Black Dragon, Black Cat

by Brian Edwards

  Mao did not find such a thing to be plausible.

  “This is a good sign!” Jai-tien turned around and resumed his descent, still speaking over his shoulder. “Tomorrow you must go into town and barter for new clothes and a belt; you have outgrown your old ones. We will resume training again the day after.”

  Mao’s heart leapt up her throat at this statement, and she felt again the necessity to wipe tears from her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. The two walked briskly down the final bend of the pathway around the green pond.

  Mao was too excited to sleep that evening, and climbed to the roof of the shed to lie on her back and stare at the moon and the teardrop. She watched it long into the night, as the tear slowly dropped toward the horizon. Eventually, it disappeared behind the crest of Mount Shai-lae far off in the distance, but by this time Mao had fallen asleep, curled up on the roof with her knees pulled up to her breast.

  A reawakening

  The next morning, Mao awoke at sunrise when a steady drenching rain began to fall. She shook her head, jumped up, and then climbed down from the roof of the shed. All thoughts of the moon had dissipated from her mind, and she was eager to begin the descent toward the village far below.

  She began the daily chores immediately. She finished them well before noon, and sprinted off toward the village after stuffing rice and vegetables into her mouth as quickly as possible. The rain had not slackened, but Mao’s spirits would not dampen as she bounded down the hillside toward the valley. Although the walk to the village square was usually a full two-hour venture, Mao made it there in half the time, such was her eagerness to begin her new training. She had taken with her a large bag of vegetables grown on the mountain, which she bartered for a new white tunic and pantaloons, and a snow-white belt. These were not, however, the clothes of a girl, but those of a budding young woman. Although not yet fifteen years of age, Mao was no longer a child, but not yet a woman either. She was somewhere in between, during those years when adolescent thoughts change to those of an adult, with much reluctance to let go of childhood perspectives.

  After finishing her business in the village, she stopped at the village fountain, lying on the edge and thinking earnestly of the times she had spent there, usually with troubled thoughts, sliding her hands over the still water at the edge of the fountain. Her thoughts eventually turned to the event at the fountain that time she had met Xieng-gui and the other boys from the monastery. She recalled her elation after her victory, and the pleasure she had taken in taunting him afterwards. She felt very ashamed.

  This led her thoughts naturally to the moments immediately after the fight when she had first met Master Chung Jun. His words on that occasion, and on the second one, dug into her brain and she puzzled for a long time on the history of her master. So he had his own style of kung fu, and no one else knew it? And he was the greatest warrior of his generation? But this could not be true. No one had heard of Jai-tien. How could he be the greatest warrior if he had never competed in the Grand Tournament in Xiaomei? Could it be that he used a different name to compete in the tournament? Was he one of the heroes of the stories she had heard at the monastery as a young child? Maybe he had changed his name since then to avoid being recognized. But why would he hide it? And how did he develop his own style of kung fu? The only great champion she had heard of with a unique style of kung fu was Hei Lang, the legendary Black Dragon.

  All of these thoughts were too much for the adolescent mind of Hei Mao to disentangle, and eventually she shrugged her shoulders and gave up. The only reasonable conclusion she could imagine was again that Master Chung Jun was either delusional or greatly exaggerating the events of the past.

  Mao lay there for an unknown period of time lost in these thoughts before noting the position of the sun in the sky from its reflection in the water. She realized that she needed to hurry back in order to return by the dinner hour, and then begin the evening journey up to the house of Lu-chin. She raced back up the hill as fast as she could manage, and arrived panting at the house with only a few moments to spare.

  The next several months were a return to the tedium of her early training. All of the old exercises were performed again, and although they had seemed relatively easy when her training had abruptly ended after the fight with Xieng-gui, they now took on the excruciating pain of her first days of practice long ago. The teacup exercise was perhaps the worst, with its endless minutes of holding the water-filled cups at arms’ length, trying not to spill a drop while holding the arms straight out from the sides. Then there were the kicks! Again, thousands of repetitions of the same kicks were performed, first one side and then the other. Mao now recalled vividly how awful these exercises had been when she first began training.

