Monk Punk and Shadow of the Unknown Omnibus

by Aaron French

  “What sort of weapons?”

  Wong stood straight, adopting a cautious air. “The most magical and esoteric. This group supplied me with the schematics, claiming they had acquired them through meditation up in the Akasha ethers. I can show you, but first I’ll need your word that you will choose me over any competition, should you decided on the trade route.”

  Li Xi swore. He was not a liar, nor was he immoral, nor a thief. But he had learned a long time ago that sometimes playful indirectness went a long way when hunting after the truth.

  Wong led him through a small wooden arch, the wide workshop where tools and tables lay scattered about the forge, and ventured further through another arch, which led to a hall, and then into the blacksmith’s house. In the sitting room Wong removed a decorative rug and beneath opened a hinged wood hatch. A rickety bamboo ladder descended.

  Lighting a lantern, Wong led the way down to another workshop much like the surface-level one. He lit a few torches and in no time dense shadows wove through the firelight.

  A collection of metal workings and machinery became visible. The forge was connected to a ponderous contraption from which slinking tubes fell away, and to another coal-driven bellows-like apparatus attached to a large furnace. Beside the furnace, fixed to a rack mounted along the wall, gleamed several tri-pronged swords.

  “What do you think?” Wong said.

  “I think it is very impressive. However I do not understand it.”

  Wong grinned. “Observe this demonstration.” He donned a very heavy pair of goggles, then shoveled coals into the furnace and fired a torch. The room filled with smoke.

  “Won’t it kill us?” Li Xi asked.

  Wong rushed to a metallic plaque on the wall, flipped a lever, and a section of the ceiling fell inward, revealing a dark upward-traveling shaft. He flicked another lever and a howling wind came from up there, sucking smoke out the hole.

  “A large fan takes it right out of the city,” he said, rushing about the forge and heating one of the tri-pronged weapons. Once the blade had brightened, he flipped another lever that sent the metal tubes into chugging life.

  The box-shaped machine-structure groaned, discharging puffs of steam, expanding and contracting in the manner of a hand-held fan. Wong opened a heavy door and placed the weapon onto a slab. He moved to the control panel nearby, spinning dials and checking gauges. A high-pitched whine forced Li Xi to cover his ears.

  When silence returned, Wong opened the door, and, grinning like a weasel, he signaled to Li Xi, who approached and gazed into the hollow cavity, waving smoke from his face.

  Wong withdrew the weapon. Strange gems, connected to tiny glass tubes, festooned the hilt. As he swung it through the air, a soothing bell sound emerged.

  “Blade of the Elements,” he said, handing the weapon to Li Xi. The old sage turned it over, examining all the nuances and intricacies, noting with significant intrigue a large black tube somehow inlaid into the blade itself, running from hilt to prongs, fanning into each and forming a spiderweb design.

  Handing it back, Li Xi nodded. “I am impressed.”

  Wong bowed. “You haven’t seen its crowning attributions. Gems and tubes correspond, astrologically, to the stars and planets, to the very elements themselves. Through an alchemical process of spirit and matter—when wielded by a master who is in tune with such processes—the triad of blades calls forth the elements: fire, wind, earth, water, and light.”

  “Please, show me.”

  “Er, no. Not in here. As you can imagine, the destruction wrought by such effects causes considerable amounts of devastation. And… I’m not quite a master as such that can even utilize this weapon.”

  “Then who is it for?”

  He hesitated. But his desire to dispense such coveted information got the better of him. “The British have their unaccountable knowledge of science. They possess strange weapons: underwater torpedoes fired from ships like swimming dragons; stars dropped from the sky; wind-spewing turbines that gather air and keep their ships flying; horrid flat sticks which project deathly fire balls. This has enabled them to conquer and enslave our people—”

  Li Xi’s blood boiled. “I know all this—why speak of it?”

  Wong continued. “The weapon I hold in my hands is the epitome of their grand science. Yet it is fused with our spirituality, The Way of Heaven, so it is eighty times more powerful.”

