by Saxon Keeley
Another swing comes sweeping across his face. Leaning backwards, already Wesley is executing his counterattack. Closing the gap between them, he hurls his knee into his opponent’s lower chest.
Stumbling back winded, Wesley leaves them no opportunity to regain their composure and floors them with a single punch.
Tapping out, the crowd cheer on Wesley. Several members of the contender’s squad drag them out of the ring. Sun Ren even seems to be impressed, conservatively clapping along.
“Come on!” cried Wesley. “Come on.”
But no one jumps into the ring.
Walking around the parameter, he tries to make eye contact with any potential fight. Turning to Sun Ren, he shrugs his shoulders playfully, disappointed at the lack of challengers.
The soldiers go silent and Sun Ren draws his attention behind him. Entering the ring is Sun Tzu. He undoes his shirt and throws it to one of his men in the crowd.
Sun Tzu stands ready, waiting for Wesley to accept his challenge.
“Fuck, I cannot hit an old man,” Wesley said mockingly.
“Then you forfeit?” asked Sun Tzu.
Unwilling to concede, Wesley raises his fists. For a minute, neither of them move.
Impatient, Wesley makes the first move.
Before he can land his punch, Sun Tzu’s knee is already in the side of his ribcage. Stunned by the speed and power of the strike he stumbles to the floor. One blow from the old man has knocked him off balance.
Sensing the next strike Wesley rolls out of the way. A thud lands where he just was. Climbing to his feet, Sun Tzu’s next kick is already there to greet him.
Sent flying across the ring, he notices that the old man is holding his hands behind his back. Insulted, Wesley acts rashly. Back on his feet he charges at Sun Tzu, only to be kicked in the face. Blood splatters those in the front row.
Undeterred by the pain, Wesley wildly throws punches at the old man, each one being casually blocked.
Gabbing Wesley’s arm, Sun Tzu draws him into his elbow and Wesley wheezes a sickly cough. Looking up at Sun Tzu, he finds a calm and collected man. A far cry from the crazed manic look of this morning.
Holding him in place, Wesley is unable to pull away from the elbow causing him increasing discomfort. Using his feet to try and sweep Sun Tzu onto the floor, Wesley cannot muster the strength to even move him an inch.
Bored of his feeble attempts, Sun Tzu draws his head back and then head-butts Wesley squarely on the nose. Blood bursts down his face as his nose is broken.
Still held in place, Wesley is unable to fall to the ground.
“Do you forfeit?”
“Fuck you,” Wesley retorted without thinking.
Another blow to his stomach leaves him limp, but still unable to fall.
“Forfeit.”
“No,” Wesley spat in his face.
Wesley’s centre of gravity shifts as he is brought over the shoulder of the old man and thrown down onto the ring.
“Forfeit.”
“No,” screamed Wesley, slipping into English.
Sun Tzu manoeuvres over his body, twisting his arm, feeling as if it could be pulled from the socket at any time.
“Are you Chinese?” Sun Tzu questioned.
“Fuck you.”
“Are you Chinese?”
“Yes!”
Sun Tzu lets go of his arm. “Then prove it.”
*
In the co-ed showers, soldiers joke and laugh over previous fights or foolish things they once got up to. Wesley leans against the shower watching the blood run down his naked body, mixing with the water as it is carried off down the drain.
“You should get that seen to,” said Sun Ren.
“Yes, Fūrén,” complied Wesley, noticing how unbothered she is by her own nudity.
“You are not the only one he has beaten like that,” she sympathised, knowing that was probably the first-time Wesley’s pride has been crushed.
She turns around and shows him a mark that has never healed under her ribs.
“This was given to me on my first evening here. I thought I could take him on too. But it was a valuable lesson and one that I am thankful for.”
Wesley nods in appreciation.
“Get that seen to. Go to bed, get some sleep. I will see you bright and early tomorrow,” she ordered. “Welcome to the Neo-Shanxi Army.”
