Chapter 1: The Girl in White (3)

The young man’s eyebrows pulled closer together at the sound of fighting. There had never been any trouble this close to the temple before, but from the sound of it, bandits were now working the banks of the river. Fearing that a traveling merchant may be in trouble, he ran back towards the river.

Xialin still harbored the childish dislike of being left out of any sort of excitement. Seeing the young man heading back for the river alone was more than she could bear. “Brother Yang, wait! I’m coming with you!” she cried.

Glancing over his shoulder, the youth in green felt his heart stir at the sight of the smiling headstrong Xialin rushing to his side. Together, they sped towards the river.

They had run side-by-side for some distance when suddenly, along the path through the orchard, a burly man covered in blood and clutching a saber came flying towards them closely pursued by two older men. All three moved with the speed of shooting stars. The nearer of the two pursuers hurled a handful of silver darts into the large man’s back, but he did not break his pace. Catching sight of the two youths on the path, the large man called out, “Please! Fetch the abbot!”

He unconsciously slowed as he cried out, and his pursuers closed the distance. Four palms lashed out simultaneously with the force of an avalanche, splintering the trunks of two peach trees by the side of the path and hurling the large man eight feet in the air before sending him crashing to the ground. A bright ribbon of blood burst from his lips. The sky was briefly obscured by a shower of peach blossoms fluttering to the ground.

Though shocked by the power of the blow he had just witnessed, the young man in green nonetheless sprang to the fallen man’s aid, knowing from the man’s entreaty that he had some relationship to his master. Leaping from both feet, he to flew at the two older men to block their path. The two pursuers glanced at the form of the fallen man. Satisfied that the successive damage of their dragon whisker darts and Mountain Felling Palm technique had halted his flight, they paused in front of the youth who now blocked the path.

This young man in green was none other than Yang Menghuan, favored disciple of Yi Yang Zi, one of the three patriarchs of the Kunlun Sect and abbot of the Temple of the Unseen City. In the twelve years he had served his master, Menghuan had learned well the vast bulk of the two martial forms upon which the reputation of the Kunlun Sect rested: the Spectral Light Sword technique, and the Heavenly Air Palm technique. Despite his confidence in his training, he couldn’t suppress a twinge of fear as he eyed the two middle-aged men on the path before him.

One had dark eyebrows and deeply hooded eyes that peered from a face like a ying-yang symbol: roundish, the left half covered by a blue-black flush of birthmarks, the right half pale, all framed by a three inch tangle of hair. The other man could have been a long-dead corpse returned to life: his bone-white complexion revealed not a trace of living blood flowing beneath its flesh, and a yellowish beard hung limply from his chin. These ghastly men evoked shivers from all who gazed upon them, and Yang Menghuan was no exception.

Seeing Menghuan outnumbered, Xialin leapt to his side, only to cry out in shock once she glimpsed the monstrous appearance of the two men. Instinctively, she edged closer to Menghuan.

The man with the yin-yang face cackled, “And what relation would these little playthings have with the Temple of the Unseen City? Whoever you are, you’d best give way. Do not hinder us.”

Menghuan’s mind raced to deduce the origins of the two hideous men. Judging from their devastating palm strikes these were not ordinary highway robbers. Surely they were hidden masters of the Rivers and Lakes—the vast underworld where secretive guilds of beggars, boatmen, pugilists and ascetics vied for reputation and advantage, and the one place outside of myth and legend where esoteric knowledge and superhuman abilities were still cultivated and passed on—but without definite knowledge of their allegiances it would be best to avoid giving offense, all the more so since he was certain we was no match for them in a fight. All Menghuan could hope to do was use his wits to delay them until his master came. He spoke softly to Xialin: “Go swiftly, find our masters.”

Xialin turned and ran in the direction of the temple, while Menghuan remained. He bowed deeply to the two men, “Respected elders, I am a disciple of the Temple of the Unseen City. May I inquire by what honorable titles shall I address thee, so that I may properly welcome you on behalf of abbot Yi Yang Zi?”

The men erupted into laughter.

“You’re a clever boy,” said the yin-yang faced man. “No doubt you suppose that your master’s name is sufficient to freeze us to the spot with terror—“

The corpse-like man cut in. “Brother, don’t waste your words. Let’s get what we came for, then deal with him.”

Before he had finished speaking his body angled forward, then flew at the fallen man like an arrow. Menghuan no longer had any choice: he briefly circulated his internal energies, then unleashed Parting the River, a component of the Heavenly Air Palm technique which propelled him horizontally through the air on a collision course with the assailant. There followed a sound like the cracking of a whip. The force of the impact flung Menghuan’s body five or six yards. The white-faced man was unprepared for the attack and reeled backward.

