The following paper by Meir Shahar reproduced below was originally included in the book Proceedings of the International Conference on Jin Yong’s Novels 金庸小說國際學術研討會論文集, 1999, Yuan-Liou Publishing. The book collects the papers presented at said conference. I have re-typeset it based on the original, except for fixing a few typos. All the footnotes are the same as in the original with the addition of two short notes I added for correction.

Martial-Arts Fiction and Martial-Arts Practice: The Concept of Qi in Jin Yong’s Novels¹

Meir Shahar
Department of East Asian Studies
Tel Aviv University

I. Introduction

In one of the climactic moments of Jin Yong’s 金庸 (1924-) Extraordinary Beings (Tianlong babu 天龍八部), Duan Yu 段譽, who is the novel’s principal protagonist, discovers inside a mysterious cave a jade statue of a divine maiden. Like Baoyu 寶玉, after which he has been fashioned, and with which his name resonates,²

Duan Yu is consumed by admiration to women, which he considers as superior to men. Perhaps for this reason, the discovery of the lifelike images touches the depths of his soul. Overcome with emotion, he kneels in front of it.

Inadvertently, Duan Yu’s romantic impulse transforms him into a martial-artist. This is because from his kneeling posture Duan Yu chances upon a tiny inscription on the maidens’ fee. It reads: “After kowtowing to me a thousand times, even if you experience a hundred deaths you will have no regrets.” All too happy to comply with the instruction and worship the lovely creature, Duan Yu prostrates himself on a small mat, which he finds spread in front of the statue. By the time he completes his prostrations, the mat is torn to shreds, revealing underneath it an ancient book, which endows Duan Yu with invincible powers. This sacred book contains the secret fighting methods of the “Free and Easy Sect” (Xiaoyao pai 逍遙派).³

In many ways this episode is characteristic of Jin Yong’s writing. Its plot is full of surprising turns, connecting as it does the veneration of beauty with hidden martial techniques. We find in it mysterious caves and sacred books, love and invincible fighting methods. Perhaps most significantly, the protagonist of this episode is, from the perspective of martial-arts fiction, an anti-hero: Duan Yu is, at least initially, much more interested in romance than in warfare.

All of these elements are vintage Jin Yong. All but one. There is one item in this episode that isn’t the product of Jin Yong’s imagination. This is the book discovered by Duan Yu, or, more precisely, the name of the sect which martial techniques it purports to disclose: the “Free and Easy” (Xiaoyao). Gymnastic techniques titled the “Free and Easy” are common in twentieth-century Chinese martial-arts.⁴

These techniques derive from a Ming-period manual of physical education, attributed to one “Free and Easy” (Xiaoyaozi), and titled The Free and Easy’s Gymnastics Formula (Xiaoyaozi daoyin jue 逍遙子導引訣). This manual, which enjoyed considerable popularity during the Ming—it is preserved in several editions—teaches a combination of external limb movement with internal circulation of qi 氣.⁵

Ultimately, of course, the title of this manual, like its presumed author’s sobriquet, derive from the “Free and Easy Wandering” (Xiaoyao you 遊) chapter of the Zhuangzi 莊子.

Thus, into a fictional narrative which is the product of his own creative imagination, Jin Yong has inserted a term borrowed from the realm of martial-arts practice. This phenomenon is not atypical of Jin Yong’s writings, which attest a close connection between fictional representation and practice in the Chinese martial arts. Jin Yong’s fictional protagonists engage in fighting techniques which are widely taught, and these protagonists themselves have sometimes been borrowed from the literature produced by martial-arts practitioners. Furthermore, the discussion of the martial-arts in Jin Yong’s novels is sometimes elucidated by quotations from martial-arts manuals. In this respect, then, Jin Yong’s fiction is the product of Chinese martial-arts history, and his novels mirror the shape that the martial-arts have taken by the mid-twentieth century.

Jin Yong himself acknowledges his indebtedness to the literature produced by martial-arts practitioners. When asked about his familiarity with the martial-arts, he usually responds that even though he isn’t a practitioner, he does read martial-arts manuals, which occasionally serve as a source for his writings. Consider his following comment, from an interview, dated 1969, with Lin Yiliang 林以亮:

As for martial-arts (wushu 武術) manuals, I am somewhat familiar with some. They include illustrations as well as written explanations. If, for example, I write something that concerns a hand-combat technique (quanshu 拳術), I may consult some manuals of hand-combat. I read about these forms of hand-combat, and elaborate upon them a little.⁶

Highlighting the correspondence between Jin Yong’s fiction of the martial-arts and their contemporary practice is not to deny that most of the fighting-techniques in his novels, like their fanciful names, are the product of his own literary imagination.⁷

Nonetheless, the measure of similarity between his fiction and contemporary fighting methods offers us an interesting vantage point from which to examine the former. It suggests that the evolution of the Chinese martial-arts might have influenced the development of the literary genre to which Jin Yong’s work belongs. It would appear that martial-arts fiction, (as I would render this genre’s Chinese name: wuxia xiaoshuo 武俠小說), hasn’t grown independently of martial-arts practice.⁸

At least in Jin Yong’s case, the fiction of the martial-arts is related to their contemporaneous performance. Let us consider a few examples:

In his The Eagle-Shooting Heroes (Shediao yingxiong zhuan 射鵰英雄傳), Jin Yong introduces a fighting method called Iron-Cloth Shirt (Tiebu shan 鐵布衫). As described in the novel, this method is meant to harden the body so that it becomes as impenetrable as “Cast bronze and forged iron.” Thus the practitioner’s own skin would be transformed into an armor, making him largely invulnerable.⁹

As it happens, both the name of this body-hardening technique and the semi-fantastic claims for its efficacy predate Jin Yong’s fiction. An invulnerability technique variously referred to by the names Iron-Cloth Shirt and Armor of the Golden Bell (Jinzhong zhao 金鐘罩) has been practiced in the North-China plains since the mid-eighteenth century at the latest. This technique—or, more accurately, these techniques, for there have been variations in its practice—has been relied upon by such rebel armies as the Eight Trigrams (in 1813), the Big Sword Society, (precursor to the Boxers United in Righteousness) (in the mid-1890s), and the Red-Spear Militias (During the Republican Period). Some of these armies even sought in it protection from firearms.¹⁰

The Iron-Cloth Shirt continues to be a popular martial technique to this day, and it figures prominently in contemporary martial-arts manuals.¹¹

The latter usually explain it in terms of the internal circulation, within the body, of the psycho-physical force of qi, for which reason they tend to classify the Iron-Cloth Shirt as a form of “hard-qi-technique” (ying qigong 硬氣功). The practitioner, it is argued, is capable of directing his qi to a given bodily location, which is thereby hardened and becomes impenetrable. This explanation for the efficacy of Iron-Cloth type techniques dates back to the mid-eighteenth century, when Zheng Xie 鄭燮 (1693-1765) wrote of one, Wei Zizhao 魏子兆, who would direct his qi to a specific spot on his body, “whereupon even swords and axes were unable to penetrate it.”¹²

If the Iron-Cloth Shirt is premised upon the internal circulation of qi, then this is also the case with another fighting technique which Jin Yong borrowed from the realm of martial-arts practice: the Primordial-Chaos Palm (Hunyuan Zhang 混元掌). In his The Sword Stained with Royal Blood (Bixue jian 碧血劍), Jin Yong describes the latter as combining the internal refinement of qi with the external development of hand-combat skills. “Having practiced both externally and internally,” he explains, “one’s every move and every maneuver would naturally be accompanied by internal power. Thus, without even thinking about it, one would triumph and overcome his adversary.”¹³

This interpretation of the Primordial-Chaos Palm closely corresponds to its presentation in twentieth-century practitioners’ manuals. This is, for example, how the Comprehensive Compendium of Qigong Techniques (Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan 中國氣功功法大全) describes the Primordial-Chaos Palm, (to which it refers by the slightly different appellation of Primordial-Chaos Cinnabar Technique (Hunyuan dan gong 混元丹功)):

The Primordial-Chaos Cinnabar Technique belongs in the qigong methods that include [external] movement (donggong 動功). Inside it cultivates the essence (jing* 精), the vital energy (qi 氣), and the spirit (shen 神). Outside it cultivates the muscles, bones, and skin. Having mastered it, doesn’t only protect one’s health and strengthen his body, it also has the effect of endowing him with inexhaustible power, of the type obtained through hard qigong (ying qigong).¹⁴

