The Prince

“What’s all this about a competition?” I ask Mo Jiang, as we rub our horses down side by side.  The whole camp’s been buzzing with this news all day.

Mo Jiang grins.  “You’ve never seen anything like it.  There’ll be swordplay, archery, wrestling and jiju.”

“What’s jiju?”  I pick up another handful of grass and keep rubbing.  My horse, Arrow, turns his head to snatch at the grass and I snatch it back.

“It’s a team game on horseback.  They have a long stick and they have to hit a ball and score goals.  It’s wild, you’ll love it.”

“Can anyone take part?”

“Not in the jiju, you have to be selected by the team leaders.  But the other competitions, sure.”

“Who are the team leaders?”

“The Commander and Sub-Commander.  It’ll be a fight to the death.  Everybody bets like crazy – people lose fortunes.  I’m going to have a go at the wrestling.  You should try the archery.  It’d be good practice.”

“I’ll never beat Wu Shun,” I say with a chuckle.  Wu Shun has turned out to be an ace at archery now he’s got his hands figured out. 

“None of us can.  But you’re pretty good as well.  You should try.  We can go and put our names down when we’ve finished here.”

Next day I’m detailed to help Liang Zhou.  We’re preparing baskets of bandages and splints and brewing pots of different kinds of lotion and ointment.  Awed, I say, “Will there be that many injuries?”

Liang Zhou nods, his mouth in a wry line.  “These games are rough.  The men play hard.  I hear you’re competing in the archery?”

“Mmm, the basic level, not the mounted stuff.  I can’t do that yet.”

“You should get the Commander to teach you.  He’s the best I’ve ever seen at mounted archery.  You’ll see tomorrow.”

There’s a lot of preparation going on.  We’re camped on and around a hillside, but a level piece of land a short distance away has been selected for the games.  The hunters have brought in a mountain of meat, and roasting pits are being dug.  Fan Feng and his men are putting up targets for the archery, and areas have been set aside for the sword-fights and the wrestling.  There’s a tremendous air of anticipation and excitement.  There are prizes to be won:  money prizes, weapons and privileges like getting leave to visit the next town.  There’s a rumour that wine will be distributed at the end of the day.  Expectations are high.

We’re all up before the horn blows next morning.  The roasting pits have been burning since last night and there’s already a mouth-watering smell in the air.  Immediately Wu Shun and I have to get ready for the first round of the archery, a knockout round with five arrows.  The idea’s to get all five arrows inside a small circle on the target.  At first I’m a little worried I’ll be nervous shooting in front of so many people, but I find on the contrary that it’s exhilarating.  Wu Shun and I both qualify.  The next round isn’t for an hour or so, so we join up with the other Young Masters and go and cheer on Mo Jiang in the wrestling. 

I can’t quite make out the rules in this kind of wrestling.  It just seems to me like two half-naked men using every trick in the book to throw one another to the ground.  Lin Chen explains that pretty much everything’s allowed except biting, punching, head-butting, crotch-kicking and poking your opponent in the eyes.  After three falls, you’re out.  This is not high-level martial arts.

Mo Jiang waves at us from the competitors’ area, where he’s waiting to go on.  His bout’s next.  His opponent’s slightly taller but Mo Jiang’s well-built and has an air of quiet confidence.  Behind me, somebody’s taking bets.  The two men bow to one another and then they’re straight at it.  The noise rises round us.  I can see immediately that Mo Jiang’s very good at this.  He moves well and plans his moves ahead.  He wins his first bout without really breaking a sweat.  We cheer loudly and he grins and waves again.

Everything’s going on at the same time:  the elimination rounds of the archery, the wrestling and the sword-fights.  Men wander around from one place to another, betting, cheering and gossiping.  They’re all really waiting for the eliminations to be over and the real fights to begin.  The atmosphere’s heady. 

In the sword-fighting, the competitors have to fight inside a ring of rope which has been placed on the ground.  You win by forcing your opponent over the boundary.  They’re using wooden swords, not real ones.  All the same, it’s no fun being hit hard with a wooden sword, as I know very well.  Needless to say, everyone’s an armchair expert.  All the moves are analyzed and debated by the critics in the crowd. 

