The following is an essay about the works of Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng, written by Liang Yusheng himself under the pen name Tong Shuozhi 佟碩之 and published January 1966 in《海光文藝》(Sealight Literature and Arts), a short-lived Hong Kong literary magazine. It was published in three installments but is presented below complete.
In the essay, Liang Yusheng compares the pros and cons of both Jin Yong’s and his own novels in various subjects such as characterization, morality, romance, etc. He actually criticizes his own writing at times as well as Jin Yong’s, and we get some insight into the inspiration for some of his creations, as well as his view on morality in wuxia fiction.
I was thinking of translating this, but it’s soooo long. Essays are fun to translate but boring to translate (for me). I curious how good AI was so I put a few paragraphs into Chat GPT-4o and was really impressed with the results. It was so good I thought why not just have it translate the whole thing and save me the trouble, that way everyone can read this interesting discussion, and I won’t have to take a week or more laboring over it (or most likely, not translating it at all for lack of energy). And honestly, I couldn’t translate it better, except for some of the book titles. I present ChatGPT’s translation of the essay below, completely unedited. This is the raw output it gave me. It’s pretty good, just some of the book titles are a bit off for Liang Yusheng’s works. I was impressed by some of the ways the AI actually corrected or interpreted the original text. I don’t know if I will ever use AI again, because I like translaing myself, but in this case it allowed me to share something with everyone that I otherwise likely would not have translated, do to its length.
Note: As this was written in 1966, the works discussed are the first editions serialized in newspapers and then published in book form. This was before Jin Yong began revising his work. When this essay was published, Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils was still ongoing, so that’s the most recent work Liang Yusheng discusses. The original text I put through ChatGPT can be found here.
A Joint Discussion of Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng
by Tong Shuozhi
Jin Yong’s wuxia novels often use cinematic techniques, with many plot twists and unexpected developments that are wonderfully surprising; Liang Yusheng’s wuxia novels excel in depicting the inner world of characters, often using poetry and old chapter headings…
Before diving into the main text, let’s first discuss the topic.
In the past decade, wuxia novels have flourished in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Southeast Asia. Liang Yusheng was the pioneer, and Jin Yong brought it to great heights. Their novels have innovative writing techniques and content, which are generally referred to as “new school wuxia novels” (including works influenced by them). Hong Kong newspapers often abbreviate this to “new school wuxia.” To this day, both Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng are widely recognized and respected as the two great masters of “new school wuxia.” Jin Yong once wrote in a newspaper that the “new school” is not necessarily better than the “old school,” indicating his modesty. I generally agree with his point of view. When it comes to “artistic level,” new school wuxia novels may not surpass the wuxia legends of the Tang dynasty, or even the works of Bai Yu and Huan Zhu in modern times. However, since their novels indeed have “new” aspects different from their predecessors and are accepted and recognized by the public, the title of “masters of new school wuxia” is not something that I am imposing on them.
“Artistic level” is one thing, and the ability to appeal to readers is another. There is a common saying in literary criticism: “Every era has its products.” The popularity of new school wuxia novels in Hong Kong and Taiwan is related to the local social trends, reader psychology (the desire for excitement), acceptance levels, and other complex factors, which are beyond the scope of this discussion. The wuxia legends of the Tang and Song dynasties may only be appreciated by a small number of modern readers. Bai Yu and Huan Zhu were extremely popular twenty or thirty years ago, but today, they may not compete with Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng for overseas readers. According to friends, a few years ago, some Hong Kong newspapers with ties to the mainland published wuxia novels by Bai Yu and Huan Zhu, but they were far less popular than those by Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng, proving the point. It shows that Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng’s wuxia novels are indeed “new school” novels that fit the times.
Next, let me briefly explain the issue of “ranking.” If we rank by the order of their debut, Liang should come before Jin, but “Liang and Jin” doesn’t sound as smooth as “Jin and Liang.” The combination of “Jin and Liang” coincidentally matches the name of a notable figure from the late Qing dynasty, Jinliang, the last successful candidate of the imperial examination system. Therefore, combining Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng as “Jin and Liang” is quite interesting, and I have written it that way for convenience. This is not meant to slight Liang Yusheng in any way, so fans of Liang should not misunderstand.
To borrow a phrase from wuxia novels, “Let’s get back to the main story after this digression.” Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng each have their own distinctive styles, so let’s discuss them point by point.
First, let’s discuss the influences they received. I have read all of their novels, and I have a feeling, which my friends also agree with, that Liang Yusheng’s works have a strong scholarly (Chinese-style) flavor, while Jin Yong is more like a modern “Westernized intellectual.” Liang Yusheng is more deeply influenced by traditional Chinese culture (including poetry, novels, history, etc.), whereas Jin Yong is more heavily influenced by Western arts (including films). Although both are well-versed in both Chinese and Western cultures (with varying degrees of depth), Liang Yusheng also shows Western cultural influences in some areas, such as the imitation of “The Gadfly” (a novel by British author Ethel Voynich) in “Seven Swords Down the Tianshan,” and the use of modern psychology. However, overall, the “Western flavor” in his works is far less pronounced than in Jin Yong’s.
In Liang Yusheng’s novels, from form to content, one can see the influence of traditional Chinese novels everywhere, such as the use of rhymed couplets for chapter headings, poems or epigraphs at the beginning of each novel, real historical figures in the stories, and significant emphasis on historical backgrounds. His writing style is relatively plain and simple, mostly following the writing methods of traditional Chinese novels: one story ends, and another begins, with some foreshadowing. When it comes to complex and unpredictable plot twists, however, he is noticeably weaker. Therefore, Liang Yusheng’s innovations are within the “old tradition,” not departing from its “earthy flavor.” This writing style has its advantages and disadvantages. Readers with a certain level of Chinese cultural knowledge might find Liang Yusheng’s novels more refined and appreciate them more. On the other hand, general readers seeking excitement might find greater satisfaction in reading Jin Yong’s novels.
Thus, although both are “new school writers,” Jin Yong’s methods, being more influenced by foreign arts and culture (whether this is good or bad is another matter), seem to be more “modern” than Liang Yusheng’s. For example, the technique used in “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain” is clearly influenced by the Japanese film “Rashomon.” In “Rashomon,” a bandit kills a woman’s husband, and the bandit, the woman, and the husband’s ghost each have different accounts of the event. In “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain,” Miao Renfeng, Hu Fei’s father, and others involved in the case also each have different versions of the story, creating an intricate mystery that draws readers in. Another example is the scene in “The Book and the Sword” where Xiangxiang Princess appears (the soldiers on both sides of the battle are so captivated by her beauty that they almost forget to fight), which is reminiscent of the scene in Homer’s epics where Queen Helen appears on the city walls.
It might be because Jin Yong once worked as a film director that he often uses cinematic techniques in his novels. For instance, in “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” when Mei Chaofeng is about to strangle Guo Jing, the narrative suddenly shifts to Mei Chaofeng’s memories of past events on Peach Blossom Island. This is not narrated straightforwardly but employs a film-like flashback technique, recreating the scenes from the past before returning to the present. Similarly, in “Sword Stained with Royal Blood,” when Yuan Chengzhi fights the five elders of the Wen family, the narrative revisits their past ambush of the Golden Snake Lord, using the same technique akin to the film transitions “fade-in” and “fade-out.” The use of cinematic techniques in novels can be considered a unique characteristic of Jin Yong.
Another distinctive feature of Jin Yong’s works is the unpredictable plot twists that often lead to unexpected and wonderful developments. For example, in “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber,” readers initially believe that Zhang Cuishan and Yin Susu are the main characters. However, at the Wudang Mountain gathering (where martial heroes from various sects come to celebrate Zhang Sanfeng’s birthday), both characters suddenly commit suicide one after the other, introducing their son Zhang Wuji as the actual protagonist. Similarly, in “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” Guo Fu unexpectedly cuts off the protagonist Yang Guo’s arm, among other surprising twists that readers likely did not anticipate.
