder Lu, do you mean to defy your chief?" Peng demanded.
"I would rather be cut into a thousand pieces than deceive my elders or defy my chief. But neither would I, Surefoot Lu, ever turn my back on the principles that have been passed down by the Clan's forefathers. The Jurchen are invaders of our realm. The Jurchen are killers of our kin. Their Jin state is the enemy of the land of my birth, the Song Empire. Have you forgotten our allegiance—our duty—as Chief Hong often reminded us?"
Jian and Liang lowered their heads, mortified.
Qiu Qianren scoffed. "Chief Yang, this Elder Lu of yours must learn to hold his tongue." He made a grab for the beggar's shoulders.
Noting how Qiu Qianren was subtly shifting his weight as he spoke, Surefoot Lu ducked down, shot between Qiu's parted legs and whipped around with three kicks at Qiu's backside, before straightening up.
True to his name, Surefoot Lu was swift and certain on his feet.
Qiu Qianren had never come upon a kung fu so undignified. Having recovered his composure, he suddenly sensed the air parting behind him. He spun around and thrust a palm.
The counterattack forced Surefoot Lu to wrench his foot away. The beggar's kicks may well have landed, but the force of Qiu's palm would have shattered his leg.
Flipping into an awkward somersault, Lu landed next to Qiu and spat. Qiu cocked his head, avoiding the phlegm. Once again, he was puzzled by the unorthodox nature of the attack.
"Enough!" Yang Kang barked.
Surefoot Lu took two steps back, but Qiu Qianren was not going to let the affront pass. He lunged, hoping to close his hands around Lu's throat like a pair of iron clamps.
The beggar sprung into a backflip, but Qiu caught him by the wrists.
Surefoot Lu knew he had lost, but he was not one to give in without a fight.
He heaved. Pushed Qiu back.
Nothing. Not an inch.
He hunkered down and rammed into Qiu Qianren's stomach.
Surefoot Lu had trained in Bronze Hammer kung fu since he was a child, and could easily make a dent in a wall with one butt of his head. In a wager with a Clan brother, he had once locked horns with a bull. He emerged unscathed; the bull, unconscious.
The slam would not cause injury, but Lu thought it would at least be enough to rock the other man back on his heels, allowing him to free himself. But, as his forehead connected with Qiu's abdomen, he felt no resistance. It was as if he had run headlong into a bale of cotton. He pulled back, alarmed. To his horror, he seemed to have drawn Qiu Qianren closer to him.
Surefoot Lu writhed and squirmed. He could not extract himself.
Qiu's stomach, somehow, was sucking him in, all while producing a fierce heat. Lu felt as if he had been plunged into a fiery furnace. His scalp sizzled, his hands were scorched.
The pain was excruciating.
"Yield!" Qiu Qianren bellowed.
"Never!"
Qiu clenched his left fist around Surefoot Lu's right hand. With a series of sickening cracks and pops, the bones in all five of the beggar's fingers were crushed.
"Yield!"
"Nooo!"
More crunching. This time, from Surefoot Lu's left hand.
Despite the pain, curses flowed from the beggar's delirious lips.
"Let's see how defiant you will be when I crush your skull!" Qiu Qianren cried.
4
Just as Qiu Qianren issued his threat, a tall, broad-shouldered young man leaped out from among the crowd and landed behind Surefoot Lu. He lifted his arm and slapped his palm down onto the beggar's backside. Loud and firm.
Smack!
A potent strength traveled through the beggar's skull, into Qiu Qianren's belly.
Smack!
Though the blow was once again on the beggar's buttocks, Qiu felt its power in his gut.
Smack!
The force sucking Lu's head into Qiu's stomach had been nullified.
Surefoot Lu took the chance to pull himself upright, but his hands were still trapped.
"You're no match for Master Qiu. Let me!" the young man cried, swiping his foot at the beggar's shoulder.
Qiu Qianren's grip was shaken. Though the kick was not aimed at him, he felt the blow at the point where his thumb joined his forefinger.
Making use of the momentum, Surefoot Lu lunged to the side. But the awkward position he had been stuck in had left him dizzy. He wobbled and crashed to the floor.
Qiu Qianren eyed his opponent. A boy, barely out of his teens, and he had already mastered the intricate skill of striking through a conduit without causing them harm. He had underestimated the Beggar Clan. He would remain on the defensive, for now.
