Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  Hei Mao made no effort to prolong these matches, as the opponents were very strong, and she ended them as quickly as possible. However, she always tried to use the least amount of force necessary to achieve the victory, and would always choose a less dangerous technique over a viable alternative in any situation. Still her matches were relatively short, compared to some of the others. On the first day of the tournament, her matches had barely taken more than thirty seconds, except for the fourth one with the boy that she artificially prolonged. Only the second fight today had lasted for more than ten minutes.

  After her second match, she walked out of the arena and slowly returned to the square near the palace. Although she had managed fairly well in the tournament thus far, she could feel the aches in her joints and overall muscle soreness getting worse. Her years of training had taught her to ignore such feelings, but she was also aware of the warrior’s need to rest between battles. The tournament did not allow for this, however, and she must rely on her determination and courage to carry her through what were sure to be very rough days ahead.

  By the start of the sixth day of the tournament, there were only eight competitors left at the preliminary arena who had not been expelled from the tournament. At the end of this day, only two would remain. Each one would fight in the morning, and the victorious four would battle in the afternoon. The two left standing at the end of the day would compete tomorrow on the seventh day of the tournament to decide which one would move on to compete in the Grand Tournament at the Royal Arena near the palace grounds.

  Mao continued to dominate her two matches on this day. Again, she finished them after only fifteen minutes, but she was pleased to feel that she was finally facing opponents who were masters of their art. Those who relied on tricks or specialized skills, such as grappling and wrestling, had already been removed from the tournament by more well-rounded competitors. She was now being tested in the matches, and felt the strain of increased intensity taking its toll on her body. Her opponents were now of sufficient proficiency to allow her to extend her range and exhibit skills that were beyond most competitors’ abilities. The durations of her matches were such that her strange style of kung fu began to become apparent. Many eyebrows were raised among the ever-growing audience, who had never before seen such techniques being performed.

  At the end of the day, she returned back to her place in the palace square with a bloody bruise on her lower lip, and with an aching right wrist that continued to worsen. Fortunately, she had plenty of food left over from the day before, and she was thus able to fill her belly before lying down to sleep. Tomorrow she would fight the sole remaining competitor for the right to compete in the Grand Tournament, and she was determined to be as fit as possible. It took quite a long while for her to fall asleep, but when she did, she slept well, experiencing beautiful dreams that left a strong impression of confidence with her in the morning.

  Mao awoke at sunrise the next morning to achy joints and bones. She felt the bruise on her lip, and the scab upon her cheek. Both of these seemed to be beginning to heal. As there was but a single match today, it was not scheduled until the afternoon. Hence she lay there for an extra hour to rest and meditate until the sun was fully risen in the sky. It was the first time she could remember not getting out of bed at or before daybreak. She ate the remaining food, for she knew that she would need all of her energy for today’s battle. She then donned the black garments of Hei Lang, and headed toward the arena where her final preliminary match would be held.

  As she walked through the narrow city streets, Mao noticed that the people of the town were no longer chuckling amongst themselves as she passed by them. Instead, they stared at her, while trying not to give the impression that they were, and spoke to each other in hushed tones. She was not sure if she felt completely comfortable being the center of attention, and thought that she might actually prefer their laughter and derision.

  When she entered the tournament arena, there was a huge crowd already there that stood up and roared its approval. At first Mao wondered what the commotion was, and then slowly realized that it was for her. She made her way hesitantly toward the sole remaining ring, and the crowd parted to let her pass. Some men in the crowd bowed before her as she passed by, and the feeling of discomfort became more intense as she approached the ring.

  As she stepped into the ring, she noticed that its size had been doubled from the previous matches. The extra area was now possible that multiple rings were unnecessary, and the extra area was sure to add to the length of the fight. In fact, in the remaining tournament matches, being thrown from the ring no longer automatically disqualified a contestant, provided that he immediately arose and got back in. Only by asking that the match be stopped or by being incapable of continuing would a competitor be disqualified and the match ended.

  Mao stood for several minutes beside the referee, and became more agitated with each passing moment. Finally, she heard a roar from the crowd and momentarily her opponent appeared through a gap in the crowd and strode purposefully and confidently toward the ring where she awaited him. He was a strong looking man of light skin with a well proportioned body. His hair had been shaved completely from his head, and he wore the billowing orange pantaloons, strapped tight at the ankles, and the orange and white sash of the Shailan warriors draped across his right shoulder and upper torso. He was from the monastery that she had fled so many years ago!

