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What more can I say about Jin Yong after the millions of lyrics that have been said and written about the greatest writer of wuxia xiaoshuo (Chinese martial arts novels) before and after his death?
That he was my best teacher of Chinese? What has it made me understand such values as honor, courage, integrity and compassion towards all men? And the wisdom of accepting human fragility for what it is and not judging too much?
I started reading it for the first time when I was about 11 years old. I lived then in a room in a room above a cafe, which provided free Chinese newspapers to its customers. Jin Yong's novels have appeared in these newspapers several times.
Thus, every evening, before the closing of the cafe, I would be there, greeting every word with the permission of the owner, who let me read the newspapers for free.
Without wishing to disrespect all the teachers who taught Chinese in the schools I attended, I learned the language that way. I was much more proficient in Chinese than English at the time of high school.
As I discovered later in life, many of the very bilingual Singaporeans of my vintage – perhaps even the majority – have followed the same joyful path to mastery. And practically every lover of wuxia xiaoshuo I know or know, in Singapore or abroad, would salute Jin Yong as the best writer of this kind and their favorite of all time.
I have read all 15 novels of Jin Yong, most at least twice. Tian Long Ba Bu, in particular, have read five times over the past 40 years. So what about his novels that I find so captivating?
I am not a literary critic and I am not at all qualified to deepen the details of his writing. All I can say is that I am still amazed by the silky fluidity of his prose, the intricate twists of intrigue that never complicated, the exquisite manner in which he animated each character and his infusion of Chinese, from poetry to music, and the essence of Buddhism in his works.
But, in addition to all this, he brilliantly describes values that all should imbibe and defend. Let me try to explain it this way. Wuxia consists of two parts, wu and xia. Wu means martial but xia is much harder to translate into English. A xia is a chivalrous person who defends without fear what is just and just and who cares more about humanity than personal glory.
The real fans of Jin Yong are moved by the elements xia that he has incorporated into his stories rather than by his description of Shaolin martial arts power or Wudang training skills.
Xiao Feng, one of the key characters of Tian Long Ba Bu, the novel I prefer, is the very embodiment of xia.
The decisive act of Xiao was to force the Liao King, of whom he was the subject, to withdraw from an attack on Song China and thus save both sides the bloodshed and the destruction. Being sure of the king's pledge, he was killed in front of both armies because he could not live with himself for being turned against his leader, even though it was Was for the wider cause of avoiding war and saving lives.
Many things are lost in my quick translation and synthesis of these last passages of the novel, but if they are read in the evocative language in which they are written, they can be deeply moving. Tears were still flowing in my eyes every time I came back to that heroic moment when Xiao had to choose between loyalty to his king and the maintenance of faith in humanity.
I also knew Jin Yong as Louis Cha, former owner and editor of Ming Pao, an influential Chinese newspaper in Hong Kong, and co-founder of the Shin Min Daily News in Singapore, which I was seconded by Straits Times for three years. from 1983.
As editor, he has written many fascinating editorials about China that his fans still remember today. It took courage. And it was his criticisms of the excesses of the Cultural Revolution that led to death threats that finally forced him to seek temporary refuge in Singapore.
By the time I joined Shin Min, Mr. Cha was already back at the Ming Pao bar in Hong Kong. But I had the chance to meet him and talk to him twice during those three years.
He had a soft voice, was cautious in the choice of his words and had a certain air of confidence and dignity. He spoke both Cantonese and Mandarin with a Zhejiang accent.
I had to impress him one day. He asked me, through an intermediary, whether the Straits Times was interested in buying Ming Pao. He wanted to retire and felt that ST had the financial and editorial resources to move the document to the next level.
After deliberation, ST decided not to accept the offer. Ming Pao now belongs to a Malaysian media group.
The announcement of the death of Mr. Cha last Tuesday, recalled memories of our association, through the millions of words that have enriched my life so much, as well as our dinner conversations – about China, journalism and wuxia xiaoshuo.
I also remember the calligraphy that was displayed in his office. It contained only two Chinese words, "fang xia" – drop or drop the burden.
Mr. Cha, better known as Jin Yong, made a monumental contribution to modern Chinese literature, but chose to abandon it when he stopped writing years ago. . Now he has finally laid all his earthly worries.
That he rests in peace.
- Leslie Fong is a former editor-in-chief of the Straits Times.
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