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. “There are those who oppose the British rule, who not only oppose it but are willing to fight against it, to reclaim our people and our land. But they are secret. They have their hideout in the city. It’s this group that gave me the schematics for the triad blades. They alone can wield them.” He brightened. “But that is good for business, eh?”

  “Indeed. All of this interests me,” Li Xi said, “for I too feel the hurt of our people. I feel it strongly, so I would support such a group. Where might I seek them out and see a demonstration of the blades?”

  Wong frowned. “Such a thing is not to be permitted.”

  Li Xi gave the man his word again. Wong revealed to him the district and corresponding building where he might find the sect. Li Xi thanked him prodigiously, heaping praises on his smithing prowess, assuring him that no other could possibly be considered for the potential trade route. The two men parted under a friendly sign.

  ***

  In the morning Li Xi wandered through the market square. Xi’an was yet to receive its “Crowned Monarch” as they were called—mechanical steam-driven beings which British officials promised would eventually oversee every major town in China. Xi’an was one of the only “autonomous” places left.

  However the Eyes kept watch to make sure no insurrection was aroused. These Eyes the British had installed on every tower, including the bell tower. Crude, semi-metallic things with blinking red lights, in the shape of inverted telescopes, surmounted by flat, box-shaped mirrors.

  Spying on the citizens of Xi’an, the Eyes acted as window-like portals through which the British rulers could glimpse into their world from afar. Such devices seemed magical to Li Xi. To consider how much qi was required to utilize these scientific marvels, and how much of it had to remain frozen, pent up and bundled in high-powered material forms, made Li Xi very nervous. Soon a price would come for such cleverness.

  He had traveled all the way from a village near Fuzhou, where he’d been living in peace and farming for the last thirty years. The current somnolent atmosphere of Xi’an was in fact a real comfort after the horrors he’d witnessed in Hong Kong, Guangzhou, and Chongqing.

  Xi’an was purportedly the hideout of the re-emergent White Lotus Society, a brotherhood of esoteric Buddhists who took up arms in the fight against evil. The same group to which Zhu Yuanzhang, vanquisher of the Mongols and of the Yuan dynasty, had once belonged. This brotherhood was the reason Li Xi had come to Xi’an.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures... and powerful symbols, Li Xi thought.

  Eventually he wandered away from the market square and reached the warehouse district. Large wood buildings, designated for stockpiling rice, tea, weapons, metals, agricultural goods, pottery, and silk, dominated both sides of the street.

  He recognized several entranceways, into which men skulked, that he knew to be opium dens, sties of sloth and dream introduced to his people by the West. He shook his head sadly.

  The building resembling Wong’s description finally appeared, a large structure with the characters for “Teas of the Sun” engraved above the door. As per Wong’s instructions, he eschewed the front entrance and went around to the back. He rapped on the door and a stern man wearing a white robe answered.

  “I am here out of the spirit of my heart,” Li Xi said. “My people are suffering. My country lies in ruin. My fingers burn with vengeance.”

  The man eyed him mistrustfully.

  “Observe.”

  Li Xi assumed the proper stance, cultivating qi and holding out his hand, palm up, fingers cu
rled. A little flame burned there without touching his skin. He held it for the man to see, then closed his fist, smothering the flame.

  The man nodded and opened the door.

  He led Li Xi down a narrow hallway adorned with tapestries of lotus designs and flaming Oriental dragons. The corridor dipped suddenly, rows of torches following it down, and they moved along a diagonal slant.

  The hallway leveled out and a room opened around them. Then several rooms, each filled with focused young men in karate gi uniforms, punching, kicking, and grunting in unison.

  From the ceiling, now high and composed of a tough-looking wood surface, extensive banners proudly displayed the White Lotus emblem.

  Li Xi grinned.

  He had come to the right place.