However, this strength of Jin Yong sometimes turns into a weakness. In his effort to create extraordinary plot twists, the logic and coherence of the story can suffer, and unnecessary plot elements can undermine the novel’s artistic value. For instance, in “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” the episode where Xiao Longnü is raped by a Taoist priest is completely unexpected for the readers. After finishing the book, this event seems unnecessary, as it neither results in a tragic ending nor leads to new developments (like Xiao Longnü giving birth to an illegitimate child). It only adds a minor complication to her relationship with Yang Guo (who remains unaware of it), making the plot element seem superfluous and damaging to the readers’ perception of Xiao Longnü’s purity, creating an uncomfortable reading experience. Similarly, Xiao Longnü’s nude martial arts practice is unnecessary and could be omitted for a cleaner narrative, likely making the book more acceptable to a broader audience. While certain innovative techniques from Western films can be absorbed, explicit scenes are not advisable.
A similar example to Xiao Longnü’s rape is the near-incestuous relationship between Duan Yu and his sister in Jin Yong’s recent work “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.” Mu Wanqing (Duan’s half-sister) falls deeply in love with her brother, almost leading to incest. Although this is a result of a scheming villain, the root cause is the mutual affection between the siblings, which includes sexual attraction. This portrayal is unlikely to be accepted by readers with traditional moral views. Unlike Cao Yu’s “Thunderstorm,” where Zhou Chong and Sifeng do not know they are siblings, Duan Yu and Mu Wanqing almost commit incest despite knowing their true relationship. Furthermore, as the story progresses, Mu Wanqing is sidelined, and Duan Yu’s intense longing shifts to another beautiful woman, Wang Yuyan. This subplot, which currently has no connection to the rest of the story, feels like an unnecessary addition, detracting from Duan Yu’s character development.
There are also inconsistencies in Jin Yong’s novels. In “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber,” the portrayal of Zhang Wuji’s character shows a significant shift. Initially, he is filled with hatred towards his enemies after the death of his parents, with the author gradually developing his darker, vengeful side. However, in the latter part of the novel, he suddenly becomes a benevolent hero. While character transformation is possible, Jin Yong fails to convincingly depict this transition within the novel. A more notable inconsistency is found between “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain” and its prequel “The Young Flying Fox.” In the prequel, characters like Yuan Ziyi and Cheng Lingsu, who have romantic ties with Hu Fei, are not mentioned at all in the former. Furthermore, Miao Renfeng and Hu Fei, who have met in the prequel, are portrayed as strangers meeting for the first time in “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain.”
It seems Jin Yong sometimes falls into the trap of adding plot elements for their own sake, as mentioned above. This is a minor issue, but illogical plot elements that damage the content are a more significant problem, which I will discuss further when analyzing the content of their novels.
In comparison, Liang Yusheng’s plot arrangements are far less varied than Jin Yong’s. Jin Yong’s plots often surprise readers, while Liang Yusheng’s often align with their expectations. Especially in his early works, the plots are not emphasized much and are often imitations of earlier works. For instance, in “Dragon and Tiger Fighting in Beijing,” the abduction of Ding Jianming and the romantic rivalry between Lou Wuwei and Zuo Hanying over their junior sister are taken from Bai Yu’s “Twelve Golden Medallions.” Although there are modifications, the traces are evident. (I suspect Liang Yusheng adopted the name “Yusheng” because he admired Bai Yu and considered himself a devoted follower.)
In Liang Yusheng’s “Essays from the Three Sword Tower,” there is an article where he discusses his intention of writing “The Seven Swords of Mount Heaven” as a Chinese version of “The Gadfly.” He talks about how his novels are an exploration of new paths through imitating predecessors. For a writer, progressing from immaturity to maturity inevitably involves imitation, but one cannot become a master in their own right without breaking away from the influences of predecessors and establishing a unique style.
Liang Yusheng does have his unique style, but the formation of his style differs from that of Jin Yong. Jin Yong’s first novel, “The Book and the Sword,” immediately presented a fully-formed and distinctive new style. In contrast, Liang Yusheng’s first two or three novels, though featuring his unique traits and innovations, had not yet fully developed his style. In my view, it was not until he wrote “The White-Haired Demoness” that he broke free from the influence of predecessors and established his own unique style. From then on, his novels matured, and his writing style became distinct from that of Bai Yu. While Bai Yu can be considered a realist, Liang Yusheng, after “The White-Haired Demoness,” took a more romantic approach.
Despite this, the value of Liang Yusheng’s early novels should not be dismissed entirely, as he indeed played a pioneering role in the new school of martial arts novels. For instance, in his first novel, “The Dragon and the Tiger Battle in Beijing,” there were many new innovations. Regarding character depiction, while previous martial arts writers like Bai Yu also focused on character portrayal, Liang Yusheng went a step further by delving into the inner thoughts and the contemporary struggles of his characters. This approach provided his characters with a sense of temporal and spatial context, making them more relatable and realistic to readers. For example, Bai Yu’s “The Twelve Golden Medallions” features a vividly described character, Fei Baozi, whose personality could fit any historical period, whether Qing, Ming, or Song Dynasty. In contrast, Liang Yusheng’s Lou Wuwei in “The Dragon and the Tiger Battle in Beijing” can only exist in the era of the Boxer Rebellion. Overall, while Bai Yu’s character portrayals were more vivid, Liang Yusheng excelled in integrating characters with their historical context, a quality unmatched by his contemporaries.
Another characteristic of Liang Yusheng’s works is that they combine elements of historical novels with martial arts fiction. Although not everyone may agree with his historical interpretations, such as his views on the Boxer Rebellion or his praise for Li Zicheng, this approach carved a new path in the genre. Among his works that best blend martial arts and historical elements is “The Legend of the Shadow of Pingshu,” set against the backdrop of the Tumu Crisis in the Ming Dynasty. This novel vividly portrays Yu Qian’s loyalty and patriotism in resisting foreign invasions, ending tragically with the martyrdom of a loyal minister. It is a historically accurate and emotionally compelling story.
However, this strength can sometimes turn into a weakness. Not every one of his novels achieves the success of “The Legend of the Shadow of Pingshu.” For example, the sequel, “The Heroine Who Scatters Flowers,” fails to convey historical authenticity through character portrayal and instead relies on characters’ dialogues to explain history, which can make the narrative tedious. “The Dragon and the Tiger Battle in Beijing” also exhibits this flaw, though it can be excused as an early work. Another shortcoming of “The Heroine Who Scatters Flowers” is its loose structure, which becomes apparent when compared to “The Legend of the Shadow of Pingshu,” but I will not delve into that here.
Liang Yusheng’s novels show an inconsistent level of quality. For example, “The Heroine Who Scatters Flowers” is inferior to “The Legend of the Shadow of Pingshu,” and “The Sword Cleansed by the Ice River” falls far short of its predecessor, “The Jade Bow Connection of the Sea of Clouds.” In “The Jade Bow Connection,” Jin Shiyi’s character is vivid and captivating, while Jiang Haitian in “The Sword Cleansed by the Ice River” is dull and lackluster. This inconsistency is not only evident between different novels but also within the same work, where moments of brilliance are mixed with mediocrity. Generally, Liang’s novels tend to start and end well but weaken in the middle. In contrast, Jin Yong’s works are more consistently high in quality. This might be because Liang Yusheng was more prolific, leading to inevitable dilution of quality.
