Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  Mao’s eyes widened at this statement. The confusion in her mind became even more acute. She thought to herself about the implications of these words for a few moments with a quizzical expression on her face. “But wait, Master,” she said, “how then could Black Dragon perform the Dragonflame? Unless…”

  “Yes, Maome, Black Dragon was a woman,” replied the master. “This is why she developed her own style of kung fu, which was especially designed to take advantage of the physical characteristics of the female body. This is also why she never spoke and always wore the black mask and billowy clothes in the Grand Tournament, which she later gave to me and that I passed on to you: otherwise she would not have been allowed to compete in the tournament. Everyone assumed that Hei Lang was a man, but this was not the case. Black Dragon was a woman, and Black Dragon was my mother!”

  Mao’s mouth dropped open. She stood in amazement for many seconds, trying to comprehend what she had just heard. “That’s…that’s impossible!”, she blurted out. But in her mind’s eye, Mao remembered how Mother Lu-chin had caught the falling teacup in her hand without spilling a drop on that occasion many years ago. After many moments of confusion, she slowly began to believe the old man’s words. She began to stutter. “But…but why didn’t she ever reveal her identity, and let others know that she was Black Dragon?”

  “My mother never felt the need to reveal her identity. Not even Master Chung Jun ever suspected the truth. She had proven to herself that she was a great master of kung fu, and that was enough for her. What did she care what other people thought? To the people of the world beyond her door, she was just a common peasant woman, like any other; yet at the same time, she was a legend to those very same people.”

  Mao again stood silent in contemplation. She recalled her own feelings after winning the great tournament. She remembered her own momentary sense of personal pride, but also the hollow feeling of being crowned the tournament champion. She began to realize the difference between these two things, self-worth and vanity. One was a perception of yourself, for yourself, and the other was the perception of yourself by others. One led to peace of mind and strength of character, while the other led only to the pursuit of fame and riches, which brought nothing but more vanity and did not truly satisfy the soul.

  Mao now remembered the visits she had made to the house of Lu-chin during her first few years with Master Jai-tien. She recalled how she was often irritated to sit there on the floor. She recalled the many times in later years that she had dreaded the long struggle up the hill, and she felt ashamed. “Master Jai-tien,” Mao asked in an incredulous tone, “why did not you tell me before that Black Dragon was your mother?”

  “It was my mother’s secret to tell, not mine,” he replied.

  Mao thought about this. Again, she realized the wisdom in Jai-tien’s statement.

  Jai-tien continued after several more moments. “Black Dragon trained me in her unique style of kung fu. This is how I came to know it. I became very proficient at it, but many of the techniques I could not quite master, such as the Dragonflame. My masculine body was not capable of performing them correctly. In fact, it took us many years to realize this; my mother had not set out to create a style of kung fu especially geared to women, but had merely perfected techniques that seemed natural to her. She was able to teach me to perform most of her unique style, however, and I learned the principles behind the techniques that I was unable to perform properly enough to teach them to you.”

  Mao was beginning to understand the complexity of the life of her master and his master. Now she wanted to know more. “What was it like to grow up and train with the great Black Dragon as your mother?” she asked excitedly, wanting now to learn as much as possible about Mother Lu-chin.

  “Black Dragon was not my mother,” he replied abruptly. “Black Dragon was my master. Lu-chin was my mother. They were two different people within one body. From Black Dragon I learned the art and the philosophy of kung fu. From my mother I learned the value of inner peace, modesty, and humility. The two are separate lessons, but each must be merged within the soul to achieve true inner peace and self-esteem.”

  “This is why I never entered the Grand Tournament, Maome,” he continued. “At one time, I considered doing so, but on the eve before I left to journey there, my master leaned to my ear and whispered to me that I would certainly win the tournament. I thought about this that entire night without sleeping, and then decided that there was no need for me to compete at all. If the great Hei Lang had said that this were true, then that was good enough for me. I told my teacher that I had changed my mind the next morning, and that I felt no need to compete in the tournament. From that point forward, my teacher called me “Master Jai-tien,” since I had finally learned the greatest lesson of all: true self-worth and inner peace comes from within, not from without. What did I need with the adulation of others when I already possessed such riches in my life?”

  The old man gave Black Cat a few moments to digest this. Then he resumed speaking. “Lu-chin was not my birth mother. My true parents left me at the gate of the Shailan Monastery, just as your parents did with you. I never knew them. I despaired for many years as a young child over what I perceived to be a lack of love for me on their part. I did not reason that they might have loved me so much as to give me up so that I might have a chance at a better life. I could not see this, and became bitter. There was no consoling me, although the monks did their best to teach me about the value of peace and harmony. I ran away from the monastery, and hid under a willow tree by the green pond. It was there that Lu-chin found me one evening as she walked up the pathway that led to her house. She saw me crying, hungry and alone, and she took me into her home and heart as only a true mother could do.”

  Hei Mao was once again stunned by this new revelation. She stood motionless for many seconds. “So you were also an orphan child?”, Mao said in more of a statement of fact than a question.

  “Yes, Maome, but Mother Lu-chin’s love took away my bitterness and longing, and Hei Lang gave purpose and meaning to my life.

  Again, a wave of shame crept over Mao’s features, and she felt tears swell within her eyes. “Master, I am so ashamed!”, she cried covering her eyes. “I did nothing for Mother Lu-chin to show my respect to her. I can never forgive myself for this!”

