Chapter 81

Iron sword and steel knife crossed in the air and struck sparks. What should have been a great rolling surge of sword-intent, layer on layer, was cut off again and again by one coarse kitchen knife.

It was as gay as the New Year fireworks in the town. No figures showed in the night sky, only a busy scatter of bright red sparks, thick and quick as broken stars.

Knife came, sword went. Sword went, knife came. In the clash and clang of it Qi Qian'er could have thrown back her head and howled to the ends of the sky.

From Xie Liuhao to Zhou Wujiu to Pang Tu, and not counting the one she'd cursed to death, ever since she took up this wretched skill she'd felt she could never fully vent it, stopped up to bursting. Never once had she felt the strength in her body flow so freely, so wholly to the full.

Every stroke came out right, every parry came off neat.

Her eyes, her ears, her nose, her mouth, her skin, her very hair were all thrown wide open. She would want to loose a little, and a stroke of sword-intent would be sent to just the right spot, and she'd knock it away with the kitchen knife, easy and sweet.

Before this she'd only drilled it, and never known the Yuede Thirty-Six Forms was such a thing. All that "move like a bolting hare," "a wily hare's three burrows," and the rest of it. The moment the other side stirred, she was like a merry rabbit at play on a spring meadow without end, making herself a snug burrow as she pleased. Wanted to crop the grass, she cropped the grass. Wanted to chase a butterfly, she chased a butterfly. Wanted to roll about, she rolled about.

Each stroke sent out, each one taken in, was sweet past telling. Every pore of her was watered.

How to put the feeling? Oh, like An'er taking a wife, and the daughter's-red wine out of her dowry drunk, the couple bowing to the parents, and a fat grandson the year after. A mouthful of good wine goes down, mellow and smooth, no bite and no rasp. When the warmth of it reaches the heart it spreads slowly outward. Not all in a rush, but reckoned out to the last pore, not one too many and not one too few, working out through her bit by bit, turning the whole breath of old cold she'd stored up into ten thousand drops of cold water driven out of her body, and leaving her a fine, light, floating frame, every ill gone.

But the more they fought, the more Qin Zhuo's heart misgave him. A hundred strokes in, he saw it. He felt himself like the boy of eleven or twelve his father used to hold down.

His father always knew his faults, always knew his habits. At chess his father always knew where he'd set his next stone. His father beat him without moving his feet, one hand only, and could feed him strokes idly a whole morning.

At that thought Qin Zhuo drew in his sword-intent and sprang back to the ancestral-hall roof. Sore at heart, he leveled his sword and cursed: "Elm-Tree Lady, don't go too far!"

Killing goes no further than laying a man's head to the ground. If you're the stronger, then kill me and be done with it. What need to shame a man so?

Qi Qian'er stood in the big willow, and felt only half the pores in her body running free. She hadn't vented it all. So a greed came on her, and she looked at the old man like a red-eyed rabbit, and thought: this old man is a treasure.

Hearing him say she'd gone too far? What was too far, my word? That made no sense. A fine Little New Year, and you came bullying up to a body's door, and then you curse another for going too far?

Never mind, never mind! Two lifetimes over, Qi Qian'er had never known the martial arts were so fine a thing, that even sweating could be so sweet. In a word, it was joy to the very brim.

For an instant she felt lifted to heaven. She thought: I mustn't let this old man go tonight, whatever comes. I must fight him to my heart's content. At that Qi Qian'er took up her kitchen knife and sprang at him again...

Chen Dasheng finished his bath and bound his loincloth. He opened the bath-house door, put out a hand toward where his wife had said the clothes were, and groped twice, and felt an empty drying-frame.

Puzzled, he opened the door and looked to the window, and saw only two lonely undershirts on the frame. But where was the new coat his wife had spoken of? His fine new robe lined with the good sable, where was it?

Chen Dasheng thought a moment, then stepped out. First a shiver ran through him in the wind and snow, and then a great sneeze, and then he began to shake all over.

"Wi... wife? Where are my clothes? Wife?"

A few crisp little clinks sounded in the night sky. Qin Zhuo sprang back onto the roof and stared, astonished, at the sword in his hand. This sword had been with him thirty years and more, and cut down souls past counting, and now it was shattered by a kitchen knife.