The similarity between the martial-techniques as described in practitioners’ manuals and as portrayed in Jin Yong’s fiction suggests that, in some cases, he has relied on the former. Instances of textual borrowing further evince the close connection between this author’s fiction and martial-arts textbooks. Thus, for example, the discussion of Taijiquan in Jin Yong’s novel The Heaven Sword and the Dragon Sabre (Yitian tulong ji 倚天屠龍記) (hereafter: Heaven Sword) betrays the textual influence of Yang Chengfu’s 楊澄甫 (1883-1936) The ten important points for [Taiji] quan technique (Quan shu shiyao 拳術十要). The novel includes a Taijiquan formula, which is made of the section-headings of Yang’s manual. It reads:

The energy at the top of the head should be light and sensitive,
(xu ling ding jin)
Sink the chest and raise the back.
Relax the waist and let fall the buttocks.
Sink the shoulders and drop the elbows.¹⁵

This isn’t the only example of textual borrowing in the Heaven Sword, several chapters of which are dedicated to the history, and theory, of Taijiquan. The novel contains a list of the various Taijiquan postures, such as “Grasp Sparrow’s Tail” (Lanquewei 攬雀尾), “Single Whip” (Danbian 單鞭), “White Crane Cools Wings” (Baihe liangchi 白鶴亮翅),¹⁶ “Play Guitar” (Shouhui pipa 手揮琵琶),¹⁷ “Embrace Tiger, Return to Mountain” (Baohu guishan 抱虎歸山), and so on.¹⁸ These fanciful names haven’t been invented by Jin Yong. As the common designations for Taijiquan postures, they appear in numerous manuals of this school.¹⁹

Jin Yong’s discussion of Taijiquan leads us to another type of borrowing in his writings—that of figures revered within the martial-arts community. At least some of Jin Yong’s narratives revolve around figures that he borrowed from the genealogical trees of martial-arts schools. This is the case, for example, with the novel Heaven Sword, which features the legendary founders of Taijiquan, the Song-period Zhang Sanfeng 張三丰 and his seven disciples. Thus, both the fighting methods and the protagonists of the Heaven Sword were borrowed from the literature produced by martial-arts practitioners. The fighting methods are described in Taijiquan manuals, and, at least some of the protagonists, derive from what might be described as the hagiographic literature of Taijiquan transmission.²⁰

The legend according to which Taijiquan was invented by the Song-period Taoist, Zhang Sanfeng, has been discredited by scholars as early as the 1930s. It is generally accepted today that the origins of Taijiquan can’t be traced earlier than the seventeenth-century—some five centuries after Zhang Sanfeng, whose historicity itself is uncertain.²¹

However, for our purpose here the question of Taijiquan transmission isn’t as significant as Jin Yong’s preoccupation with it. For the latter evinces his acquaintance with the literature produced by Taijiquan practitioners. Indeed, in a comment appended to the narrative, the Heaven Sword’s implied author acknowledges his reliance upon the genealogical writings of Taijiquan. The comment is interesting, for in it the implied author shares with his readers artistic considerations, which informed the very narrative they are reading:

According to ancient records, Zhang Sanfeng’s seven disciples were Song Yuanqiao 宋遠橋 (Song Remote-Bridge), Yu Lianzhou、俞蓮舟 (Yu Lotus-Boat), Yu Daiyan 俞岱巖 (Yu Tai-Mountain Cliff), Zhang Songxi 張松溪 (Zhang Pine-Stream), Zhang Cuishan 張翠山 (Zhang Green-Mountain), Yin Liheng 殷梨亭, and Mo Shenggu 莫聲谷 (Mo Resonant-Valley). Yin Liheng’s name must derive its meaning from the Classic of Changes’ (Yijing 易經) expression: Yuan heng li zhen 元亨利貞 (“He shall have fundamental prevalence and find it fitting to practice constancy”).²²

However, it doesn’t resemble the names of the other six disciples. For this reason I have replaced it here by another name, which characters are nonetheless similar to Liheng in shape: Liting 梨亭 ([Yin] Pear-Pavilion).”

No doubt many more cases of correspondence between Jin Yong’s fiction and martial-arts manuals can be examined. Nonetheless, even the limited number of examples thus far surveyed probably suffice to demonstrate Jin Yong’s indebtedness to the literature produced by martial-arts practitioners. These examples suggest that the martial-arts in Jin Yong’s fiction weren’t created ex nihilo. Rather, his protagonists engage in martial techniques that have been widely practiced during the twentieth century. In this sense Jin Yong’s novels illustrate the intimate relation between practice and fiction in the contemporary martial-arts. Furthermore, we can probably advance one step beyond this preliminary conclusion, for all of the instances thus far examined share one common trait: They are all premised upon the psycho-physical force of qi. The techniques of the Free and Easy, the Iron-Cloth Shirt, the Primordial-Chaos Palm, and Taijiquan, all stress the internal circulation of qi. In order to appreciate the significance of this common motif, we need to briefly survey one of the dominant trends in the evolution of the late-imperial and modern martial-arts.

II. Qi in Martial-Arts Practice

Historians of Chinese physical education usually agree that the Qing period signifies a turning point in the history of the martial-arts. This is because the Qing-period witnessed the merging together of two, up until then, by and large distinct traditions of physical education: The tradition of hand combat with its various forms of boxing and wrestling, and the tradition of classical gymnastics, usually referred to in the scholarly literature by the generic terms yangsheng 養生 (“nourishing the vital principle”) and daoyin 導引 (literally: “guiding and directing”.)²³

The latter mirrors one of the defining characteristics of Chinese classical gymnastics: Its emphasis upon the “guiding and directing” (daoyin) of qi. The practitioner concentrates his mental faculties and regulates his breath thereby circulating hi qi within the body. In this respect Chinese classical gymnastics is a form of meditative practice, premised upon a psycho-physical force—qi. (It should be noted, however, that, in addition to the internal circulation of qi, some daoyin exercises include external-limb movements.)²⁴

The roots of daoyin gymnastics can be traced back to the first centuries b.c.e., (the term itself appears already in one of the Zhuangzi’s outer chapters).²⁵

From its very beginnings this gymnastic tradition was considered to be of therapeutic value, both in preventing and in curing disease, for which reason daoyin exercises figure prominently in the classics of Chinese medicine, such as the Huangdi neijing 黃帝內經 (The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Medicine), (compiled during the Han, but including earlier materials as well).²⁶ During the first centuries of the common era, daoyin gymnastics were further developed within the emerging Taoist religion, which sanctioned them as an integral element of its self-cultivation regimen. Taoist mystics such as Sima Chengzhen 司馬承禎 (647-735) considered the training of qi a prerequisite for the mystical union with the Tao.²⁷

Even as they were widely employed for therapeutic and religious purposes, daoyin gymnastics remained largely divorced of pugilistic ends prior to the Qing period. The available information doesn’t permit us to trace the integration of qi-circulation techniques with methods of boxing and wrestling earlier than the seventeenth-century, for which reason scholars have concluded that the traditions of daoyin gymnastics and hand-combat remained largely distinct all through the late-Ming. Admittedly Tang-period tales do describe Taoist mystics whose fighting skills are related to methods of self-cultivation. However, in their case the “nourishing of the vital principle” (yangsheng) is related to swordsmanship rather than boxing or wrestling. In addition, the tales in question—unlike Qing-period fighting manuals—do not detail specific methods of qi-circulation, and, furthermore, their methods of self-cultivation are largely dependent upon magic potions of various kinds, enabling their protagonists, among other feats, to fly or become invisible at will.²⁸

The Qing-period integration of the ancient daoyin gymnastics with techniques of hand-combat has had a profound impact on the contents, as well as the very purpose, of the martial-arts. Daoyin gymnastics enriched the martial-arts with medical significance, and contributed to them a meditative aspect. Qi-circulation techniques transformed the martial-arts from a regimen of physical exercise into a method of psycho-physical training, which was no longer intended for warfare alone. Lin Boyuan, one of the leading historians of Chinese gymnastics, summarizes this process as follows:

During the Ming-period, the various fighting schools stressed each one technique only, and they all specialized in actual fighting. By contrast, the Qing-period schools of fighting usually combined various techniques. In particular, Qing-period fighting methods were closely integrated with the teachings of daoyin (“guiding and directing”) and yangsheng (“nourishing the vital principle”). This integration was motivated by a double-purpose: Firstly, it added efficacy to these methods in terms of fighting; secondly, it strengthened the body, and it assisted in the prevention, as well as the healing, of disease.

