Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  She arrived at the stadium and walked through the entrance tunnel, to emerge within the arena for the first time. Given the uniqueness of her garb, she was spotted immediately and a huge roar went up from the crowd. For a moment, she could not understand why the crowd had cheered, until she noticed that everyone was staring at her. She involuntarily blushed at the thought of everyone watching her, and she cringed with anxiety at the huge size of the stadium. It had not seemed nearly so large from the outside, and the number of people within was staggering. All of these people would be watching her intently when she climbed onto the platform, and the thought of this sent a nervous pulse down her spine.

  Nevertheless, she fought back her anxiety and strode purposefully to an area near to the stage that had been reserved for the tournament participants. There were already seven men there, and she wondered which of them she would face in her first match. They all seemed so much larger than her, and she began to doubt her abilities at such a high level of the tournament.

  Shortly after her arrival, Grand Master Bai Chen and a delegation of royalty and other kung fu masters in billowing, colorful clothes entered the stadium through the main gate. The crowd stood and cheered as the parade proceeded through a tunnel of people, and climbed up the steps to the royal podium. Grand Master Bai Chen was seated in an ornate golden chair draped in orange and white silks in the middle of the stage, with a line of chairs on either side of him occupied by other members of the royal entourage.

  After a few brief moments, Bai Chen stood up slowly, and hobbled out to the front of the stage using a walking stick. He raised his hand, and the entire stadium instantaneously became deathly quiet. In a trembling voice, he invoked a blessing of the Great Buddha, and then, without further ceremony, said “Let the tournament resume.” Many throughout the stadium could not hear what he had said, but that did not matter; they knew that they had witnessed a historical event. Then Bai Chen retreated to his chair and slumped slowly down into it.

  Mao felt a swelling of emotion within her chest at the sight of the grand master. She had not seen him since that day she had fled the monastery, and she was overcome with the feelings that were associated with her memories of him. She had to fight to keep down her tears at that moment. Bai Chen looked much older than she remembered, and she noted to herself how frail his voice had become over the years. Yet he still seemed to have that intense light in his eyes that she had remembered from her days in the monastery.

  The time for reflection had ended. Mao was to compete in the first match of the day, and it was time to begin. As she climbed the few stairs to the match platform, a wild cheer went up from the crowd. Again she felt the fire of blush in her cheeks, and she was grateful for the mask that surrounded her face, even though she found it stifling in the blazing sunshine. She felt a panic surge within her, and cast her eyes around the stadium in the vain hope of seeing Qianpeng somewhere within the crowd. Even though the old woman surely would not recognize her, she could still feel some measure of support if she knew that Qianpeng was present; however, the number of people was far too large to single out one person. Nevertheless, Mao imagined the smiling, wrinkled face of the old woman within the crowd and managed to calm herself.

  As Mao climbed to the stage, she caught the attention of Grand Master Bai Chen as he sat slumped in his chair on the podium. A startled look crept onto his wrinkled forehead, and he sat up and inched to the edge of his chair for a better view. As he beheld the black garbed figure on the stage, his mind flashed back seven decades to his own matches on this very stage, and could not help noticing the resemblance of this figure to that of Hei Lang, the only opponent in ancient China who he had never been able to defeat. Bai Chen shook his head, and decided that the resemblance to Black Dragon was merely because of a similar black costume that the competitor was wearing, and he thought no more about it after that. He slumped back into his chair.

  Mao’s opponent then strode onto the stage, wearing a billowing white shirt and blue pantaloons, bound at the wrists and ankles. Another cheer went up from the crowd at his appearance. After the referee had made the formalities, the two opponents bowed to each other and then retreated to opposite sides of the match ring.

  In a heartbeat the start of the match was signaled by the referee, and the two competitors slowly approached each other in the middle of the ring. Each one made several feinting moves to gauge how the other would react to certain styles of attack. Some of Mao’s reactions to his feints seemed to confuse her opponent, as if he had never expected to see such movements. She realized that the style of kung fu that her master had taught her would be unknown to all of the competitors here, and this should work to her advantage. However, she felt the weight of the eyes of the crowd bearing down on her, which prevented her mind from completely focusing on the match.

  After the preliminary gauging attacks, the fight began in earnest as the man attacked Mao with ferocity. She was able to block his strikes effectively, and with relative ease, and to counterstrike with quick darting movements that the man was often unable to block. She completely forgot about the crowd, and concentrated fully on her opponent. She soon realized that he was much weaker than the Shailan warrior she had fought in her previous match, and became confident that she could wear him down eventually without being severely threatened. Although her breathing grew labored within the mask under the hot sun, she was well in control of the fight after twenty minutes had elapsed. She had withstood many violent charges and flurries by her opponent, turning each one to her advantage by striking him with blinding speed. He soon became weary, and eventually raised his hand for a pause to the match.