Menghuan hit the ground and lights danced across his field of vision. He fought against the dark pull of unconsciousness and struggled to orient himself. His eyes fell upon the blood soaked body of the large man who had been pursued through the grove, who now lay some eight yards away, eyes locked wide in fury, blood still flowing from mouth and nose. In an instant, the two ghoulish men rushed the fallen man, one from each side, the yin-yang faced monster growling at Menghuan, “You seem to have a death wish, poppet. You must forgive your Uncle Wang for what comes next.”

Deflecting the first attack had drained nearly all of Menghuan’s energies. Now, the combined strength of the two fiends bore down upon the wounded man. If Menghuan attempted to interfere, he would invite grave wounds at best, and more likely death. However, it was clear that the man carried something important, something of significance to his beloved master, and in any event, Menghuan was already too deeply involved to back down, even if it meant forfeiting his life. He leapt to his feet and charged to meet the assault with arms extended.

In that instant a voice cried out: “Fall back Menghuan! Seek ye not death!”

Table of Contents

Swallow and Dragon by Wolong Sheng

English Translation by Joshua Dyer


Chapter 1: The Girl in White (1)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (2)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (3)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (4)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (5)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (6)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (7)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (8)
Chapter 1: The Girl in White (9)

Chapter 1: The Girl in White (2)

A hint of pain colored the monk’s solemn expression. He lightly stroked the girl’s hair, and said, “That is something I have always intended to discuss with you, but it is not yet the proper time. For now, you must study well elder Yi Yang Zi’s Spectral Light sword method.”

Having spoken this far, the old monk caught sight of a youth with regal bearing approaching on the secluded path through the peach grove. Clothed in a long green silk gown and cloth-soled shoes, his refined dress and manner did little to conceal his strength and vigor. He made his way around the peach trees, his clear eyes sparkling with the reflections of blossoms, the long sleeves of his gown fluttering in the breeze. Approaching the monk, he bowed with hands joined at the chest, and spoke.

“My master said that elder Cheng Yin would be arriving today. He asked that I be here to greet you. I didn’t realize that the Buddhas would speed you to such an early arrival.”

The old monk laughed, “Xia Lin will be disturbing the accustomed calm of the temple for the coming three months. I fear that she will not only interfere with your master’s ascetic practices, but will hinder your progress in the martial arts, as well.”

Flustered, the young man quickly dropped his hands. “By my understanding, sister Xia Lin is extremely gifted. My master said she has already received the complete transmission of elder Cheng Yin’s teachings, and that there are no limits to her potential. Given my inferior skill, I’m sure that I will learn a great deal practicing with her in the coming months. How could this be called a ‘disturbance’?”

Xia Lin couldn’t quite suppress her joy at hearing this litany of praise. Her eyebrows darted upwards, and color danced across her cheeks. Moments later, the corners of her mouth attempted a second smile, and the final traces of her recent dejection were swept from her face. Tilting her head to hide the depth of her feelings, she gazed at him from the corners of her eyes, but the young man offered not even the briefest sidelong glance in return. He stood quietly, his hands at his sides, a model of restraint.

The old monk caught the look in her eyes, and mulled over its meaning as he quietly exhaled. Xia Lin had met him a year before, and ever since she had nagged the old monk to bring her to the Temple of the Unseen City. She had said it was because she loved the peach trees, but that was plainly just an excuse. From the look of things, Xia Lin was in love, and the object of her affection hadn’t the slightest interest in her.

Memories of the monk’s own impassioned youth passed before his mind’s eye: his near-death on Mount Huang, a disaster that yielded boundless fortune: a fated meeting with a master, and the chance to study martial techniques esoteric beyond reckoning.

Gazing deeper into the dust of his youth brought on the panic of waking from nightmare. Unbreakable threads of past loves and enmities rose to ensnare him as he stood in full wakefulness. “Have twenty years spent in prayer done nothing to rid me of these foolish attachments?” he despaired. In every midnight dream, still, her voice, her face, her smile… then, the vicious blow that sent her spiraling towards death; the final confession of love; the tearful entreaty to rear the child, Xia Lin, her only family. If ever he allowed Xia Lin to live a similar life of regrets, would he not have failed her mother’s spirit in the realm of the heavens?

