by Jeff Stone
“A—a thousand pardons, Major Ying,” the soldier stammered, his eyes still clamped shut. “I have failed you. I will not fail you again. Please be generous and give me one more chance to prove myself worthy of your esteemed command.”
“What do you suggest?” Ying asked.
The soldier turned away from Ying and opened his eyes. He stared at the practice hall as a second wave of flaming arrows arched overhead. Two of the arrows sank into the upper reaches of one of the giant doors, setting it aflame. The soldier swallowed hard and cast his eyes down once more.
“I will reenter this practice hall and investigate, sir,” the soldier said. “Though I am certain there is no one left to flush out.”
Ying leaned in close to the soldier, popping his last knuckle. “What makes you so certain?”
“Because the reports indicate that all one hundred monks have been killed, sir.”
“Must I also include mathematics in our military training programs, you half-wit!” Ying shrieked. Like an angry beast, he bared his teeth and his face contorted. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!”
With lightning speed, Ying snapped his hand back and formed a perfect eagle claw by bringing his extended fingers together and curling them down while rotating his thumb down and curling it up. He thrust the open claw into the soldier's lowered face, latching on forcefully with four fingertips above the soldier's eyebrows and his thumb below the soldier's chin. Ying flicked his wrist powerfully upward, forcing the soldier's face up as well. His long fingernails pierced the soldier's skin, and he ripped his hand away with a brutal, flesh-stripping twist.
“Now think!” Ying said, leaning into the soldier's face. “I've informed everyone in our camp several times that one hundred monks call this their home— along with their Grandmaster and five boys.”
“I see, sir,” squeaked the soldier, blinking furiously as four streams of blood ran down his forehead, into his eyes. “There should be one hundred six bodies. Thank you very much for the lesson, Major Ying. I've heard no reports of a Grandmaster or boys, so perhaps this is their hiding place. I will take my qiang with me into that hall. I think I have a plan.”
“Excellent,” said Ying, leaning back. “Now, I must warn you—if you are not out in the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, I am coming in. Do you understand what that means, half-wit?”
“C-c-completely, sir.”
“Good. Then there is just one more thing. Those boys are not ordinary boys. I suggest you watch yourself around them.”
“Watch myself, sir?” the soldier asked hesitantly, struggling to keep his burning, blood-filled eyes fixed on Ying's hideous face.
“Never mind,” Ying said, turning toward the practice hall. “Just get in there before I really lose my temper.”
Fu was drowning. Malao's foot pinned one entire side of his face against the bottom of the terra-cotta barrel. His mouth and nose were completely under water. Panicking, Fu used what little air he had left to spit out the water that was in his mouth. Denied oxygen, instinct took over. His body jerked and twisted involuntarily.
Malao pressed his foot down even harder.
A small pocket of air had been trapped between Fu's ear and the bottom of the barrel. Malao's added pressure squeezed it out, creating a vacuum. Fu felt his inner ear stick to the smooth bottom of the barrel like a suction cup. Pain shot through his head, jolting his nervous system. Tiny white lights flashed behind his closed eyelids. His head twitched violently, and his mouth flew open in a silent scream. Water rushed into his mouth again.
Above him, Fu heard Malao cry out. Fu felt Malao trying to lift his foot, but it must have been pinned by the weight of the others.
“Hey, guys!” Malao shouted. “We need to get out of here! I think Fu is—”
KAA-BOOM!
Thunder echoed through the practice hall as the barrel holding the five young monks exploded into a thousand pieces. Fu and his brothers were sent rolling across the floor. Jagged terra-cotta shards dug into their backs, sides, legs, and arms. Fu landed on his stomach, and water poured from his open mouth.
Fu took a huge gulp of air. His head pounded, and his ears rang from the blast. He couldn't wait to get his hands on Malao. He shook his head in an effort to clear his senses, and the large room slowly began to take shape.
Unlike the darkness that had surrounded Fu before he climbed into the barrel, an eerie glow now possessed the entire practice hall. Flames danced across the inside of the roof high above, reaching down to embrace the gigantic rafters running the length of the building. Thick black smoke slowly filled the room.