  The man bent over and put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. After several moments, he stood up very slowly, and bowed to Mao. “I cannot beat you. I forfeit the match. Thank you for giving me the honor of challenging you.”

  With this he left the platform down the stairs to the ground, leaving Mao standing alone on the stage. Another huge cheer went up from the crowd as she realized that she had won her first match of the Grand Tournament. She felt the exhilaration of the moment, and her anxiety over the attention of the crowd entirely dissipated. She could even feel herself begin to relish the intoxicating feelings aroused by the applause. She bowed to the audience, and then proceeded down the short flight of stairs to resume her place in the area reserved for the competitors.

  Mao remained to watch the remaining three matches, so that she could study the techniques and movements of her future opponents. The remaining battles lasted far longer than hers, as the remaining competitors seemed more evenly matched. Mao thought about her match, and about her battle with the Shailan warrior during the previous round. How unfortunate it was that the two of them had been paired in the preliminary match, as she could tell that he was much stronger than those who fought this afternoon.

  After the third day of the tournament ended, Mao waited for the crowd to leave the stadium, and then she also left through the rear tunnel. It was a short walk to her spot beneath the bushes in the palace square, and she arrived there with several hours remaining until sunset. She changed into her peasant clothes, and used the opportunity to stroll through the city, admiring the more wealthy, ostentatious areas and avoiding the poorer ones altogether. She had seen enough of those, she thought to herself. She thought much about the cheering of the crowd, and remained intoxicated by the feeling that it had produced within her. She began to feel a sense of pride swelling within her, and a longing to continue advancing in the tournament so that this wonderful feeling would continue. At length, she returned to her spot under the bushes and lay down to sleep, eager to begin the second round of the tournament. Her remaining food had been depleted, and she wondered if her mysterious benefactor would return in the middle of the night with another basket. As she fell asleep, she was determined to wake herself at the slightest movement.

  Although in a deep slumber in the middle of the night, Mao sensed a presence around her. Without even an
observable twitch of her body, she cracked one eye open slightly to look around her. She saw a basket hovering next to her, attached to a long, thick bamboo pole. As soon as the basket hit the ground near her side, the pole was pulled back and she heard a rustling sound off to her left. So this was how her benefactor had managed to deliver the food without being noticed or leaving footprints! She peered under the bushes, and thought she caught a glimpse of a boyish figure with frail limbs slipping away in the pale moonlight. She could not be sure, but she thought that he resembled the boy she had fought in the preliminary rounds of the tournament. Had he followed her back to her sleeping area after the match and discovered that there was a woman beneath the black mask?

  Mao could have easily caught up with him to find out, but she felt she had no right to do so. Whoever he was, he did not want to be known to her, nor even thanked. She felt humbled by this gesture, which had been repeated so many times these past two weeks, and she said a short prayer of thanks for his gift. Whatever the reason for this gift, it left a warm feeling in her heart. She could not fall back to sleep immediately, as she thought of the events of the day. She remembered the exhilaration she had experienced after winning the match and hearing the roar of the cheering crowd. But did this feeling truly compare with the feeling that she experienced now because of the boy’s gift, or the feeling that she had at the compassion and friendship of Qianpeng? Eventually she fell asleep, and restless dreams pursued her relentlessly throughout the night.

  The first round of the tournament ended the next day, and the second round began the following one. This time, there would be only eight matches, with four held on consecutive days, as half of the competitors had already been eliminated from the tournament. Mao’s match would be held on the second afternoon, allowing her two days after her first-round match to rest and recuperate. She was very fortunate to have faced a relatively weak opponent who had not managed to aggravate any of her previous injuries.

  Her good fortune continued through the second and third rounds of the tournament. Each time she faced relatively weaker opponents, and her experiences in the preliminary rounds had given her valuable lessons that helped her immensely in these matches. She had quickly learned to adapt to the different types of techniques that her opponents used to attack her. At this time, she had already faced most of the different styles of kung fu while fighting against much weaker opponents, and thus she had learned how to deal with them effectively.

  Mao dominated both of these two matches, and progressed to the semifinal round of the tournament without need of an exhausting effort. Her style of kung fu was unusual and unknown to the other participants. Several times, they were caught completely off-guard as she performed some complex technique that they had never imagined possible. After each victory, she felt the initial exhilaration impressed upon her by the roaring crowd, but then thoughts of her two benefactors, the old woman and the young boy, subdued her pride and confused her emotions. She wondered if Qianpeng had been watching her during these matches from under the broad-brimmed farmer’s hat.

  This unique style of kung fu was familiar to Grand Master Bai Chen, however, and he often sat in his chair with a puzzled expression on his old wrinkled face. Each time Mao fought, and each time she won, he recognized more of the same movements that he had witnessed himself some seven decades before. Still, he was reluctant to believe what was gradually becoming apparent. Could this possibly be a disciple of the great Black Dragon? No, surely this was but a coincidence. Perhaps it was merely the sight of the black costume that made him think that this style of kung fu resembled that of Hei Lang.