Initially, Liang Yusheng did not emphasize plot intricacies, but he paid more attention to it later in his career. In my opinion, his best-structured work is “The Record of the Resurgence of the Sword,” a relatively overlooked novel. Influenced by Cao Yu’s famous play “Thunderstorm,” this novel introduces numerous twists and turns, with characters fully transformed into martial arts figures. Its complexity rivals that of Jin Yong’s “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain,” which I consider Jin Yong’s best-structured novel (while “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils” is the most loosely structured). In my view, Liang Yusheng had the ability to conceive well-structured plots but lacked the dedication. This might be because he wrote too many novels, spreading his energy thin and resulting in fewer meticulously crafted masterpieces. From a reader’s perspective, I would prefer Liang Yusheng to focus on quality over quantity and write fewer, but better, novels.
Regarding writing style, Liang Yusheng has considerable proficiency in classical Chinese literature, and his novels often feature beautifully poetic and pictorial language. For example, the first few chapters of “The Enchanting Record of the Restored Sword” read like lyrical prose poetry, and the opening chapter of his recent work “The Thunderstorm Over the Nine Provinces” is also quite excellent. However, perhaps due to his prolific output, the quality of his writing varies, with instances of brilliant strokes as well as sections that seem more mundane.
Few martial arts novelists use traditional chapter titles, which is a distinguishing feature of Liang Yusheng’s works. This characteristic has been discussed by multiple commentators in newspapers. While not every chapter title is perfectly crafted, there are often three or four out of ten that are truly noteworthy. His chapter titles are rich in poetic essence. For instance, in his ongoing serialized chapters, titles like “A true hero, both wild and chivalrous, can cry and sing, surpassing common people” and “Desert winds bury old grudges, misty rains weave new sorrows in empty mountains” are quite poetic. Another feature of his chapter titles is his fondness for using quotations, as seen in recent works like “The clouds and waters rage across the four seas, the electric light flashes fiercely after a century.” Such titles are often praised. However, using traditional chapter titles has a downside, especially in newspaper serializations, where they may remain unchanged for months, causing readers to lose a sense of freshness.
Another hallmark of Liang Yusheng’s novels is the use of poetry. Characters in his books frequently recite poetry, sometimes quoting past works, sometimes his own creations. There are instances where the use of poetry is inappropriate (examples will be given later), and at times even poor-quality verses appear. For example, some have criticized the lines recited by Tie Jingxin in “The Heroine Who Scatters Flowers”: “A hero sheds blood in the dust of the barbarian lands, disregarding family for the nation’s peril,” which are indeed laughable. However, to be fair, although there are some blemishes, his overall body of work remains strong. He has both poor and excellent pieces, and each of his novels typically begins and ends with a poem. Especially notable are the “opening” poems that align well with the novel’s theme, often resulting in remarkable pieces. For instance, the prologue to “The White-Haired Demoness,” set to the tune of “Qin Yuan Chun,” goes: “A sword comes from the west, thousands of peaks bow, the demonic shadows stretch far and wide. Ask if the clear mirror is not a stand, the bodhi tree not a tree, the reflection from the heart can be clear? Is it demon or not? Not a demon but a demon? Let the future of the martial world judge. For now, let’s put aside talks of heroes and heroines and discuss leisurely matters. The spirit of the wind and thunder is towering, lightly brushing the frost, creating enchanting beauty. Lamenting that the peerless beauty, though not aged, remains youthful, the promise of a century remains true, never failing the heartfelt pledge. Planting flowers with a short hoe, long poems accompany wine, the sword and poem remain faithful every year. Look at the dragon and snake strokes on Tianshan, ink spills over the southern sea.” Judged as a poem, this is quite competent. Among other martial arts writers, those who can write their own poetry seem rare.
However, this feature of Liang Yusheng’s work can sometimes become a drawback. Characters often recite poetry in unnecessary situations, which can come off as overly sentimental. The most notable example is in “The Ice Maiden of the Heavenly Mountain,” where Tang Jingtian composes numerous couplets in the Ice Palace. Fairly speaking, some of these couplets are quite good, showing talent, but why include so many? How do they relate to the plot? If the intention is to express the character’s feelings, one good couplet would suffice. Writing seven or eight seems more like Liang Yusheng showing off his classical knowledge, which is difficult to interpret otherwise.
Jin Yong rarely uses traditional chapter titles. In “The Book and the Sword,” he uses seven-character couplets for chapter titles, matching the end of one chapter with the beginning of the next. Occasionally, one or two couplets work well, but generally, even the tonal patterns are incorrect. For example, the chapter titles formed from the first two chapters of “The Book and the Sword”: “On the ancient path, a galloping horse frightens the white hair, in the dangerous gorge, the divine camel flies with green feathers” break the basic rules of couplets with “ancient path” and “dangerous gorge” being of the same tone. The chapter titles in “The Sword Stained with Royal Blood” are even worse, so no examples are needed. Jin Yong seems to have realized his lack of skill in this area, and after “The Sword Stained with Royal Blood,” he stopped using traditional chapter titles, opting for modern ones instead.
The most amusing mistakes in Jin Yong’s novels are in his use of poetry. For example, in “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” there is the curious instance of a “Song Dynasty talented woman singing Yuan Dynasty songs.”
In “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” the heroine Huang Rong is portrayed by Jin Yong as an exceptionally intelligent and talented woman. In the chapter titled “Fishing, Woodcutting, Farming, and Reading,” considerable space is devoted to illustrating her extensive knowledge and talent. When Huang Rong encounters the woodcutter from “Fishing, Woodcutting, Farming, and Reading,” he sings two verses of the tune “Mountain Slope Sheep,” to which Huang Rong responds with a “Mountain Slope Sheep” of her own.
The woodcutter sings three verses:
“The cities are in ruins, where are the heroes…”
“On Tianjin Bridge, leaning on the railing, gazing far…”
“Peaks gather like waves, roaring like an angry tide…”
(For brevity, the full verses are not transcribed here, but they can be found in the original text.)
The author of these three “Mountain Slope Sheep” verses is Zhang Yanghao, who originally titled the first as “Reflecting on Xianyang,” the second as “Reflecting on Luoyang,” and the third as “Reflecting on Tongguan” (these can be found in “The Complete Yuan Sanqu” edited by Sui Shusen, Vol. 1, pages 437-438).
Zhang Yanghao has a biography in the “History of Yuan.” He served as an advisor in the Central Secretariat during the reign of Yuan Yingzong, was born in 1269, and died in 1329. “The Legend of the Condor Heroes” ends with the death of Genghis Khan, who died on August 18, 1237. When Huang Rong and the woodcutter are singing “Mountain Slope Sheep,” Genghis Khan is still alive, so the time must be before 1237. Zhang Yanghao was born in 1269, which means he was born more than 40 years after the woodcutter sang his verses.
Huang Rong’s “Mountain Slope Sheep” verse “Green hills wait, white clouds love…” was written by Song Fanghu, originally titled “Dao Qing” (see “The Complete Yuan Sanqu,” Vol. 2, page 1300). This person lived even later than Zhang Yanghao, about a hundred years after Huang Rong sang his verse (according to “Tai Ping Yue Fu Xing Shi,” which lists him as one of the ninety-five later Yuan writers. Zheng Zhenduo deduced that these writers lived between 1301 and 1360).
Additionally, according to the tradition of old Chinese novels, if the poems or couplets written by characters in the book are not explicitly noted as “quotations” or attributed to past writers, they are understood to be composed by the author on behalf of the characters. For example, in “Dream of the Red Chamber,” Lin Daiyu’s “Elegy for the Flowers,” Xue Baochai’s “Ancient Reflections,” and Shi Xiangyun’s “Willow Catkins” are all written by the author, Cao Xueqin. When Jia Zheng asked Jia Baoyu to write plaques and couplets during Yuan Chun’s homecoming, those works were also composed by Cao Xueqin. Cao Xueqin would never have had Lin Daiyu copy a poem by Li Qingzhao or Jia Baoyu copy one by Li Bai to showcase their talents; the reasoning is clear.
In the chapter where Huang Rong sings Yuan verses in “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” she encounters a scholar, and the narrative extensively describes Huang Rong’s “talent,” such as discussing the “subtle meanings” of the Analects, solving riddles, and composing couplets. These are all taken from old works and are not particularly remarkable, so they won’t be listed here due to space constraints.
