Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  With a heavy heart, Mao followed her master to the house with drooping shoulders and hanging head.

  The following weeks brought more of the same type of training. Each day, they would revisit the movements of the previous days for some time. Mao would become more proficient at these movements every day, but the improvement was so gradual that she did not notice it, and could not remember how clumsy her motions had been when she had first started. She could not appreciate the changes, and became increasingly frustrated. After practicing the movements from previous training sessions, Master Jai-tien would introduce new ones, which would be practiced for hours without end. One day they would perform one-step punching movements moving forward and backward, and the next they would make simple kicks, again moving one step forward or backward. Whatever they did, it would be repeated on both sides of the body with incessant repetition. This daily grind of movements continued to lower Mao’s spirit, yet she remained silent; she remembered the lessons of the past and the virtue of patience. She was determined not to fail again.

  The exercises and movements that Mao performed each day became increasingly strenuous with each passing week. She would work up a strong sweat over the course of the afternoon, and her white pantaloons and tunic slowly began to turn dark, as did her belt. Once a week she would go to the stream that led from the green pond to wash them, but with each washing they remained slightly darker than the time before. The belt, however, was never washed, as Master Jai-tien forbade it. He said that the belt was sacred: she should not let it touch the ground, not allow anyone else to touch it without permission, and never, ever wash it. He said that the belt was a barometer of all the hard work and sweat that went into her training, and that she should be proud to have it turn completely black some day. After only a few months of training, it was already well on the way to turning black.

  On rare occasions, Mao would be sent to the village to trade eggs or milk for other items of necessity, but these were her only breaks from the daily routine. She began to view these excursions as a cherished retreat from the monotony and boredom of her daily training. She often found herself dallying in the village long past the time required to perform her appointed function. She would wander though the market, admiring the vegetables and livestock for trade there, or lie on the edge of the village fountain drifting her hand in the cool water. Upon her return, Jai-tien would always turn a quizzical, squinty eye toward her, as if questioning the duration of her errand.

  Each evening, the pair would walk up the hill to the house of Mother Lu-chin for tea, and then return at sunset. It seemed to Mao that Jai-tien took less time each day to climb the hill, and relied less upon his walking stick. Sometimes, she almost felt like she needed to move more quickly to keep up with him, rather than having to walk unnaturally slow to match his hobbled gait. She found the tea ceremony to be increasingly enjoyable and addictive; sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, sipping and smelling the tea, relieved her stress and the tedium of the day. After the ceremony, the pair would return silently back down the hill to retire for the night, each feeling refreshed from the exertions of the day.

  After months of learning and practicing simple movements, it was time to move on. The east breeze began to turn westerly, and the leaves on the trees began to change from shades of green to vibrant reds and yellows. On the first crisp morning of the new season, Jai-tien woke Mao at daybreak and said to her, “Maome, you have performed thus far in a most excellent fashion. You have come to a point where you have learned sufficiently all of the basic blocks and attacks to begin putting them together in combinations. Today, we will enter a new phase of your training. Please, awake and let us perform the morning chores quickly!”

  Mao performed the chores as rapidly as possible with an intense excitement. She was more than ready to move on to this new phase of training. After these tasks were completed, she choked her lunch down as quickly as possible, and then changed into her tunic and pants before running out to the practice grounds. Jai-tien was already there, preparing to begin the hour of exercises that preceded their training. He smiled broadly at Mao as she approached him. Mao had never seen him appear so happy.

  “Hei Mao, it is time to move on to more rigorous training. Today we will begin learning how to throw more complicated kicks and defenses. I believe that you will finally be satisfied with your training. Good luck to you, Hei Mao!”

  This final statement caught Mao by surprise. Was there some hidden meaning behind it, or was she becoming overly suspicious about the implications of innocent statements? It seemed to her that the master always had more to say than he actually said.

  Jai-tien walked up to Mao, and bowed to her. She returned the sign of respect. Then the old man said, “Hei Mao, watch what I do and then try to copy it.” With this statement, he grabbed Mao and bent her over, slipping one arm over and around her neck and the other one underneath her arm. He then turned his body around so that his back was to her, put his hip into her waist, and flipped her over his body. She fell to the ground on her backside with a loud thud.

  “Oww!”, she cried as she hit the ground. She rubbed her rear and rose to her feet, even though the pain continued to annoy her.

  “Mmmm… not so good,” sighed Jai-tien, shaking his head slightly. “I must teach you how to fall correctly soon. But later for that! Now try that movement on me.”

  Mao stood in front of Jai-tien and pulled his head downward. Her arms were still those of a child, though, and she had a hard time wrapping them around him. After gaining a slight hold, she turned sideways and tried to flip the old man over her hip, as he had done to her, but nothing happened. She tried several more times, but the result was always the same: Jai-tien did not move even slightly.

  “You must pivot your feet as you begin the throw, Hei Mao,” the master explained.

