Mao awoke with a fog in her head, but with some feeling of normalcy. She sat up and put her hands down to prop herself up and look around. She felt something soft beneath her, but had no recollection of what it was. Looking around slowly, she had no idea of where she was; that is to say, she knew she was in a house, but she had no idea where the house was located, or to whom the house belonged. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, but could not recollect how or when she had come to this place. The swelling in her throat was greatly reduced, and her ribs felt as if they were beginning to mend. She tried to stand up to explore the house, but when she did so, she almost fell and had to grope for the wall in order to avoid toppling over. She sneezed, and the sound broke the stillness of the room.
“Are you finally feeling better, child?”, called out the crackling voice of an old woman.
Mao was startled to hear another voice in the house. She looked at the old woman, who appeared to have about seven decades of age about her. She had snow white hair that was tied on top of her head, and she was dressed in the simple garments of a peasant farmer.
“Where am I?”, was the first question that entered Mao’s mind. This was immediately followed by others: “What happened? Who are you? Why am I here?” She could remember nothing of what had happened since she collapsed in the puddle.
“This is my house,” the old woman replied. “I lived here with my husband for fifty years before he died. My children were born and raised here, but live elsewhere in the city now.”
Mao sat back down on the soft bed that she had woken upon. She crossed her legs and hoped the rest of her questions would be answered.
The old woman continued after seating herself in a chair near to the bed. “I found you lying in a puddle in the street a few blocks from here. I brought you back here and dried you off, then put you to bed. You have been asleep and delusional for two days, waking up often with hot flashes and cold shivers, sometimes saying things that made no sense at all. I have spoon fed you medicinal soup to help you fight off the pneumonia that had taken hold in your body. It appears now that you are on the way to recovery. I am glad that I found you in time. If I had chanced along a few hours later, it might have been too late to save you.”
Mao’s eyes grew wide, and she sat staring ahead with a blank face as she digested this news. Could she really have been essentially unconscious for two whole days? This did not seem possible; however, she clearly had no recollection of how she had gotten to this house, so it was definitely plausible that there was much else she did not remember.
“Let me bring you some more soup.” The old woman left the room momentarily, and then returned with a large steaming bowl of rice filled broth. She handed this to Mao, who took it gratefully and began to eat it. As she breathed in the fresh aroma of the broth, she felt hunger inside of herself and ate heartily.
“Beautiful!”, said the old woman. “You are making a fine recovery if your appetite is so great!”
When Mao had finished gulping down the broth, the old woman asked, “What is your name child?”
“My name is Hei Mao, Honorable Madam,” she answered.
“Your name is Black Cat?”, the old woman echoed. “There must be an interesting story behind that name! My name is Qianpeng.”
Mao sat the empty soup bowl beside her. She started to ask another question, then suddenly remembered her pack. She became very agitated and excited. “Please, Madam,” she blurted out, “do you know where my pack is?”
The old woman pointed to a corner of the room. “I put it there to dry out. I took out the contents to dry them separately.” She then cocked her head slightly and made a quizzical facial expression at Mao, and said, “You sure have some strange clothes. I’ll bet there is an interesting story behind those too. You must be a very interesting person!”
Mao jumped off the bed without a moment’s hesitation to consider her condition. She grabbed the pack from the corner and dug through its contents. She was relieved to see that the old woman had replaced the black garments of Hei Lang within it. Her calm was immediately restored.
Qianpeng laughed at this and said, “Did you think that I would steal your belongings after saving your life?” She then added in a teasing voice, “You are a strange girl!”
Mao spent the entire day and evening recuperating in the house of Qianpeng. The old woman seemed very grateful to have someone with whom to talk, and Mao felt amazingly comfortable with her. The two quickly became very close and talked freely with each other. Their conversations were warm and friendly, like two sisters, or mother and daughter. It seemed to each as if she had known the other her entire life. The old woman talked of her life in the eternal city, as a child and as a wife and mother. Mao listened to these stories eagerly, imagining what her life might have been like had she been part of a real family. Qianpeng did most of the talking, but eventually the topic of the conversation came to Mao’s story.
“I can tell by your accent that you are not from Xiaomei,” the old woman began. “Where did you come from? Where is your family?”
Mao almost cringed at these questions. She hesitated before replying, and when she did, she spoke very slowly and was careful with her choice of words. In spite of the fact that she and Qianpeng had become quite close in such a short time, the subject was still very painful to her and she did not want to reveal too much of her true feelings. Finally, she said with great deliberation, “I was abandoned by my family when I was a baby. I have no recollection of my parents. I lived for a while in a monastery, and then went to live with an old man who has raised and educated me.”
Qianpeng recognized that the subject was painful to Mao, and did not press the matter further. She wanted to know what business had brought Mao to the city, but instead she changed the subject to a topic that seemed fairly safe. “Do you know that the Grand Tournament of kung fu is being held in this city this summer? It is a very exciting time here! Many visitors have come from all over China.”