The beggars, meanwhile, surged forward, shouting and cursing. This insolent boy had not only killed their beloved Chief Hong, but now he had also kicked Elder Lu to the ground.
The boy was, of course, Guo Jing.
Since Qiu Qianren's arrival, Guo Jing had been focused on the seven stars of the Northern Dipper, recalling the martial formation Ma Yu and his Quanzhen brothers had used against Apothecary Huang in Ox Village.
He began to think about the formation in connection with the content of the Nine Yin Manual. Somehow, this cryptic text, of which he knew every word but understood no more than a few lines, began to make sense. Many points that he had struggled to grasp were now within his reach.
Even though he had always known that the Manual was written by a man with exceptional knowledge of the Taoist canon, and that the Quanzhen Sect's kung fu was rooted in the very same philosophy, he had never been able to connect the two fully. Until now, that is, guided as he was by the constellation above.
While the Beggar Clan Elders were wrangling with Qiu Qianren, Guo Jing had been thinking about the skill referred to in the second volume of the Manual as Shrinking Muscles, Shortening Bone. It was a commonplace technique, used by thieves and burglars to squeeze through small openings and narrow gaps, but, when advanced martial knowledge was applied, a master could use it to contract every muscle and pull the body into a small ball, much like a hedgehog or porcupine seeking protection.
When Guo Jing was on Rosy Cloud Island, Count Seven had instructed him in a section from the Manual called Transforming Muscles, Forging Bones. As his mind delved into these two chapters, the steel-reinforced leather ropes began to slacken around his wrists and ankles, before slipping off entirely. Not that he realized this was happening. His body was ten times as agile as his intellect.
The instant Elder Peng saw Guo Jing had broken free, he reached out to grab the young man, but Guo Jing eluded him with ease. It was then that Peng noticed the ropes still coiled and knotted on the ground.
How had the boy managed to wriggle out of his restraints like a weatherfish slipping between a fisherman's fingers? Peng was taken aback.
By the time he looked up, Guo Jing had already freed Surefoot Lu from Qiu Qianren's strange grip. Knowing he did not possess the skill to secure the prisoner alone, Peng cried out, "Catch him!"
Dozens of beggars responded to the call. Guo Jing's heart sank at the sight of them swinging their fists and waving their weapons, even though he knew it was because they had fallen for Yang Kang's lies.
I'll give you beggars a good beating! That will please Lotus! he said to himself.
Keen to try out his newfound knowledge of the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation, Guo Jing flexed his arms and planted his feet in the Heavenly Power position.
Standing tall and firm, he held his left arm horizontally across his chest.
Half a dozen men were upon him. Three seized him by his outstretched arm, but Guo Jing held his stance, steady as a mountain. The others joined them.
He drew his arm to his side and pivoted.
Full circle.
"Aiyaaaaah!"
"Ouch!"
"Bastard!"
A smack on the back. A slap on the belly. A kick up the backside. The beggars collapsed in a heap, on top of each other.
Guo Jing was about to go for Yang Kang when he saw two beggars pouncing on Lotus. Too far away to tackle them, he ripped off his canvas shoes and flung them at her attackers.
If he had not been told so many times the story of his second shifu Zhu Cong tossing his shoes at Qiu Chuji at the battle of Fahua Temple, Guo Jing would never have imagined that such ordinary items could be used as a weapon.
The two beggars had lifted their blades, ready to deal the deathblow. They feared Lotus might also find a way to break her restraints, and, if so, they would lose the chance to avenge their late chief.
Just then, the air behind them gave way. Something was hurtling at them with a mighty force.
One of the attackers whipped round. A shoe caught him square in the chest. The other shoe slammed into his accomplice's back before the man even had time to turn his head.
The two beggars toppled, one on his back, the other facedown.
Closest to the action, Elder Peng was startled by Guo Jing's prowess. Only a master could throw something so soft and light with such force. He edged back.
With a flick of his hand, Guo Jing sent three more men sprawling. He then sprinted over, crouched down and started to untie Lotus's binds. Before he managed to untangle the first knot, however, scores of Clan members had already surrounded them several times over.
