The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Jingsha’s leg connected with Wudan’s chest, but—Wudan’s hands were faster.

  He grabbed Jingsha’s leg and began twisting.

  Jingsha had to do cartwheels to keep up with Wudan’s turns of his hands.

  The monks clapped and hooted with excitement—they loved this!

  Jingsha pulled his leg from Wudan’s grasp and rolled away on the ground.

  Wudan sprang high into the air and landed behind Jingsha’s back.

  He squatted on the ground and shot out a leg sideswipe to Jingsha’s butt, pushing his good friend over.

  Both jumped up, but Wudan was a millisecond faster. Wudan pivoted and landed a left foot onto Jingsha’s chin.

  A rapid-fire series of twisting left and right punches landed on Jingsha’s torso and sent him toppling, but Jingsha managed to grab Wudan’s leg and brought Wudan to the floor with him.

  Both did backward handsprings to land upright on their feet.

  Wudan lifted his arms in the air and curved them like tiger’s paws.

  Jingsha spread his arms wide like a crane in flight.

  Was this going to be Tiger versus Crane instead of Tiger and Crane?

  Suddenly, Wudan brought his fists together and fired them out—left, right, left, right at chest level. Each blow was accompanied with a little twist that gave them extra energy and made them harder to grab.

  Wudan was relentless. His feet kicked out to Jingsha’s thighs, causing Jingsha to buckle.

  Wudan clapped his hands hard at his friend’s temples, and Jingsha crumpled to the ground.

  Wudan made the Shaolin handsign to his fallen comrade.

  “Wudan!”

  Wudan turned sharply to see the chief monk, Sigong Zhang, glaring at him.

  Wudan prostrated himself in front of the grandmaster.

  “You are making Shaolin a circus. How many times have I told you to stop this?”

  “Forgive me, Sigong. Forgive me, Grandmaster. I will never do this again.”

  Sigong Zhang twitched. “Never? How do I know that?”

  Wudan stood and looked at the Sigong directly. “Because I am leaving now and will never come back again.”

  The mouths of every monk in the compound dropped.

  “Wait, Wudan. You cannot leave,” gasped Jingsha.

  “My time here is over,” said Wudan simply.

  “You are a grandmaster, and will be the next Sigong of Heaven,” said Sigong Zhang, clenching his fists. “You are to take over from me.”

  “You are healthy and will live for fifty years or more.”

  Sigong Zhang looked at his prize pupil. It was pointless to argue with Wudan, just the way it was pointless to have argued with his brother, the drunk, in the Fujian village.

  That was the way of life. Every year that passed, someone arrived and someone left the monastery.

  But this was the first time a grandmaster had left. One who had true knowledge.

  “What ails you, Wudan?”

  “I want to spread the word to the world about Hung Gar.”

  Sigong Zhang shook his head in disbelief. To leave because he wanted children or women or to eat meat—he could understand that. But not to evangelize for Hung Gar.

  “I cannot bless you for that, Wu,” he said quietly, disappointed.

  “I am not asking for your blessing.” Wudan turned and strode toward the gate. He could never tell any of them the real reason he was leaving. It would be too painful for him to say and for this group of monks that had become his family to hear.

  He could tell them that his heart was not there. Meditation, yes. Scripture study, yes. Martial arts, no.

  In his heart of hearts, Wudan was a warrior. He could have all the sparring sessions that he wanted with Jingsha, Sigong Zhang and anyone else… but it was meaningless. Nothing was at stake.

  A warrior without a war was useless. Wudan would not seek battle, but he would be there if he was needed. And he would prepare others to be offensive and defensive. To be able to take a stand.

  He knew that would never happen in Heaven. There were no wars there.

  That was why he had to leave.

  And Sigong Zhang knew it, too.

  ***

  After a month, Wudan arrived in Jinshanzui, a quaint little seaside town south of Shanghai. However, unlike his previous travels as a little boy to Shanghai where he was given shelter and food by people who took pity on him, this time villagers were honored to assist this handsome monk. A special bonus was the monk’s ability to chop wood with his bare hands and punish bullies without weapons.