  Now that her body had begun to mature, Jai-tien began to teach Hei Mao more complicated techniques and movements. He also became more demanding, expecting not just technical perfection but also an appropriate mental attitude. He would often criticize her when she appeared lazy, and chastise her for being soft when she tired. “You must develop the spirit of a warrior, if you are ever to be a warrior!”, was his oft-repeated mantra.

  On the first cool day of the fall season, Jai-tien called an end to the exercises late in the afternoon. “Hei Mao,” he began, “soon we will begin sparring again, possibly in the spring. But first, I need to teach you some of the more sophisticated techniques of our style of kung fu, those which truly make it unique.”

  “In most styles of kung fu,” he continued, “a twist kick is performed by raising the knee and passing it across the body similarly to a side kick, and then extending and twisting it forward toward the opponent.” He demonstrated this several times with each leg. “But in our style of kung fu, the raised knee is passed to the outside of the body, and then propelled forward into the opponent’s stomach. Unfortunately, I cannot demonstrate it properly: I do not possess the necessary degree of flexibility in the hips. However, I can still teach you how to do it.”

  Mao attempted to follow Jai-tien’s instructions, but it was difficult for her to imagine what to do without a demonstration. She wished that he were twenty years younger so that he could show her exactly how to do this new technique. However, after fifteen minutes had elapsed, she finally gained an understanding and a degree of competence in the movement.

  “Very good!”, Jai-tien pronounced at length. “You have learned the basic technique behind this powerful kick. The twisting motion is crucial to the technique, as it allows one to strike the opponent from all angles, even side to side. Now, you must perform a thousand repetitions with each leg, and I will critique your performance.”

  Mao let out a disgruntled sigh, and began the long series of kicks.

  As all evenings since the resumption of training, Mao fell quickly to sleep by the iron stove shortly after returning from the house of Mother Lu-chin. She was deep in a restful slumber when she felt a horrifying cold sensation splash over the upper half of her body. She let out a loud, startled scream and rolled off of her sleeping mat onto the floor and attempted to gather her thoughts and understand what had just occurred. She was on her hands and knees on the floor, and she could feel some cold substance falling from her face and chest. After several moments of rapidly churning thoughts, she realized that she had been splashed with cold water. She looked up and around in the faintly lit room near the stove, and saw the knobby knees of her master standing before her in his evening robe, holding an empty bucket. She shook her head in disbelief, flinging water droplets in all directions.

  “Master!”, she cried out, “why did you do this? I was sleeping!” She looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping for some logical explanation. She realized how cold the water was, and she began to shiver in her wet nightclothes.

  “You sleep like a log, Hei Mao!”, he scolded her. “I can hear you breathing so heavily that I could throw a rock from a hundred feet away in complete blackness and strike you in the mouth. If you are to be a true warrior, you must
learn to sleep noiselessly so that your enemy cannot sense your presence. Also, you must learn to sleep lightly so that no one may surprise you during the night. What will you do when your opponent creeps up on you stealthily while you sleep? Will you lie there to be slaughtered like a pig, never to awaken from your sleep? You must learn to sense your environment, even when you are sleeping; a warrior is never safe, and must be eternally vigilant. That is the price you must pay for the lifestyle that you chose.” He sat the bucket on the floor near Mao’s feet, and went back into his sleeping quarters.

  Mao started to cry, and rolled back onto her sleeping mat. She was soaked with water from the waist up, and half of her bedding materials had been drenched as well. She pulled her mat as near to the stove as possible, then curled up tightly on the dry half of the mat. She thought about the old black cat; how she would curl around it in the winters to keep it warm. She wished that she could do that then. She continued to shiver until a degree of warmth finally returned to her body. Eventually, she fell back to sleep, and awoke the next morning with damp clothes.