With the Heavenly Northern Dipper formation still in mind, Guo Jing sat down, shifting Lotus onto his lap. Using his right hand, he fought off the attacks, while his left continued to work on the knots. It was a perfect display of Zhou Botong's Competing Hands technique.
Before long, Guo Jing and Lotus were encircled by nearly a hundred men. Those at the back could not even see their captives, let alone deal any blows.
"Lotus, are you hurt?" Guo Jing asked, as he finally freed her and removed the gag. Above them, weapons clashed and men howled.
"Only numb," she answered. "And achy." She made no attempt to pull herself up.
"Lie here a little longer. I'll make them pay."
"Make sure you don't hurt my clansmen," Lotus said, with a chuckle.
"Of course!" Guo Jing gathered his internal strength to his right hand.
Pang, pang, pang!
Three men flew up and over the crowd.
Guo Jing continued to stroke Lotus's hair.
Another four became airborne.
Panic. Jostling.
"Brethren, let the Disciples of Eight Pouches deal with the traitors," Elder Jian cried from the rear.
Most of the crowd fell away, leaving just three men, who were soon joined by another five.
These eight men each carried eight cloth bags on their back. One rank below the Four Elders, they were responsible for a whole region's clansmen. There were supposed to be nine of them altogether, but Vigor Li had taken his life just before Guo Jing freed himself.
They may have been few in number, but Guo Jing could tell that these men were more formidable fighters than the other beggars.
Sensing that he was about to stand up, Lotus said softly, "Stay sitting. You can do it."
But what if they attack all at once? Guo Jing appraised his opponents and picked up one of the leather cords that had been used to tie Lotus.
He recognized only two of his attackers—the portly beggar and his stick-thin companion, who had traveled with Yang Kang from Ox Village. He would take them out first.
Guo Jing swung the steel-reinforced cord just centimeters above the ground, in a move known as the Shin Breaker, part of the Golden Dragon Whip repertoire. This was his third shifu Ryder Han's most accomplished kung fu. Yet, Han could not have accompanied it with the level of inner strength his student now mobilized.
The two men jumped.
In the blink of an eye, the dancing rope created a wall, shielding Guo Jing's front, back and left. And yet his right side was left undefended. His opponents saw their chance.
"No!"
Elder Jian's cry was accompanied by two loud slaps. The portly beggar and his rake-thin fellow each took a hit to the shoulder.
Their bodies flew up and sailed through the air.
The skinny beggar plowed into one of the Iron Palm Gang standing closest to the fight. His fleshy friend, flung with more heft, flew farther before colliding with another of Qiu Qianren's men.
Qiu had shown no interest in the fight until he heard the thud of body against body. That doesn't sound right, he thought, and glanced over to check on his followers.
He was incensed to see the beggars had vaulted to their feet without a scratch, while his men lay in a heap, bones broken and tendons snapped.
Just as Qiu Qianren was about to turn and confront Guo Jing, he felt a gust of air behind him. Two more beggars were flying his way. He understood that the airborne men were simply the conduit; the lethal force of the boy's inner strength was reserved for whomever they struck.
Drawing his arm back, he batted one man away, changing his course so he landed on a clear patch of dirt. With the air roaring around him, he then thrust both palms simultaneously into the next flying man's back. This powerful move was part of the Iron Palm kung fu that had secured Qiu Qianren's reputation.
Had Qiu's neigong been stronger, it would have canceled out Guo Jing's, probably scrambling the poor beggar's insides at the same time. As it was, Qiu struggled to keep his footing.
The man sailed through the air toward Guo Jing, before gliding to the ground and landing on both feet. He stood in a daze for a moment, then he turned and made for Guo Jing again. He was obviously not injured.
Lotus watched and realized with a shock: Old Qiu's kung fu is mediocre at best. How could the old fraud withstand Guo Jing's strong neigong?
A dozen moves were quickly exchanged. Two more beggars were sent staggering from the fight before the last three fell back, accepting that they stood no chance.
Guo Jing flicked his wrist and the rope curled over two of the retreating beggars. He tugged, dragging them toward him. One final swerve of the makeshift whip and the last of the Eight-Pouch Disciples were tied and bound.
5
Thrilled, Lotus flashed a goading smile at Elder Peng.
He must have used the dark arts of mind entrapment on us, she said to herself, recalling Count Seven Hong's description. First, you are put in a trance, and then you are forced to do whatever the spellcaster tells you to do.