Frankly, as I read through nearly an entire chapter (much more space than Liang Yusheng used to write about Tang Jingtian), depicting Huang Rong’s talents, I felt quite sorry for this talented woman. It’s common knowledge that people from the Song Dynasty couldn’t sing Yuan verses, and Jin Yong undoubtedly knew this. This might have been a moment of carelessness, using references at hand, but this lapse damages the “talented woman” he intended to portray, which is quite regrettable! Jin Yong’s martial arts novels are extremely popular, so mistakes like this have a significant impact beyond common knowledge. Therefore, I’ve pointed out this error in detail, hoping Jin Yong will be more careful in the future.
Since martial arts novels are distinguished by the term “martial arts,” indicating their difference from other types of novels, let’s start our discussion from these two characters.
One of the reasons general readers love martial arts novels is likely the thrill they provide. The more intense the fights depicted by the authors, the more “satisfying” the readers find them. Martial arts novels serialized in newspapers often feature battles that last ten days to half a month, probably catering to this reader psychology. Even though, by the standards of orthodox literary criticism, these lengthy descriptions of martial arts techniques may lack artistic value and can be considered “nonsense,” authors still cannot help but “knowingly commit these mistakes.”
I am friends with both Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng. From what I know, they are both scholarly gentlemen who probably have no knowledge of martial arts techniques. Liang Yusheng once made a blunder in describing martial arts. Early in his career, perhaps because he didn’t know how to describe martial arts techniques and wanted to be detailed, he wrote two sections about Taiji sword and Judge’s Pen. He probably had never seen a Judge’s Pen and didn’t know how Taiji sword was performed, so he borrowed two sections from Bai Yu’s novels, made slight modifications, and copied them directly. Martial arts enthusiasts pointed out in publications that not only was this borrowing inappropriate, but the changes made to Bai Yu’s original text were incorrect, resulting in much amusement.
I also believe this was inappropriate, but I don’t think it’s a major flaw (even in Liang Yusheng’s early novels). Regarding “plagiarism,” it’s worth mentioning the Jiangxi school in Chinese literary history, which almost promoted open plagiarism. This school dominated the Song dynasty poetry scene for over 200 years. Many prominent poets of the Song dynasty, such as Huang Tingjian, Yang Wanli, Lu You, and Fan Chengda, belonged to the Jiangxi school. They referred to minor alterations of others’ verses as “stealing the embryo” and borrowing previous poetic ideas as “changing the bones.” For example, Huang Tingjian changed Li Bai’s verse “Human settlements by cold tangerine and pomelo, autumn colors age the wutong trees” to “Human houses surround tangerine sleeves, autumn colors age the wutong trees” and altered Bai Juyi’s verse “A hundred years split in half by night, a year with not much spring” to “A hundred years pass in half by night, not much spring returns in a year,” claiming them as his own works. This practice of slightly modifying others’ verses and claiming them as one’s own was prevalent before the Jiangxi school emerged. For instance, Huang Tingjian’s teacher, Su Dongpo, also slightly modified and added to Shu Zhu Yingchang’s verses, creating the well-known “Song of the Immortal Cave.”
I want to clarify that I do not agree with the Jiangxi school’s views. The best works of great poets like Huang Tingjian and Lu You were not those where they “altered” previous works. I only believe that in a martial arts novel of several hundred thousand words, if the author brings their own innovations, then even if some sections describing martial arts techniques are borrowed from previous works, it isn’t a significant flaw.
However, although not a major flaw, it is still a minor one, and it is always better to correct flaws. The criticism at the time was beneficial to Liang Yusheng. In his later works, he seriously accepted the criticism and put more thought into creating fresh descriptions of martial arts techniques. Critics also noted this improvement in subsequent publications.
That said, the depiction of martial arts techniques is not just a challenge for Liang Yusheng; it is an inherent weakness of martial arts novels. First, truly knowledgeable martial arts writers are as rare as phoenix feathers. Second, even if they are knowledgeable, writing realistic martial arts techniques may not be engaging. Readers might not appreciate your expertise and might find it tedious.
Among the earlier martial arts writers, Zheng Zhengyin knew some martial arts. His “King of Eagle Claw” contains many martial arts descriptions, but many find it dry and dull. Bai Yu’s martial arts descriptions are lively, mainly because he captures the atmosphere well. From what I know, Bai Yu didn’t understand martial arts himself but collaborated with a friend who did. After his friend’s departure, when Bai Yu wrote martial arts novels for a Hong Kong newspaper a few years ago, there were almost no descriptions of martial arts techniques.
Given that realistic martial arts descriptions are challenging and often unappreciated, recent “new school martial arts novels” have taken a step backward, moving from “martial” to “supernatural.” Bizarre and fantastical “martial arts” techniques have proliferated in these novels, and even authors like Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng have unconsciously followed this trend.
To be honest, most readers probably approach martial arts novels with an attitude of “let it be said, let it be heard,” fully aware that the depictions of martial arts and techniques are unrealistic, but as long as they find them thrilling, they are happy to continue reading. However, for martial arts authors, especially those like Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng, who aspire to elevate the standard of martial arts novels and integrate them into the literary domain, it would be a shame if they simply followed popular trends and resorted to supernatural elements.
In Liang Yusheng’s early and mid-period novels (the early period is before “The Bride with White Hair,” the mid-period is from “The Bride with White Hair” to “The Ice Moon Goddess,” and the later period follows), there are exaggerated depictions of martial arts, but overall, they are still considered “decent.” After “The Ice Moon Goddess,” with the introduction of concepts like the “Icy Soul Divine Bullet” and “Asura’s Yin and Fiendish Skill,” the stories started to adopt a more supernatural flavor.
Some argue that supernatural elements are not devoid of artistic value. After all, “Journey to the West” is full of supernatural events and is a treasured part of Chinese literary heritage. Martial arts novels should allow for some fantasy. However, I believe that martial arts novels are not the same as mythological novels. “Journey to the West” deals with gods or semi-divine beings, while martial arts novels focus on humans, which is fundamentally different. The fantasy in martial arts novels should be applied in other areas, such as in Liang Yusheng’s works where heroes venture to Mount Everest, broadening the readers’ horizons. As for supernatural skills, it is better to write less about them.
In Jin Yong’s early novels (before “The Legend of the Condor Heroes”), the depictions of martial arts were more grounded. Although the heroes’ techniques were marvelous and their internal strength profound, they were still within the bounds of normalcy. After “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” the stories increasingly incorporated supernatural elements, far surpassing Liang Yusheng in this regard. In “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” we see characters like Ouyang Feng walking on his head and his minions driving a snake army from the Western Regions to the Central Plains. In “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” there are techniques like the “Eternal Youth Skill” and the “Nine Yin and Nine Yang Divine Skills.” By the time we reach “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” we encounter techniques like “The Supreme Skill of Heaven and Earth.” The descriptions have become so grand that it almost includes a “beam of white light.” Techniques like the “Six Meridian Sword,” which allows one to kill with sword energy, are akin to flying swords.
Even boundless fantasy has its limits. With constant supernatural elements, it becomes difficult to innovate. As a result, authors start imitating and plagiarizing each other. Whenever someone introduces a novel, supernatural technique, others quickly follow suit. Jin Yong himself wrote an article discussing the pitfalls of “new school martial arts novels,” pointing out this very issue. This is indeed a common problem among current martial arts authors, including Jin Yong himself. Recently, in “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” there was a plot where a low-skilled young monk from Shaolin suddenly encounters a highly skilled member of the Carefree Sect who transfers decades of martial arts prowess to him (how can martial arts prowess be transferred? It was said that the high-skilled individual and the monk touched heads, and the power was transferred through the monk’s crown). Consequently, the monk instantly becomes a top-tier martial artist. This idea of transferring skills is actually borrowed from older martial arts novels by Wolong Sheng, where a similar technique appears in “The Jade Hairpin Alliance.” In this novel, the protagonist Xu Yuanping receives decades of martial arts prowess from a high-skilled monk through a method called the “Open Top Great Method,” making him a top-tier martial artist while the old monk passes away. This example illustrates that the supernatural writing style of martial arts novels has reached a dead end, becoming increasingly narrow. Even Jin Yong, a master of innovative storytelling, struggles to come up with new ideas.