  ***

  After passing through an impressive library cut right into the rock itself, stuffed full of books and ancient scrolls, where several hooded individuals sat studying—and then by a scientific laboratory where hot steam plumed in the air and strange metallic appendages snaked and dove, and men in coats wore iron goggles several sizes too big—they then came to a platform and an iron door. High stained glass panels overhead showed a war between angels and demons.

  The man opened the door, admitting Li Xi into an office stuffed with scrolls and stacked with papers. Two men stood to either side of a bamboo desk—guards undoubtedly—wearing gi uniforms, their arms enfolded. Li Xi noticed each had a trident blade strapped to their hip.

  Above the desk hung an enormous black flag bearing the lotus petals, as well as two other signs on either side: a circle with a cross through it, and the symbolical swastika.

  “Sit there,” said the man behind the desk. He pointed to a circular rug on the floor. Li Xi bowed and did as he was told; he knew right away the man possessed great power.

  “My name is Zheng Shi,” he said. “I am Grand Leader of the White Lotus Society. But you I do not know. You appear as a shameless rogue wizard, brandishing fire from your palm in broad daylight.”

  Li Xi gasped. “How did you know?”

  Zheng pointed toward the ceiling where a number of small mirror Eyes, like those the British employed, were mounted along the wall.

  “Are you for the British?”

  Zheng scoffed. “No. But we do have spies among their ranks. Tea goes a long way with Europeans.”

  Li Xi nodded, impressed.

  “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here. Perhaps you’re a spy. Like those British fools who traded us these scientific contraptions for oolong. Perhaps you desire opium.” Zheng leaned forward across the desk, staring right at Li Xi. He was old. But not nearly as old as Li Xi. His body was thick and muscular, and his head was shaved completely bald. He had a face like an iron dog, with piercing eyes that somehow managed to look both into the room and out of it simultaneously. He seemed fierce and kind, never giving over completely to either.

  “First of all, my name is Li Xi, and I have never used opium,” he said. “Opium is the blight of our people. I have lived a long life and I have studied and put into practice Lao Tzu’s The Way of the Tao, and I believe I have achieved inner harmony with nature. In order to reach such a state, it was necessary to abstain from all drugs and alcohol.”

  Zheng laughed. “Wise man. Then what brings you here?”

  “I am well-versed in the history of our great nation and our dynasties. I know the Mongol dogs were eventually rooted out of the Forbidden City, enabling Ming successors to be ushered in. These days white British rats occupy the City. When I heard the White Lotus was back, my heart swelled with the thought of devoting my strength again to China.”

  “Hmm. This falls in line with our cause.”

  “What cause?”

  “To eradicate evil from the face of the earth, beginning here, in our country. We wish to prepare the reincarnation of Maitreya, the great Buddha, the Perfected One. This great spirit will soon appear in the flesh to teach all people the pure Dharma. For these are dark times. The spirit of materialism, whom the Christians call Satan, which we know by another name, wants to fool the entire world into believing there is no spirit, no soul, no immortality—that only matter exists, which is ephemeral. This we shall fight against.”

  To this, Li Xi added, “I know from my meditations on the Tao, which I studied while wandering alone in nature, that spirits truly do exist, for I have felt their presence, and I have even perceived them among the trees.”

  “Very good. Then you do not worship the Materialist One,” Zheng said. “The White Lotus Society also aligns itself with the ancient Persian prophet Mani, whose writings have made a powerful impact on our forebears. Our true mission is to eradicate dark materialism, reinstating the good spiritual light. Our mission begins here at home, where the British—though they claim to worship Christ but in actuality are materialists—have asserted power and dominion.”

  “Your words are music to my troubled ears,” Li Xi said. “I cannot wait to join the White Lotus, if you’ll have me.”

  Zheng looked him up and down. “You have six months to prove yourself to the Society. But if you should be uncovered as a British spy, you will be executed.”

  Li Xi bowed. “I am most grateful. There is one more thing…”

  “Yes?”

  He pointed to the tridents attached to the guards’ hips. “I desire a demonstration of your curious weapons.”