He lifted his head and looked hard at the Elm-Tree Lady, and thought, dismayed: even as a green youth, even meeting an old hand of the martial world in his young days, he'd never fought so wretched a fight, where a body could dodge his every stroke so neatly. This woman's power was past fathoming. Yuegong Mountain's deaths were no loss, they'd all deserved to die, for the evil they'd done. But what monster had they gone and startled out of Baiquan Mountain?

Lost was lost, but the shame of it was not to be borne. Qin Zhuo tossed away the bald hilt and put out a hand to his disciple: "Sword!"

His disciple looked at him, astonished, his face all disbelief. Aye. He was the head of Qin She, so how had it come to this? How had he been pressed so far?

Sore at heart, Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter, still rolling in the snow, and thought bitterly: a whole life given to the martial arts, and never had he dreamed he'd throw that life away in a place like this.

At the thought he turned and cried again: "What's all this dithering? Didn't you hear? Sword!"

The words were scarcely out when an aged voice came up from below the hall: "Who's there? Who's making a racket on the roof at this hour of the night?"

Bad! Someone was roused! Without a second thought Qi Qian'er sprang down, caught up the nun, and ran.

Seeing his daughter snatched away, Qin Zhuo was near to madness. In a few bounds he was after her, and the rest came behind.

The old gatekeeper of the school had drunk a few cups too many that day. Hearing the noise on the roof, he brought out a lantern to look. Lifting it, he saw a knot of blurred shapes rise from the roof and vanish.

Fright breeds fright. It came to the old man of a sudden that they were squatting in another house's old ancestral hall, and, and, could it be the family's own ancestors come out at dead of night to take revenge?

He opened his mouth to cry ghost, but a hand tapped him from behind and he crumpled to the ground.

Lucky he never turned to look. Had he, he'd have seen a stark white Elm-Tree Lady mask. Sprung away, Qi Qian'er had remembered the old man would raise the alarm.

So she came back quick, knocked him out, carried him to a bed inside, turned and shut the door, and came out again and took up the nun, all before Qin Zhuo and the rest had caught up. So you may judge how fast she was.

Seeing her about to run again, Qin Zhuo would have had her set his daughter down. But Qi Qian'er laid the kitchen knife against Qing Buyi's neck and threatened: "Quiet, old man, don't shout! Rouse anyone and I'll cut her!"

They were struck dumb, and watched this madwoman carry Qing Buyi off toward the back mountain. She was so fast that the more Qin Zhuo and the rest chased, the more their hearts sank. When they'd chased a while, to a place where no one was, the Elm-Tree Lady hung Qing Buyi on a branch beside her, turned, and smiled at the panting Qin Zhuo: "Again, old man!"

Qin Zhuo, without stopping to think, raised his sword to parry, and at once there was another endless clash and clang, not loud, and just as before, every stroke right, no wish in it to wound but a whole heart of teasing.

And the madwoman fought and called out: "Old man, three hundred rounds tonight! You're not to leave till we're done!"

Qin Zhuo parried a few strokes, set his teeth, and barked low: "Come!"

Only in drum-ballads and opera do you get that "come, come, three hundred rounds." The martial world holds no such talk.

A pity. In a few more strokes the sword in Qin Zhuo's hand shattered too.

Qin Zhuo looked at the bald hilt, and asked Qi Qian'er, startled and enraged both: "Who are you, when all's said?"

The question left Qi Qian'er blank: "How strange. Who am I? Don't you know? The Elm-Tree Lady. You've been to my temple, and you still ask who I am?"

Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter hanging in the wind, and his heart was already set on leaving. He said: "This old man trespassed tonight, coming onto the Lady's ground with no calling-card sent ahead. That was my wrong. Say we do this. Give me back my daughter, and we'll fight our fill again?"

That said, he flicked a glance at the disciple beside him.

Qi Qian'er wanted only her fill of the fight now, and hearing there was such a fine offer she nodded, turned, climbed the tree, took up Qing Buyi and flung her over to them: "Good, good... no! The old man's cheating!"

They caught the nun and turned to run. Qi Qian'er made to chase, but Qin Zhuo shouted: "Don't harm my child!" and it gave her a start.