  From Jinshanzui, Wudan took passage on a junk, one of those sturdy old Chinese sailing vessels that had been in use for fifteen hundred years. Along with chickens, a pet dog, a mini-vegetable garden and the captain’s family, they set sail for Hong Kong. Wudan had never been on a boat. In fact, he had never been off the mainland of China or seen the ocean.

  So how did Wudan pick Hong Kong? How did he even know about it? After all, at Heaven there was little contact with the outside world: no newspapers, no National Geographic magazines, no television, no telephones.

  The answer was the other seekers who came to Heaven. Coming from all parts of Chinese-speaking Asia, they told of their experiences. Wudan found the stories of those from Hong Kong fascinating, especially to find out that there were white people there, some who could speak Chinese.

  Now if a white could speak Chinese, maybe he could learn English?

  That would be awesome!

  Hong Kong was everything Wudan hoped it would be, and more. Except for his very brief visit to Shanghai as a lad, he had never been to a place so vibrant, so full of people… and so in need of what he had to offer.

  Wudan started offering martial arts lessons. He did not charge anything but added a condition that, along with the physical training, there must be study of the Way, of Scriptures and of meditation. He had no money to rent a studio, but that was no problem—a park was a wonderful place to learn.

  Despite Wudan’s obvious prowess and lack of tuition charged to pupils, there were few students for the humble monk. He began a time of self-flagellation, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong.

  Enlightenment came when a teenage school dropout who had run away from England arrived. This young man struggled with Chinese, just the way Wudan struggled with English. The teen asked Wudan, “You know, calling you ‘Wudan’ is kind of hard. Can I just call you ‘Master Wu?’”

  Wudan thought a moment, then smiled and said in his broken English, “I… I like.”

  That day marked the end of Wudan and the emergence of Master Wu.

  The teenage runaway’s name? Garret Southam.

  ***

  It was amazing what a change of name could do. Neither Garret nor Master Wu knew the terminology but, by adding the honorific “Master” and shortening Wudan to Wu, they had successfully branded “Master Wu.”

  It was an easily recognizable name, and Master Wu became well known and respected in a short time. As the number of students grew, he rented a studio. This was not only a place to learn and meditate but, for many students, it was a place to live. It was not an easy existence, though, especially as Master Wu insisted on keeping his policy of not charging anyone.

  Garret, an ambitious and eager student, developed ties with two other teenage disciples: Chin Chee Fok and Tommy Sung. Garret taught them and Master Wu how to speak English, and they taught the Brit how to speak Mandarin and Cantonese.

  Chin, Tommy and Garret were inseparable. They lived and breathed Hung Gar Shaolin Martial Arts. They also dove into the Scripture study and meditated for hours. Master Wu didn’t believe in dreaming, but even he had visions of creating a new Heaven in Hong Kong.

  The group was broke, though, and living hand to mouth was a constant challenge. That didn’t matter too much at first. After all, becoming Shaolin masters was the aim of them all, but young people being young people… well, things changed.

  The triumvirate grew
increasingly restless. It was all well and good to be in a small studio and to learn, but that was not progress. They wanted to spread the “good news” of Hung Gar to the universe. Chin was the most enthusiastic, and he often went out into the streets to perform “tricks” for the gawkers. Earning a few bucks didn’t hurt either.

  Sometimes Garret and Tommy joined Chin, and this became a real event. Groups gathered in the parks and squares to see the three break boards with their heads and hands or spar with each other using the Five Animals of the Shaolin techniques: Tiger. Crane. Snake. Leopard. Dragon. The poses were fearful, and the action was ferocious.

  However, what really set them apart from the myriad of other martial artists was their incredible acrobatic ability. Watching them perform was like seeing a Chinese acrobatic show with a martial arts component.