Many Qing-period martial-arts manuals contain chapters dedicated to the discussion of qi and the training of qi (lianqi 練氣). Most fighting-schools stressed the significance of the training of qi, and many martial-artists combined their fighting practice with training in daoyin and yangsheng techniques…

The widespread integration of daoyin practice and martial-arts practice during the Qing demonstrates that the recognition of daoyin’s efficacy became more common. Daoyin practice transformed the martial-arts in terms of their contents, forms of practice, and usages alike. The martial-arts were no longer an activity meaningful only as a fighting technique. Rather, the martial-arts were transformed into a physical activity that has many forms of training, that enhances both skill and strength, and that is efficacious both in preventing, and in healing, disease. Evidently, by Qing times the martial-arts evolved into an entirely unique system of physical training.²⁹

One of the Qing-period schools of fighting that demonstrates the integration of the martial-arts with daoyin gymnastics is Taijiquan, which, as we have seen above, figures in Jin Yong’s Heaven Sword. Eminent historians such as Tang Hao, Gu Liuxin, and Lin Boyuan point out that this school integrated techniques of hand-combat with the psycho-physical methods of qi-circulation.³⁰ The editors of the influential History of Chinese Physical Education summarize this dual ancestry of Taijiquan as follows:

From the perspective of its form, the Qing-period popular Taijiquan belongs to the martial-arts’ methods of hand-combat (quanshu), and it does bear the characteristics of a fighting method. However, in terms of its substance it belongs in the physical education tradition of “nourishing the vital principle” (yangsheng). It is the product of our country’s ancient daoyin techniques’ evolution.³¹

Taijiquan theoretical compositions stress the significance of qi-circulation. Some of these compositions describe the circulation of qi in general terms only, but some, such as Li Yiyu’s 李亦畲 (1832-92) “Song of the Circulation of Qi” (“Shenqi yunxing ge” 神氣運行歌) describe the precise course of the qi within the practitioner’s body. Here are the opening lines of Li’s poem, in Douglas Wile’s translation:

The qi is like the waters of the Yangtze,
As it flows eastward wave upon wave;
Arising from the “bubbling well” point in the ball of the foot,
It travels up the spine in the back.
Arriving at the niwan 泥丸 in the center of the brain,
It returns to the yintang 印堂 between the brows.
The mind leads the qi,
And never leaves it for an instant.
For example, if you want to raise your right hand,
The mind-qi first reaches the armpit.
Then following the kinetic energy,
You will feel the mind-qi in the pit of the elbow.
Turning over your hand,
The qi will arrive at the neiguan 內關 point on the inside of the arm above the wrist…³²

During the late-Qing, Taijiquan writings such as Li’s poem, circulated among practitioners in the form of hand-written manuscripts, and it was only several decades later, during the Republican period, that the literature of this school was first published.³³

The latter period witnessed the publication of numerous manuals belonging to other schools as well, and many of these evince a similar emphasis on the training of qi. Thus, for example, the Secret Formulas of the Shaolin Fighting Technique (Shaolin quanshu mijue 少林拳術秘訣) (1915) opens with a chapter titled: “Unraveling the Subtleties of the Qi-Techniques” (“Qigong chan wei” 氣功闡微),³⁴ and its contemporary, the Secret Formulas of the Shaolin Internal Art (Shaolin neigong mijue 少林內功秘訣), by Jiang Shihun 姜使魂, elaborates at great length on the superiority of the “internal arts” (neigong) of qi-circulation over the “external arts” (waigong) of limb movement. Jiang Shihun explains that the former are harder to master exactly because they depend upon the training of the mind:

In practicing the internal art, the beginning is extremely difficult. It isn’t like the external art, which involves only the exercising of the body, and in which, if only you are diligent and not remiss, you are certain to achieve results. This because the internal art lays emphasis upon the circulation of qi (yunqi 運氣): When I want the qi to reach my back, then it fills my back. When I want the qi to reach my arms, then it fills my arms. It goes where directed by one’s mind (yi 意), and there is nowhere it can’t reach. Only then can one reap the internal art’s benefits…

What is known as “using the spirit to control the qi” (yi shen yi qi 以神役氣) means that practice should begin by thinking (xiangnian 想念). If I want the qi to flow into my back I should have my thought reach it, before my qi does. Even though the qi hasn’t reached it, the spirit already has. If one practices thinking in this way for a long time, the qi is certain to gradually follow the spirit, so that they reach the desired spot together.”³⁵

The growing significance of qi-training in the Republican-period martial-arts is evinced by their reliance upon a term, the origins of which can be traced back to the Tang dynasty: qigong (qi-techniques).³⁶

In the course of the twentieth century this term has enjoyed increasingly wide currency, and, in recent decades, it has figured in the titles of scores of publications, which usually treat it as a general designation for all forms of fighting and healing based upon the manipulation of qi.³⁷

Most qigong manuals are divided into disparate sections dedicated to fighting and healing of various sorts—healing of self, and of others, preventive, as well as remedial. One underlying principle common to many of these healing, and fighting, techniques is the practitioner’s ability to concentrate his qi into a specific location in his body, where it is employed either for a therapeutic, or a combative purpose. The qi gathered into the practitioner’s fingers, for example, can be transmitted into a patient’s body for healing ends, or employed to harden the fingers so that they injure an adversary.

Whether it is intended for therapeutic or martial ends, modern Qigong derives from traditional Chinese medicine in that it conceives of specific bodily points that are responsive to treatment (and conversely, susceptible to injury). These nodal points, known in the classical medical terminology as xue 穴 (literally: hole), provide the sites for acupuncture treatment, and it is to them that the Qigong master directs his therapeutic, as well as his combat, skills. The following description, from a manual dated 1993, illustrates the reliance of qigong technique upon the concept of nodal points. It concerns a qigong method called the Shaolin Technique of the Golden-Needle Finger (Shaolin Jin zhen zhi 少林金針指), which can be employed either for fighting or for healing:

The “Shaolin Golden-Needle Finger” is one of the Shaolin hard Qigong (ying qigong 硬氣功) techniques. Its special features are the use of the mind (yi 意) to guide the qi, the combination of qi and [external] force (li 力), and the use of qi to strengthen force (yi qi zhuang li 一氣壯力). As a fighting technique it can be used to drill holes in stones, and target an adversary’s nodal points. As a therapeutic method it can be used to emit qi into a patient’s nodal points thereby curing disease. Thus one reaches the state in which: “One breath of qi cultivated inside,
is matched by the cultivation of muscles, bones, and skin outside”
(nei lian yi kou qi 內練一口氣,
wai lian jin gu pi 外練筋骨皮)

Those who practice this technique shouldn’t fear hardships. They should be persistent and diligent, and need strictly adhere to the warrior’s mentality (wude 武德). Every morning and every evening they should choose a quiet place, where the air is fresh. They should exhale the body’s dirty qi, and then “circulate the qi” (yunqi).³⁸

Qigong isn’t the only term, the twentieth-century vogue of which reflects the centrality of qi-training in the contemporary martial-artist; another is neijia 內家 (“internal school”), which first appeared in Huang Zongxi’s 黃宗羲 (1610-95) “Wang Zhengnan muzhi ming” 王征南墓志銘 (“Epitaph for Wang Zhengnan”) (1669).³⁹

In the course of its complex history, neijia has meant different things to different authors. However, at least some nineteenth-and-twentieth-century sources use this term to designate those systems of fighting that like Taijiquan rely upon the internal power of qi and the susceptibility of an adversary’s nodal points. Other martial-artist manuals treat neijia as an adjective, which is applicable to any martial-artist—regardless of his affiliation with a specific fighting school—who excels in qi-circulation. It is in this vein that the founder of Sun-style Taijiquan, Sun Lutang 孫祿堂 (1861-1933), explains: In breathing there is a difference between the internal and external schools. In fighting-techniques there are no such schools. He who excels in cultivating his qi (yangqi 養氣) belongs to the internal school. He who doesn’t should be classified in the external school.”⁴⁰

Thus, the twentieth-century ubiquity of such terms as qigong and neijia is the product of a lengthy process in which the martial-arts gradually absorbed the ancient daoyin techniques of qi-circulation. Historians of Chinese physical education have pointed out that this process has had a profound impact on the Chinese martial-arts, which have been transformed into a unique system combining martial, and therapeutic, goals. What I will suggest here is that this evolution of martial-arts practice is mirrored in Jin Yong’s martial-arts fiction. In the novels of this twentieth-century author qi is presented as one of the primary vehicles of the martial-arts. Many of the fighting techniques described in Jin Yong’s novels are premised upon, or, at the very least, are accompanied by, the circulation of qi. Indeed, in his fiction, this is all too often mastery of qi that distinguishes between the fully accomplished, and the less accomplished, warriors.