As the path of supernatural elements becomes increasingly restrictive, and realistic martial arts depictions are difficult and often unappreciated, how can we satisfy readers’ desire for excitement? Is it possible to meet readers’ demands while also infusing some artistic value into martial arts depictions? Martial arts writers are undoubtedly intelligent and talented, and I don’t presume to offer solutions as an outsider. However, I can share some of my immature ideas.
I want to highlight two of the most outstanding fighting scenes from Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng’s works to illustrate my point.
In Jin Yong’s “Flying Fox of Snowy Mountain,” the duel between Miao Renfeng and Hu Yidao is a life-and-death struggle, yet they hold mutual admiration for each other. They fiercely fight during the day and chat intimately at night, with the duel lasting three days, showing different changes each day. Besides the main characters, various activities of the surrounding people are interspersed throughout the duel. This not only highlights the protagonists’ personalities but also depicts the surrounding characters, enhances the atmosphere of the scene, and sketches the protagonists’ superior martial arts skills from different perspectives, sometimes lightly, sometimes intensely. Readers find this tense and thrilling, and this masterful description lacks any supernatural flavor.
In Liang Yusheng’s “The Bride with White Hair,” the fighting scene where the female protagonist, Jade Raksha, storms Wudang Mountain is similarly effective. Jade Raksha climbs the mountain to find her lover, Wudang disciple Zhuo Yihang, and engages in a fierce battle with his five senior uncles. The fighting process portrays the entanglement of love, contrasting the male protagonist’s weakness with the female protagonist’s strength. As the battle progresses, their inner changes are meticulously depicted, not only highlighting the personalities of the main characters but also bringing the supporting characters, the Five Elders of Wudang, to life. This fight also writes about the conflict between new and old thoughts—maintaining orthodoxy versus opposing orthodoxy. It is written with depth and artistry, making readers feel tense and thrilled.
From these two successful examples, it is evident that martial arts descriptions do not necessarily need to be supernatural to attract readers. In my view, even lengthy martial arts descriptions can be greatly reduced. Instead, more effort should be put into setting the atmosphere before the battle and seamlessly integrating the characters’ personalities and the plot during the battle. This would result in a superior work. Of course, such writing requires martial arts authors to put more thought into it.
After discussing “martial arts,” let’s talk about “chivalry.” I believe that in martial arts novels, “chivalry” should be more important than “martial arts.” “Chivalry” is the soul, while “martial arts” is the body; “chivalry” is the goal, and “martial arts” are the means to achieve “chivalry.” It is better to have “chivalry” without “martial arts” than to have “martial arts” without “chivalry.” A chivalrous hero with excellent martial arts is certainly ideal, but an ordinary person without martial arts can also be “chivalrous.” One of the “Three Swords” contemporaneous with Jin and Liang, the Master of Hundred Swords Hall, once wrote an article titled “Fu Qingzhu: Not Martial but Chivalrous” in “Essays on Three Swords Pavilion,” discussing the character Fu Qingzhu in Liang Yusheng’s “Seven Swords Descend from Tianshan.” (Liang depicted Fu as highly skilled in martial arts, but his chivalry was not evident.) This somewhat illustrates the point.
Readers welcome martial arts novels partly because they enjoy seeing characters who uphold justice and help the weak. Unfortunately, many martial arts authors focus on creating strange martial arts but forget that martial arts novels also contain the word “chivalry.”
Jin Yong’s early martial arts novels did not forget the word “chivalry,” but unfortunately, the later works became more “martial and less chivalrous.” In his latest work, “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” the feeling is that “good and evil are indistinguishable,” and there is hardly a character that readers can respect as a chivalrous hero.
Friends who read Jin Yong’s novels all share the same feeling: “Jin Yong writes villains better than he writes heroes, and his bad characters are more exciting than the good ones.” This characteristic was present from the beginning and became more pronounced in later works. In “The Book and the Sword,” the villain Zhang Zhaozhong is written more vividly than the hero Chen Jialuo. In “Sword Stained with Royal Blood,” the villainous Golden Serpent King is as successfully portrayed as Cao Yu’s unseen character Jin Ba in “Sunrise,” while the hero Yuan Chengzhi pales in comparison. In “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” the villains become progressively more “evil,” with various sinister and cruel characters vividly depicted. Following the villainous Muwangqing, there are the Four Great Evils, and after them, the old demon of the Xingxiu Sect, Ding Chunqiu, each more sinister than the last, filling the pages with an eerie atmosphere, leaving readers in awe.
Depicting villains in depth is also an artistic success. The problem lies in the approach—exposing villains should aim to promote righteousness, and it is crucial to avoid blurring the line between good and evil. Although human nature is complex, the distinction between good and evil should remain clear. Blurring this line undermines the purpose of martial arts novels.
If we divide Jin Yong’s martial arts novels into two stages, using “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber” as the dividing line, we can clearly see the differences between the two stages.
In the earlier stage, although Jin Yong wrote villains more successfully, this was just a strength and weakness in his character creation. The distinction between good and evil was still clear. In “The Book and the Sword,” the Red Flower Society members are righteous, while the Qing court’s lackeys are evil. In “Sword Stained with Royal Blood,” those supporting Li Zicheng against foreign invaders are righteous, while the usual traitors like the Three Heroes of Changbai and Eunuch Cao are evil. In “The Young Flying Fox,” Miao Renfeng, Hu Fei, and others are righteous, while the Qing court’s dignitaries Fukang’an, the local tyrant Feng Rengang, and the treacherous Tian Guinong who conspired with the Qing court to harm the chivalrous are evil. In “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” Guo Jing, though initially confused, eventually becomes a great hero who resists enemies and protects the country, with Guo Jing and Hong Qigong being righteous, while Yang Kang, who recognizes a traitor as his father, and Qiu Qianren, who collaborates with the Jin State, are evil. The distinction between good and evil was clear and unambiguous.
Certainly, the distinction between good and evil might vary based on individual moral beliefs and standards of right and wrong. It seems that some people have previously criticized the idea that the heroes in “Sword Stained with Royal Blood” should not have followed Li Zicheng. This difference arises from varying standards of judgment, and I do not intend to delve deeply into who is right or wrong here. What I want to highlight is that in Jin Yong’s early works, there is a clear distinction between good and evil, which indicates that he had his own set of standards for right and wrong, reflected in his works. In my view, this set of standards is something most readers can accept and aligns with the generally accepted moral standards of Chinese society.
There is a literary theory suggesting that human nature is complex, and if the distinctions between right and wrong are made too simple, it will reduce the artistic value. However, I believe the opposite is true. For example, in Jin Yong’s early martial arts novels, their artistic value is much higher than his later works. In “The Book and the Sword,” the scene where Princess Fragrance uses her blood to remind Chen Jialuo not to trust the emperor breaks Chen Jialuo’s illusions about the enemy (in the book, Chen Jialuo is the brother of the Qianlong Emperor). This scene is touching and artistically profound. In “The Young Flying Fox,” Jin Yong uses the folk legend of Foshan to portray the local tyrant Feng Rentai. Opposing Feng Rentai is Hu Fei, who vows to avenge the poor people slaughtered by Feng. The clear distinction between right and wrong does not reduce the artistic value. On the contrary, in his recent works, the confusion of right and wrong diminishes the emotional and artistic impact.