  Winter crept over the land and Mao awoke each morning to a brittle sheen of clear frost covering the earth. She would arise and shiver through the morning chores, tending the chickens, milking the cow, and cleaning the stalls. Despite the cold, Mao was very excited during these days and did not pay any attention to the icy breezes or piling snow. She once again felt that she was moving toward her goals and that her fulfilled dreams were just over the horizon. Even old Jai-tien was looking quite young again, at least compared to the previous winter.

  After a plateful of rice and beans for lunch, Jai-tien and his student went out to the training ground to begin their afternoon exercises. An hour into the routine, Jai-tien called a halt to the training. “Hei Mao, today we must begin sparring again. We have prepared and conditioned our minds and bodies sufficiently to manage the rigors involved in this. We have sparred many times together when you were a child, but now you have become a woman and you must learn the true nature of combat. Our sparring will be much more strenuous and vigorous now than before, and you will quickly learn whether or not you have a true warrior spirit.”

  So this was to be the day that Mao had long awaited! She became very excited and was eager to begin. Jai-tien stood in front of Mao and bowed. She returned the sign of respect, and a moment later, Jai-tien shouted, “Begin!”

  Mao hopped backward clumsily and tried to circle around behind her master, but he merely stood his ground and rotated so as to always face her. She faked one way, and then went the other, but he always pivoted to face her. After a few moments of this, she realized that she could not get behind him, so she lowered her chin and drove straight toward him. This time he stepped to the side and clipped the back of her head with his fist as she toppled by him, sprawling on the ground.

  Mao rolled to her feet and regained her composure. This time she approached Jai-tien more cautiously. After several feinted strikes, she surged forward with her left hand aimed at her master’s face, but he shifted his neck to the left and blocked her strike with his right forearm. As her momentum carried her toward him, Jai-tien turned his body to the right, keeping his forearm contacted with Mao’s, and she sailed on past him and found herself lying face-down on the ground. She rose to her hands and knees, spitting dirt from her mouth.

  Again she leapt to her feet, this time lunging directly for Jai-tien with a high kick aimed straight at his head. Jai-tien effortlessly ducked under her foot as it came toward his nose, shot his hands upward and grabbed Mao’s ankle. He pushed it upward as he stepped into Mao, which raised her foot even higher and lifted her off the ground. Jai-tien then let go, dropping her onto the dirt on her head and shoulder.

  A gasp of pain escaped Mao’s lips as she landed. She tried to roll to her feet, but the blow to the head had disoriented her, and she only managed to fall back down. She lay on the ground for a few moments to let the world stop spinning.

  Jai-tien shook his head and put his hands on his hips. With a deep scowl, he said, “Hei Mao, what are you doing?” He cocked his head to one side and stared at her, waiting impatiently for an answer.

  Mao felt his eyes burn right through her head. All she could manage to respond with was “I was trying to practice kung fu, Master.”

  “Kung fu is the art of combat, Hei Mao; it is not the art of falling down.”

  “But Master,” she pleaded, “you are much quicker than me. Every time I try to attack you, you dodge out of the way and knock me to the ground!”

  “You must train to be quick! Do you think that I was born that way? Here, stand up! Hold out your hand!”

  Mao did as ordered, and Jai-tien placed a small, flat, smooth stone into her palm. Then he bent over and picked up another one. “Watch this!” He held out his right hand straight from his body, palm downward, and placed the stone in the middle of the back of his hand. He then pulled his hand out from under the stone, curled his fingers into his palm, and snatched the stone from the air as it fell past his hand. “Now you do it!”

  Mao mimicked his posture and placed the stone on the back of her hand. She flipped her hand upward slightly, thrusting the stone into the air, and then caught it with the same hand. “That is easy, Master,” she said. “How is this supposed to make me quicker.?”

  “You did not do it correctly. Watch again!” This time, he took two flat stones and stacked them on top of each other on the backside of his hand. He performed the same maneuver, dropping the stones and catching them on the way down. “Now try that!”