At the entrance, one of the huge doors was ajar and completely engulfed in flames. The monks in the murals near the open door all seemed to be looking in the same direction—the very center of the room. There stood an armor-clad soldier wearing a strange helmet, holding an even stranger weapon. Four streams of blood ran down his face.
Malao would have to wait.
Fu was about to call to his brothers when he heard a yell from overhead. Surprised, he looked up as Grandmaster dropped from one of the rafters. With empty hands, Grandmaster approached the soldier.
The soldier straightened his helmet and adjusted his heavy, flexible body armor, which was made from hundreds of small metal plates. Though he stood his ground confidently, Fu noticed that the soldier seemed uncertain of what he should do with the weapon he held in his hands. It was then that Fu realized the soldier's strange weapon was a qiang. Fu had never seen one before, but he had heard about them. This one looked like a metal staff about as long as a man's leg, with a large piece of wood attached to one end. The metal staff appeared to be hollow like bamboo, and white smoke drifted from the end opposite the wood. Fu knew that a great burst of energy threw a ball of lead—or many balls of lead— from the qiang with a fantastic BOOM! Fu realized that this particular qiang must have been responsible for their barrel exploding. He had heard that once a qiang was used, it took some time before it could be used again—which must be why the soldier seemed uncertain of what to do with it now.
The soldier grunted and cast the qiang aside with a metallic CRASH! Wiping the blood from his eyes, he yanked a large, curved broadsword from a sheath slung across his back. The blade was wide and flexible. It shimmered in the firelight as the man raised the weapon with both hands and ran straight for Grandmaster.
Any concern Fu had for Grandmaster's well-being quickly faded. Whoever was hiding inside that armor might be well protected, but he was most likely not a very good fighter. Only a novice would raise a broadsword high over his head with two hands and rush toward an opponent.
When the soldier was within striking distance, he swung his broadsword downward at an angle, intending to slice Grandmaster in half diagonally. As the blade dropped, however, Grandmaster leaped to one side and delivered a swift knife-hand chop to the back of the soldier's neck. The soldier collapsed onto himself like a rag doll, the metal plates of his armor ringing out like wind chimes.
“Buddha, forgive me,” Grandmaster said. He closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment, then turned to face Fu and the others.
“That was great!” Malao squealed. “When you stepped off to the side and—”
“Silence, Malao!” Grandmaster said. “I know at least a hundred ways to turn a weak fighter like him away with only minor injuries. Instead, I took his life. That was wrong.”
Grandmaster shook his head slowly, and Fu noticed that something wasn't quite right with him. For the first time ever, Grandmaster looked … exhausted.
“My judgment is clouding,” Grandmaster sighed. “I have fought many men this night, and I have released far too many souls to the heavens. It seems each time I release one, I release a little of myself. I fear my time is coming to an end…. Quickly! Everyone! Gather around!”
Long was the first to reach Grandmaster's side.
“What is happening out there, Grandmaster?” Long asked.
“There are many words in th
e language of men,” Grandmaster said, “but none of them can describe the darkness that has descended upon us this night. Brother has turned against brother, and nothing will ever be the same.”
Hok stared at Grandmaster, unblinking. “So Ying is involved after all?”
“Yes,” Grandmaster said, lowering his head.
“Then where did the troops come from?” Seh asked.
“The Emperor himself, it seems,” Grandmaster replied.
“Really?” Malao said, scratching his small, bald head. “The new Emperor is responsible for this attack?”
“No,” said Grandmaster, raising his eyes. “I am responsible, for I have failed Ying. I made it my mission years ago to change his heart, and I did not succeed. Now you five must change him.”
“I'll change him!” Fu declared. “I'll change him into a corpse for attacking us!”
“No!” Grandmaster said. “Violence accomplishes nothing. In order to truly make a difference you must find a noble way to change Ying. The Emperor must change, too, for his heart seems to be as black as Ying's.”
“But how can we change them, Grandmaster?” Long asked.