"Guo Jing," she said, "does the Nine Yin Manual mention some kind of mind entrapment?"
"No…"
Guo Jing's answer disappointed her.
"Watch out for the smiling one," she said as he helped her to her feet. "Don't look him in the eye."
Instead, Guo Jing looked across at Yang Kang. Pinning him down with a hard glare, Guo Jing marched up to him.
Cowering among the beggars, Yang Kang had prayed to the heavens that their sheer number would be enough to subdue Guo Jing. But this had not proved to be the case, and he knew he was in grave danger.
"Elders, there are more heroes here tonight than we could possibly count. Surely we're not going to let this ingrate get away?" Yang Kang's feet were moving as briskly as his lips as he scampered over to stand behind Elder Jian.
"Don't worry, Chief. We will grind him down," Jian said to Yang Kang before turning to his fellows. "The wall formation!"
One of the Disciples of Eight Pouches stepped forward, followed by a dozen or so beggars of lower rank. They arranged themselves in a line and linked arms. Another sixteen men formed a second row behind. Then, with a loud cry, they squared their shoulders and ran at Lotus and Guo Jing.
"Aiyooo!" Lotus yelped as she swerved left, while Guo Jing darted right.
Two more beggar phalanxes were now bearing down on them, one from either side.
Even with his experience of leading armies on the battlefield, Guo Jing had never known such a formation. He decided to let them approach, before thrusting both palms into the beggar in the center of the line closing in on him.
But how could one man hold back a score of grown men and their collective momentum? All Guo Jing could manage, despite his exceptional kung fu and tremendous neigong, was to slow a few men in the middle. Those on the flanks folded in on him.
At the last moment, with the beggars all but enveloping him, Guo Jing sprung up and flew over the two rows of attackers. But, just as he touched down on the other side, a new rank appeared. He sucked in a deep breath, flexed his right foot and, once more, sailed over the heads of his pursuers.
Row upon row, the beggars plowed on. From every direction, without pause.
He jumped, but they merely rotated and came back at him.
Charge. Turn. Charge. Turn. Charge.
Wave after wave. How could he get out? Guo Jing could see no weak link to exploit. He was trapped once more.
Lotus was nimbler on her feet. Leaps and sudden quick turns were integral to her martial practice. Even so, she began to feel the strain in her body. Her heart hammered, her breathing could barely keep up.
Before long, she found herself back next to Guo Jing. She too was cornered.
Behind them, the cliff edge; in front and to the sides, files of beggars closing in.
"The cliff!" she cried.
Guo Jing sprinted over to the edge. No time to ask why.
The pursuing force ground to a halt only feet from the precipice.
Now he understood: here, at the edge, they were safe. The beggars were reluctant to come any closer, in case they lost their footing and fell to their deaths. He looked at Lotus, full of admiration, but saw only alarm in her eyes.
The beggars had reconfigured. The phalanx had lengthened to block any chance of escape. The wall had now grown into a column a dozen rows thick. It would not be possible to jump over that many men.
The beggars took one step forward. Then another. Slow but steady.
Guo Jing and Lotus were being forced, one step at a time, toward the abyss.
Guo Jing looked down. "I'll carry you." He had climbed higher and more treacherous cliff faces when he was learning internal neigong with Ma Yu, in Mongolia.
Lotus sighed. "They'll throw rocks."
"The Nine Yin Manual mentions something called Soul Switching." Guo Jing did not know why the passage had come to mind in that moment. "It might also involve … mind entrapment … We won't give up without a fight. If we fall, we'll all fall."
"But they are loyal followers of our shifu, their chief. Why would we want—?"
He cut her off by lifting her into his arms.
"Run!" He breathed the word into her ear and brushed his lips against her cheek.
Summoning a lifetime's worth of strength, Guo Jing threw her.
Lotus soared, borne by the clouds and ushered forth by the mist.
He's going to face them alone. The thought gripped her heart.
Bending her knees slightly, she alighted on the Terrace of the Yellow Emperor.
No one seemed to have noticed her, not even Yang Kang, who was standing a short distance away, in a corner, waving and shouting commands at the beggars attacking Guo Jing.
This is my chance, Lotus told herself. She touched her feet lightly against the ground and leaped up again.