Unaware of the cold sweat beading on his forehead, the monk raised his eyes to see Xia Lin’s face illuminated by the late-afternoon sunlight that filtered through the spring blossoms. A naive half-smile had formed at the corners of her lips and upon her brow as she gazed at the young man in green, but, as before, his solemn countenance betrayed no awareness of her gaze.

That Yi Yang Zi had accepted this youth as his disciple clearly indicated that he was a young man of some distinction, but the fact that he could completely ignore the presence of Xia Lin, an incomparable beauty with a smile blossoming upon a her lips, spoke volumes more: this was an exceptional young man indeed!

Again, the youth bowed, saying, “My master awaits your presence in the Cinnabar Chamber. If it so pleases elder Cheng Yin, let us make our way to the temple.”

The old monk nodded and turned towards the path that rounded the peach grove and led to the Temple of the Unseen City. As soon as he took his first step, a desolate wailing arose in the distance, as piercing as the night cries of an injured crow. The hairs on his neck stood erect, and Cheng Yin wrinkled his brow in alarm. He turned his head to see Xia Lin and the young man in green standing shoulder to shoulder, also looking back in surprise.

The cries grew louder, and a confusion of other voices were soon heard. Suddenly the wailing stopped, replaced by the distant sound of clashing swords.

Chapter 1: The Girl in White (1)

In Northern Hunan province, between the towns Yuanling and Taoyuan, there is a piece of paradise on earth. If you take a boat up the Yuan River, from Dongting Lake past the towns of Changde and Taoyuan, past the bend in the river known as the Zhang Family Crook all the way to Shuixi, then leave your boat and climb up the bank, you’ll arrive at a large Daoist temple standing out from a background of mountains clad in peach trees. This is the Temple of the Unseen City, founded by the monk Hou Shixiu.

One spring day, when peach blooms blanketed the land between the river and temple with hues as exquisite as rich brocade, a young woman dressed in white appeared from the depths of the grove. Holding a branch of peach blossoms in her left hand, and the hem of her light silk gown in her right, she carefully circled around places where the trees were dense, slowly making her way to the bank.

Her face was naturally pretty, but when paired with the elegant simplicity of her gown, it acquired an otherworldly quality. With the added effect of the light filtering through the blossoms, which marked her face with soft glowing pearls, she was transformed into a beauty to surpass all others, an innocent nymph freshly emerged from the water.

She strode to the bank and fixed her gaze upon the rapidly flowing water, a delicate smile of satisfaction upon her lips. She abruptly plucked a few blossoms from the branch in her hand and threw them into the heart of the river where they rose and fell with the rapids as they were swiftly carried away. Exhaling softly, her smile faded and a hint of wistful sorrow arose in its place.

At the same moment, a small fishing boat appeared upstream and sped towards her on the rapid current like an arrow in flight. In no time a figure was visible standing at the prow, a monk with a kindly face, about 60 years old, dressed in grey robes. Upon seeing the monk, the delicate smile immediately returned to the girl’s face and she cried out, “Master!” She threw the peach branch to the center of the river, and with a light thrust of her dainty feet her delicately wrought frame sailed across the rapids, white silk trailing in the wind. Both feet lightly touched upon the peach branch where it floated on the water’s surface, and spreading her arms, she leapt again, flying directly to the side of the monk on the boat.

The old monk let out a hearty laugh and said, “How is it that at 17 years of age a young woman can remain so mischievous?”

As he spoke his right hand grabbed hold of the boat’s anchor and he mightily hurled it to the riverbank. Then the monk himself took flight as if loosed from a crossbow. The voluminous sleeves of his robe spread wide and he sailed 25 feet across the river’s surface. Turning his head back from his new position on the bank he watched the girl in white as she also leapt for shore. She appeared to reach the limit of her powers midway and dropped as if about to plunge into the river. The old monk observed her closely as she thrust both arms upwards and again rose to a height of eight or nine feet. Her gown billowed outward in a circle the size of a wagon wheel as she came down beside him, a charming smile on her lips.

“Master, wouldn’t you say my Swallow Piercing the Clouds gongfu has gotten much better?” she asked.

The old monk nodded, smiling, “You’ve improved, but your internal cultivation is still lacking. Should you need to escape an encirclement your attention must remain on your foes. Thus, your leap must be completely second nature, and powerful enough to carry you to safety. And you certainly won’t be able to flap your arms around like that while holding a sword.”

Upon hearing criticism in place of the praise she had expected, the girl in white scrunched her face into a silent sullen pout.