  Jai-tien reached out to touch her sleeve. “There is nothing of which to be ashamed, Maome. It was no coincidence that Lu-chin passed to the spirit world when she did. On that evening when the third chair appeared in her house, Hei Lang knew that her art would not end with my passing. She knew that you would carry on her tradition after she and I were gone from this world. Your coming into my house extended her life by a decade as she watched you mature as a warrior and a person. I am sure that she watched us train every day, in all seasons, from beneath the willow to the east of her house, from where we released her ashes from the mask that she wore as Black Dragon. Many times during our years of training, I looked up to see her form gazing down upon us. It was she who determined when you had reached a level of maturity to enter into your final phase of training, not me. I knew that she had intended for you to move on when she placed the third chair beside hers at the tea ceremony. After you had attained your full potential, she let herself pass into the spirit world in peace and contentment. Were it not for you, she would have eventually left this world without knowing that the art that she created would be preserved for another generation. Be assured, my Maome, that Hei Lang was very proud of you, and that Lu-chin loved you like a grandmother.”

  Mao dried the tears from her eyes, and smiled at Jai-tien. She then wrapped her arms around him for the first time in her life. The master smiled too, and hugged her back. He patted her head, as he did when he first came upon her as a child, and said to her, “You are a true warrior of kung fu, my Maome. You will become one of the greatest champions in history after you win the tournament many more times!”

  Hei Mao shook her head, “I will never go back
to the tournament, Master. I have nothing left to prove.”

  The old man’s smile grew wider and perhaps a tear tried to sneak into his eye. “Then you have learned the greatest lesson of all, my kitten. You have achieved inner peace, the eighth virtue that Black Dragon herself introduced to kung fu. I have taught you all that I know. From this time onward, I will call you ‘Master Hei Mao’!”

  “And from this time onward,” she replied tightening her embrace, “I will call you ‘papa’!”

  The passing lanterns of the seasons

  And so the years passed, with each day fading into the next without need of counting them. The seasons changed and the cycle of nature adjusted itself accordingly for Hei Mao and Jai-tien. Each day was like the others, with its pace of chores and duties, customs and traditions, respectful observance and concentrated meditation, daily routines, and, most importantly, the long, slow climb to the home of Mother Lu-chin. There they would sit on opposite sides of her empty chair, without speaking, to drink their tea and feel the warm embrace of her spirit within the chamber. After a while, they would set down their teacups and make the slow descent to their house below, while the sun was setting, and begin their preparations for sleep.

  For many years, Jai-tien and Hei Mao continued to train every afternoon, rain or shine, winter or summer. But with each passing season, Jai-tien grew weaker with age, and Mao would gauge her intensity to match his, in the same way that he had done for her as a child. Neither of them made any mention of it.

  Then came the inevitable day when Master Jai-tien climbed the hill to his mother’s house for the last time. As he and Mao sat silently in their chairs one evening, sipping slowly from their teacups, the old man began to smile broadly, for he knew that the time had come for him to return to his mother’s embrace. His eyes slowly closed and Mao could feel his earthly life fade from him as she remained motionless and silent in her chair. The master said nothing as he passed and Mao had no parting words to say to him, as everything worthy of being spoken at that moment had already been said many years ago. After a few brief moments, the master’s teacup slipped from his fingers to the floor and shattered into many tiny shards.

  With the passing of Jai-tien into the spirit world, his earthly possessions passed on to Mao, as did those of Lu-chin. Several months after his departure, Mao opened the chest that her master had brought from his mother’s house after her death, which for many years had lain to the right of his bedroom window. In it was nothing but a few trinkets from Lu-chin’s years on earth: a tortoise shell hairbrush, a golden mirror, a bound stack of ancient papers, and, at the very bottom, wrapped in a silken sash of orange and white, a simple golden band inscribed with the insignia of the Grand Masters of the Shailan Monastery. Mao fingered the ring, turning it over several times in her hand and holding it up to the light, wondering how it had come to be there. She untied the encircling ribbon from the stack of pages, and her eyes swept over the top leaf. On it was inscribed a simple verse from a beautifully flowing quill:

  The moon will shed a teardrop

  when her eyes see fate unkind;

  No sorrows shall be written

  in the poetry of time.

  Feeling suddenly as if she had violated the old woman’s memories, Mao retied the bundle of pages. She put the ring back where she found it, closed the lid of the box, and never opened it again.

  The days continued to trickle effortlessly to the river of years, where they flowed silently and inexorably toward the sea of eternity. Mao slowly became gray and wrinkled, but remained content with her modest means and humble life. Each day there were chores to be performed, customs to keep, and traditions to uphold. On hot summer afternoons, she would rest in the shade of the willow on the bank of the green pond where a handful of Jai-tien’s ashes had joined those of Lu-chin and the old black cat beneath the flat stone. Each evening, she would climb to the top of the hill to take her place in the house of Lu-chin and Jai-tien, sitting next to two empty chairs with her teacup, savoring the warm embrace of their spirits around her.

  One warm summer evening when the sun was low in the sky, Mao was walking past the green pond on her return from the home of her spirits. There she chanced to stumble upon a young boy crying under a willow tree with his face buried in his hands.

  Not the end, simply another new beginning…

  Now available: The Poetry of Time (A prequel to Black Dragon, Black Cat)

  Other books by Brian Edwards:

  The Land-Grant

  Going to Meet the Old Ones

  Baskerville Holmes Saves the Planet

  Winnie and the Carrot Patch

  Coming in 2014:

  Teardrops of the Moon© (Third book of the Black Dragon saga)