  They launched Chinese daggers at each other. However, just before the dao entered their hearts, it was snatched away by a lightning hand or kicked into the air by a speeding foot.

  Sometimes they handsprung a dozen feet into the air in tandem. At the apex, they clapped each other’s hands or had feet touch feet before dropping to the ground and standing upright.

  Master Wu grew really uncomfortable with making his beloved and sacred Shaolin into a spectacle, but Chin, Tommy and Garret convinced him that this was “progress” and “the way things were done today.” Besides, Master Wu had performed the same showmanship many years ago with Jingsha when he and his friend were guilty of the sin of bringing showmanship into the sacred confines of Heaven.

  The razzle dazzle and an increased pushing of the Master Wu brand worked. New students came all the time and then a bigger studio was needed. It was not even two months, but that was soon outgrown as well. The only real solution was to add more studios. In fairly short order, Master Wu’s name was on five studios with three more in planning.

  This was not cheap but, because the future looked so rosy, banks were willing to lend money to finance the expansion.

  Even more money became available when Chin discovered that nobody at the bank checked the figures they presented. On one loan application, Chin accidentally overstated the income by five hundred dollars. No one at the bank noticed. Chin would not have noticed either except that Garret, who normally did the deposits, pointed out the error.

  Feeling the flush of success—and deceit—Chin grew bolder. From that day on, Chin falsified income statements to help finance even further expansion. He would have gotten away with it except for one thing: business started to tank.

  There were a couple of reasons for this.

  First, the economy was taking one of its cyclical downswings, and donations for lessons were dropping. Against Master Wu’s objections, Chin started charging for the lessons. The strategy backfired. Rather than pay for what they used to get for free or whatever they wanted to give, students stopped coming.

  An even bigger issue was Bruce Lee. Everyone everywhere was so enamored of him that anyone thinking about martial arts wanted to be just like this shrieking movie star chick magnet. Instead of Master Wu’s strict, integrated discipline of meditation, Scripture study and martial arts, students flocked to teachers of Bruce Lee’s looser styles of martial arts, Jeet Kune Do and Wing Chun.

  No boring stuff. All action. Kicking and punching and yelling and leaping like madmen.

  Chin tried to persuade Master Wu to follow suit, but this was one area that Master Wu refused to budge on: Shaolin was spiritual as well as physical.

  Master Wu’s empire started to crumble. Over the next six months, huge debt accumulated, more students dropped out… Seriously diminished income, falling reputation, empty studios. No amount of marketing or branding could save a product nobody wanted.

  And then… hell.

  One morning, three of the remaining students were found dead at the doorstep of the flagship studio/temple.

  Master Wu was beside himself. He cried, he rent his clothes, he flagellated himself but, of course, that did diddly squat. He confronted the three ringleaders, Chin, Garret and Tommy, as to what was going on. Garret and Tommy were ignorant, but Chin defiantly confessed.

  “I did this for you; I did this for us. Because you refused to change and wouldn’t accept what I tried to tell you to do, I had to go out and find another way,” snarled Chin.

  “There is only one way, the Way,” cried Master Wu.

  “You are so pigheaded. Of course there are other ways. I borrowed money.”

  “More money than we borrowed from the banks?” exclaimed Master Wu.

  “Of course.”

  Garret and Tommy were dumbstruck. Although Chin did not state so directly, he didn’t need to. Chin had borrowed money from the Triads, those huge, historic and violent criminal organizations that controlled so much of Asia’s underground. When he didn’t pay back, retribution was swift.

  “And if you don’t start changing now, old man, things will get even worse. You have to do what I say.”

  A line in the sand had been crossed. Let alone the deception, no one had ever insulted Master Wu.

  “That is totally against everything I stand for, everything I have taught you.”

  “You said you wanted to reach out to the world. That is what I have done. This is the way of the future.”

  “If this is the way of the future, I will have none of it. I forbid you to continue.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you anymore. I am a Shaolin master, too,” sneered Chin. “This will be my future.”