To illustrate the loss of artistic appeal due to the blurring of right and wrong, I can cite a prominent example from his recent work, “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.” Qiao Feng, one of the most thoroughly developed characters in this novel, is a Khitan. His parents were killed by Han Chinese heroes due to a misunderstanding. After realizing their mistake, the heroes entrusted him to a kind Han Chinese farmer who raised him. Qiao Feng grew up to become the leader of the Beggars’ Sect. When the sect discovered he was Khitan, they expelled him. Filled with anger, he swore to avenge his parents’ deaths, leading to a scene where he single-handedly crashes a banquet of heroes at Juxian Manor, killing many loyal Song citizens. He toasts with his former friends, saying, “From now on, if you kill me, it is not ingratitude; if I kill you, it is not betrayal!” He then starts killing his former brothers from the Beggars’ Sect. The story continues with the revelation that Qiao Feng’s father had not actually died. This man kills Qiao Feng’s foster father (the kind farmer) and his mentor (the abbot of Shaolin Temple), among others.
Jin Yong’s intention with this story is to highlight two points: the inherent evil in human nature and the senseless slaughter between Khitan and Han Chinese people due to narrow-minded nationalism, making it hard to distinguish right from wrong. He emphasizes this by describing how Song soldiers also plunder and kill Khitan civilians.
Is it truly that “good and evil are not easily distinguished”? Major issues can always be differentiated. We have all read some Chinese history and know that the Khitan were invaders. As invaders, they represent “wrong,” while those resisting invasion represent “right.” Although Song soldiers’ looting and killing of Khitan civilians should also be condemned, it does not change the fundamental nature of invasion and resistance. The standard of right and wrong cannot be altered. Blaming resistance to invasion on narrow nationalism and portraying mutual hatred and killing between two peoples as if there is no distinction between enemy and ally is something most readers will find difficult to agree with. In Jin Yong’s earlier work, “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” Guo Jing’s righteous declaration, “For the country and the people, the greatest chivalry,” stands in stark contrast to “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” where Qiao Feng, who kills loyal Song citizens and becomes a high-ranking official under the Khitan emperor, is portrayed as a hero. This confusion of right and wrong is far removed from his earlier works.
Therefore, even though Jin Yong vividly depicts Qiao Feng’s heroic spirit during the Juxian Manor scene, creating a tense and exciting atmosphere through artistic techniques, it ultimately fails to elicit sympathy or resonate with readers. Readers might even question, “Is the author using the banquet at Juxian Manor to vent his own frustrations?” This is an example of how blurring major distinctions between right and wrong weakens the artistic appeal.
In my view, Jin Yong’s martial arts novels should perhaps return to the path of “The Book and the Sword.” Jin Yong’s transition began with “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber” and has lasted a little over three years. As the saying goes, “The path is not far, and understanding what was right yesterday and wrong today is the way to correct oneself.” I would like to borrow a line from Tao Yuanming’s “Returning Home” to advise Jin Yong: “Turn back to the right path,” but I wonder if Jin Yong will heed this advice?
In terms of character portrayal, both Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng have their strengths. Jin Yong excels at writing evil villains, while Liang Yusheng is skilled at depicting literary, charismatic, and eccentric heroes who defy societal norms and revel in their freedom.
Among Liang Yusheng’s numerous novels, the most vividly portrayed and memorable characters for readers include Zhang Danfeng in “Chronicles of the Shadow Swordsman,” Jade Rakshasa in “The Legend of the White-Haired Demoness,” Jin Shiyi in “The Jade Bow Connection,” and the characters “Proud of the World” and “The Martial Hero” in “The Proud, the Mighty, and the Demoness.” Even though characters like Jade Rakshasa and Jin Shiyi may not be well-read or capable of reciting poetry spontaneously, they still possess the essence of refined scholars.
Real historical figures in Liang Yusheng’s works are often depicted as talented scholars or refined gentlemen, such as Nalan Rongruo in “The Seven Swords of Mount Heaven” and the poet Li Bai in “The Romance of the Tang Dynasty,” written with vibrant and lively detail. However, not all such characters are written successfully. For example, in “The Seven Swords of Mount Heaven,” the portrayal of Fu Qingzhu, a historically noble figure, as a mere jianghu character is considered a failure.
Jin Yong’s strength in writing villains is precisely where Liang Yusheng falls short. Despite Liang Yusheng’s efforts, his villains often come across as unremarkable and not truly evil. Characters like Meng Shentong in “The Jade Bow Connection” and Yun Wuyang in “The Sword and the Exquisite Sentiment” are written with some depth but still fall short compared to Jin Yong’s villains like Zhang Zhaozhong in “The Book and the Sword” and the Eastern Heretic and Western Venom in “The Legend of the Condor Heroes.” However, Jin Yong’s villains can sometimes be excessively inhuman, such as Ye Erniang in “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” who drinks babies’ blood daily, and the Crocodile God of the South Sea, who eats human hearts. These scenes, resembling Western vampire movies, aim to create horror but can feel superficial in depicting evil. In general, while Liang Yusheng’s portrayal of villains is not as good as Jin Yong’s, he avoids the problem of overly inhuman evil.
Liang Yusheng’s preference for writing intellectuals is also evident in some of his villains, such as Tie Jingxin in “The Brave Archer and His Mate.” Tie Jingxin, initially a capable and honorable hero, gradually becomes a disillusioned person, ultimately despised by the heroine Yu Chengzhu, a deeply developed character who stands out in martial arts literature.
This preference sometimes turns into a weakness, as non-intellectual characters in his works also exhibit flaws typical of intellectuals. For example, Bi Qingtian in “The Brave Archer and His Mate,” the leader of the Beggars’ Sect, is suspicious and scheming, resembling a treacherous intellectual like Cao Cao, which is considered a misstep.
Liang Yusheng’s novels do not suffer from the problem of confusing good and evil or blurring moral boundaries. This is because he excels at writing refined, literary heroes. When depicting other types of heroes, his writing, although commendable, tends to be weaker.
In Liang Yusheng’s earlier novels, despite less mature techniques, the rough, vigorous spirit was more prominent. Characters like Ling Weifeng in “The Seven Swords of Mount Heaven” and Yang Yunchong in “The Hero Beyond the Great Wall” are successful non-refined heroes.
In his later novels, two characters stand out as successful portrayals of different types of heroes: Jiangnan in “The Jade Bow Connection” and Shi Yiru in “The Romance of the Tang Dynasty.” The former is a minor character with a scholarly background, while the latter is a chivalrous but physically weak scholar, both bringing a fresh perspective to martial arts literature. Jiangnan, in particular, leaves a deeper impression on readers than the protagonist Tang Jingtian in “The Tale of the Glacier Maiden.”
Liang Yusheng’s strength lies in writing refined, literary heroes. While maintaining this strength, he should also strive to create more diverse types of heroes. Even if not always successful, it would provide readers with a refreshing experience (Jiangnan is a good example). This is my advice for Liang Yusheng.
Liang Yusheng’s heroes often possess scholarly qualities but lack the rough vigor. His characters are more often refined scholars than rough and tumble heroes. Although the activities of his heroes are mainly set in the North, an area known for producing bold and heroic figures, most of his Northern heroes carry the elegance of Southern scholars. As a saying from the “Wind Tiger, Cloud Dragon” preface goes, “The tragic and fierce spirit is closer to Yan and You,” Liang Yusheng’s heroes indeed lack a bit of this “Yan-You spirit.”
In Sima Qian’s account of Jing Ke’s assassination attempt on the King of Qin, the line “The wind is bleak and the Yi River cold; the brave man sets off, never to return” vividly brings to life Jing Ke’s fearless and heroic image, even after a thousand years. Similarly, Du Guangting’s portrayal of the Bearded Guest, who relinquishes power upon meeting Li Shimin and helps his friend Li Jing even at great personal cost, though brief, captures his grandeur vividly.
