The Informal History of the Martial Arts Circle
aka: Wu Lin Wai Shi [武林外史], Mou Lam Ngoi Si [武林外史], Pendekar Baja.
This novel was written in 1965.
Angry snow. Intense cold.
The world was chillingly quiet.
As far as the eye could see, everything was an unbroken picture of silvery white.
Outside KaiFeng, in the falling snow, two horses galloped close. The man in the front wore a threadbare coat. Both his hands were hidden within the sleeves, leaving the reins tied to the saddle.
The horse was extremely handsome, but the rider appeared destitute. He wore an old and shabby marten hat that pressed over his eyes in the onslaught of the wind, concealing his face.
The horse behind him bore a dead man. The body was already frozen, but because of the cold, the face was preserved and looked as if it was still alive. The flamboyant clothing remained fresh and colourful, as untouched as new. There was not a mark on the entire body, and the last faint smile remained frozen on the face, making its owner appear contented and at peace, as if he had died in comfort.
No one knew where these two horses came from. But they were going to a famous manor outside KaiFeng. If the man on the horse strained his eyes, he could see the murky outline of the estate.
The manor was located on the west of the frozen moat, with hundreds of houses creating a grand atmosphere. Its high doors were never closed, and the snowy ground before them was covered with hoofprints. Yet, there was not a trace of humans outside.
Entering the yard, some tattered notices were found pasted under the eaves. Some of them had been weathered by the wind and snow, and the words on them were no longer crisp.
On the right was a courtyard that functioned like a gatehouse. The front hall was devoid of decoration except for a dozen new coffins, as though waiting for dead people to be buried. Even though it was so cold, there was no fire in the hall. Two men dressed in black used one of the coffin as a table, and drank to each other's health.
Beside the coffin were already three empty jars, but the two men showed no trace of drunkenness. They were both skinny, and their countenances were severe, as alike as two stone statues, but they exchanged no conversation.
The man on the left had no right hand: from the wrist downwards was a large black hook that looked at least a dozen pounds heavy. As he flung his hook down, it appeared as if he would smash the lid of the coffin, but where the iron hook fell, it picked up a peanut without even touching the plate.
The man on the right had a complete body, but with each cup he drank, he bent over and coughed incessantly. Yet, he continued drinking cup after cup as if he would rather die than not drink.