  “If that is your future, so be it. I will live in the past,” said Master Wu. He looked at Garret and Tommy. “Do not join him.”

  Garret and Tommy avoided Master Wu’s eyes as they left the temple with Chin.

  Chapter 3

  Master Wu spent the rest of the day in his studio, fasting, meditating and praying.

  He did that all the next day, too.

  And the next day as well until the bailiffs arrived and kicked him out. They left Master Wu with nothing other than the Shaolin monk uniform he wore: a plain, loose-fitting shirt with wide sleeves hanging almost to mid-thigh and baggy, pajama-like pants.

  It was the lowest point of his life, and the master found himself staring at the sky, wondering if he shouldn’t have listened to Sigong Zhang from Heaven and stayed at the mountain monastery. Another thought was to take his own life, but what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t bring back the lives of the three disciples entrusted to him.

  But it would relieve his pain. And it would also ensure that he never made that mistake again.

  Suddenly, he felt a tug on his jacket.

  Master Wu looked down and saw a concerned seven-year-old boy.

  “Hi, Mister. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you keep on looking at the sky as if you’re hoping to see something, but there’s nothing up there except clouds. All the stuff is happening down here.”

  The little boy nodded his head toward the vibrant, narrow street full of hawkers, lovers, haters, vendors selling crazy knickknacks from bamboo flutes to pirated DVDs.

  The little boy extended his hand. “I’m Noah Reid.”

  “I am Master Wu.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you in action.”

  “You have?”

  “Yup. Sometimes I stand in your doorway and watch you. You are amazing. Can we go back inside your studio and you can show me some more?”

  “Well, thank you, Noah Reid. But I don’t live there anymore,” Master Wu told him.

  “Where do you live then?”

  “Nowhere right now.”

  “Hm.” Noah thought hard for a moment. “Let’s go to my place. You can stay with us. I’m from Shanghai. I don’t remember it because I was just two when we left. I’d like to go back and see it again someday, though.”

  The two began walking. A flicker of life emerged in Master Wu as the energy and ambience of the neighborhood soaked in. Just like Noah said, All the stuff is happening
here.

  “Maybe I’ll go with you when you when you head back to Shanghai.”

  “Cool.”

  ***

  It was a short walk before they arrived at the tenement building where Noah lived. Then it was up five flights of stairs—no elevator.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Noah and Master Wu walked to the end of the dark hall to the last apartment.

  There was a sign on the door: “GOOD SHEPHERD SCHOOL.”

  “You wait here, please.”

  Noah entered to see his parents, George and Sarah, in their living room cum classroom. A few of their pupils were graduating, and they hoped to get scholarships for college. Without them, there was no way they could ever hope to go. Tomorrow was another application deadline, and George and Sarah were frantically going over last-minute details with the students.

  “Mommy, Daddy, I made a new friend.”

  Without glancing up, George replied, “That’s nice.”

  “Can he live with us?” asked the young boy.

  Now he had their attention. It was one thing to adopt a stray dog or cat, but it was another to bring a human into the equation.

  “Can we meet him?” asked Sarah in a friendly voice.

  “Sure.”

  Noah opened the door to the flat, and Master Wu entered.

  This was not what George and Sarah expected to see. Instead of a boy Noah’s own age, there was a Chinese man older than themselves.

  And he appeared to be a Buddhist monk.

  Quite the surprise for the Christian missionary teachers.

  And then another surprise. From his standing position, the monk bowed his head so low that the top of his head touched the floor.

  He straightened, stood tall and announced simply, “I am Wu. I am a Shaolin master of Hung Gar.”

  Now, some people might complain if their kid came home and asked if someone could live with them, especially someone they didn’t know anything about.

  Not the Reids, though. Someone had always stayed in their living room or bunked in with Noah or, every now and then, stayed in their room, too. They’d never thought of doing a background check or asking questions and weren’t about to start now.