Watching as she leaves, Wesley studies Sun Ren’s tattoo. Each carp fighting against the cascading water. Just as she had once believed herself to be a dragon, Wesley regrets the dragon on his own skin.
The water switches off and the showers begin to empty. Feeling the last drops splash against his skin, he contemplates the lesson he has been taught tonight.
*
Awake in bed, Wesley tosses and turns. The bandage over his nose is warm and uncomfortable. His mind races, flicking through thoughts of the fight. The speed in which Sun Tzu moved. The perfection of his technique.
Resigning to a sleepless night, he decides he needs some fresh air. Quietly getting out of bed, he throws on some clothes and heads out into the narrow corridors of the underground facility.
Everything is still. The thick concrete walls keep his nightly stroll undetected.
Having taken a wrong turn somewhere, Wesley stumbles across an open room with its lights still on. Incense burns, soothing the stale air.
Inside Sun Tzu practices with a Jian. His movements are precise and graceful, almost as if he were dancing with the sword, seamlessly flowing from stance to stance.
Sensing that Wesley is by the door he stops. Sheathing the sword Sun Tzu waits for Wesley to start the conversation.
“Why do you practice with a sword? I cannot imagine it would have been much use to you in China,” asked Wesley.
“It is a state of mind over anything else. There is a reason why I survived and others fell. There is a reason why you were beaten tonight,” he explained.
“And you can learn that from swinging some sword?”
Sun Tzu laughs. “No. Not from swinging some sword. But learning balance. Finding clarity in your movements. By clearing your mind.”
Wesley approaches the old man, standing at his side.
“What was it like in China? Grandfather only tells me about some great nation with a complicated but grand history. What was it really like after the war?”
“I was twenty-one when the war began,” Sun Tzu started, “only a little older than yourself. The men of Weifang were amongst the first to be forcefully conscripted. They came for us during the night. We were dragged out into the streets and loaded up onto trucks. Mothers, wives, sisters and daughters stood helpless as we were driven away.
“Before I knew it, I was on the front lines, part of the push to eliminate Western forces from Zhejiang. I had never once imagined myself as a soldier. I was angry at the injustice our government had committed. But when I was there I realised why they needed us. Men and women in mass were thrown at the enemy. Wave after wave, torn to shreds. Bits of people scattered the battlefield. The best some soldiers could do was throw themselves at the bipedal tanks with explosives strapped to them. Dare to Die Squads.
“After one battle, I found myself buried under a pile of corpses. For two days, I was left there. The rotting flesh and the excrement seeping down to where I lay. When they found me, I was cleaned up and sent out to fight again.
“I was stationed all over China. Towards the end, we were sent to Japan. I was there when Osaka fell. When the Chairman was assassinated my unit was in Shanghai. We watched as the missiles flew overhead and ignited the sky.
“The war was lost. The government overthrown. In its place a provisional government just as war hungry as the last. Destressing news came from Datong of soldiers massacring civilians and the country became fragmented. Civil unrest swept across China as the people rebelled against the new government, Beijing and Shanghai tried to maintain order.
“Again, I was conscripted into the army. This time into
the Shanghai Peace Militia. The Nationalist Forces had some questionable divisions, none so questionable than the Peace Militia. Public executions, torture and the extermination of whole rebel villages.
“That is when I first met your grandfather. My squad were ordered to neutralise a growing separatist community in the mountains of Shanxi. But he gave us a choice. Live as dogs, or die like heroes. Death had never crossed my mind as being an honourable thing. I had seen war. I had seen death. There was no honour for those men and women who has lost their lives.
“But guilt had consumed us for long enough. We stayed to protect Zhang Guozhi and his community. It was in those mountains that I studied the sword. Learnt what it meant to belong. What it meant to be Chinese. After two years, I decided to go back east and help my fellow countrymen escape the tyranny of the Nationalist Forces.