Then came a thud, and another thud.

Qin Zhuo she stamped to the ground first, both his lower legs sunk into the earth. Then Qi Qian'er kicked over an old tree with ease. The old pine of the deep hills fell straight and snapped across the path his disciples were fleeing by. A flock of night-crows startled up, a ring of pressure came down all round, and the fear in them dripped as cold sweat from their brows, so that not one dared stir.

Qi Qian'er took Qing Buyi back, looked about her, found the tallest tree, and hung her on it again. Qing Buyi felt her soul go floating, a rare fine flying, and even smiled sweetly at Qi Qian'er: "Flying, flying..."

The sight made Qi Qian'er laugh. She patted the nun's bald head to comfort her: "Don't be afraid. Fly a while more, and once I've fought your father to my heart's content I'll let you down!"

At that Qing Buyi's eyes filled, and she said, tears brimming: "Dad's the worst!"

Qi Qian'er didn't know what lay between this father and daughter. Still, to come at dead of night hunting revenge, and the girl shaven and bound, and her wits none too clear. If you'd say the father was bad, he looked too anxious for that, not like a man who didn't love his child. But then why did the nun weep and say her dad was the worst?

"Elm-Tree Lady, do no such base thing! This old man's art was wanting, and today I lost, on your ground. Lost is lost. To kill or to flay me, do as you please, only let my daughter go, and, and this life of mine is yours!"

Qin Zhuo pulled his legs free, ran to the foot of the tree, and cried it up loud.

That struck Qi Qian'er wrong. How, out of a clear sky, was she the base one now?

She sprang down and stood facing Qin Zhuo, and answered rather nettled: "You old man, you know nothing. Other rules I don't know, but one I do. In these five hundred li of Baiquan Mountain, to draw blood you must ask me. I permit it, then you may. I've taken three years' tribute off these people. You broke the rule first. How is it I who am base?"

Qin She was born of a famous martial-Confucian house, and had kept no rules all his life, and gone his own wild way. Half a lifetime mad, and he'd never looked to be used today as a training-post, and, and asked about rules besides?

And, and there was such a rule? He looked at his disciples, and they all nodded like pestles pounding garlic.

He said nothing, but turned over in his mind every thread he had on the martial world's side-gates and its hidden houses, and the more he thought the more it appalled him, for there was truly no clue to her at all.

This Elm-Tree Lady was as if she'd grown up out of the ground itself. Her frame, her bearing, the run of her breath and force, he could find no thread of it anywhere.

There was no help for it, so he dropped his manner two degrees and asked: "It's come to this. What would you have?"

Hearing that, Qi Qian'er's very liver shook with bliss. She raised the kitchen knife and said, not hiding her joy, in dead earnest: "Nothing! Another set like that just now."

She had to vent the whole of this battle-heat in her, that was all. She had a feeling she might not meet such a chance many more times in this life.

Qin Zhuo had been humbled cruelly. Unable to bear the shame, he even wished to die. But hearing his daughter weep above him, a "dad's the worst" with every breath, his heart broke into ten thousand pieces.

Once he'd only hated the girl for knowing no shame, for losing Qin She its centuries of good name. But now, thinking on it, what were those honors to him? Lost, they were lost. He only pitied his daughter her bad luck, born his child. And now he was surely to die, so to whose hands could he trust her and be easy?

It was too late for regret.

This Elm-Tree Lady was base indeed. Because he'd trespassed on her ground, she'd wear him out to his death. At the thought Qin She's face went savage, and he put out a hand and cried at his men: "Sword! Here!"

Qin She's youngest disciple was sick with grief and rage. Drawing his sword, he cried to him: "Master, master!"

How long ago was it? A moment since, high and proud, he'd meant to whip up a Little New Year's blizzard of snow in that lane and let out their senior sister's rage. And in a few breaths' time here they were, beaten like a post in the ground.

A man of his master's rank, and a woman had kicked his head about like a ball.

Qin Zhuo was choked past bearing. He turned and gave another fierce shout: "Sword!"

Wrapped in a thin bath-blanket, Chen Dasheng squatted by the drying-frame under the window in a daze, unable to work out where his clothes had gone. He called at the door: "Jixiang? Jixiang!"