  Mao bent over and found another flat stone about the size of the first one. She held her right hand outward, palm down, and stacked the two stones on top of it. She flipped her hand upward slightly to toss the stones into the air, but when she reached up to grab them, they had spread apart slightly and she only managed to grab one of them. The other one fell to the earth in the dust. She tried it several more times, failing at each attempt. She became flustered.

  “Master,” she said, “how can you manage to catch both stones?” They fly apart when you release them.”

  “They do not do so if you do it properly. Here, watch again!” Jai-tien bent over and rummaged around on the ground until he had found another four small flat stones. He stacked all six of his stones on top of his hand, then, without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped his hand out from beneath them, curled his fingers under his fist, and then snatched all six stones from the air as they passed his hand.

  Mao’s eyes widened and her lower jaw dropped with amazement. “But Master,” she said in her pleading voice, “is that magic? What trick did you use? How did you do that?”

  “There is no trick to it, Hei Mao, only quickness. My technique makes use of nothing but quickness. Your technique relies on something else as well. It relies on a perfect flip of the stones into the air so as to avoid their separation in order to grab them quickly. Where I used one movement, you used two. Some techniques can be executed quickly, and some not so quickly. You can certainly use your slow technique to catch one or two stones, but if there are six, then your slow technique will not work. Spend the rest of the afternoon reflecting on this.”

  Master Jai-tien picked up his stick and walked back to the house. Mao spent the remainder of the day trying to catch more than one stone, with little success.

  After dinner that evening came the steep walk up the pathway to the house of Mother Lu-chin. Mao was still lost in thought trying to understand the movements and implications of the stone exercise. She had finally managed to perform the technique well enough to catch two stones, and then three every now and then, but she was still puzzled by the words her master had uttered after demonstrating the exercise. All the way to the top, she practiced with the stones, hoping that her master would notice that she could catch two stones consistently now. Jai-tien never looked back, however, but only strode purposefully upward.

  The tea that evening tasted delicious to Mao, and the warmth of her hands surrounding th
e cup soon spread to the rest of her body. This feeling was very much appreciated during the winter months when the hike up and down the hill could be very cold. She forgot all about the stones and her slow reactions as she sat cross-legged on the floor, and let her mind wander over her lifelong dreams. She knew that she was headed in the right direction now, and she was determined not to have any more setbacks.

  Afterwards, Mao retrieved the teacups from her elders and cleaned up the tea service. She and Jai-tien then paid their respects by bowing to the old woman, who smiled slightly and dipped her head in response. The two walked out of the house and pulled the paper door shut behind them, and then closed the heavy sliding door that kept out the bitter chill during the winter.

  Halfway through the winding walk down the hill, Jai-tien began to speak. “Hei Mao, simplicity is one of the secrets to being a great warrior. Simplicity is the key to quickness. The more complicated the technique, the harder it is to execute it perfectly. For instance, low kicks are faster than high ones, because the foot travels a shorter distance; however, they are just as effective as high kicks. The difference is that there is a much greater chance of connecting with the kick if it is performed quickly; however, one must not sacrifice quality for speed. A good technique is only good if performed properly, even if it is very fast.”

  “Master,” Mao interrupted, “I like to use the jumping spin kicks that look so beautiful. I want to learn more of those, like what I used to see at the monastery.”

  Jai-tien stopped and turned to face her with an irritated expression on his wrinkled face. “Hei Mao, I have seen many skilled fighters with beautiful movements and graceful spinning kicks who were crushed by a simple sidekick to the chest. These techniques are too slow! They should be used only in certain situations, when necessary. I am teaching you how to destroy your opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible, not to dance with him. The Shailan monks use those routines you used to watch to train their muscles to perform the complicated motions they make in their style of kung fu. Those routines are known to all of the participants, and each plays his role in the routine. They look beautiful to those who watch them, but they would never fight that way themselves in a real battle. They would do what I am trying to teach you. If you want the pageantry of the Shailan Monastery, go join the acrobats in the Royal Circus of Xiaomei.”