However, before I survey briefly the role of qi in Jin Yong’s fiction, a caveat regarding this term’s occurrence in China’s military classics is necessary. To argue that the Qing-period witnessed the integration of hand-combat techniques with methods of qi-circulation isn’t to deny that the term qi appears already in pre-Qing military writings. Qi in the sense of morale, or fighting spirit, is considered one of the primary factors of warfare in the “Seven Military Classics” (Wujing qishu 武經奇書), which reflect the strategic thought of ancient China.⁴¹

In appears as early as the maxim “a whole army may be robbed of its spirit” (Sanjun ke duo qi 三軍可奪氣) in Sunzi’s Art of War (Sunzi Bingfa 孫子兵法) (fifth century b.c.e?),⁴² and it is discussed extensively in the Yuan-or-Ming-period novel of strategy Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi 三國演義).⁴³

What is new in late-Qing martial-arts manuals isn’t the very appearance of the term qi, the manipulation of which as “fighting spirit” has been pondered in a thousands-years old military tradition, but rather the discussion of qi as a psycho-physical entity, which through prescribed techniques of internal circulation may enhance an individual warrior’s pugilistic ability.

III. Qi in Jin Yong’s Fiction

Perhaps the best illustration of the ubiquity of qi in Jin Yong’s novels is this concept’s role in explaining invulnerability. All too often when he seeks to account for a protagonist withstanding a blow, the narrator resorts to the notion of internal qi power. It is therefore not uncommon to find in Jin Yong’s fiction such sentences as: “luckily so-and-so practiced the internal-art (neigong), and therefore he wasn’t injured by that blow,” or: “so-and-so cultivated the internal-strength (neijing 內勁), for which reason his nodal point (*xue), though targeted, wasn’t affected.” Thus, if he only wishes to keep a favorite character alive, the author may turn to the hidden power of *qi*, which concept becomes an expedient tool for rationalizing the result of any martial confrontation.

The notion of qi provides the ultimate explanation for the outcome of battles regardless of specific fighting techniques. That is, the narrator may account for the result of a given match by the concept of “internal power,” even as he fails to name the fighting technique by which it is manipulated. In addition, however, we find in Jin Yong’s fiction specified methods that are premised upon the concept of qi. These include, among many others, the techniques, discussed above, of the Free and Easy, the Iron-Cloth Shirt, the Primordial-Chaos Palm, and Taijiquan. Let us briefly review two additional examples:

Jin Yong’s novel, The Eagle-Shooting Heroes (Shediao yingxiong zhuan 射鵰英雄傳), features an anti-hero, who shares certain characteristics—such as an ineptitude for the martial-arts—with the above-mentioned Extraordinary Beings’ protagonist, Duan Yu. This Guo Jing 郭靖, who becomes a martial-artist by learning to sleep. A mysterious Taoist teaches him a technique of bedtime qi-circulation, which endows him with extraordinary powers. The Taoist explicates his sleeping art as follows:

When thought is fixed desire expires, when the body is emptied, the qi circulates, when the mind dies, the spirit (shen) becomes alive, when yang flourishes, yin is eliminated…Before going to sleep, one’s mind should be emptied and illuminated. It shouldn’t contain as much as a thread of thought. One should sleep on the side, in a curled-up position. Breathing needs to be continuous. Inside, the soul shouldn’t be agitated, and, outside, the spirit shouldn’t wander off.⁴⁴

Even though Jin Yong’s protagonist, Guo Jing, is unaware of it, sleeping methods are not uncommon in contemporary qigong. Usually referred to by the generic terms “lying-down techniques” (wogong 臥功) or “sleeping techniques” (shuigong 睡功), these methods have an ancient pedigree in the Chinese gymnastic and religious tradition: their antecedents may be traced back to the Pillow-book Methods (Zhenzhong fang 枕中方) of the seventh-century Taoist Chen Tuan 陳摶; and they are recorded in detail in a sixteenth-century manual of gymnastics, Zhou Lüjing’s 周履靖, The Red-Phoenix Marrow (Chifeng sui 赤鳳髓).⁴⁵

Following the twentieth-century revival of qi-related techniques, these sleeping methods became fashionable anew, as is attested, for example, by the “Lying-Down Chan [Meditation] Method” (Wo chan fa 臥禪法), which, despite its name, evinces no Buddhist influence. The Comprehensive Compendium of Qigong (1993) describes it as follows:

The ancients held that a person’s inborn qi,⁴⁶ is often lost during sleep. If one doesn’t sleep carefully then his essence (jing 精), his qi, and his spirit (shen 神) would have nothing to rely upon. By practicing often this method one would be able to secure his essence (gu jing 固精), guard his qi (shou qi 守氣), nourish his spirit (yang shen 養神), and keep intact his self (quan zhen 全真). This “Lying-Down Chan [Meditation] Method” is none other than the method of the “Five Dragons’ Winding Bodies.” It has been transmitted ever since the Northern-Song [master] Chen Tuan, and to this day many of those who nourish the vital principle use it.
Method of practice: The formula says: You should lie down on your side—either the left or the right are all right—with your head facing eastward. You should bend on arm, and support your face with the palm of your hand, keeping the passage into the ear unobstructed. Keep your waist and back straight, and massage your abdomen with one hand. One leg needs to be straight, the other, bent up—like a winding dragon, like a curled-up dog, unperturbed and self-possessed.
Prior to your mind (xin 心) falling asleep, your eyes should. Achieving the ultimate, and guarding the essence, naturally your qi would return to its roots, and naturally your breathing would be cultivated. Breathing would be in tune without being regulated. The qi would yield without being controlled.⁴⁷

As for Guo Jing he is astonished by the effectiveness of the sleeping art. His previously mediocre martial exercises, executed clumsily despite his laborious efforts, are suddenly transformed. As if by miracle, each and every movement of his is now accompanied by internal vigor, and performed with precision and grace. Thus, Jin Yong’s protagonist comes to realize that the bedrock of qi-circulation is much more significant than any specific combat technique. Having mastered the fundamental art of qi, he describes it in terms very similar to those found in twentieth-century martial-arts manuals, namely in terms of the practitioner’s ability to control the flow of qi within his body: “[The Taoist] taught me to sit down and breathe slowly,” says Guo Jing. “He also told me not to think of anything except this puff of air that goes up and down inside my belly. As first I couldn’t do it, but recently it really seems as if there is a warm mouse squirming his way to and fro inside my body. It’s really fun!”⁴⁸

Guo Jing’s realization of the power of qi, is shared by an entire fighting school, presented by Jin Yong as premised upon this internal force. Appropriately named the Qi Sect (Qizong 氣宗), this school figures in the opening chapters of The Laughing, Proud Wanderer (Xiao’ao jianghu 笑傲江湖), in which is is described as locked in a deadly struggle with its arch-rival, the Sword Sect (Jianzong 劍宗). The protracted war between these two schools, which mirror different conceptions of the martial-arts, lasts for generations, until the two meet in a decisive battle from which the Qi Sect emerges as victorious. Indeed the superiority of the qi is visually demonstrated by the Qi-sect masters, who effortlessly smash steel swords with their bare hands.

Many years after the decisive battle from which they emerged victorious, one of the Qi-Sect leaders, Lady Yue 岳, explained to her disciples how, drawing on the power of qi, their school was able to overcome its Sword-Sect adversaries. Her explanation is interesting for it weaves the classic rhetoric of “substance” (ti 體) and “expediency” (yong 用) into a discussion of the power of qi:

That year atop the Jade-Maiden Peak our school encountered in a decisive battle the great masters of the Sword-Sect: Their swordsmanship was of a myriad deceptions, and their swordplay of countless transformations. And yet our patriarch, who relied on his training in the Purple-Clouds Qi-Method, was able to overcome cunning with simplicity, and subdue movement with quiescence.⁴⁹

He completely defeated more than ten great masters of the Sword Sect, and secured our school’s correct martial-teachings’ foundations, which won’t be uprooted for a thousand years! You should all ponder deeply and realize through practice the exhortations that you have heard today from your master. This school of martial-arts considers the qi as substance (ti 體) and the sword as expediency (yong 用). It regards the qi as primary (zhu 主), and the sword as secondary (cong 從). It holds qi as its principle (gang 綱), and the sword as a detail (mu 目). If one hasn’t succeeded in his qi training, then, even if his sword technique is good, eventually it will be of no use to him.⁵⁰

The examples discussed so far probably suffice to demonstrate the significance of qi in Jin Yong’s martial-arts fiction. Was he the first author in this genre to rely upon qi-circulation as a tool of warfare? A survey of qi-fighting throughout the evolution of martial-arts fiction is beyond the scope of this paper. Nonetheless, it should be noted that qi-premised techniques are mentioned in at least some martial-arts novels that were written during the 1920s, the very same period that witnessed the publication of numerous qi-related martial-arts manuals. Passages such as the following one, from Zhao Huanting’s 趙煥亭 (1877-1951) novel The Complete Tale of the Fabulous Knights’ Utmost Loyalty (Qixia jingzhong quanzhuan 奇俠精忠全傳) (1923-27), suggest that the ubiquity of qi in Jin Yong’s fiction is the result of a process which began as early as the so-called “Old-Style” (Jiupai 舊派) martial-arts fiction of the Republican period. Future research will determine to what extent they are typical:

In this world only quiescence can subdue movement.⁵¹

This is all the more so with the techniques of the martial-arts, which must begin with this principle. This means that the art of sitting cross-legged in quiet meditation should be the starting point for regulating, and training, the strong-qi (gangqi 罡氣). If one has begun with this principle, and has become proficient in this technique, then he would be able to circulate, and use, his strong-qi. In between exhaling and inhaling, and throughout his entire body—three-hundred-and-sixty degrees—wherever the mind (yi 意) goes the qi would follow. Using the qi to protect his body, one would be able to compete in agility with monkeys, and his skills of attack would equal those of birds of prey… Indeed, the stories of old concerning skilled knights, aren’t just people’s empty-talk!⁵²

IV. Qi and Fantasy

Why is it that the efficacy of qi is highlighted as much in Jin Yong’s fiction? Is it only that the prevalence of qi-training in the practice of the martial-arts is mirrored in his fiction of the latter? Or can we single out specific functions of qi in furthering this author’s writings as fiction? Firstly, the concept of qi probably contributes to the shaping of character in Jin Yong’s novels. This is because the notion of internal power dispenses with the external manifestations of physical strength, such as a large physique and built-up muscles, thereby enabling a character-type that is very much favored by Jin Yong: the young scholar (shusheng 書生) whose martial skills are hidden behind the facade of the refined literatus. The protagonists of this twentieth-century author need not be provided with the colossal body of a Lu Zhishen 魯智深, from the early-Ming novel Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳), in order for them to excel in fighting. Indeed, their features are sometimes so refined, that their adversaries underestimate their military skills. The Heaven Sword’s protagonist Du Dajin 都大錦. for instance, is astonished by the appearance of the renowned Zhang Cuishan: “In the warriors’ world of recent years,” he ponders, “Zhang Cuishan’s great name has been praised by numerous people, all of whom said that his martial skills are outstanding. Who would have thought that he is actually this type of a cultured, refined, unable-to-withstand-the-wind weakly youth! (wenzhi binbin, ruo bu jin feng de shaonian 文彬彬弱不禁風的少年).⁵³

Numerous critics have pointed out that one of Jin Yong’s greatest achievements has been the integration of culture (wen 文) and warfare (wu 武) in the genre of martial-arts fiction. His novels are regarded by many as embodying traditional Chinese culture, in that his protagonists engage in the literatus’ pursuits: poetry, calligraphy, qin 琴 (zither) music, and encirclement chess (weiqi 圍棋, or go).⁵⁴

What I will suggest here is that the combination of culture and warfare in the persona of the martial-artist is related to the latter’s reliance upon the power of qi, which enables the fulfillment of an ancient dream—that of a scholar whose refined appearance conceals invincible powers. Interestingly, here too we find a correspondence between martial-arts entertainment fiction and martial-arts practitioners’ textbooks. Beginning in the Qing-period, and increasingly so during the twentieth-century, practitioners’ literature sought to demonstrate the internal powers of qi, by portraying outstanding warriors who are outwardly frail-looking. The semi-miraculous feats of these martial-artists—recorded in practitioners’ manuals, collections of lore, and general encyclopedias—amount to what may be described as the hagiographic literature of the martial-arts. Here is an early example from the Gujin tushu jicheng 古今圖書集成 (The Comprehensive Collection of Ancient and Modern Charts and Writings) (1725):

Zhang Songxi was as gentle as a Confucian scholar. He was respectful to others, and his body seemed so delicate that it appeared hardly capable of carrying his clothes… Once he instructed several young men to bring from the garden several large stones—each weighing several hundred pounds—and pile them up. He said: ‘I am a useless old man of seventy. Nonetheless, I will try to amuse you, gentlemen.’ Thereupon he lifted his left hand and struck with its side. All three stones were split in two. His skills were this extraordinary!⁵⁵

The notion of the genteel martial-artist, whose frail-looking body hides invincible qi-power, leads us to another function of qi in Jin Yong’s novels. This mysterious internal force adds a touch of magic to protagonists and plots alike, thereby serving to enwrap the narratives with an aura of the extraordinary. I will suggest that, in this respect, qi-related fighting contributes to the dimension of fantasy in the writings of Jin Yong.

The magic aura which surrounds the concept of qi in Jin Yong’s fiction underscores an interesting conundrum pertaining to our very understanding of this term: how is it possible for qi to add an extraordinary dimension to novels, if it is perceived itself as ordinary, that is inherent in each and every one of us? To be sure the term qi hasn’t had one meaning only throughout the lengthy—two millenniums and more—period in which it has been in use. This key concept in the Chinese philosophical and medical traditions has meant different things to different authors, as is attested, if by nothing else, by its diverse English renditions: breath, pneuma, vital force, vital spirit, and vital energy, to name just a few. However, one attribute of qi has probably remained constant throughout its history—it has been regarded as an integral aspect of the natural phenomena it animates. In this respect, terms such as “supernatural,” or “extraordinary” are inapplicable to it.

A comparative note might be in order here. The Western monotheistic tradition conceives of a god who created nature, and is himself external to it. This “supernatural” god is thus capable of “supernaturally” interfering in nature. By contrast, the Chinese world-view hasn’t recognized an external creator, and by this yardstick is has no place for the “supernatural.” “It should be remembered,” notes Needham, “that for the characteristic and instinctive Chinese world-view in all ages there could be nothing supernatural sensu stricto. Invisible principles, spirits, gods and demons, queer manifestations, were all just as much part of Nature as man himself, though rarely met with and hard to investigate.”⁵⁶ It is for this reason that some scholars prefer the term “supernormal” over “supernatural” in the Chinese context.⁵⁷

Returning to the concept of qi, if—as the narrator in Jin Yong’s novels would probably acknowledge—it is ordinary, (in that it is inherent in us all), in what sense does it contribute a magic aura to works of fiction? I would suggest that the notion of qi carries supernormal connotations in Jin Yong’s fiction in two ways: Firstly, even as the qi is inherent in us all, it is presented as accessible only to the very few. Outstanding martial-artists alone are capable of exhausting the limitless potential of their internal qi, which is thus extraordinary in that it is extraordinarily difficult to tap. Secondly, those few who possess the secret methods for harvesting the power of qi, are thereby capable of performing feats hailed by the narrator and protagonists alike as exceptional. I will try to illustrate these supernormal aspects of qi by two examples drawn from the novel Extraordinary Beings:

The first example concerns methods of fighting with invisible rays of qi, which the practitioner emits from his fingertips. Described by the narrator as fencing with the “formless qi-sword” (wuxing qijian 無形氣劍) these methods enable the adept to overcome a distant adversary, without ever coming into physical contact with him. Their names tinges with religious aura, the formidable techniques in question are for the most part attributed in the novel to Buddhist monasteries. Three methods, for instance, are ascribed to the Shaolin Monastery: The Peerless Kalpa Finger (Wuxiang jie zhi 無相劫指); the Palmyra-Leaf Finger (Duoluo ye zhi 多羅葉指; duoluo is the Chinese transliteration of the Sanskrit tāla, or palmyra, which leaves have been used in India for the writing of scriptures); and the Flower-Holding Finger (Nianhua zhi 拈花指).⁵⁸

The latter name alludes, as the narrator explains, to a famous legend concerning the origins of the Chan school: Once when the Buddha Śākyamuni was preaching the doctrine, he held in his fingers a golden lotus blossom for all to see. Only Kaśyapa understood his meaning and smiled, whereupon the Buddha announced: “I possess the True Dharma Eye, the Marvelous Mind of Nirvāṇa, the True Form of the Formless, the Subtle Dharma Gate that does not rest on words or letters but is a special transmission outside of the scriptures. This I entrust to Mahākāśyapa.”⁵⁹

The supernormal dimension of qi-fencing is attested by the protagonists themselves, who refer to this form of fighting by such expressions as “unbelievable” (bukesiyi 不可思議). Equally important as an indication of its extraordinary nature, qi-fencing has been mastered by no more than a handful of warriors worldwide. Indeed, the secret methods for emitting qi-rays are encoded in ancient manuscripts, themselves hidden in secluded monasteries, the residents of which regard them as their most sacred possessions. Thus, for example, the Heavenly-Dragon Monastery (Tianlong si 天龍寺) in the outskirts of Dali, Yunnan, treasures the only existing manual of the Six-Channels Spiritual Sword (Liumai shenjian 六脈神劍), which enables the practitioner to emit simultaneously six deadly rays of qi, generated via six different qi-circulation tracks within his body.⁶⁰