“Years passed. Stories of Zhang Guozhi and his peaceful community in the mountains of Shanxi would reach me. I would take solace knowing all those I saved were safe. Then one day the stories stopped.
“When I returned, the mountains were all but abandoned. Those few left told me of Dr Charles Jung and the Chinese colony of Delta-Nine, a new home for the Chinese to begin again. I knew then it was my duty to continue saving people from the clutches of the Beijing and Shanghai Nationalists.
“Both the Nationalists and Western governments saw me as a threat. They tried their hardest to take me out. As I grew older, the closer they came to succeeding. One day, a man in a suit found me injured in the backstreets of Nanjing. He told me that Chairman Zhang wanted me to join his colony and help build a better future for its younger generation. We have been preparing ever since,” finished Sun Tzu.
Wesley tries to fully comprehend all that he has been told.
“Is that why you are not asleep?”
“I have not slept well since I was twenty-one.”
A long silence follows while Wesley struggles to find the right words.
“You have spirit. But lack any sense of composure or control. Before you start with the Jian, let me teach you some Chang Quan,” offered Sun Tzu.
Placing down the sword, he readies himself in the Cat Stance. Wesley does his best to mimic Sun Tzu.
Moving slowly, in the first few steps Sun Tzu accentuates his breathing. Inhaling as he brings his fist in. Exhaling as he strikes.
THE FAMILY-PART TWO
Neo-Shanxi
Charles Jung
Watching whilst his grandson contemplates his next move, Charles can see the frustration on Alexander’s face. Hesitantly his fingers hover over different pieces on the board. Each time he works out his game plan, it has already been pre-empted by his grandfather. Pushing his glasses up the ridge of his nose, Charles knows he has already won.
A cool breeze reminds him that their tea has long since turned cold. From the porch, Li takes a moment out of her painting to check on the two of them. Together they share a feeling of contentment.
The game of chess has been a long and complex one. To his surprise, Charles feels truly tested for the first time in years. His six-year old grandson has provided a better match than any of the players at Salon de Ning.
Finally resigning himself to defeat, Alexander makes the last move of the game.
“You know what that means,” said Charles.
“I do the dishes,” Alexander admitted, “but before we begin the next match, tell me how you beat me?”
“Age. And that is all that is between us.”
Alexander ponders over this for a second.
“Fine. If I win, you take me to Jung Labs.”
“And if you lose?”
“I will do the dishes for a week,” Alexander said, resetting the board.
Laying down her brush, Li joins the two inside. She wraps her arms around Charles and places a kiss upon his cheek.
“Don’t go too hard on him,” she whispered into her husband’s ear, watching Alexander place the last of his black pieces back in place.
“If only I could,” joked Charles.
“Grandfather is very good, Grandma. But he is running out of moves.”
She takes a seat to watch the game. “I am sure if you were to ask Grandfather nicely, he would take you to visit the labs.”
“A bet is a bet,” said Charles.
“Why do you want to go the labs?”
“They seem interesting,” explained Alexander, watching his grandfather make the first move.
“Are you interested in science? Is that something you would like to do when you are older?”
Picking up his pawn, Alexander thinks over the question.
“I don’t know what I want to be when I’m older. I want to be a good father, like Grandfather.”
Charles and Li, touched by their grandchild’s sincerity, are deeply saddened by the acute awareness of his parent’s absence.
“What would you like to eat tonight?” asked Li, wanting to keep the mood up.
“Kung Pao.”
“Would you not like something different tonight?” questioned Charles.
“Nope.”
Rolling her eyes, Li turns to Charles. “Something Western tonight?”
“Please. Also, something harder than tea if I’m to face our grandson again.”
The sun sets over the colony and the cool day turns into a bitterly cold night.
As soon as dinner arrives, Alexander once again accepts defeat. Helping lay the table while his grandmother brings in her things from the porch, he lays chopsticks for himself and a knife and fork for his grandparents.