The mention of this also caused Mao to wince, for the obvious reason, and again she responded very slowly and deliberately. “I have heard of the tournament, Madam Qianpeng. It must be a great spectacle to behold.” For some strange reason, she still did not feel comfortable enough with the old woman to tell her the whole truth.
“I am sure that it is!”, Qianpeng continued. “I have always wanted to see it, but I could not because I am a woman. My husband would go to the Royal Stadium each day of the tournament, every year, and come home and tell me of the events. My children would listen for hours as he recounted the battles in the arena. I wish I could have gone just once to see it for myself.”
Mao was distressed to hear this. She remembered the words of Master Long-shun at the registration table, “We do not even allow women to watch the tournament.” She became upset and indignant. She had never stopped to realize that perhaps other women would be interested in kung fu, had they been allowed to participate, or at least observe it. Would she have had any interest in it had she not witnessed its practice in the Shailan Monastery when she was a child? She imagined that she would not, and then she wondered what purpose her life would now have instead. She did not want to pursue that line of thought any further, and put it out of her head.
“Madam Qianpeng,” she said excitedly, “why don’t you go to the tournament this year. You can disguise yourself as a man and simply walk in. No one will be looking for women at the entrances to the arena, and no one is going to look closely at you as long as you resemble a man. Do you not still have some of your husband’s clothes in this house?”
Qianpeng let out a chuckle, and said sarcastically, “That’s a fine idea! Me, an old woman, sneaking around the city dressed as a man! Imagine the sight!” She shook her head and laughed again.
“Why not?”, Mao replied indignantly. “What do you have to lose? What can they do to an old woman besides simply making you leave? You should try it at least once. Please, I will help you.”
Qian
peng chuckled once more and shook her head. “I am far too old to be doing that. Why don’t you go? I can loan you some of my husband’s clothes and we can disguise you as a man. What do you think of that?”
“No, you will go!”, Mao declared emphatically. “Where are your husband’s clothes?” With this, she stood up and started opening a nearby, carved wooden chest that looked as if it might contain something sacred.
“Oh, wait!”, Qianpeng exclaimed, humoring Mao. “If you are going to persist in this nonsense, at least let me retrieve the clothes for you. I don’t want you messing up my whole house.”
She stood up and walked out of the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was carrying a small box. She dumped the contents out on the table, and spread them out. “These are the only clothes that he had. We led a very simple life.”
Mao rummaged through them, looking at various combinations of pants and shirts. She selected a baggy pair of pants and a wide billowy top that would hide details of the wearer’s figure, and held them up to the old woman to judge how they would look on her. “These should do. Do you have any of his sandals and a hat?”
Qianpeng left the room again and returned with a worn pair of leather sandals and a wide-brimmed field hat that was designed to cover the eyes and protect the face and shoulders from the sun. “What about these?”, she asked.
“Those are perfect!”, Mao replied. “Please, try them on and let us take a look at you.”
The old woman went into her sleeping chamber and returned a few minutes later wearing the clothes that Mao had picked out. “Well, what do you think?”, she asked, extending her arms and turning around slowly.
Mao clapped excitedly and replied, “Wonderful! You resemble a man very much! That hat is perfect, as it hides the upper part of your face. No one should look very closely at you in that outfit. But…hmmm?” Mao thought for a moment, then said, “I think we can make the disguise better. Do you have any gray yarn or fabric lying around somewhere?”
The old woman did not know what good this would be, but she complied with the request and produced some gray tweed material from a box in a corner of the room. “Will this do?”, she asked.
“Perfect!” Mao exclaimed. “Now I need scissors and glue. Do you have those?”
After Qianpeng came back with the scissors and the glue, Mao cut the material into a small gray swath, frayed it, and applied the glue to it. “Now hold still,” she said, pressing the cloth onto the upper lip of the old woman. “There! Now no one will bother to look closely under the brim of your hat.” Then before she could complain, Mao spun the old woman around so that she could view herself in a nearby standing mirror.
Qianpeng looked at herself in the mirror for several long moments. She shook her head with resignation. “If my husband could see me now, he would find this totally ridiculous!”, she said laughing along with Mao. “Ok, I will try it! Tomorrow I will go early and try to sneak into the tournament!”
Mao and Qianpeng stayed up late in the evening talking and laughing about their deception. Mao went to sleep far too late, given the fact that the tournament would begin the next day at noon.
The following morning, Mao awoke several hours before noon, which was very late for her. Her ribs felt decidedly better, although there was still some mild pain when she breathed deeply or laughed heartily. If she could avoid another blow to the side of her ribcage, she would probably be able to compete effectively. Her physical condition was reasonably good, given the fact that she had suffered from a delirious pneumonia for two days, although she still felt substantially weakened by the ordeal. Hopefully, she would not need to compete today, or tomorrow for that matter, since the first-round matches were not all held on the same day. If she were really lucky, she would not have to fight until the fourth day of the tournament, when the final four first-round matches were to be held. Of course, this meant that she would have less time between the first and second rounds, were she to win the first match, but that was a risk she was willing to take.