  The Shailan monks were renown as some of the fiercest warriors in ancient China, and this one had the appearance and confidence of a great one. He looked to be about Mao’s age, and she looked very closely at his face in an attempt to determine if he was one of the boys that she had known during her short time there. She thought she might have recognized some of the features of one of the boys from the fountain when she had fought Xieng-gui as a child, but she could not be sure. It was of course impossible for him to recognize her in the black mask in any event, so she shrugged the matter off and did not think of it further. However, she was very nervous and eager at the same time to test her skills against what must be the greatest Shailan warrior of his generation, for the monastery only sent one competitor to the tournament each year. As he removed his sash and prepared for the fight, she could see his muscles rippling under his skin and the flexibility in his joints. She would have to face the best of the Shailan art to advance to the Grand Tournament, and she knew that she would meet the greatest challenge of her life, thus far.

  The referee signaled the start of the fight once again by counting down from three. Mao bowed to her opponent, who clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed very deeply.

  The fight commenced slowly. The two opponents circled each other warily, striking aggressive or defensive postures and then exploding forward with a feinted strike. This went on for several minutes as each studied the reactions of the other to various possible opening attacks. Mao’s senses heightened as she tried to gauge when and how the monk would first attack her. She would not attack first, as she wanted to observe how he would follow up his first attack. Immediately after a final feint, he made his move, hoping that his quick following attack would catch her off guard. This was the move for which she had been waiting.

  He came at her with a flying sidekick that flew off to her right side as she twisted to the left. As his lead foot landed, he jumped off of it straight into the air and threw his left foot forward toward Mao’s head. She shuffled backwards as the wind from his kick blew against her face. This he instantly followed with a spinning crescent-shaped kick, which took advantage of his forward momentum to give it deadly force and quickness. Mao ducked under it and felt the rush of its force graze the top of her mask as it sailed over her head.

  Mao knew that such a kick was designed to knock out the opponent, but if it missed an opportunity would be presented as the kick continued to travel in its wide sweeping arc. She instantly charged forward striking him in the back of his head with the outside of her closed hand. Spinning her body in
the opposite direction of his turn, she brought her left elbow fully into his back, causing him to bend slightly from the powerful strike. Then before he could turn around, she jumped into the air with her back still facing him struck out with a backward kick directed at his ribs. The kick landed perfectly, and her opponent went down on his face but rolled quickly to his feet to face her before she could turn back around to press her advantage.

  In this way, the battle went on for more than two hours. Each contestant would launch a volley of strikes at the other, which would be repelled with a series of blocks and counterstrikes. Neither one could gain an advantage over the other. Many times Mao was hit, but her endless training had given her the agility and instincts to shunt most of the force from almost any conceivable attack.

  As the event wore on, Mao became drenched in sweat and her breath became heavy beneath the constraining black mask. She wished that she could remove it, but knew that doing so would put an end to the fight when it was revealed that she was a woman. Her entire body was becoming fatigued from the protracted fighting, and she knew that she must end the fight soon or the mask would effectively choke the air from her lungs. She resolved to continue to fight even to her last breath, and put the mask completely from her mind.

  She could tell from his movements that her opponent was also growing fatigued. As that thought entered her mind, he attacked again, throwing every last ounce of strength and fury he still possessed into his wild charge forward. His fists struck out like lightning, forcing Mao backwards under the assault. She could not block them all but managed to deflect the most serious ones. Twice she was hit, once in the head and once full on the nerve at the base of her neck. She could feel her entire left arm go momentarily numb with the impact. These multiple blows were followed by a flurry of frontal kicks, which continued to force Mao backwards. Without her extensive sparring against her Master, she might easily have melted under the ferocity and rapidity of the attacks; but she had faced this many times before.

  The fierce attack had propelled Mao back all the way across the ring, and she was nearing its edge. Although it would not have disqualified her, she did not want to be pushed out of the ring. The monk’s fierce charge had left him without breath at this point, and she recognized her chance to end the fight. As his last kick grazed the front of her tunic, she spun sideways and clipped him square in the back with the heel of her foot, pushing him forward and exposing his back to her. She immediately jumped upon him, wrapping her legs around his abdomen and lacing her arms around his neck, one in front and one in back. These she clamped shut and dug her fingers into her tunic to prevent him from grabbing them.

  This was the technique used by the boy who she had fought earlier in the tournament, and she knew what must be done to escape it. She buried her chin in her tunic and laid her head right up against the monk’s head so that he could not butt her with his head. Only her right ear was exposed, and she knew that he would soon recognize this. She could feel the strength fading from him as her choke cut off his oxygen supply. At that moment, he struck with as much of his waning strength as he could muster with his open palm against Mao’s ear; but knowing it would come, she managed to twist her head at that instant and took the powerful blow against her forehead instead of the ear. Although the blow was stunning, she did not release her grip on her opponent’s throat and he continued to weaken.

  Just before he lost unconsciousness from the choke hold, the man did something that Mao did not expect: in his last attempt to dislodge her, he struck backward with his elbow, contacting Mao painfully in the ribs. She immediately recognized that her ribs had been severely injured, perhaps to the point of a fracture. Her grip remained firm, however, and her opponent slipped into a deep sleep. Mao relaxed her hold and let him slide gently to the ground. After thirty seconds the man shook his head and slowly regained his senses. It was too late, however, as Mao had already won the match! Her lifelong dream of competing in the Royal Arena at the Grand Tournament of Xiaomei was becoming true!