The smell of the food brings warmth to the house. Charles pours two glasses of wine and a juice. Walking in to find a prepared table, Li takes her place between the two and toasts their effort.
“Roast dinner, it has been years since we have sat down to a roast,” said Li.
“Though it’s never quite the same. They can never get the gravy right,” said Charles, pouring a gloopy liquid over his plate.
Playfully Li rolls her eyes at Alexander. “Your grandfather is never quite happy with what he has.”
Cutting into the largest potato, Charles rolls it in the gravy and places his forkful into his mouth, then the doorbell rings.
Not expecting any guests, he looks over to his wife confused. Li is equally baffled, and just as she is about to answer the door, Charles jumps to his feet insisting that her dinner should not be interrupted.
Opening the door, Charles is lost for words at who he finds on the other side. Waiting on the doorstep is Michael Hastings.
Looking well, he wears the black coat the three of them wore during the terraforming of Delta Nine all those years ago. Charles laughs in disbelief as be holds out his arms to embrace his old friend. Even physical contact is not enough to convince him it’s not a dream.
“It’s good to see you,” said Michael.
“Yes,” Charles said, still in shock. “Would you like to come in? We were just in the middle of dinner. Have you eaten?”
“Only if I’m not putting you out.”
“Nonsense,” dismissed Charles.
Li is taken by surprise as her husband brings Michael in to join them. Ecstatic to see their old colleague, she places down her cutlery, walks over and throws her arms around him, welcoming him into their home. She holds him in place, perplexed at his presence, and they exchange long overdue pleasantries.
Alexander, still sat at the table, observes the stranger with suspicion.
“I cannot believe you’re here. It has been so long,” said Li.
“Twenty-seven years to be exact,” Michael clarified. “You have not aged a day.”
“Oh please, you always did know how to flatter a woman. Come, please be seated.”
Michael takes a place next to their grandchild. Realising he is being watch, he offers Alexander a gentle nod hello.
“Hello, my name is Alexander. What is your name?”
Michael looks around to Charles and Li blankly. He turns to the child and explai
ned, “I’m sorry, my Chinese is not what is used to be. It wasn’t very good even then.”
“English darling,” insisted Li.
Reluctantly he reintroduces himself so that Michael can understand.
“Nice to meet you Alexander, I’m Professor Michael Hastings,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.
Blankly staring at the foreign gesture, Alexander ignores it and pours more Kung Pao into his blow before passing the sizable remains to Michael.
“It is my favourite. I can’t eat anymore though. You can finish off the rest for me,” he explained with a smile.
“Thank you. I’ve been wanting to taste some of this famous Neo-Shanxi food.”
“Famous food?” remarked Li.
“All those who travel to Shanxi come back with recommendations of where to eat, where to drink and where to hear the best music.”
“My mother sings,” said Alexander.
“Ah! Well, I’ll have to come see her perform sometime.”
“Congratulations by the way, Professor,” said Charles, changing the subject.
Shrugging off the compliment to hide his awkwardness, Michael tucks into the food. Impressed he gives his approval to Alexander.
“What brings you to Shanxi?”
Li places a hand over her husband’s. “Let’s not discuss business over dinner.”
“Too right, let us enjoy the food,” said Michael. “Tell me, how are Alistair and Oscar?”
“My father works at the Labs with Grandfather,” said Alexander.
“Oscar,” clarified Li.
Figuring that the child is no more than six years old, Michael is confounded at how young Oscar must have been to father Alexander.
“A scientist and a father. When does he find time to sleep?”
“I do question that myself. Three sons, by the way,” said Charles.
“Alistair sits in the Assembly with my father. Our youngest is Wesley,” said Li.
“And what does Wesley do? A student?”
“No, they closed down the university a long time ago now. Wesley has a job in the metal works. But I have a feeling this will only be temporary,” explained Charles.
