“I know.” In reality, Noah knows that he could have held firm for about thirty and gotten that price. However, he never enjoyed bargaining that much. That’s why the Chinese like doing business with him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The driver’s attitude changes the moment he meets Master Wu and finds out he’s a Shaolin Kung Fu Grandmaster. Like most Chinese, he’s an avid martial arts movie fan and feels sure that Master Wu is a movie star in disguise. He begs for forgiveness for having Master Wu lie on the floor of the bus but says he has no choice. The driver then insists on giving the money back to Noah, saying it’s a privilege for him to have such an illustrious guest as a passenger. Master Wu intervenes, saying the money is not for the driver but for his children. The driver vociferously thanks Master Wu for his generosity and the entourage is on its way.
The province of Shanghai is more than 2,400 square miles. The driver wasn’t exaggerating when he said it would likely take him all day to get to Shaolin Paradise and back. The first hour or so of the drive is through the countryside. Not too much excitement here. A few roadside stalls here and there selling fresh lychees, mangosteens and peanuts. Passing through a small village shows an open-air steamed dumpling restaurant next to a roadside barber.
However, when they hit the city of Shanghai proper, the interest level notches up. While Lisa and Noah are seasoned travelers, this is the giddy Sam’s first trip outside of Hong Kong. He is riveted to the window, soaking up the sights. Master Wu bubbles with excitement. He can’t believe the complexity of change that has happened since the last time he came to Shanghai, which surpasses Beijing as the largest city in China.
For centuries, Shanghai has been one of the Pacific gateways to China, which gives the ancient city a cosmopolitan flavor. Mixed in with the historical is its drive to modernity. Skyscrapers are part of the cityscape. Like so many contemporary cities, the old buildings and heritage houses are more like museum pieces than vital contributors to society.
Noah sees the bustling Shanghai with different lenses. It’s the city of his birth and although his family moved to Hong Kong when he was young, Noah never tires of it. He’s watched it grow up over the years. Seen the transition from “quaint Chinese city” to “thriving metropolis.” There’s a joke about Shanghai: ‘The most popular bird is the crane, that is, the building crane!’ When Noah sees the brand new structures going up constantly, he knows that the saw is more fact than fiction.
He’s been here ten times in the last couple of months, never longer than two days and sometimes just in and out for a quick meeting. Noah’s spending a lot of time here because like in every major city, there is a problem with youth crime and youth desperation. While officials are happy that someone is willing to help, they know that “free” is never really free. It’s taking Noah what seems like lifetimes to convince the bureaucrats that his offers of assistance come with no strings attached. And of course, there is the problem of not letting them know that the source of the funds is the booty from one of Asia’s biggest criminals that he just happened to kill.
Thank God for Garret Southam, rest his soul. One thing Noah and Olivia managed to do was protect Garret’s reputation. His name as a Senior Partner at the Pittman Saunders law firm still carries weight and respect, making giving away free money easier, but still not easy.
Doing business with the Chinese is not a straightforward transaction of “How much money do you want?” and “Sure, I’ll give it to you.” Building Guanxi, connections between persons and networks of influence, is imperative before doing any real business. Getting together face-to-face is mandatory―with meals, drinks or hanging out. Squeezed in-between the meals are meetings with lower level bureaucrats, potential contractors, marketing people, business agents and more. It’s a wonder that Noah hasn’t gained more than the five pounds he has in the last few months. It’s a testimony to his discipline that he maintains his morning round of martial arts exercises. And if there’s time, he can spend an hour at 11 pm with the real reason he’s running around like a chicken with its cut off: street kids like Sam. Shooting a few hoops with kids, finding out what makes them tick and hoping he can do something to help―this is the Shanghai that Noah knows.
Sitting here on a ramshackle bus without being able to make a phone call, without the ability to check his email or cruise the Internet or play any kind of computer games, makes Noah realize how utterly energy-depleted he is. Much as the scenery outside is of interest; he cannot resist the beckoning of Hypnos, the goddess of sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finally, after an eight-hour ride on the dilapidated minibus, they arrive at Shaolin Paradise. By now, all the passengers are fast asleep and are only awakened by the driver announcing, “Wake up. We are here.”
The travelers rub the sleep out of their eyes and are treated to a visual potpourri of sights and sounds, ancient and modern. The Shaolin Paradise, the Number one Shaolin Temple in the world, is a vast complex of buildings and forests.
The driver stops in front of a gigantic statue of Buddha in front of a complex of pagodas.
“No vehicles are allowed past here,” apologizes the driver.