The following passage illustrates the supernormal overtones that accompany the description of qi-swordplay in Jin Yong’s Extraordinary Beings. It concerns the Dharma-King of the Tibetan Tubo 吐蕃 kingdom, who is competing against the Heavenly-Dragon Monastery’s monks. The competition’s religious aura is enhanced by the Tibetan king’s pseudo-Sanskrit name, Jiumo zhi 鳩摩智, which has been fashioned, probably, after that of the Buddhist translator Jiumoluoshi (Kumārajīva 鳩摩羅什) (fl. 385-409):

With his left hand Jiumozhi picked a Tibetan incense-stick, and with his right one he grabbed several of the wooden chips that were spread on the floor. He squeezed them gently into a small pile, into which he inserted the incense-stick. In this manner he inserted one after the other six Tibetan incense-sticks, which together formed a line. The distance between one incense stick and the next was about one foot. Jiumozhi himself proceeded to sit down, cross-legged, at a distance of approximately five feet behind them. Suddenly he rubbed his hands a few times, and spread his palms forward. The heads of the six incense-sticks instantly shone—there were all simultaneously kindled! Everybody present was greatly astonished. They realized that the power of this person’s internal strength (neili 內力) had already reached an unbelievable sphere (bukesiyi de jingjie 不可思議的境界).
The smoke that arose from the Tibetan incense-sticks was of emerald-green hue, and it gradually floated upwards in six perfectly straight lines. Jiumozhi’s palms appeared to be holding an invisible ball. As they started emanating internal power, the six rays of emerald smoke gradually began curving towards the outside. They separated so that each line of smoke was directed at one of Jiumozhi’s six Heavenly-Dragon Monastery adversaries: Kurong 枯榮, Benguan 本觀, Benxiang 本相, Benyin 本因, Bencan 本參, and the Baoding 保定 Emperor. Jiumozhi was using a form of palm-power, known as the “Flames’ Blade” (Huoyan dao 火焰刀). Even though it is an empty and intangible force, which can’t be grasped, still it can invisibly kill a person. Indeed, no power is more formidable…

The six columns of emerald smoke continued to float towards Benyin and the others, and when they reached a distance of three feet from them, they suddenly stopped and moved no more. Benyin and the rest were flabbergasted. They considered that to rely upon internal strength to send emerald smoke isn’t so difficult. However, to have floating and unstable vapor congeal in mid-air is ten times more difficult.
Bencan pointed with his little finger, and a stream of qi gushed out of his Shaochong 少衝 nodal-point directly towards the emerald smoke. Having met the pressure of this internal strength, the smoke column shot back at an incomparable speed towards Jiumozhi. It approached as near as two feet from him, when the internal strength in the latter’s “Flames’ Blade” increased so that the smoke could advance no further. Jiumozhi nodded, and exclaimed: “Your fame hasn’t spread in vain…”⁶¹

If the narrator and his protagonists alike consider qi-fencing techniques as extraordinary, then they certainly accord a similar status to another method, which draws not on one’s own qi, but rather on his adversary’s. This is a method of inhaling an opponent’s qi. Those rare individuals who master it, are presented in the novel Extraordinary Beings as practically invincible: Whomever they encounter, they can rob of his vital energy, which they can proceed to use for their own ends. Indeed, their hapless victims are glued to them, until drained of their last drop of qi.⁶²

Like the methods of qi-fencing, the technique of qi-stealing is shrouded in mystery. It has been preserved in a single manuscript, itself hidden in a mysterious cave, underneath a divine maiden’s statue, (where the above-mentioned Duan Yu, acting on his romantic impulse discovered it). Like the description of qi-fencing methods, that of the qi-inhalation technique is impregnated with religious significance, even though in this case the terminology used is Taoist, rather than Buddhist. The name of the qi-inhalation method, “North-Ocean” (Beiming 北冥), like the imagery used for its depiction, derive from the “Free and Easy Wandering” chapter of the Zhuangzi:⁶³

As to consuming water and grains and storing them in the belly, every new-born is capable of that, and needs no training. However, as to using the Shaoshang 少商 nodal point to inhale another person’s internal strength, and then going on to store this acquired vigor in one’s ocean of qi, this can only be accomplished by the North-Ocean Divine Method of the Free and Easy Wandering, Righteous Sect. It takes one day only for whatever water and grain a person has consumed to be dispersed to the outside. By contrast, when we inhale another person’s internal vigor, one percent inhaled is one percent saved. Nothing leaks to the outside. The internal ocean of qi keeps growing infinitely, until it becomes as immense as the North Ocean and the Lake of Heaven (Tianchi 天池). So much so, that it is large enough for the thousand-miles Kun 鯤 fish to float in.⁶⁴

Techniques of qi-stealing and qi-fencing demonstrate that the notion of qi contributes to the dimension of fantasy in Jin Yong’s fiction. Even though this internal force is inherent in us all, its description in his novels carries supernormal overtones. The qi is presented both as extraordinarily difficult to tap, and, once released, extraordinarily powerful. This literary fancy of the qi, brings us back to the question of the latter’s role in practice: Could it be that supernormal overtones accompany the concept of qi not only in martial-arts fiction, but also in martial-arts practice? That is, could it be that some martial-arts practitioners attribute to their inherent qi extraordinary qualities? And, if so, can we perceive in their practice of the martial-arts a dimension of ritual performance intended to induce this supernormal force, which is located within their own bodies?

I will not try to address here the question of the supernormal aspect of qi in martial-arts practice. This issue, which pertains to the religious dimension of the martial-arts, goes far beyond the scope of this paper. Still I would mention that some of the most fantastic forms of qi-warfare in Jin Yong’s novels do have their correlates in martial-arts practice. For instance, we have seen that, in the novel Extraordinary Beings, techniques of qi-fencing are premised upon the concentration of qi in one’s fingertips, and, at least three of these—the Peerless Kalpa Finger, the Palmyra-Leaf Finger, and the Flower-Holding Finger—are attributed to the Shaolin Monastery. Interestingly, it is not uncommon to find twentieth-century martial-arts methods that are ascribed to the same temple, and are intended for the concentration of qi in the fingertips. As early as 1915, the Secret Formulas of the Shaolin Fighting Technique hailed the formidable powers of the Shaolin Single-finger Technique (Yi zhi gongfu 一指功夫),⁶⁵ and manuals published during the 1990s praised similar techniques, referred to by such names as the “Shaolin Finger Chan [Meditation] Technique” (Shaolin zhi chan gong 少林指禪功), and the “Shaolin Technique of the Golden-Needle Finger” (the latter has been mentioned above).⁶⁶ Whether or not these techniques of finger-premised qi-fighting have carried in practice the same supernormal overtones that they do in fiction will have to be determined by future research.

V. Conclusion

A study of the fighting techniques in Jin Yong’s novels suggests that the evolution of Chinese martial-arts fiction isn’t unrelated to the history of Chinese martial-arts practice. Evidence of the latter’s influence on Jin Yong’s fiction is abundant: His novels include textual borrowings from martial-arts manuals, his protagonists engage in fighting techniques that are widely practiced, and some of these protagonists have been borrowed themselves from the genealogical writings of martial-arts schools. Perhaps most significantly, the martial-arts as presented in his novels are largely premised upon the internal circulation of qi. In this respect, his fiction mirrors the profound transformation that the Chinese martial-arts underwent during the Qing period, namely the incorporation of daoyin techniques of qi-circulation into martial-training.

The intimate relation between Jin Yong’s martial-arts fiction and the realm of martial-arts practice, doesn’t shed light on his genius as an artist. However it might help us unravel an important cultural development, which we witness in contemporary China—the flowering of a martial-arts culture, the foundations of which can be traced back to the early Qing. This martial-arts culture is largely premised upon the internal circulation of qi, and it has both a dimension of practice, and a dimension of fictional representation.