Mao and the disguised Qianpeng made their way through the city, until they had reached the Royal Stadium behind the palace. The structure was very large, and had many different tunnels leading into it. Men were streaming inside through these tunnels to watch the day’s first-round matches. Many had come very early to obtain good spots from which to view the event.
Mao was not disguised, but carried the costume of Black Dragon within her pack. If she were scheduled to fight this day, she would slip away and don the black garment and then return to the arena. However, the schedule of competitions was posted on the outside wall of the stadium in many places, and Mao quickly found that she was not fighting until the third day of the first-round matches. She felt relieved.
Mao turned to Qianpeng and said, “Quickly, walk through this tunnel and find a spot where the sun is at your back. Keep the hat pulled down so that there is always a shadow over your eyes.”
“Will you not come with me, Hei Mao?”, Qianpeng implored. “I will feel much better if you accompany me.”
“I cannot,” Mao replied. “I am not wearing a costume. I must go now regardless. I am not sure if I will ever see you again, so please accept my sincere gratitude for all that you have done for me. I regret that I have nothing to give you in return for your hospitality. I shall never forget your generosity and friendship, even though it lasted but a few days.”
Qianpeng was saddened, but she was a wise woman and did not press the issue further. She had no right to question Mao’s decision, and respected her obvious wish for privacy. “You do not owe me anything. I did not ask for anything when I took you in. Thank you for helping me to attend the tournament, dear Hei Mao. I would never have had the courage to do so without your support. May the Great Buddha be with you, wherever you travel.”
Then she silently touched Mao’s elbow, and slipped slowly toward the tunnel that lead into the stadium. Mao watched her disappear through the entryway, and wished her good luck. Then she headed back to her spot in the bushes at the palace square to continue resting and recuperating from her recent injuries and fever.
A question answered
The Grand Tournament consisted of five rounds of matches, much the same as before. The winner was declared when a contestant had either asked for the fight to be halted or had been rendered unable to continue. There were thirty-two competitors, one from each of the preliminary tournaments that had been held around the city. The combatants at this level were very proficient, and there was no way to know how long any particular battle would last. Any one of them might last for an hour or more. Therefore, the sixteen first-round matches were scheduled to be held with four each day, beginning at noon and lasting until whenever they were finished.
Representatives had watched the final matches in each of the thirty-two preliminary tournaments to rank the competitors who would compete in the Grand Tournament. They did this to ensure that the best fighters would not face off against each other in the early rounds, so that the final rounds would be more interesting. Thanks to her impressive battle with the Shailan warrior, Mao was ranked within the top four contestants, and would thus face relatively weak competitors in the early rounds.
This was to be a very special Grand Tournament, as it coincided with the 100th anniversary of the birth of Grand Master Bai Chen, the Shailan monk who was considered to be one of the two greatest warriors of kung fu during the previous century. His battles with Hei Lang were legendary, and his feats at the tournament were still retold from one generation to the next. He was now perhaps the oldest man in ancient China, and still presided over the Shailan Monastery on Mount Shai-lae in the northern country. Although his advanced age had made him frail, his mind was as sharp as ever, and many believed he still had at least another decade of life within him.
To honor this grand master, the organizers of the tourney has arranged for him to be brought to the eternal city of Xiaomei to be the honorary Grand Marshal of the event. A delegation was sent to the
monastery in early spring to request his presence at the tourney, and with some reservation he finally had agreed to make the long trip. With the delegation and a band of devoted monks, he was brought to the tournament in an ornate wagon bearing the orange and white banners of the Shailan Monastery, pulled by magnificent oxen. He would preside over the tournament, beginning each day with a blessing and leading the meditation at the end of the day. Although his voice was very faint, he began each day of the tournament with a prayer to the Great Buddha, as the crowd would come to complete and utter silence the moment he stood up from his chair to speak. Then he would sit back down in his chair, surrounded on the podium stage by the ruler of Xiaomei, several other grand masters of various schools of kung fu, and royal dignitaries. From his vantage point, he had a marvelous view of the stage, which even his 100 year-old eyes could see easily.
The tournament matches were held on the arena floor, upon a raised circular platform. The crowd would stand around the platform and look up at it from the ground, or stand in the stadium tiers and look down upon it. There was a marvelous view for all who attended the event, and most of them would take the same places each day and stay for the entire event. Many spectators had journeyed from distant provinces to behold the spectacle. The stadium was always full, and there were many more people standing out in the streets who would hear from those inside what was happening. In all, it was truly an event that was worthy of being called the Grand Tournament of ancient China.
Summer was now in full swing and the sun was glaring down on the eternal city as Mao made her way to the stadium on the third day of the tournament for her first match. She had donned the black garments and mask of Hei Lang, and the blazing sun was promising to make her miserable under this constraining costume. However, she had no choice but to suffer, as she could not take off the mask or change into more comfortable clothes. As she passed through the streets, the people would stop to stare at her, and whisper to each other as she passed. They had heard of the prowess of the black-garbed figure, and some of them had even seen her themselves at the preliminary matches.
Black Dragon, Black Cat Page 23