“I do not know,” Grandmaster replied. “My own methods were not successful. Perhaps the answer lies in the past. In your past, as well as Ying's. As you know, all of you are orphans. So is Ying. All six of you are special because you have extraordinary kung fu skills. What you do not know is that your pasts are firmly linked. Ying is obsessed with the past. That is why he has returned.”
“What?” Fu said. “I thought Ying returned to steal the secret dragon scrolls. He swore he would come back to get them.”
“This is also true,” Grandmaster said. “Ying is an eagle, but he yearns to be an all-powerful dragon. However, I do not think the scrolls will be enough. Ying has a hole in his life, and he holds me responsible for it. He is a vengeful soul. He will not stop until everything that is important to me is gone. Even after I myself am gone.”
Grandmaster paused, looking Fu and each of Fu's brothers in the eye. “Cangzhen matters most to me, and you five matter most to Cangzhen. That is why you were hidden. You are Cangzhen's future, but I fear Ying will not stop until he has destroyed all of you. You must change him before he succeeds.”
“You want us to change him?” Fu challenged. “Ying is going to try to kill us for something we didn't even do, and you want us to change him? Why don't we just kill him first?”
“No!” Grandmaster said. “Your pasts are interwoven with Ying's, and so are your futures. You must not kill him.”
“But—”
“Enough!” Long interrupted. “Brother Fu, we don't have time to argue. We need to make a plan. Please, bite your tongue—until it bleeds, if necessary.”
Fu growled. Long ignored him.
“Grandmaster,” Long said, “you mentioned that the troops were the Emperor's. Why would the Emperor help Ying destroy Cangzhen? We just saved the Emperor's life and his throne last year.”
“I can only guess,” Grandmaster replied, looking up at the burning rafters. “But we have no more time for discussion. You must leave now. Scatter into the four winds and uncover Ying's secrets, as well as your own. Uncover the past, for it is your future. Your burden is great, my young monks. May Buddha bless you.”
“I'm not going anywhere!” Fu announced.
“Don't be foolish, Fu,” Grandmaster said. “Ying will count the dead and realize you are not among them. He will then come looking for you. All of you must run.”
“I refuse to run!” Fu roared. “I will stay and fight! Let's take care of Ying now!”
“Fu, listen to me!” Grandmaster urged. “Ying and his men are too powerful. We monks are defenseless against their qiangs. One hundred Cangzhen deaths prove that.”
“What!” Fu cried. “No!”
“Hear me now!” Grandmaster said. “Hearts grow dark quickly in these times. Do not open your heart to this loss or it will fill you up. It will consume you. Let it go, Fu. Run, and don't look back.”
“I CAN'T!”
“You must! All of you must. You are all that is left. Now go! Seek out pure hearts and teach them the ways of Cangzhen. You will need help, for there is much work to be done.”
Grandmaster looked directly at Fu.
“Always remember, you represent Cangzhen. Do not accept any offers of violence—but do not accept any delivery of harm, either. Fight if you must, but only in defense. And respond with as little violence as possible. I ask that you honor me with that.”
Fu glared at Grandmaster. Grandmaster sighed and shook his head.
Suddenly Grandmaster's entire body stiffened and he turned toward the practice hall's entry. The smoke inside was much thicker now, and Fu could no longer see all the way to the entry doors. But he thought he heard something. Yes. It was faint and growing louder. It was the sound of … claws? Yes! Claws scraping steadily against the brick floor as something approached.
A tall, slender figure appeared, striding confidently forward. His head and shoulders were obscured by smoke, but Fu could see that he wore no armor. He held a qiang across his body with both hands and wore the formal uniform of the new Emperor: a red silk sash bound a green long-sleeve silk robe at the waist. Beneath, he wore red silk pants. All were blood-streaked.
As the intruder drew closer, Fu saw that his feet were bare. He had extraordinarily long toenails that curved savagely downward. Filed into sharp points, they scraped the brick floor like talons.
The man took a few more steps, and Fu saw black hair that was short and in disarray. Fu caught a glimpse of the stranger's intense eyes and contracted every muscle in his entire body, like a large cat ready to pounce.