The characters of Lu Zhishen causing havoc on Mount Wutai and Li Kui’s fierce battle with “White Stripe in the Waves” in “Water Margin” are portrayed with such simplicity and rusticity that their vivid personalities seem to come alive even after a thousand years. Characters like Jing Ke, the Bearded Guest, Lu Zhishen, and Li Kui cannot be found in Liang Yusheng’s novels, nor in the works of other martial arts writers. In my view, the artistic level of contemporary martial arts novels is still far from reaching the heights of these classics, and much effort is needed to surpass the ancients.
Now, let’s turn to a new topic. Modern martial arts novels emphasize the depiction of love, with “martial arts,” “chivalry,” and “emotion” forming the three pillars. Thus, after discussing “martial arts” and “chivalry,” we must also discuss “emotion.”
The portrayal of love is a major feature of Liang Yusheng’s martial arts novels. In this regard, I believe he surpasses his predecessors. Perhaps because Liang Yusheng once edited a newspaper column addressing readers’ romantic inquiries, he gathered a wealth of material, enabling him to depict love with great finesse, especially the romantic psychology of young men and women.
I particularly admire his tragic love stories, notably in “The Legend of the White-Haired Demoness” and “The Jade Bow Connection.” In “The Legend of the White-Haired Demoness,” the characters Jade Rakshasa and Zhuo Yihang, one strong-willed and the other soft-hearted, are deeply devoted to each other. However, after enduring many hardships, they ultimately part ways. Though their deep longing remains, the tragic ending is inevitable.
Most literary love tragedies are due to unexpected events (like the death of a partner) or the intrusion of a third party (such as a wealthy or powerful rival). In contrast, the separation of Zhuo and Jade is a tragedy rooted in their personalities, which is unconventional and adds depth. The late poet Liu Boduan, after reading this novel, wrote a “Treading on Sand” poem for Liang Yusheng, which included the lines: “In times of chaos, farewells are light as the land and rivers. Heroes and heroines are unparalleled. When the jade flute reaches the heart-breaking moment, tears turn into blood. His will is unyielding, her love burning hot, their youth prematurely white-haired. Surely you too have experienced such feelings, your writing as brilliant as the lotus tongue.” The lines “his will is unyielding, her love burning hot, their youth prematurely white-haired” succinctly capture the essence of the tragedy.
In “The Jade Bow Connection,” two women of different temperaments, Gu Zhihua and Li Shengnan, both fall in love with the protagonist Jin Shiyi. Gu Zhihua is a disciple of a righteous sect, while Li Shengnan, like Jin Shiyi, comes from an evil background. Until the final chapter, readers believe Jin Shiyi loves Gu Zhihua, and even Jin Shiyi himself thinks so. Only in the “wedding night farewell” scene does Jin Shiyi suddenly realize that while he rationally wishes to be with Gu, he truly loves Li. This unexpected yet plausible conclusion, with hints laid throughout the story, reveals Jin Shiyi’s deep connection with Li Shengnan.
By contrast, Liang Yusheng’s novels with happy endings are relatively ordinary and less moving. I particularly regret that in the sequel “Sword Cleansing the Ice River,” Jin Shiyi and Gu Zhihua eventually marry happily, undermining the tragic beauty of “The Jade Bow Connection.” Although many readers favor happy endings, such conclusions inevitably risk pandering to popular taste.
Liang Yusheng’s depiction of love sometimes suffers from a flaw where modern vocabulary is occasionally interspersed in the dialogue, resulting in an incongruous “new literary style” that disrupts the otherwise consistent literary tone. This flaw is particularly noticeable in his earlier works and has significantly diminished in his later works, though it has not been entirely eradicated. In my opinion, when writing about ancient romantic relationships, it is better to use modern vocabulary for psychological descriptions while avoiding it in dialogues as much as possible.
Jin Yong’s portrayal of love also has its highlights, but comparatively, it seems slightly inferior. Regarding the overall plot arrangement of the novel, Jin surpasses Liang; in terms of the diversity of romantic depictions, Jin falls short of Liang. In this aspect, his artistic achievements do not seem to reach Liang’s level.
Most of Jin Yong’s novels have happy endings, with the only tragic conclusion being his first work, “The Book and the Sword,” which can only be considered a semi-tragedy. After Princess Xiangxiang’s death, Chen Jialuo and Huo Qingtong mourn at her grave and then “ride westward together,” suggesting to readers that they ultimately “end up together” (regardless of whether they marry). Thus, the death of Princess Xiangxiang serves merely as a means to resolve their love triangle. Another unique ending is in “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain,” where Hu Fei and Miao Ruolan’s fate is left to the reader’s imagination through a suspenseful conclusion.
My point is not that tragic art is inherently superior to comedic art; it depends on the specific content.
Jin Yong frequently employs the theme of one man and multiple women in his love stories. In “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” besides Xiaolongnü, Yang Guo is also loved by Cheng Ying, Lu Wushuang, Gongsun Lü’e, and even Guo Fu, who secretly harbors feelings for him despite having severed his arm. In “Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre,” Zhang Wuji is loved by four women: Zhou Zhiruo, Zhu’er, Zhao Min, and Xiao Zhao. It is puzzling how these women, despite their different backgrounds and personalities, all fall in love with the male protagonist, who often comes across as a fickle youth who falls for every woman he meets, especially Yang Guo in “The Return of the Condor Heroes.” Liang Yusheng’s novels also feature love triangles but with more reasonable explanations. Jin Yong’s multiple love affairs are harder to justify, seemingly influenced by Hollywood movies. In Liang Yusheng’s novels, apart from love triangles, there are couples who part ways due to differences in beliefs (such as Huo Tiandu and Ling Yunfeng in “The Sword and the Exquisite Flute”) and lovers who experience tragic outcomes due to personality clashes without any third-party interference. In terms of thematic variety, Jin Yong appears more limited.
In wuxia novels, love is often intertwined with the themes of “chivalry” and “emotion.” However, Jin Yong’s later works tend to emphasize love to the point of disregarding right and wrong. For example, in “Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre,” Zhao Min’s father and brother are officials and generals of the Yuan dynasty, the archenemies of the righteous rebels. Zhao Min herself stands with her father and brother, opposing the Han heroes who aim to overthrow the Yuan’s tyranny. She even personally devises plans to capture many anti-Yuan heroes. Yet, Zhang Wuji, the leader of the Ming Cult and a key figure in the anti-Yuan movement, falls in love with her. This situation inevitably leads one to lament Zhang Wuji’s inability to distinguish between friend and foe in matters of love.
In contrast, Liang Yusheng presents a love story in “The Proud, the Gallant, and the Wicked” that serves as a comparison. In Liang’s work, the character Wu Lin Tianjiao is a noble of the Jin dynasty but opposes the tyrannical rule of the Jin ruler Wanyan Liang and his country’s war of aggression. He falls in love with the Han heroine Penglai Nüxia, and their mutual attraction, despite their political differences, creates a much more reasonable and normal connection between “chivalry” and “emotion.”
When it comes to depicting love, I still prefer Jin Yong’s earlier works. In “The Book and the Sword,” the love triangle between Chen Jialuo and the sisters Huo Qingtong and Princess Xiangxiang is resolved using the common tragic trope of Princess Xiangxiang’s accidental death, which may seem somewhat conventional. However, in terms of combining “chivalry” and “emotion,” it is quite profound. Moreover, Jin Yong vividly portrays the innocence and purity of Princess Xiangxiang.
The depiction of love in “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain” is unconventional and commendable. The ending is particularly unique. In the final segment, Hu Fei faces the dilemma of whether to kill the father of his beloved, who is also his enemy. The author leaves this decision to the readers, allowing them to create their own conclusion. This approach is inspired by the Western story “The Lady, or the Tiger?” Despite its Western roots, no one in Chinese wuxia novels had used such a technique before. Furthermore, in this novel, Jin Yong’s portrayal of human nature and emotions is more complex than the original story. Thus, I believe this work is a groundbreaking piece in the wuxia genre.