  Zheng grinned. “You are keenly observant, Master Xi. Please follow me.”

  He marched out of the room, the guards and Li Xi following.

  ***

  Deep in the earth—in a cavernous chamber lit by circular rows of torches, a polished wood floor, a ceiling of crags and stalactites, so spacious that each uttered word became an echo—Zheng sat in a throne upon a wood tabernacle adorned in the expected gold symbology, his guards flanking him. Li Xi hung to the side. Before them, three men in gi uniforms stood at fighting position, trident blades extended.

  “What you shall observe,” Zheng said, “requires first arduous study and mastery over the elder mysteries of the world. Only then can the five elements be wielded at will.”

  “My interest in the Tao has opened some pathways,” Li Xi said. “But I’ve never used my abilities in combination with an artifact.”

  Zheng signaled to the three men who had their eyes closed in deep meditation; each began twirling their sword, blades whooshing and echoing through the air. Moving in unison. Weapons spinning in arcs. They yelled, expelling qi.

  Zheng signaled to them again, and suddenly, after a conjoined cry, all three trident-swords burst into flames. Waves of heat flowed in watery streaks. The men paced together and leaped and lunged, fiery blades releasing showers of sparks.

  After another signal, they yelled and the swords turned light blue, and water and ice flung down from above. Then they became brownish-green and rocks and minerals dripped down their blades, scattering across the floor. Huge boulders appeared, shaking the chamber.

  “Now wind,” Zheng ordered, and the blades became like transparent crystals, and the men spun, whirling like the Sufi dervishes of Arabia, calling forth great blustering gusts. The chamber howled; the torches guttered and nearly blew out.

  Zheng rose to his feet. “Summon the light!”

  At once the trident-swords glowed like the sun and bright white heat that scorched Li Xi’s eyes entered the room. He remained aware of the three men leaping about and thrusting their blades, but all had become blinding white. Throughout his travels, he had never encountered a power so great.

  The British armies are doomed, he thought joyously.

  Zheng shouted at the men to cease, then turned to Li Xi. “What do you think?”

  Li Xi smiled. “I think I am in a divine place.”

  “So let it be,” replied the leader of the White Lotus Society.

  ***

  For months Li Xi trained. He was given a room in the barracks where he lived with the other new recruits (most of whom were younger), and spent his days i
n the library reading the ancient texts, his evenings applying what he had learned in the laboratories and dojos, nights in mediation. His Taoist background allowed for a smooth intermediary, and much of what he learned he could put straight into practice. He quickly rose from the rank of novitiate to pre-Initiate.

  Yet where Li Xi excelled at study and Taoist wizardry, his younger brothers evinced an aptitude for martial arts and calisthenics—Li Xi’s weak points.

  Zheng assured him on countless occasions that this was no problem. “There are plenty of men willing to battle it out fisticuffs with the British,” he said. “But not nearly enough devoted to the deep philosophical and spiritual teachings of the Lotus. You just take it easy on those hurdles and sack races,” the leader joked.

  The two had become friends, a development Li Xi welcomed, for they shared similar ideas about life and a mutual desire to see British forces eradicated. Some nights in Zheng’s office they discussed The Art of War and similar material, as well as thoughts about spirituality and the preparation of the coming Buddha.

  An important component of being a member of the White Lotus was to work in the outer world. Thus they were periodically summoned from barrack life to go perform services for the Xi’an community. This included everything from patrolling the markets, cleaning trash from the park and streets, washing wood sidewalks, building and repairing structures, even working in the surrounding rice paddies and managing seasonal floods.

  Li Xi, a proud Chinaman, proud of his people and their legacy, took to this work with enthusiasm. He volunteered at the palace, gaining himself the reputation of a “do-gooder” among the literati and political officials.

  Regular meetings were held in the grand hall of the secret White Lotus hideout, which all members attended, nearly two hundred gathering in the underground chamber. Honorable Zheng presided over the meetings, speaking to the crowd from a podium up front.