But when his lost brother, Ying, was finally close enough to be seen in full, Fu shrank back on his haunches.
Sixteen-year-old Ying stopped several paces from Fu. His black eyes sparkled as Fu and the others stared.
Deep grooves had been chiseled into Ying's face and filled with dark green pigment. They resembled heavy folds of reptilian skin. Thick furrows stretched from the corners of Ying's mouth to the top of his jaw and horizontally across his forehead. Intricate scales had also been carved from ear to ear and hairline to chin. They too, were filled with pigment.
Ying curled back his lips, revealing perfect white teeth, each of which had been ground to a sharp point. Fu's eyes widened as Ying flicked his tongue forward. It was extraordinarily long and separated into two distinct segments at the tip. The right half flexed upward while the left half went down. Ying repeated the exercise in reverse before returning his forked tongue to its normal position. He laughed as Fu continued to stare.
Ying shifted the qiang in his hands. A glint of firelight reflected off the weapon's metal barrel, and Fu noticed that Ying's fingernails, like the nails on his grotesque, clawlike feet, were extraordinarily long and filed sharp. Bits of bloodstained flesh dangled from their tips. Fu looked at Grandmaster out of the corner of his eye and felt some of his initial shock begin to fade. Grandmaster was gazing at Ying through the thickening smoke with only pity in his eyes.
Ying cleared his throat and looked at Fu.
“Hello, boys,” he said casually. “Or should I say girls? I had a feeling you would all be hiding like a bunch of females.”
Fu locked eyes with Ying. He released a low growl.
“Stay calm, Sister Fu,” Ying said, smiling. “I won't bite. At least not just yet.”
Fu growled again and tensed his whole body in preparation for an attack. Hok drifted over to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Relax, Fu,” Hok said. “I understand your urge to attack. But you must resist. Ying is only throwing words at you, not daggers. He is up to something. I can feel it.”
“The birdbrain speaks!” Ying announced. “Fu, this must be serious. Hok rarely utters a peep. Maybe I really am up to something.”
“Who are you to call Hok birdbrain?” Fu snarled. “You're an eagle!”
�
�Do I look like an eagle to you?” Ying asked.
“You look like a fool,” Fu replied.
Ying opened his mouth wide and hissed at Fu. He flicked out his tongue and flexed its tip.
“What are you going to do with that?” Fu asked. “Lick me to death?”
Ying slipped his tongue back into his mouth and spat on the floor. He took a step toward Fu, and Fu roared. Every muscle in Fu's body began to shake.
Hok lifted his hand from Fu's shoulder and took a step back.
“Aren't you precious?” Ying scowled at Fu. “Purring like a little kitten. Would you like me to scratch behind your cute little ears?”
Fu could contain himself no longer. He sprang at Ying's throat with his teeth bared and arms outstretched. Ying dropped the qiang and repositioned himself to intercept Fu.
But Fu never reached Ying. Fu gasped and doubled over in midair as Grandmaster's narrow, bony shoulder struck him square in the diaphragm. Fu hit the ground flat on his back with a loud THUD, the wind completely knocked out of him. Grandmaster rolled over Fu's chest and whispered, “The pain you feel now is nothing compared to what you will feel if Ying gets his hands on you. You cannot defeat him alone. His kung fu is too powerful. This time you will listen to what I say! You will stay back! I will handle this.”
Fu wheezed and hacked as he sucked air, struggling to reclaim his breath for the second time that night. He nodded his head.
Grandmaster stood and spun around to face Ying.
Ying grinned. He bent down and picked up the qiang.
“My dear old man,” Ying said. “How could you be so cruel to that poor little kitten?”
Fu lifted himself onto his hands and knees. He glared at Ying.
Grandmaster said nothing.
“If you ask me, I think that was precious,” Ying said. “It was almost worth him escaping my grasp to see the fearless giant of a tiger boy knocked down by a brittle old toothpick of a monk. Aaah … no matter, I'll snap his fat neck soon enough.”