She Jixiang had long been keeping watch at the gate, and at the word came running in, all smiles, calling out: "Ai, ai, coming, coming! Little patriarch, is something wrong?"

Chen Dasheng looked at that old face of his, pressed his lips, and pointed at the drying-frame: "Where are my clothes?"

She Jixiang was puzzled too: "Your clothes? Weren't they sent up from the sewing-room long ago?"

Chen Dasheng jabbed his finger at the frame a couple more times.

Seeing there truly were none, She Jixiang quickly sent someone for another set.

Before long Fifth-Moon came into the yard with the clothes, and She Jixiang helped his young master into them. As he dressed, his young master asked: "My wife said just now she'd put my clothes on the frame to air, but I heard no one come in."

She Jixiang was puzzled too: "Just so. This servant was at the gate, and saw no one come into the yard. Could the old lady have taken them?"

At that Chen Dasheng was blank, and asked Fifth-Moon: "Where's your mistress?"

Fifth-Moon said: "The mistress said she'd cook the master a few of his best dishes tonight, and went to the kitchen just now..."

She hadn't finished when a few muffled booms sounded from the back mountain.

Everyone was startled, and all turned to look that way. Rolling thunderclaps went on and on, and She Jixiang said: "There's an odd year for you. How's it thundering in weather like this?"

On Baiquan Mountain, a row of red pines snapped across the middle where Qin Zhuo crashed into them. He spat a mouthful of blood, and when he came down he was already broken in his wits. He couldn't remember how many swords he'd shattered. He only rose swaying and cried again at his men: "Sword!"

"Master, there are no more swords."

Qin Zhuo's chief disciple felt at the empty scabbard at his waist, and every hope in his heart was ash.

None left? None at all?

How had it come to this?

The mountain wind howled, and the strange Elm-Tree Lady's fur flew about her, and in the dark her mask looked more and more a devil's. Could she truly be a ghost?

A dread came over Qin Zhuo. He threw away the hilt in his hand, and, holding down the blood surging in his chest, looked at this she-ghost: "This old man is beaten. Do as you please..."

He lifted his head and bared the wrinkled old skin of his neck and his throat, in the very picture of a man giving himself up to whatever came.

Qi Qian'er was loath to lose the old man. She craned her head and looked hard, one after another, down the line, and sure enough each of them had an empty scabbard at his waist.

She even asked, disappointed: "Truly none left? Look, won't you? Just maybe there's one more?"

There's no shaming a man so. They were sick with the humiliation, but said nothing, and, learning of their master, one and all raised their necks too, in the picture of men giving themselves up to whatever came.

So there was truly nothing left to trade strokes with. Qi Qian'er drew a breath, looked down at the kitchen knife in her hand with a heart full of regret, remembered the dishes not yet cooked in the kitchen, and said: "Well, well, since there's none left, then off you go."

Her own brow was faintly damp now. The ring in her she'd never before been able to run smooth felt whole today, and, and she was even a little tired?

What? Let them go?

Qin Zhuo and the rest started, and all raised their heads to look at Qi Qian'er. In the end one bold soul asked: "Lady, you, you're letting us go?"

Qi Qian'er lifted her head, rather nettled: "What? The sacrifice hour's past. Shall I keep you for the offering? Off with you, quick, it's late already!"

She'd to go back and cook. The hardest lot in the world is a woman's. She must see to everything, and where she was missing, nothing went right.

The few of them were silent at first. Then one sprang up the tree, loosed Qing Buyi, and carried her on his back. And seeing that Qi Qian'er truly didn't stop them, a disciple went to help Qin Zhuo up.

Every hope in Qin Zhuo ash, helped to his feet, he picked up a sword-shard without a word, looked about him, saw a half-snapped tree, and went and wrote a line on it.

"Qin She to keep off this ground. Qin Zhuo."

That written, he threw the shard on the ground, and watched his disciples gather up all the other pieces and heap them under the line.

When they'd done, Qin Zhuo cupped his hands to Qi Qian'er: "Qin Zhuo has learned his lesson today. From this day the disciples of Qin She will never dare set foot on Baiquan Mountain again."

Qi Qian'er nodded quietly, and remembered that Old Xin had said he'd not enter Baiquan Mountain either. This must be another of the martial world's queer rules.