  Mao awoke early on the day of her semifinal match of the Grand Tournament. It was now high summer, and the blazing sun glared down on the city, promising one of the hottest days in many years. She knew that the stifling heat would weigh on her heavily in her black mask, and that she must end the match quickly or eventually face heat stroke and dehydration. She returned once more to the stadium to hear the roar of the crowd as she took her place in the area reserved for the remaining competitors.

  She had watched her opponent throughout the early rounds, and she thus knew that he would be a formidable competitor. He had a hard, lean, and well-proportioned body, which he was not shy about displaying. He fought shirtless, and in tight pantaloons bound at the knees and ankles. He had long flowing black hair that he would tie behind his head, and the handsome face of an actor. He did not appear to be a very humble man. He had won each of his previous three matches with relative ease, but had done so in a very arrogant fashion, often mocking his weary opponents. He seemed to exult in the adulation of the crowd, and to take pride in humiliating his opponents. Several times Mao had cringed at the end of his matches, when he had unnecessarily injured his opponent. He would often raise his arms in the air to incite the crowd after he had knocked his opponent to the ground or off the platform. She recalled her master’s warning from her childhood: “Honor cannot be gained by taking honor from another.” She realized that this man provided a perfect testament to the wisdom of Jai-tien’s philosophy.

  The royal delegation entered the arena and climbed to the royal platform before the cheering crowd. Again Grand Master Bai Chen opened the ceremony with words that she could barely hear, and then he wobbled back to his chair and slowly lowered himself into it.

  Mao looked around for her opponent, but he was nowhere to be seen in the competitors’ area. The referee called for the contestants to climb to the stage, and she walked up onto the platform to the applause of the crowd. She did not see her opponent. The referee called out a second time for the contestants to enter the ring, but still she stood there without a challenger. The referee called out a third time, declaring that the match would be forfeit if the other contestant did not come immediately to the ring.

  At this time, a loud cheer of relief and anticipation swept up from the crowd as the challenger entered the stadium through the main gate, bare-chested and with both fists raised high in the air. The crowd continued to cheer as he made his way slowly to the ring platform, pumping his fists up and down while shouting words that could not be heard over the roar of the crowd. There was a collective gasp from those in the crowd who realized that it was not appropriate to enter the stadium after the royal delegation had done so. Several members of the entourage on the royal platform displayed facial expressions of disapproval.

  The man strode onto the stage and again thrust his fists high into the air, laughing heartily. The referee called the contestants to the center of the ring, but the man refused to come. Throwing up his hands in the air, the referee counted down the start of the match, and the fight began. Mao bowed to her opponent on the opposite side of the ring, who only laughed and returned the bow in the manner of a master to his servant. Some in the crowd roared their approval, but many began to express their growing distaste at the man’s behavior during this and his previous matches. His arrogant bravado was slowly draining his support, but he seemed to relish the negative attention as much as the positive.

  As Mao approached him, he placed his fists on his hips and remained motionless. When she advanced to within range, she struck out at him furiously with a powerful sidekick to his stomach followed by a swift blow to each side of his face. She immediately jumped backward to deflect his counterattack, but none was forthcoming. Instead, he remained motionless, with his hands on his hips, laughing heartily. “Can you do no better?”, he shouted at her. “My mother can hit harder than that!”

  After this he made his first attack. He charged toward Mao and leaped high into the air with both feet aimed straight at her head. This was not an opening attack that had a good chance of success: it was too slow and easy to dodge for a skillful opponent. However, the man did not do it out of ignorance, but to demonstrate utter contempt for the abilities of his opponent. Mao easily ducked to one knee and rolled out from underneath his flying body, only to pop back up behind him and plant a strong backkick into his buttocks as he landed back on the
ground. This sent him sprawling onto the floor of the ring, landing on his handsome face. A gash of blood appeared over his right eye.

  Many of those in the crowd openly laughed at the man’s clumsy fall. He arose with blood-filled cheeks of burning rage, and a mad desire to crush the spirit and body of his challenger. However, he also arose with respect for the abilities of his opponent, for perhaps the first time in the entire tournament. He regained his feet and began his second attack, but this time he approached Mao with more caution.

  The fight continued for more than an hour, with each combatant pressing a momentary advantage periodically, but never being able to capitalize on it to end the match. Each competitor possessed lightning reflexes, and was able to deflect the intense attacks of the other before the final knockout blow could be delivered. Mao’s arms became swollen and bruised from the bone-jarring blows of her opponent.

  With each new attack and counterattack, Grand Master Bai Chen’s attention would heighten. His slumping posture slowly became straighter and he inched out farther toward the edge of his seat. As he watched the battle in the ring, he recognized many of the techniques that the black-clad figure performed. He had observed them seven decades ago during his legendary matches with the great Hei Lang. Still, he could not bring himself to believe that there was any association between his ancient nemesis and this new black-garbed warrior.