This is so great.  I’m loving every minute of it.  But all too soon Wu Shun and I have to race back for the next round of the archery.  This is to decide the finalists.  Now we have to shoot eight arrows into the same small circle.  I’m panting a bit from having to run back, so I take a minute to calm myself down.  I know I can do this.  Next to me Wu Shun’s calmly shooting arrow after arrow, dead on target.  He really is amazing.  I focus and reach back for my first arrow.  I’m concentrating so hard that the sound of the crowd seems to diminish around me.  All I can think about is the feel of the bow and arrow in my hands and the target in the distance.  Almost before I know it, all my arrows are gone and the cheering slams into my ears again.  I stagger a bit, not quite knowing what’s happened.  Wu Shun pats my shoulder and says:  “Well done!”  I return the compliment, rather breathlessly.  We wait while the judges check the targets.  We both qualify.  Lin Chen and Qin Feng rush up and we group-hug triumphantly.

We grab some roast meat and go to where the mounted archery’s taking place.  This involves shooting into a target from a running horse and it takes some practice.  Only a few competitors manage it.  Some shoot wild, some drop their bows, some even fall off, to happy  jeers from the crowd.  Wu Shun and I are on a high, we roll about laughing and slapping each other on the back.  Then it’s back to the wrestling.  Mo Jiang has made it into the top eight, but immediately we see that he’s carrying a slight injury and that his current opponent’s heavier and more experienced.  We cheer him on, but he’s outmatched and eventually forced to concede.  He takes it with his usual equanimity, bows to his opponent and resumes his clothing, wincing a little. We carry him off to offer sympathy and feed him.  He brushes off questions about his injury.  “Shoulder-strain,” he says, munching at a hunk of roast antelope.  “Not serious.”

As the sun rises to noon, the competitions approach their climaxes.  A huge roar from the sword-fighting area tells us that a winner has been declared.  Then the wrestling competition finishes.  Now all eyes are on the archery.  Wu Shun and I take our places among the top ten competitors.  It’s ten arrows this time, a real challenge to the concentration.  The crowd’s quieter, less distracting.

The starting flag goes down and Wu Shun goes into action next to me.  I’m searching for the state of concentration which I experienced in the second round.  My mind and senses feel sharp and keen.  I feel like the blade of a knife.  I reach back for the first arrow and begin.  But I can’t quite hold it together for long enough.  On the ninth arrow my concentration starts to crumble and as the tenth flies, I already know that it’s going to land outside the circle.  The cheering crashes down like a landslide.

Wu Shun gets first place.  He’s never won anything before in his life and is overcome.  I’m placed third.  We celebrate uproariously, grab more food and settle down to watch the end of the mounted archery.  There are only five left in the competition and they get three shots each.  I think, I really must learn how to do this.  The competition’s over swiftly, but nobody’s dispersing.  Fan Feng comes out and hangs up another paper target. 

“What’s going on?” I ask Lin Chen.

“I think we’re going to get a demonstration,” he answers, grinning. 

Off to the right, two horsemen appear, pacing slowly, one on a scrub-tailed brown horse and the other on a tall black animal which I recognize instantly, having ridden on it myself.  It’s the Commander’s horse, Swift.  The other is Shao Ru’s horse, which has no name that anyone knows of.  Shao Ru suddenly accelerates, bow and arrow in hand.  Wait a minute, he’s got two arrows in his hand!  As the roaring starts, he fires the two arrows together into the target.  Behind him, the Commander’s following at a gallop.  Two more arrows thud into the target and the crowd goes wild, me included.  How do they do that?  Back they gallop, the Commander in the lead this time, and four more arrows thud into the target.  We scream and shout and pound each other on the back. 

But they haven’t finished yet.  With scarcely a pause, Shao Ru turns his horse and he’s off again, the reins knotted on the horse’s neck, his hands busy.  One arrow thuds into the target on the approach, another as he passes in front of it, and the third with his upper body twisted backwards.  The yells and shouts die down as the Commander begins his run.  I look round.  The crowd’s holding its breath, as if in expectation of something extraordinary.  I switch my gaze back to the man on the horse as he fires his first arrow.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  He’s fired four arrows bang into the target, which now resembles a porcupine.  The crowd explodes, deafening.  Mo Jiang’s jumping up and down like a child, hero-worship plain on his face.

“He’s just so – so amazing,” he gets out breathlessly.

I look back at the Commander, who’s holding his bow above his head in a gesture to the crowd, his dark face alight as he canters back in front of us.

“Yes,“ I say, “Yes, he is.”

The crowd drifts away, while the targets are taken down and a wide space is delineated on the ground for the jiju match.  Goal-posts are hammered into the ground and nets stretched between them.  The hum of happy gossip and commentary rises all round us.  People move over and start taking up positions so as to get a good view.  We Young Masters bag a good place on one side and sit on the ground.  Mo Jiang goes and gets another load of food and water-bottles.  Our appetites are inexhaustible.  There’s a cool wind blowing, so the clouds come and go, dappling the hillside.  I look round at these people who have become my friends and think:  can life get any better than this?