by Dan Lee
Dan Lee spends his time travelling between Asia and Britain. A wing chun master, he also trains in kickboxing and ju-jitsu.
Books in The Tangshan Tigers series
THE STOLEN JADE
THE GOLDEN KEY
TANGSHAN
TIGERS
The Stolen Jade
Dan Lee
PUFFIN
For James and Deborah Noble
With special thanks to Brandon Robshaw
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published 2008
1
Series created by Working Partners, London
Text copyright © Working Partners Ltd, 2008
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
978-0-14-191965-2
CONTENTS
1 The First Day
2 The Jade Dish
3 Memory Games
4 Field Trip
5 The Tigers Are Formed
6 The First Mission
7 The Opponents Arrive
8 Countdown to the Tournament
9 Combat!
Chapter 1
THE FIRST DAY
‘Wow!’ said Matt.
‘Yes,’ smiled his mother. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’
The pale morning sun shone on the vast red and gold building that was the Beijing International Academy.
‘It looks like a temple or something!’ said Matt.
‘Traditional Chinese architecture, in the style of the Han Dynasty,’ his mother told him, slamming the car door shut behind her. ‘But you’ll find it’s pretty modern inside.’
Matt hardly heard his mother’s words, his excitement growing as they climbed up the wide, imposing steps. Wind-chimes tinkled as the doors parted before them.
They found themselves in a large entrance hall with a dizzyingly high ceiling. A fountain burbled. On the wall, a huge plasma screen read WELCOME TO THE BEIJING INTERNATIONAL ACADEMY, with a constantly changing visual display beneath. There were scores of boys and girls milling about, and Matt could see at a glance why this was called the International Academy – some looked European, some looked Asian, some American, some African… It reminded him of an embassy party he’d once been to with his mother, only this time with kids instead of grown-ups.
As he walked across the foyer, a few kids turned round and stared. Feeling self-conscious, Matt smiled. One boy, a stocky, dark-haired kid with glasses, about Matt’s age, smiled back.
Matt’s mother approached the reception desk where a smartly dressed Chinese man with a tiny black beard stood, waiting politely. She said something in rapid Mandarin. The receptionist bowed and replied in perfect English: ‘Ah yes, Ambassador James, we have been expecting you – you were detained in London, I understand?’ This was true. Matt had been detained – by a surprise farewell party his friends had thrown for him. Fortunately, his mum had been in on the secret and had rearranged his flight.
‘Yes, I had some business to sort out before coming here – I told Mr Wu –’
‘Oh yes, that is fine. Matt has only missed a couple of days, just settling in, that is all. Welcome to the Beijing International Academy, Matt.’
‘Thank you,’ said Matt, trying a bow. It must have been the right thing to do, because the receptionist bowed again in return.
‘I’ll leave you to settle in then,’ his mother said. ‘Now you remember to work hard, you understand?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Matt. ‘Hey, Mum, won’t it be great if I get into the martial arts squad?’
‘Don’t forget that your lessons are the most important thing.’
Matt didn’t quite see it this way, but he nodded and said, ‘Uh huh.’
‘So glad we agree,’ said his mother dryly. ‘Well, I must go.’ She spread out her arms. ‘How about a hug for your mum?’
‘Er – OK.’ Matt hugged her briefly, then stepped back. He would have liked to give her a proper hug, but it was embarrassing with all these kids watching. His mother smiled, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
‘You’ve got my number if you want to call. I won’t be far away.’
‘Sure. Bye, Mum.’
She turned and waved when she reached the door. The wind-chimes tinkled again, and she was gone.
The receptionist checked a list. ‘You will be rooming with Johnny Goldberg.’ He looked up and raised his voice. ‘Johnny?’
The boy who’d smiled at Matt approached. ‘Hi.’
‘This is Matt James, your new room-mate. Could you help him settle in?’
‘Glad to.’ Johnny stuck out his hand and Matt shook it. ‘You want to come see the room?’
‘Sure,’ said Matt.
‘Oh, wow!’ said Matt for the second time that day.
‘Yup. Pretty cool, isn’t it?’
The room was large and modern. Two beds stood against opposite walls. There was an en suite bathroom and shower. The floor-to-ceiling window gave on to a superb view of Beijing, a vibrant jumble of ancient and modern buildings as far as Matt could see.
‘Some view, huh?’ said Johnny. He had an American accent. ‘It’s an amazing place, this city. Full of history.’
‘You’d get on well with my mum,’ said Matt. ‘She’s crazy about Chinese history.’
‘Yeah? So’s Shawn Hung – he rooms just opposite, with Olivier. Wanna go and see if they’re there? They’re great guys – you’ll like them.’
‘Sure,’ said Matt. ‘Let’s go!’
They crossed the passageway and Johnny tapped on the door facing them. It opened, and there stood a boy, who greeted them with a friendly smile.