1. I am grateful to Noga Zhang-hui Shahar for her help, and to the Israel Science Foundation for its financial support.
2. The influence of the Dream of the Red Chamber (Honglou meng 紅樓夢) is apparent in the novels of Jin Yong, who points to the former as one of his sources of inspiration; see his interview with Lin Yiliang 林以亮, dated August 22, 1969, and reprinted in Zhuzi baijia kan Jin Yong, sanji 諸子看金庸三輯 (The Various Thinkers and Hundred Schools Examine Jin Yong’s Fiction, Third Collection), ed. Shen Deng’en 沈登恩 (Taipei: Yuanjing, 1985), 47.
3. Tianlong babu (1963-7; revised edition, Hong Kong: Minghe, 1978), 2.68-70.
4. Including such techniques as “The Free and Easy Walking Technique” (Xiaoyao buxing gong 逍遙步行功), and “The Free and Easy’s Method of Moving the Eyes” (Xiaoyao yun jing fa 逍遙子運睛法); see respectively: Zhongguo qigong daquan 中國氣功大全 (Comprehensive Compendium of Qigong), ed. Zhang Youjun 張有寯 et al. (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin, 1993), 339-41, and Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan 中國氣功功法大全 (Comprehensive Compendium of Qigong Techniques), ed. Lou Yugang 樓羽剛 et al. (Beijing: Zhongyi guji, 1993), 241.
5. See Xiaoyaozi daoyin jue in Zhou Lüjing 周履靖, ed., Yimen Guangdu 夷門廣牘 (The Recluse’s Extensive Records) (Wanli edition; photographic reprint, Shanghai: Hanfenlou, 1937). The Xiaoyaozi daoyin jue exists also in several other Ming anthologies, sometimes under a different title; see Zhonghua Daojiao da cidian 中華道教大辭典 (The Comprehensive Dictionary of Chinese Taoism), ed. Hu Fuchen 胡孚琛 et al. (Beijing: Shehui kexue, 1995), 1060; see also Zhongguo gudai tiyue shi 中國古代體育史 (A History of Chinese Physical Education: The Classical Period), ed. Guojia tiwei wenshi gongzuo weiyuanhui 國家體委體育文史工作員會 (Beijing: Beijing tiyu xueyuan 北京: 北京體育學院, 1990), 414 note 2.
6. Reprinted in Zhuzi baijia kan Jin Yong, sanji, 41.
7. As he himself emphasizes; see Ibid.
8. This rendition of the genre’s name depends upon the component wu (“martial”); other English renditions, such as “chivalric fiction” or “gallant fiction,” allude to the element xia, (sometimes translated as “knight errant”). On nineteenth and twentieth century martial-arts fiction, see, among others, Chen Pingyuan 陳平原, Qiangu wenren xiake meng 千古文人俠客夢 (The Literatus’ Ancient Knight-errant Dream) (Beijing: Renmin, 1992), pp. 42-204; Wang Hailin 王海林., Zhongguo wuxia xiaoshuo shilue 中國武俠小說史略 (A Brief History of Chinese Martial-Arts Fiction) (Taiyuan: Beiyue wenyi, 1988), pp. 99-120, 134-261; Ning Zongyi 寧宗一, Zhongguo wuxia xiaoshuo jianchang cidian 中國武俠小說鑑常辭典 (A Connoisseur’s Dictionary of Chinese Martial Arts Fiction) (Beijing: Guoji wenhua, 1992); and James J.Y. Liu, The Chinese Knight-Errant (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1967), pp. 116-121, 124-137.
9. See Shediao yingxiong zhuan (1957-9; revised edition, Hong Kong: Minghe, 1976), 2.87, 4.161.
10. The term “Iron-Cloth Shirt” probably predates the actual practice of the martial-techniques to which it now refers. To the best of my knowledge this term first appeared in Shen Defu’s 沈德符 (1578-1642), Wanli yehuo bian 萬曆野獲編 (Private Gleanings of the Wanli Reign) (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959), 28.722. On the practice of Iron-Cloth Shirt/Golden-Bell Armor type invulnerability exercises in nineteenth and twentieth century peasant armies see: Joseph W. Esherick, The Origins of the Boxer Uprising (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 55, 96-8, 104-9, 227; Susan Naquin, Millenarian Rebellion in China: The Eight Trigrams Uprising of 1813 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 30-31, 320 note 125; and Elizabeth J. Perry, Rebels and Revolutionaries in North China 1845-1945 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1980), 186-97.
11. See, for example, Yang Liancun 楊連村, Jinzhong zhao, tiebu shan 金鐘罩鐵布衫 (The Golden-Bell Armor, The Iron-Cloth Shirt) (Beijing: Beijing tiyu xueyuan, 1990); see also Zhongguo qigong daquan, 533, 540-44, and Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan, 748-9, 731-6.
12. Quoted in Lin Boyuan 林伯原, Zhongguo tiyu shi 中國體育史 (A History of Chinese Physical Education) (Beijing: Beijing tiyu xueyuan, 1987), 1:380.
13. Bixue jian (1956; revised edition, Hong Kong: Minghe, 1975), 3.86.
14. Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan*, 128.
15. Compare Yitian tulong ji (1963; revised edition, Hong Kong: Minghe, 1976), 24.964, with Quan shu shi yao in Taiji quan lun 太極拳論 (Treatise on Taiji quan) (n.d.; photographic reprint, Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 1992), 7b-9a. The Quan shu shi yao includes oral transmissions by Yang Chengfu, which were recorded by his disciple Chen Weiming 陳微明. My translation follows that of Douglas Wile in his T’ai-chi Touchstones: Yang Family Secret Transmissions (Brooklyn, New York: Sweet Ch’i Press, 1983), 11-2. Jin Yong added two characters to the third phrase, apparently in order to maintain a balance of four characters per phrase.
16. Wuxia Wanderings Note: Shahar is mistaken here. It should be White Crane Spreads Its Wings.
17. Wuxia Wanderings Note: Shahar is mistaken here. It should be “Strum the Pipa” or “lute” if you insist on European paraphrase. But not guitar.
18. Yitian tulong ji, 24.963, 24.981-2.
19. My rendition of the postures’ names follows that of Douglas Wile in his Cheng Man-Ch’ing’s Advanced T’ai-Chi Form Instructions, With Selected Writings on Meditation, the I-Ching, Medicine, and the Arts (New York: Sweet Ch’i Press, 1985), 55-100.
20. The legend according to which Taijiquan was created by Zhang Sanfeng dates from the late nineteenth-century at the earliest. Some late-Qing and Republican-period Taijiquan manuals are even attributed to Zhang Sanfeng, and have him expound the principles of the art in the first person; see, among others, Zhongguo gudai tiyu shi, 417; Tang Hao 唐豪 and Gu Liuxin 顧留馨, Taijiquan yanjiu 太極拳研究, (Researches into Taijiquan) (1964; reprint, Beijing: Renmin tiyu, 1992), 10 note 3; and Douglas Wile, Lost T’ai-chi Classics from the Late Ch’ing Dynasty (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), 108-11; see also the texts translated by Wile, Ibid, 86-9.
21. See among others, Tang Hao and Gu Liuxin, esp. 1-5, 10 note 3; Zhongguo gudai tiyu shi, 417-8; Lin Boyuan, 1:369-71; and Xi Yuntai 習雲太, Zhongguo wushu shi 中國武術史 (A History of Chinese Martial-Arts) (Beijing: Renmin tiyu, 1985), 220-22.
22. See Yijing, hexagram 49; A Concordance to the Yi Jing, Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, Supplement no. 10 (1966; reprint, Taipei: Ch’eng-wen, 1973). 30. English translation by Richard John Lynn, The Classic of Changes: A New Translation of the I Ching as Interpreted by Wang Bi (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 444.
23. On the Qing-period combination of the martial-arts with classical gymnastics see: Lin Boyuan, 1:371, 1:373; 1:378-9; and Zhongguo gudai tiyu shi, 377, 417-9; regarding the case of Taijiquan see also Tang Hao and Gu Liuxin, 1-2, 5-6.
24. Already during the first centuries c.e. the term daoyin carried two slightly different meanings: a) It was used as a generic term for all forms of gymnastics premised upon the circulation of qi, (whether or not these gymnastics technique include—in addition to qi-circulation—also external limb movement; and b) Some texts use it only in reference to those forms of gymnastics that in addition to the internal circulation of qi include external limb movement; see daoyin in Zhongguo Daojiao da cidian, 1031; see also Catherine Despeux, “Gymnastics: The Ancient Tradition,” in Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, ed. Livia Kohn (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, The University of Michigan, 1989), 225-61.
25. Zhuangzi, chapter 15; see A.C. Graham, Chuang-tzu: The Inner Chapters (London: Unwin Paperbacks, 1986), 265.