  Mao kept trying but to no avail. The old man was just too heavy for her to lift. “Master,” she pleaded after several minutes of trying, in which her breathing began to labor and her brow sweat, “I cannot throw you. You are too heavy!”

  “Yes, Hei Mao, you can throw me. It is about technique, not strength.”

  “But I am much smaller than you. I cannot do it!”

  “Yes, you can,” Jai-tien said confidently. “You simply are not performing the movement correctly. He grabbed Mao again, and proceeded to flip her over his hip exactly as before. She hit the ground with another audible thud, as well as a groan of pain. “Can you not throw a frail, bony old man, Hei Mao?”

  “No, Master, I cannot!”, Mao replied, trying to quell the tears that were swelling in her eyes.

  The old man put his hands on his hips, and let out a long, slow breath. “Follow me,” he said.

  Mao followed him to the bank of the green pond. Jai-tien stopped on the bank and stood beside a large rock that was lying there. “Hei Mao, put this rock into the pond,” he said.

  Mao did not believe that she had heard this statement correctly. “What did you ask of me, Master?”

  “I said, ‘Put this rock into the pond’.”

  Mao looked at the rock again, and her eyes grew wide in disbelief. “Master,” she responded, I cannot do that.”

  “Yes you can, Hei Mao!”

  Mao hesitated with a dejected look on her face, but finally moved toward the rock to try to push it into the pond. She put her hands and face against it, and pushed with her legs using all her might. The rock did not budge. She became short of breath, and began to sweat heavily after a few minutes of trying, but the rock did not show the slightest sign of movement.

  “No, Master, I cannot do it!”, she said with an absolute sense of frustration.

  “Do you believe that this frail old man can do it?”, he asked her.

  “No, Master,” she replied shaking her head. “It is much too big for you to put into the water either.”

  “Is that so?”, he said. He looked around him on the bank of the pond. After a few seconds, he found what he was searching. He
lifted a long, sturdy stick off the ground and set it against the large rock. Then he looked around again, and came back with another, smaller rock which was about one-tenth the size of the large one. “Let me show you something, Hei Mao.”

  Jai-tien placed the small rock near to the larger one, and then placed one end of the stick beneath the large rock, with the other end pointing toward the sky. Reaching up over his head, he grasped the free end of the stick with both hands, and pulled it downward. The large rock arced into the pond with a loud splash. Mao stood silent in shock as she saw how easily the bony old man had put the rock into the pond.

  Master Jai-tien turned to Mao, and with an expressionless face, said, “You see how easy that is to do, Hei Mao? It took no effort at all, only a good technique. Once you understand the technique, you will find that you can do many things that you think are impossible. Now, let us try that movement again.”

  After an hour of attempts, Mao finally managed to flip her master. However, when he fell to the ground, there was no hint of a thud. “That is how to fall, Hei Mao. Did you watch carefully? Now I will allow you to try.”

  He proceeded to throw her to the ground many times. After a while, she began to grow numb and felt less pain. Or was she not falling quite so hard? She did not know the answer to that question yet.

  “Hei Mao,” the old man said, “it takes at least ten thousand repetitions to begin to understand a technique, and at least another ten thousand to be truly proficient in it. A wise man knows that he can never master it.”

  At length, the day ended and supper followed, then they made the long trek up to the house of Mother Lu-chin. The warm tea seemed particularly delicious and relaxing that evening, and Mao savored every drop as she sat cross-legged on the floor. After the tea ceremony had concluded, the pair returned home and went to bed. Mao was very tired and achy, and knew that in the morning she would feel every sore muscle and joint in her body.

  This new style of training continued day after day after day. Almost each day, new techniques were introduced which Mao tried to mimic with inconsistent success. They would always practice previous movements and exercises, until Mao’s skill and understanding of them had increased dramatically. There were many aspects of the training that pleased her, and she felt the most content of her life. She loved the techniques involving kicks the most, and eagerly practiced them whenever possible, between the morning chores, during lunch, and even during the long trek to and from the house of Lu-chin on the hillside. She was happy to learn from her master, and for his part, she thought that his affection for her seemed to grow each day. The soreness that she felt in her body each morning gradually faded, and she was becoming stronger both mentally and physically.

  Several full winters came and passed in this fashion. Mao’s skills continued to grow in number and quality, and she was clearly establishing herself as a gifted and dedicated student. The sleeves of her tunic crept up her arms and her pantaloons approached her knees. These were replaced twice, although the belt remained the same and grew continually blacker. She no longer possessed the features of a young child, and was well into the period of adolescence. Her hair crept further down her back, growing ever darker, and her features became more chiseled, hinting at a great beauty to come.