The old monk tensed his brow, allowing his annoyance to show upon his otherwise kindly visage. It would not do to go on indulging her as he had in the past. It was better to take this opportunity, he thought, to scold her, thereby checking her impetuous nature. From now on he would have to be more strict when training her. He gazed at her standing amongst the blossoms fingering the end of her plait, her displeasure showing as a reddening beneath the powder on her cheeks. In her posture and expression, she was the very picture of impulsive innocence, and so reminiscent of her long dead mother that 30 years dissolved before the monk’s eyes like a dream upon waking. Heartache long buried welled up within him. How could he scold her? Before he could restrain himself he called to her in a low voice, “Xialin, come here.”

His voice brought her out of her self-reproach, and turning her head she was surprised to see him trembling ever so slightly, light glinting from his teary eyes. Crying out she rushed to him and knelt, clutching herself to his knees. She begged, “Dear Master, don’t be angry. I’ll never do anything again to disappoint you, I swear.”

The old monk lifted her to her feet. Smiling, he spoke, “Yi Yang Zi is the name of the abbot of the Temple of the Unseen City. He is also one of the three leaders of the Kunlun Mountain sect. Their Spectral Light sword method is unmatched. For the sake of your continued training I have asked that the abbot agree to an exchange. He will teach you the Spectral Light method, and I will teach his disciple my 18 Arahats palm method. My hope is that you will learn it well, and then, for the sake of your parents, you can…” He stopped, his brow knitted in sorrow. His consciousness was submerged beneath images of the past and in this stricken state, he spoke no more.

Seeing her master’s mournful expression, Xialin became greatly concerned. Grabbing his hand, she pleaded, “Master, don’t be upset, I told you I won’t ever do anything again to anger you.”

Before she finished speaking it occurred to her that the monk was on the verge of saying something important, something she needed to know.

“Master, just now you mentioned my parents. It’s been weighing on me for many years that I know so little about them, but you have never been willing to tell me anything. It’s a pity that I don’t even know what they looked like. Please, tell me more, or I’ll die from the pain of it.”

By the time she finished speaking, tears were rolling one after the other down her powdered cheeks.

Welcome to all fans of fantasy, kung fu, and Chinese literature!

For a while now I have been interested in finding ways to introduce Chinese popular culture to western audiences. This blog is my latest attempt to do something productive towards this end.

There is perhaps no genre in Chinese popular literature that is more representative of Chinese culture than wuxia, roughly equivalent to fantasy literature in the west. Wuxia incorporates elements of swordplay, romance, and historical fiction, as well Chinese philosophy and esoteric practices into complex action-packed narratives. I think enthusiasts of fantasy literature, Chinese martial-arts, East Asian culture, and lovers of adventure and romance will all find something appealing in these works.

I have chosen to translate this particular example of wuxia literature, Wolong Sheng's Swallow and Dragon, because it was a pioneering novel that introduced a number of elements that would later become standard tropes of the genre. For fear of offering too many spoilers I won't go into detail concerning these tropes, but let it suffice to say that this novel helped to define the basic setting of the wuxia genre much in the way that Tolkien's Lord of the Rings created a setting that countless later fantasy authors used as their template.

Additionally, I chose this novel because my experiments with translation in this genre have revealed that Wo Longsheng's work lends itself well to rendering in English. The style may come across as a bit antiquated, but I choose to believe that it suits the pseudo-historical setting, and also accurately reflects the fact that wuxia fiction was indeed drawing stylistically from sources in classical Chinese literature. Frankly, it should sound antiquated, just as western fantasy novels attempt to do.

I hope that readers will be tolerant with regard to the unique narrative style, plot and character development of which characterizes this genre, as it departs somewhat from what western readers may expect. Wuxia fiction is descriptive and plot focused, while western readers may well hope to see more complex character development and psychological insight. All I can say is that this is a novel from a different time and a different culture, so there are bound to be some differences one must adjust to!

Readers should also keep in mind that most of the great works of wuxia fiction were composed as serial novels that were published in daily papers. Writers were working fast to keep up with their constant deadlines, and were paid by the word. These conditions resulted in long convoluted plots that would keep readers guessing and coming back for more, and keep the authors in business. Insufficient time put into planning often meant that some loose ends sometimes did not match up, but contemporary readers nonetheless enjoyed the continuous suspense and mystery that were the lynchpins of the genre, as I hope you will.

Finally, let me thank you for coming to take a look at this translation project. I hope that your attention will be rewarded by the pleasure of discovering a unique genre of fiction that is rarely translated into English, and the chance to learn a little more about Chinese popular culture.

Keep your eyes peeled; first post coming soon!