Another example of Jin Yong’s distinctive “Eastern-style” emotional portrayal is the relationship between Yang Guo and Guo Xiang in “The Return of the Condor Heroes.” Guo Xiang’s love for Yang Guo is ambiguous, resembling both sibling affection and a deep friendship between people of different ages. This narrative is reminiscent of the relationship between Mao Hualian and Nalan Rongruo in Liang Yusheng’s “Seven Swordsmen of Tianshan.” The mutual appreciation between Mao and Nalan, their late-night tea conversations, and their subtly written emotions create a very detached and refined atmosphere.
The last topic I want to discuss is the underlying philosophies in Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng’s novels. Although the previous discussion on their depictions of “martial arts,” “chivalry,” and “emotion” already hints at the philosophies they aim to convey, there are still some additional points worth mentioning.
As a whole, Liang Yusheng’s novels are deeply influenced by traditional Chinese culture. However, when analyzed individually, certain thoughts within them are also influenced by Western 19th-century literary trends, which emphasize individual freedom and resistance against unreasonable societal constraints.
In Liang Yusheng’s novels, we can see the influence of Carmen in the character Li Shengnan (the novel “Carmen” was adapted into a film in Hong Kong, known as “Rouge Tiger”). Carmen disregards personal grievances and demands freedom in love, even at the cost of her life. In Jin Shiyi, we see the shadow of Jean-Christophe. Before Jin Shiyi’s transformation under the influence of Gu Zhihua, his cynical and capricious nature parallels Christophe’s determination to maintain his spiritual freedom, even if it means clashing with society. The rebellion of Jade Rakshasa against the Five Elders of Wudang Mountain is spiritually similar to Anna Karenina’s defiance of high society’s hypocrisy. Thus, I believe some characters in Liang Yusheng’s works are a fusion of the spirit of Chinese literati and 19th-century European literary trends.
The European 19th-century literary trends have both good and bad aspects. In the context of that era, it was a rebellion against feudal society, representing progressiveness. However, overemphasizing the individual’s role is its negative aspect.
Wuxia novels, in their effort to highlight heroes with “superhuman powers,” inevitably emphasize the individual. Thus, I consistently believe that the form of wuxia novels limits their development, and since the inception of wuxia novels until today, they have not reached the heights of other literary works. However, since Liang Yusheng values the artistic quality of his works, I believe it is fair to hold him to a higher standard. My simple opinion is that since he has already established his style, he should continue to follow the path of national forms. Being deeply influenced by Chinese culture, he should further develop his strengths, and the influence of the West can be discarded without regret.
If Liang Yusheng is somewhat influenced by 19th-century European literary trends, Jin Yong is influenced by contemporary Western culture, especially Hollywood movies. This influence is more pronounced in his later works.
One characteristic of Hollywood movies is the emphasis on the dark and evil aspects of human nature, based on the philosophy of “every man for himself.” If this can be considered a philosophical thought, it leads to a blurred distinction between good and evil. For instance, in “Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre,” Jin Yong meticulously portrays the “evil” in righteous characters, such as the ruthless and cruel Emei sect leader Miejue Shitai, the morally despicable Kunlun sect leader He Taichong, and even the supposedly divine monks of Shaolin, who use deceit when Zhang Sanfeng attempts to exchange the “Nine Yang Manual” with them. The “evil” within the righteous factions is fully showcased during the “Six Sects Besieging Bright Peak” event, conveying to readers that there is both good and evil within all characters, and that human nature inherently contains selfish and wicked elements.
In “Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre,” it is still possible to differentiate between righteous and evil factions. However, in “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” it becomes difficult to determine who is righteous and who is evil, as it appears everyone is acting out of self-interest. Murong Bo spreads rumors to incite the heroes of the Song Dynasty to kill Khitan warriors in his quest to restore the Great Yan kingdom. His son Murong Fu abandons his cousin’s deep affection to marry a princess of the Xia kingdom for the same reason. You Tanzhi, in his desire to win over Azi, is willing to debase himself and perform despicable acts. The wife of the Beggar Sect’s vice-chief goes to great lengths to harm the chief because he did not appreciate her beauty or smile at her. Even the abbot of Shaolin has an illicit affair with Ye Erniang, the second most notorious villain, and attempts to cover it up. Such portrayals seem to consistently follow the line of thought that “every man for himself.”
Another characteristic of Hollywood movies, also a popular theme in recent years, is the emphasis on “psychological factors.” It suggests that all evil deeds are a result of some psychological trigger or abnormality, making the wrongdoers deserving of sympathy and forgiveness.
A recent example is the movie “The Big Country,” which featured the ruthless capitalist George Babbitt. His villainous behavior stemmed from childhood trauma, when his brother died from a mental illness, leaving him emotionally scarred and causing him to commit various misdeeds as an adult.
In Jin Yong’s “Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre,” Xie Xun’s rampant killing spree is triggered by the trauma of his master killing his father and raping his wife; his master’s actions, in turn, are driven by his brother stealing his lover. In “Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils,” Ye Erniang’s daily act of sucking the blood of infants is explained by the trauma of being unable to raise her illegitimate child with the Shaolin abbot, leading her to vent her rage on other people’s children. Both Xie Xun and Ye Erniang ultimately receive sympathy and forgiveness from the author.
Are these philosophical ideas from Hollywood movies correct or not? Since this is not a philosophical essay, I will not delve deeply into the topic here. Readers can judge for themselves.
This concludes the main text, but there are some “afterthoughts.”
After the first and middle parts of this article were published, some friends and readers asked why I wrote this article and what my attitude towards wuxia novels is.
I do not oppose wuxia novels, nor do I particularly advocate for them. At this time and place, reading wuxia novels for leisure should be harmless. If highly artistic wuxia novels appear, they would be even more welcome. However, due to the inherent limitations of the wuxia novel form, I do not hold high artistic expectations for them.
“Why did I write this article?” I must honestly say that besides the public influence of Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng’s novels, there are also personal reasons.
Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng are my friends, or at least they were once close friends of mine. Neither of them originally intended to write wuxia novels; they did so partly due to my encouragement.
In my article, I mentioned “Essays from the Three Swordsmen Pavilion” several times. A reader asked about its origins. It was a column jointly written by Jin Yong, Liang Yusheng, and another writer under the pseudonym “Master of the Hundred Swords Hall” in a newspaper in 1956, which was later published as a standalone book. It’s been ten years now.
“A book comes, ten years pass, the affairs of the world are fleeting.” This was the inscription by the Master of the Hundred Swords Hall on Jin Yong’s first wuxia novel, “The Book and the Sword,” which now seems almost prophetic. “At that time, we rode side by side, the peach and plum trees flourishing in the spring breeze. How many young companions, shared days of wine and deep feelings. Now, watching the setting sun on the return path, the fragrant paths are again covered in fallen petals.” Ten years later, each has their own life path, and they have become renowned authors of the new school of wuxia novels. I no longer see them as often.
Their novels have been successful and have influenced society and the public. They used to seek my opinions, but now, due to busy schedules and fewer opportunities to meet, we may not be able to have in-depth discussions even if we do meet. Since their work impacts society, I decided to publicly express my views in this article.
An ancient saying goes: “Three types of beneficial friends: friends who are straightforward, friends who are trustworthy, and friends who are knowledgeable.” I am far from being as knowledgeable as Jin and Liang. As for being trustworthy, it depends on the matter, and I am not sure I can achieve it in every instance. Therefore, the way of friendship must be straightforwardness, right? Their greatest achievement in the past ten years has been in wuxia novels, and since I encouraged them in this field, I feel a responsibility to offer my opinions. These opinions may or may not be useful to them, but at least I have fulfilled my duty as a friend.