26. See Despeux, 241, and Lin Boyuan, 1:89.
27. See Ute Engelhardt, “Qi for Life: Longevity in the Tang,” in Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, 263-96.
28. See, for example, the Tang tales “Lanling laoren” 蘭陵老人 (“The Old Man of Lanling”) and “Nie Yinniang” 聶隱娘 (“Nie Yinniang”) in Li Fang 李昉 (925-996), ed., Taiping guangji 太平廣記 (Extensive Records Compiled During the Taiping Period) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1959), 195.1464-5, and 194.1456-9 respectively. The former tale is probably by Duan Chengshi 段成式 (ca. 800-863), in whose Youyang zazu 酉陽雜俎 (Miscellaneous Fare from Youyang) it was anthologized; the latter probably by Pei Xing 裴鉶 (825-880). Both stories have been translated by James L.Y. Liu in his The Chinese Knight-Errant, pp. 93-4, and 89-90 respectively. On Taoist motifs in tales of knight-errantry see Cui Fengyuan 崔奉源, Zhongguo gudian duanpian xiayi xiaoshuo yanjiu 中國古典短篇俠義小說研究 (Research into Traditional Chinese Tales of Knight-Errantry) (Taipei: Lianjing, 1986), pp. 237-56.
29. Lin Boyuan, 1:378-9.
30. See Tang Hao and Gu Liuxin, 1-2, 5-6, and Lin Boyuan, 1:371.
31. Zhongguo gudai tiyu shi, 417.
32. Wile, Lost T’ai-chi Classics, 55; the original is reproduced in Ibid., 132-3.
33. The earliest printed edition of Taijiquan writings dates from 1912, but some manuscripts (including Li Yiyu’s song) were published as late as the 1980s and 1990s; see Wile, Lost T’ai-chi Classics, esp. 33-8.
34. The Shaolin quanshu mijue (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1915) is available in a photographic reprint (Tianjin: Tianjinshi guji shudian yingyin, 1988), and in a punctuated reprint (in Wu Gu 無谷 and Liu Zhixue 劉志學, eds., Shaolin si ziliao ji 少林寺資料集 (Compilation of Materials on the Shaolin Monastery) (Beijing: Shumu wenxian, 1982)). The opening eight chapters of the Shaolin quanshu mijue (including the chapter “Qigong chan wei”) derive from a work titled Shaolin zong fa 少林宗法 (The Classical Method of Shaolin Fighting), which was first published in 1911; see Tang Hao 唐豪, “Shaolin quanshu mijue kaozheng” (Research into the Secret Formulas of the Shaolin Fighting Technique”), reprinted in Wu Gu and Liu Zhixue, Shaolin si ziliao ji, 270-1.
35. Jiang Shihun, Shaolin neigong mijue (n.d.; photographic reprint, Hualian: n.d.), 13. Its patriotic fervor, and open hostility to the Qing dynasty, indicate that the Shaolin neigong mijue was published during the Republican era, (see especially the chapter: “Those Who Practice the Martial Arts Must Uphold the Laws and Love the Nation” (“Lian Wugong zhe xu shoujie aiguo” 練武功者須守戒愛國)).
36. On the Sui and Tang period provenance of the term, see qigong in Zhonghua Daojiao da cidian, 967.
37. Kunio Miura concluded that “it was not until the fifties and sixties that Qigong became known and available to larger segments of the [Chinese] population;” see his “The Revival of Qi: Qigong in Contemporary China,” in Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, 335. Among recent Qigong publications see Zhongguo qigong daquan; Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan; Zhongguo chuantong qigong xue cidian 中國傳統氣功學詞典 (A Dictionary of Traditional Chinese Qigong Studies), ed. Zhang Wenjiang 張文江 and Chang Jin 常近 (Taiyuan: Shanxi renmin); Qigong jingxuan 氣功精選 (A Selection of Qigong Writings), ed. Jin Guan 金冠 et al. (Beijing: Renmin tiyu, 1981); Qigong jingxuan xupian 氣功精選續篇 (Sequel to A Selection of Qigong Writings), ed. Tao Xiong 陶熊 et al. (Beijing: Renmin tiyu, 1985); Ying Qigong dianxue shu 硬氣功點穴術 (The Techniques of Hard Qigong and Nodal Points), by An Zaifeng 安在峰 (Beijing: Beijing tiyu daxue, 1990); and Baojian qigong 保健氣功 (Therapeutic Qigong), by Tang Shilin 唐世林 (Beijing: Gaodeng jiaoyu, 1993).
38. Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan, 688.
39. In juan 8 of Huang Zongxi’s Nanlei wending 南雷文定 (Huang Zongxi’s Authorized Writings), Congshu jicheng chubian edition (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1935-7).
40. Quoted in Zhongguo gudai tiyu shi, 377.
41. See Ralph D. Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China (Boulder: Westview Press, 1993), esp. 121-3.
42. Sunzi bingfa, chap.7; English translation by Lionel Giles, Sun Tzu on the Art of War (1910); reprint, Taipei: Dunhuang, 1985), 65.
43. See Robert P. Gray, “An Analysis of the Role of QI in Military Strategy as Outlines in Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi),” B.C. Asian Review 9 (Winter 1995/6): 77-119.
44. Shediao yingxiong zhuan (1957-9; Reprint: Hong Kong: Mingbao, 1976), 5.207.
45. The Chifeng sui, (which techniques are attributed in part to Chen Tuan), was compiled by Zhou Lüjing, and is included in his Yimen Guangdu (see above, note 4). It has been translated into French by Catherine Despeux, La moelle du phénix rouge: santé et longue vie dans la Chine du XVle siècle (ParisL Guy Trédaniel, Éditions de la Maisnie, 1988).
46. I am amending zhenwu 真無 to zhenyuan 真元; in this context, the latter’s meaning of yuanqi 元氣 (inborn/original qi) appears more appropriate.
47. Zhongguo qigong daquan, 244; Compare also the “Sleeping-Immortal Technique” (Shuixian gong 睡仙功) in Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan, 60-61.
48. Shediao yingxiong zhuan, 5.213.
49. Yi jing zhi dong 以靜制動; this formula appears already in the earliest extant account of the neijia school, Huang Zongxi’s (1610-1695), “Wang Zhengnan muzhi ming;” see above note 37.
50. Xiao’ao jianghu (1963; reprint, Beijing: Sanlian, 1994), 9.342-3.
51. Tianxia shi wei jing neng zhi dong 天下事惟靜能制動; we find here a variation on Huang Zongxi’s expression Yi jing zhi dong, which Jin Yong quotes as well; see above note 48.
52. Zhao Huanting, Qixia jingzhong quanzhuan (1923-7; reprint, Chengdu Bashu shushe, 1990), 21.169. At least one scholar argues that this was Zhao Huanting who introduced the notion of qi as an invincible pugilistic weapon into the genre of martial-arts fiction; see Ye Hongsheng 葉洪生, Ye Hongsheng lun jian: wuxia xiaoshuo tan yilu 葉洪生論劍:武俠小說談藝錄 (Ye Hongsheng Discusses the Sword: Talks on the Art of Martial-Arts Fiction) (Taipei: Lianjing 1994), 36.
53. Yitian tulong ji, 3.111.
54. See, for example, Chen Mo 陳墨, Jin Yong xiaoshuo yu zhongguo wenhua 金庸小說與中國文化 (Jin Yong’s Fiction and Chinese Culture) (Nanchang: Baihuazhou wenyi, 1995).
55. Gujin tushu jicheng 古今圖書集成, ed. Jiang Tingxi 蔣廷錫 et al. (1934; photographic reprint, Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1977), yishudian 藝術典, chapter 810, the quan bo 拳搏 section, p.59665b.
56. Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), 2:377.
57. See John Kieschnick, The Eminent Monk: Buddhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography. Kuroda Institute Studies in East Asian Buddhism, no. 10 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1997), 96-7.
58. Tianlong babu, 10.413-5.
59. This famous formula, which Jin Yong inserted into his narrative, appeared for the first time in the Zongmen liandeng huiyao 宗門聯燈會要 (A Collection of Essential Materials from the Chan Sect’s Successive Records of the Lamp) (1183); this is Heinrich Dumoulin’s translation in his Zen Buddhism: A History, translated into English by James W. Heisig and Paul Knitter (New York: Macmillan, 1988), 1:9.
60. Tianlong babu, 10.424-5.
61. Tianlong babu, 10.418-9.
62. See, for example, Tianlong babu, 5.213-4, 9.387-8.
63. Zhuangzi, chapter 1; Graham, 43.
64. Tianlong babu, 5.202; the image of the Kun fish, like that of the Lake of Heaven derives from the Zhuangzi, chapter 1; see Graham, 43.
65. Shaolin quanshu mijue (1915; reprint, Tianjin: Tianjinshi guji shudian yingyin, 1988), 97-8. (On the Shaolin quanshu mijue see above, note 32).
66. See Zhongguo qigong gongfa daquan, 662, 688, and Zhongguo wushu dacidian 中國武術大辭典 (Comprehensive Dictionary of Chinese Martial Arts) ed. Zhongguo wushu dacidian bianji weiyuanhui 中國武術大辭典編輯委員會 (Beijing: Renmin tiyu, 1990), 338.