  At this time, however, her dream was not foremost in her mind. She would have to be very careful going forward, not only to avoid making the injury worse, but also not to display any sign of it. She knew that any worthwhile opponent would attempt to take advantage of her injury.

  After the half a minute had elapsed and the Shailan warrior had regained consciousness, he shook his head to restore his senses. Upon realizing that the monk was not hurt, the crowd roared its approval of the final preliminary match. Men rushed the stage to congratulate Black Cat, and to offer her good luck in the coming Grand Tournament. She did not hear them; she felt too much pain from the jolt she had taken in her side. She slowly pushed her way through the cheering crowd and out into the street, holding her ribs and grimacing with pain at each step.

  The Shailan monk left the arena with his head held high to the roaring cheers of the crowd. Although defeated, he was proud of the fact that he had fought his best and been beaten by a superior opponent. This was preferable to him rather than having lost from making an error, or to have won by a stroke of chance alone. He would likely have advanced far in the Grand Tournament, had he not been so unfortunate as to face Hei Mao in the final preliminary match. For the first time in centuries, the Shailan warriors would not have a representative at the Grand Tournament of ancient China.

  The lost days

  Mao had a difficult time during the walk back to her place under the bushes in the palace square. Her breathing was still labored and every time her chest expanded to inhale she felt a sharp pain in her side where the elbow had struck her. She was thankful to have three days to recuperate and heal before the start of the Grand Tournament.

  When she arrived at her place under the bushes, bruised and battered, she found another basket of food waiting there. This time, however, she saw that the small footprints she had noticed before were directly around the basket of food, but she did not care to think about this now. She had forgotten all about food over the course of the day, but now that it was within her grasp, she found herself to be starving. She ate as much as she could, while trying hard not to move her aching body. Eventually she lay down and fell asleep on the soft soil under the bushes.

  Late that night, a steady rain began to fall. The large leaves of the bushes protected her for some time, but eventually she became drenched. She did not notice this until the next morning, when she awoke cold and shivering before daybreak. Her bed of soil had turned to mud, and as she raised herself to her elbows, a sharp pain in her side reminded her of the injury that she had sustained the day before. She raised herself gingerly off the ground, gathered her belongings, and staggered off to find shelter from the rain.

  Summer was the dry season in Xiaomei, but apparently the gods of the eternal city had forgotten this. The rain fell incessantly all morning. Mao first carried her wet pack of belongings to the palace’s covered veranda, where a number of other soaked passersby had gathered for protection from the drizzling rainfall. The temperature had dropped from the passing cold front, leaving her and many others there shivering in their wet clothes.

  The crowd continued to grow slowly until midmorning. Mao began to feel a tightness in her throat, and her nose began to flow. Occasionally, she would sneeze and beaded water droplets would fly from the ends of her hair. At noon, the crowd had grown quite large, and the palace guard came out to disperse them. Forced to leave, the people picked up their belongings and wandered in different directions to seek shelter elsewhere.

  By this time, Mao’s throat had swollen up severely and she could barely speak or swallow. She shivered continuously, and was feeling very fatigued. When she felt she could walk no further, she stumbled to the side of the street and collapsed under an awning jutting out from the side of a restaurant. She leaned against the building, panting for a few moments from the exertion of walking for the past hour. She immediately passed out on the cobblestones, with her soggy pack beside her.

  For some unknown period of time she l
ay there, semiconscious and delusional. Her throat continued to swell, and she suffered from cold shakes and hot flashes in rapid succession. Terrible nightmares plagued her when she did sleep for a few moments. Many people noticed her as they passed by, but continued walking as if they did not see her.

  As evening approached, the owner of the building came to open his restaurant. He was wearing fine clothes and carried a huge umbrella to protect them from getting wet. He tiptoed through the puddles as if his shoes would melt if they got damp. When he saw Mao sprawled in front of his building, he became very angry, and began to shout at her. “You miserable, worthless dog! Get off of my doorstep! Do you want to frighten away my customers? Who told you that you could lie here? Get up!”

  With this, he roughly pulled the semiconscious Mao up on her feet by the back and pushed her toward the center of the street. She reeled momentarily before gaining some degree of balance, and then staggered down the street.

  “Here, don’t forget your worthless bag of junk!”, he called out, throwing her soggy pack behind her.

  Mao turned around to pick it up, and then carried it with her as she stumbled down the street. How long or how far she wandered through the city is unknown. Eventually, she became completely exhausted and collapsed in puddle at the side of a city street. Several people in fine clothes chancing to walk by crossed the street when they came upon her so they would not have to pass too close to her.