‘Hi, Shawn. This is my new room-mate Matt – he’s just arrived. Thought I’d introduce you guys.’
‘Hiya, Matt,’ said Shawn. Like Johnny, he had an American accent. ‘Come on in!’
A tall, elegant-looking boy was lounging in an armchair. He got up and politely shook Matt’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Olivier Girard.’ He had the lightest trace of a French accent.
The room was every bit as stylish and hi-tech as Matt’s own room, with a similar floor-to-ceiling view of Beijing. A laptop computer sat on a desk, displaying a screen-saver of two martial arts experts going through a sequence of moves: attackin
g, blocking, counter-attacking.
‘Hey,’ said Matt. ‘I like the screen-saver!’
‘Yeah, I put that up myself,’ said Shawn. ‘You into martial arts?’
‘Big time.’
‘You any good?’
Matt hesitated. His instructor in London had told him that he was very talented for his age – but the standard at the Academy might be far higher than he was used to. ‘I try my best,’ he said. ‘I’ve a long way to go before I’d call myself good.’
Shawn nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Judo’s my sport, by the way.’
That figured. Matt saw that he had just the right physique for judo: he had a low centre of gravity and looked stocky and well balanced. Matt, being taller with a longer reach, was better equipped for the ‘stand-up’ forms of combat.
‘Mine’s tae kwon-do.’
‘Cool! We could learn a lot from each other.’
Matt liked Shawn for seeing it like that. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘I bet we could.’
‘Maybe I could join the tutorial then,’ said Olivier with a grin. ‘I do kung fu.’
‘Looks like we’ve almost got a squad right here!’ said Matt. ‘How about you, Johnny? Do you do any martial arts?’
Johnny shook his head, grinning. ‘Basketball’s my game.’
‘I thought – don’t you have to be tall to be good at basketball?’ asked Matt. For a moment he wished he hadn’t said it, thinking it might sound rude. But Johnny didn’t seem to mind.
‘You do need tall guys in the team, for sure,’ he said. ‘But they don’t all have to be tall. I can pass and shoot and dribble – I can get right in under the guard of those tall players. I’m hoping to get into the team here.’
‘Hope you make it,’ said Matt.
Olivier lounged back into his armchair. ‘How about you, Matt? Are you gonna try out for the martial arts squad?’
‘It’s the main reason I wanted to come here,’ said Matt.
‘Me too!’ laughed Olivier.
‘Well, good luck,’ said Matt. ‘I hope you make the squad.’
‘Let’s hope we all do,’ said Shawn. ‘Chang Sifu’s holding the try-outs tomorrow!’
‘What’s he like?’ asked Matt. He felt nervous and excited at the thought of being taught by the legendary Master Chang. Or Chang Sifu, according to the Chinese way of saying things. Matt knew that studying with Chang was the chance of a lifetime.
‘We haven’t been coached by him yet – but he’s supposed to be hot stuff, from what I’ve heard,’ Shawn replied. ‘Mr Wu, the Principal, drafted him in – reckons he’s the only guy who can coach us up to the level to beat the Shanghai Academy. You know they’ve beaten us every time for the last six years? But if anyone can do it, Chang can. He’s got quite a reputation.’
Matt nodded. He knew all about Chang Sifu’s reputation. The promise of Chang Sifu as coach had made him decide to apply here. He’d looked Chang up on the Internet and found out all about his career. He was a kung fu master, a living martial arts legend – he’d won tournaments all over China. Unlike most kung fu fighters, Chang had studied and mastered other, foreign, forms of fighting. He was a judo black belt, eighth dan, and had even won an Olympic gold medal in the sport. He was a karate black belt too, and an expert in tae kwon-do, aikido, even Thai boxing. He’d won tournaments in all of them. Chang had given up fighting competitively now, but in his whole career, spanning over thirty years, he’d only ever been defeated twice – in any form of martial art.
The sound of an electronically amplified gong, rich and resonant, made Matt jump.
‘Hey, that means lunch,’ said Johnny. ‘The food’s pretty good. Let’s go meet the others. They’re a friendly crowd – mostly. You’ll like it here.’
‘I like it here already,’ said Matt.
‘Good morning. My name is Chang Sifu. You may call me Master Chang.’
Matt gazed at him, fascinated. The master was of medium height, and slim. But Matt guessed that Chang would be deadly if he needed to be. His face was virtually unlined, despite his age, and his hair was flecked with grey. He wore a plain white kung fu suit, unadorned except for a black silk belt. He stood with a relaxed air, arms hanging by his sides – yet there was a suggestion of hidden readiness, as though at any moment he might explode into action.
