Cleansing Flowers and Swords
aka: Huan Hua Xi Jian Lu [浣花洗剑录], Wun Fa Sai Gim Luk [浣花洗劍録], Misteri Kapal Layar Pancawarna.
Written in 1964, this novel gave Gu Long a measure of success after eight failures.
Cold winds that cut like a knife. Layers of thick and heavy clouds.
The storm on the shore of Bohai Sea was vicious and dangerous. Looking into the distance, the sky met the sea in a sheet of black. The waves that hit the rocks seemed like splashes of ink.
Suddenly, a wave swept the mast of a ship on to a rock with a "crash", breaking it at once into several pieces. When the wave rolled back, a pair of sharp eyes seemed to flash suddenly in the sea.
By the time the second wave had come and gone, the pair of eyes was already two feet closer to the shore. A face could now be vaguely seen.
Such a storm, such a cold night. Yet, a man was walking out of the waves. It was something that could hardly be believed.
But after more than ten waves had come and gone, the silhouette of a man began staggering a step at the time up the sandy beach by the rocks.
Thunder struck. Lightning flashed in the thick clouds.
The silhouette had dishevelled hair that spread out on his shoulders and covered part of his face. Both his hands were wrapped tightly around a strangely-shaped six-foot-long sword with a black scabbard. Greenish veins rose on the back of his hands, as if he would rather lose everything in the world than release that sword for an instant.
From the look of things, it was obvious that he had used the sword as a walking stick to make his way across the ocean bed after being shipwrecked. The mountain-like waves had failed to beat him into a retreat.
On the shore, he took a few more steps and collapsed. Just before he did, his body had been as straight as a spear. His eyes had flashed as sharply as lightning!
The long night passed. The layers of clouds thinned out.
As day broke, the man who was sleeping soundly on the beach suddenly turned over, leapt up and gripped the sword in his left hand with an agility and speed that no pen or ink could describe. But he was totally unwilling to waste the slightest bit of energy. Once he was upright, the muscles in his entire body relaxed.
He did not appear to have a sturdy build, but he looked proportionate from head to toe. He did not have any excessive flesh at all. The skin on his hands, feet and face had a burnished tan, making him look like a statue that was carved out of bronze. His shoulders drooped. His nose seemed to have been whittled to a sharp point. He was about thirty years old, but he could also be already fifty or so.
His clothes were not completely dry yet. His body was splattered with sand and mud, but he did not reach out to pat himself clean at all. Instead, he pulled out an oilcloth package from his inner garment. There was a clearly-drawn map inside the package, as well as a book filled with the names of people and places. He gazed at the book for moment and began muttering to himself: "Mount Lao..."