By the time Yang Kang was aware of her, Lotus's fingertips were resting on the end of his green bamboo cane.
He yanked his end, hoping to pull it out of her grasp.
Lotus aimed two fingers, like the prongs of a fork, at his eyes. In the same instant, she swung her foot up, resting it on the shaft of the cane, which was still firmly in her grip.
Snatch from the Mastiff's Jaw: an indispensable move from the Dog-Beating repertoire. She had learned it from Count Seven Hong when he named her his successor. It was designed to recover the cane from any opponent, without fail, even if they were a superior fighter.
In this case, Yang Kang was, for certain, the lesser martial artist. And yet, in her haste, Lotus had poked him in the eyes, when she had only meant the move to be a feint to force him back.
Blackness descended over Yang Kang's field of vision. He let go of the cane, stumbled back, and fell from the Terrace.
6
"Hark, my beggar brethren! stop!" Lotus raised the cane high with both hands and projected her voice using internal-strength kung fu. "Chief Hong is alive and well. This pretender has lied to you!"
The beggars paused, unsure what to believe. It is, after all, human nature to prefer good news to bad. They turned to the young girl.
"Brethren, come! Chief Hong is safe and sound. He has been feasting on three whole chickens cooked in the beggar's style every day!"
"I am your chief. Heed my commands." Yang Kang was still struggling to see, but he could feel the effect of her words. "Push the traitor off the cliff. Then capture this liar."
The crowd roared and resumed their marching. The chief's word was law and must be obeyed, but Lotus's claim had begun to take root in their minds. Chief Hong's love for beggar's chicken was well known. Eating three whole birds a day might be excessive, but it would not be out of character.
"Look!" Lotus cried. "I have the Dog-Beating Cane. That makes me the chief."
They halted. Indeed, no one had ever known any instance of the chief losing his cane in the Clan's long history.
"We, the Beggar Clan, have always had the run of the world," Lotus continued. "And yet, today, we are being abused and insulted, right on our own patch. Two good brothers of ours, Vigor Li and Prosper Yu, were driven to an unjust death. Elder Lu has suffered grievous injury. Why?"
Half the men turned to face Lotus, wanting to hear more. She had appealed to their sense of righteous loyalty toward their fellow clansmen.
"Because of this man!" She pointed at Yang Kang. "He conspired with the Iron Palm Gang and concocted this barefaced lie about Chief Hong. Do you know who he really is?"
A chorus of "Who?" "Tell us!" and "Don't listen to her!" followed.
"He is not a Yang. His family name is Wanyan. Yes, he's the son of Wanyan Honglie, Prince of Zhao, of the Jin Empire. He's here to bring ruin and destruction to our Empire."
She looked at the hundreds of incredulous faces; for them, it seemed, the truth was a claim too far. At that moment, she recalled the metal token—shaped like a hand—given to her by Zhu Cong, after he had picked Qiu Qianren's pocket. It could come in useful. Luckily, the beggars had not searched her person and the token was still there. She raised it high, for all to see. "I took this object out of his hands just now. Look! What is it?"
The beggars rushed forward for a better look.
"The Iron Palm token!"
"Of the Iron Palm Gang!"
"Why does he have it?"
"He is their spy. That is why he carries this emblem on his person. Why else would he agree to retreat south so readily, when the Beggar Clan have been helping the poor and righting wrongs in the north for centuries?"
Yang Kang's cheeks went pale. Then, he flicked his wrist.
Two silvery lines cut through the night air, heading straight for Lotus's heart.
He was standing only a few feet away from her, at the base of the Terrace.
"Watch out!" the beggars closest to her cried.
Lotus ignored the warnings. The steel awls bounced off her chest—clink, clink!—and clattered to the ground.
"Wanyan Kang, would an innocent man resort to such an underhand attack?"
The beggars were awed. How was she not injured? Of course, they could not have known that, under her outer garment, she was wearing the Hedgehog Chainmail, which no weapon could penetrate.
"Who's telling the truth?"
"Is Chief Hong still alive?"
A babble of questions bubbled up. Confusion mixed with hope.
Everyone turned to the Elders. Surely they would be able to determine the truth of the matter.
Needless to say, the wall formation had long since been abandoned, allowing Guo Jing to stride unmolested through the crowd. No one paid him any attention.