Matt and the others stood in a respectful semi-circle at the edge of the mat. The kwoon – or training hall – was the centre of the Academy’s amazing gymnasium. Matt had felt excited when he read about it in the prospectus, but being here was something else. There was a weights room, a gym with vaults, bars and beams, a swimming pool, squash courts, basketball courts and even a five-a-side football pitch. The Beijing International Academy offered a full range of sports beside martial arts. But it was the kwoon that was the beating heart of the place. Today was the day of the try-outs. Matt’s own heart was beating fast.
Chang didn’t begin with the tryouts. First, he made the group do some stretching exercises. Then he said, ‘Before the try-outs, let us practise a basic block technique.’ He spoke softly but clearly. His English was fluent but slightly accented. ‘To defend against strike, like so –’ he thrust out a hand with blinding speed – ‘we employ two-handed block, like so.’ He changed stance and brought up his arms, wrists together. Matt knew similar moves from tae kwon-do, but he had never seen them executed with such speed and grace. ‘Equally effective against kicks, str ikes and punches,’ said Chang. ‘In pairs, please, find a space on mat. Take in turns to strike then block.’
Matt found himself paired with Catarina Ribeiro. He had met her at lunch with Johnny yesterday and they’d got on well. She was a Brazilian girl, taller than Matt, with long black hair – tied back today – and dark brown eyes. She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, and had originally trained in the dance form of the South American martial art capoeira, before taking lessons in the combat form of the art – without telling her father.
‘But wouldn’t your dad be mad if he found out?’ Johnny had asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Catarina with a laugh. ‘But he won’t find out!’ Matt and Johnny had joined in the laughter; Catarina’s giggle was infectious.
Master Chang clapped his hands. ‘Bow to your partner – and begin.’
‘Do you want to go first?’ asked Matt.
‘Sure, why not?’ said Catarina – and immediately struck out at Matt. She was fast; he only just got the block up in time.
‘Hey, you’re good!’ he told her.
Catarina smiled. ‘You too. You block fast.’
He and Catarina soon fell into a steady rhythm: attack, block; block, attack. Out of the corner of his eye Matt noticed Chang going around quietly watching each pair in turn, sometimes correcting a stance with a touch on the shoulder, sometimes demonstrating the strike or block again, but never saying a word. When he came to Matt and Catarina he watched for a while, then nodded and moved away. Matt felt a glow of pride, and so, to judge by her expression, did Catarina.
Master Chang returned to the centre of the tatami – a large square white mat, firm but springy. He clapped his hands. ‘Now it is time for try-outs. Let me first explain. The eleven most promising fighters will be selected for this year’s squad.’
Matt did a quick scan-count of all the kids in the room. There were just over fifty. He let out a slow breath, as he realized he only had around a one-in-five chance of making it.
‘The squad is to compete in the Divisional Championship,’ Chang went on. ‘This Championship is mixed combat – that is, a variety of styles is permitted. Facing an opponent of unfamiliar style may cause problems. A fighter from tradition such as ju–jitsu or judo against stand-up kung fu or karate fighter finds he has to defend against strikes and kicks and cannot get to close quarters to perform a throw. Or a karate fighter drawn into close quarters cannot use repertoire of strikes; once on the floor he is helpless. For this reason the complete martial artist should have working knowledge of both take-down and stand-up sty
les. For try-outs you will each fight two bouts: one against fighter of same or similar style to your own; one against fighter of contrasting tradition.
‘Before we begin, let us ready ourselves. Stand still, relax, drop shoulders. Breathe slowly in, out, in, out. You are sleeping tigers. Soon tiger will awake. Now, it rests.’
Matt let his shoulders drop. He felt his sinews relax as he breathed deeply in and out. He was a powerful tiger, the great muscles at rest beneath the striped fur…
‘What is this garbage?’ he heard a voice beside him mutter. ‘Sleeping tigers – that’s kids’ stuff. Let’s get on with the fighting!’
The voice belonged to Carl Warrick, a big blonde Australian boy. Matt had heard him the day before, bragging about his prowess at karate. He’d spoken under his breath just now, but Master Chang’s eyes flicked towards him instantly. Chang said nothing, but slowly raised a finger to his lips. Carl looked down at the mat.
Calm descended once again. Master Chang waited. Then he clapped his hands.
‘First bout,’ he said softly. ‘Carl Warrick against Stephane Krupps.’
The two boys faced each other on the mat and bowed. The fight began.
Stephane, like Carl, was a karateka. But it was clear from the word go that he was outclassed. Carl’s boasts about his skill had not been empty. He swept aside Stephane’s defence, bearing him backwards and raining down blows; then he swept his legs from under him and Stephane was down on the mat, gasping for breath.
Master Chang raised his hand to signal that the bout was over. But to Matt’s surprise, Carl took no notice. He grabbed Stephane by his tunic and hauled him to his feet.
‘That was too easy, kid. Let’s go again!’
‘No,’ said Chang, without raising his voice. He strode forward. ‘Your father is famous karate champion,’ he said. ‘Member of Australian Olympic team.’