  Eventually, Mao and Jai-tien began to spar lightly with each other, but in earnest. Mao was surprised during their fights at how quick was her master, and she could not hit him at all. However, he did not have the same problem, and he pelted her lightly but continuously until she finally began to learn how to parry his punches and kicks. Each day her skill improved very slightly but definitely, and after many, many days she was slowly becoming proficient at executing many of the more complicated techniques. She found that executing them during a real fight was much more difficult than practicing them, and that it was critical to understand when to use a technique at all. These things Mao learned, though, and quite well, as her master would maintain a level of sophistication during sparring that was only slightly above hers. Thus she learned to adapt what she had gained from previous lessons into her expanding awareness, without feeling overwhelmed by the old man’s adeptness.

  Over another winter, her skills became so great that the intensity of this sparring continued to grow, until it seemed as if the two were really trying to hurt each other. Sometimes Mao would end the day with a sore joint or busted lip, and maybe even a bruised ego. Nevertheless, she continued to persevere, and remained happy and content with her life and training. Master Jai-tien’s respect and appreciation for Mao continued to grow each day, and he would often look at her with pride when she was not aware of it.

  The betrayal

  A new spring lifted the shadow of winter from the land, and the frogs were once again croaking in the green pond. Mao felt herself growing into a fine warrior, and began to show great confidence. Sometimes, Jai-tien worried that her confidence was too great, and might eventually turn to pride. He tried to foster her confidence, but also worked to keep her spirit from soaring too high through stern criticism of her slight mistakes. She paid no notice to this, however, and her sense of self-esteem perhaps grew a bit too large. Jai-tien sensed this, and knew that such a thing would create dire problems some day.

  As spring waned into summer, the vegetables in the garden matured and the time came to take them to the market in the village at the bottom of the valley. Training was halted for a day, and the pair piled their harvest into a wooden wheelbarrow, which Mao slowly and carefully pushed down the hill to the village. The market and village square were alive with uncommon activity, as many folk from the surrounding countryside had also made the journey to town to sell their produce. Even the monks from the Shailan Monastery had sent their younger members to the village to sell and trade the fruit and vegetables from their gardens. With all of this activity, there was much to occupy Mao’s attention in addition to her duties.

  Mao spent most of the day in the market selling her vegetables, and finally finished this task late in the afternoon. Having been very busy this day, she decided to go to the village fountain to drink some water and wash her face. As she leaned over the edge to splash her face, she heard the voices of a group of young boys run up behind her. She glanced up to see five boys with shaved heads and the robes of the Shailan Monastery approaching the fountain. She jumped off the fountain edge, and turned her face quickly to avoid being seen, but it was too late. Despite the passing of six years since her departure from the monastery, she was recognized immediately. Several of the boys were those with whom she had shared her early years in this world, and she felt somehow inexplicably ashamed to be seen by them. Nevertheless, she had no alternative but to look at them, as they had surrounded her.

  “Look!”, one of the boys said. “It is Girl!”

  “Yes, it is her!”, another exclaimed. He looked intently at Mao. “Where did you go, Girl? Why did you leave us?”

  Mao worked up her courage to speak, and then became defiant. “I left because I was treated unfairly since I am a girl.”

  Then the third boy that she recognized began to laugh. It was Xieng-gui, the boy who had caused her to flee the monastery that night long ago. He was the best student of kung fu of his age at the monastery, and this had inflated his sense of self-pride to unreasonable proportions. This was evident in the way that he treated those he considered to be inferior to himself, including the other boys in the monastery. With obvious glee, he said to the group, “That’s not true! She left because I caught her practicing kung fu and threw her to the ground. You should have heard her whimper like a baby when I wrenched her arm!”

  The other boys knew nothing of this, and were amazed that Xieng-gui would so openly admit to violating the principles of the Shailan Monastery, even if this event did happen so long ago.

  Tears began to swell in Mao’s eyes. The boys noticed this, and Xieng-gui laughed. “Look, she is going to cry again! I didn’t even have to touch her this time!”

  Mao’s tears of sh
ame turned to needles of rage, and she threw out her hand and slapped Xieng-gui’s face. A surprised look momentarily crossed his face and his eyes widened in shock. Then his amazement turned to anger, and he struck back at her, but his greatest surprise was yet to come.

  Mao easily parried his strike and struck back with a series of punches and kicks, which Xieng-gui was hard pressed to block. The final sidekick sent him jarringly backward, and only his extensive training allowed him to maintain his footing instead of falling to his back. His anger grew stronger, and he attacked again with greater fury. Mao was struck several times, and fell to the ground. For only an instant, doubt of her abilities crept into her mind, and she felt a heavy panic within her chest. Yet she fell lightly, and rolled to her feet with renewed determination before Xieng-gui could press to take advantage of his attack. He leapt toward her, but as she rolled up she caught him in the stomach with a high kick, and as he bent forward from the impact, she moved her arms forward, one over Xieng-gui’s neck and one under his other arm. Then she pivoted on her feet, turned her body away from the boy, and threw him deftly over her hip to the ground. He landed hard, in spite of his training, and Mao grabbed him by the arm and spun him over before he could recover so that he was lying on his stomach. She then bent his arm up behind his back, and locked his elbow joint painfully in that position. She pushed it slightly toward his shoulders, and the boy winced.