Seeing Qi Qian'er allow it, the Qin She men were easy at heart at last. They thanked her again in earnest, and then, propping one another up, went stumbling off. Qi Qian'er followed behind. When they reached the mountain-foot she felt truly rather tired. By old habit she went to borrow a breath of the earth's force, but tonight the earth's force would not answer her. There was no help for it, so she put out a hand and drew force from a sturdy tree beside her.

Qin Zhuo and the rest went on a way, and at last, seeing the road down, they turned all together to look back at Baiquan Mountain.

That one look, and their legs went soft under them. They saw a cloud-high green pine crumble away like fine dust. Then a second, and a third... A mountain wind blew over, and the dust scattered every way, and some of the ash blew onto their faces, and it frightened the very liver and gall out of them.

Qin Zhuo's arm shook as he rubbed a hand across his face, and it came away full of the burnt ash of trees.

Not one of them dared stir. It was a long while before a clear woman's voice asked: "Father, is this Elm-Tree Lady truly a demon?"

Qin Zhuo was silent first, and shook his head. Then came a start and a joy both. He whipped round to look at his daughter, and it was a long moment before his lips trembled and his voice shook, and he cried: "Niu! Niuniu? You, you're well?"

Qing Buyi nodded, her own eyes wide with shock at the tree-ash still falling from the mountain: "It was chance upon chance. Your child was, was frightened awake. Soul-gathering soup, the point-opening finger, only a great fright can cure it. And the hysteria feels no fright, so as a rule there's no curing it."

She hopped down off her fellow-disciple, gave a shrug, and when the ropes on her snapped and fell in pieces she drew a breath and knelt slowly to her father: "Your child deserves ten thousand deaths. From birth I was a wretch who never did as my father would, and today I brought this shame down on my father, and made our Qin She's hundred years of honor a byword. Your child knows a hundred deaths would not clear her fault..."

At that Qing Buyi remembered the whole wretched pass she'd come to in the Great Liang palace, and, past bearing the shame of it, she looked up and pleaded: "Father! Your child was struck at by a hidden hand! I beg you, of your grace, let your child first find that true villain and pay back the shame, and then come home to die?"

Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter, and in the end shook out his sleeve and wiped the ash from her face: "There's no telling which of us is the other's curse. Go. From this day, live as you will, die as you will. You've left the world already, so you're no longer of Qin She. When you were mad I fetched you home because there was no help for it. Now you're clear-minded. Good, good..."

His strength let go, and he slumped soft to the ground, and after a few mouthfuls of blood he said: "Heh heh, it's all retribution. A whole life mad, and duels past counting, and never once beaten, and never did I dream I'd lose in one muddled brawl. Just like my whole life. I came muddled and I'll go muddled. I won muddled once, and today I've lost more muddled still. Enough! I'll go home and wash my hands of it, and hide my face from the martial world for good..."

Qi Qian'er of course did not know she'd forced another old monster the martial world had reared at such pains to hang up his sword. She was only vexed at herself, thinking she'd have saplings to plant again come spring, and cursing under her breath the crowds of madmen and fools of the martial world, coming and going without end. Truly they came out of nowhere and left as strangely. She ran home fast, and from a long way off heard her own fool calling: "Wife! Wife? Open the door~ wife?"

Bad, bad, bad, bad...!

Chen Dasheng had rapped at the mill-room door a good while before his wife came slowly to open it, her little face flushed as she looked at him.

Chen Dasheng was touched, and said to Qi Qian'er: "Wife, it's only the brothers of the house drinking a cup, no elders. There's no need for you to grind flour. Just throw something together for them and let it be."

Then, seeing the coat his wife had on, he thought: just as I knew. She must have found the charcoal too fierce, and warmed my clothes on her own body.

His heart was so touched his eyes near brimmed.

It was a while before he said, his voice trembling: "Wife, that you should trouble to warm my clothes for me with your own... Just air them any old way, it's enough. I used to be worn so hard, I've lain in how many snow-hollows. How, how did I come to be so delicate?"

Qi Qian'er drew a long breath, and looked at Chen Dasheng with a strange face: "Ai. It's a curse, right enough. One fool to a household."