“No worries. We appreciate what you’ve done,” says Noah as he bows to the driver.
Sam fetches a wheelchair while the driver assists Noah in carrying Master Wu off the minibus. He thanks Master Wu for the privilege of driving him and asks for his autograph. Noah whispers quickly to the master not to give his real name. Borrowing a Chinese brush and ink from one of the calligraphy stalls, Master Wu writes with a flourish the words, Tiger and Crane. The driver bows then makes his exit.
“I’m going to check this place out. I’ll be back in two hours. Okay?” asks Sam.
“Just don’t let anyone know who we are or try to contact anyone,” warns Noah.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Goodbye,” calls out Sam as he rushes off.
“I should try to find some needles and medicine,” says Lisa.
“No. We have no cash and I don’t want to alert anybody about who we are,” says Noah. “Just keep with the acupressure. Master Wu’s been getting better.”
Lisa sighs. “I’m a doctor. I need to have the tools to treat my patient.”
“In time but not now.” Noah beams at Master Wu. “We’re here, Sifu. Now what do we do?” asks Noah.
“Not yet, Noah. This is not Heaven,” replies Master Wu.
“But we’re at the Shaolin Paradise,” protests Noah. “Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?”
“Yes, but this is not the final destination,” croaks Master Wu. “Look around you, Noah.”
Noah scans the complex with a careful eye. An inner skepticism grows the more he looks.
Yes, there are centuries old tiered tower pagodas reverberating with the sounds of monks chanting. Yes, in the courtyard, there are venerable robed monks leading acolytes in martial arts exercises. Yes, there is a vast complex of buildings for worship and mindful meditation.
But there is also a range of disconcerting sights that are more touristy than transcendent.
At the entrance is a souvenir shop selling everything from stuffed tigers to DVD’s to martial arts uniforms with sequins and gaudy colors.
There is a booth selling admission tickets to the show, “Secrets of the Shaolin.” There are people lining up to have their pictures taken with live baby tigers or have monks wrap snakes around their necks. These photographic enterprises are fifty dollars each.
There are mini-buses and electric carts offering tours of “Sights of the Shaolin Paradise.”
Center stage is a monk breaking a stack of bricks with his head―to the obvious delight of the gawking tourists. Another monk breaks a pile of eight-foot boards with his hands. The split halves stacked together and the monk’s hand crashes through them as easily as a hot knife through butter. The gawkers applaud and whistle.
“Well, what are we going to do then? I got us to Shaolin Paradise, which is what you wanted,” sa
ys the exasperated Noah.
“Noah, this is an intermediate station. Heaven is not here. It is in the mountains.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Which mountains?”
“I would never remember the way to get there. I went up there once sixty years ago and had a guide. I came back down forty years later.” Master Wu’s eyes scan the Shaolin Paradise complex. “When I left, the Grandmaster of Heaven told me they would have someone here at this temple to take me back when I wanted to return. I told him there was no need because I would never return. The Sigong said that the heart will always want to come home and that someone would always be ready to take me there... He was right. I know there is a sentry here, somewhere.”
“So how do we find this ‘sentry,’ Sifu?”
“‘You do not find Heaven; heaven finds you.’ Be patient, Noah.”
“You are always telling me that, Master Wu, to be patient.”
“Have faith, Noah. Heaven will come.”
“That’s not my style.” He turns to Lisa. “You wait here with Master Wu. I’m going to find this guy.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Take personal responsibility. Do not rely on others. That was what his father always said. That’s what King is doing as his Bell chopper cuts through the sky. It’s not an AgustaWestland but given the financial hits taken, he can’t be choosey.
He knows the Tao Princess was going from Hong Kong to Shanghai and that it could take up to two days to travel the approximately eight hundred miles. He knows his AgustaWestland went down somewhere near halfway between the two points. He also knows that’s a whole lot of terrain to cover.
What he doesn’t know is if there’s anything to find, nor where to begin looking if there should be. But he does know that if he doesn’t try, he for sure will never have any answers.
He also knows that if he’s going to find something, it’s going to take luck or outside-the-box thinking.
That includes consulting the enemy. King spots a Japanese patrol boat. Being Japanese doesn’t make them the enemy. After all, he himself is half-Japanese. What makes them adversaries is that he avoids anything remotely governmental like the plague, especially when he has a cargo of illegals that he is transporting. This caution has paid off―none of the authorities has ever met him and most don’t know of his existence.
However, this time he feels he has no other choice. With zero leads, he’s got to start turning over rocks to see what’s under them.
His chopper descends and he hovers close to the Japanese vessel. He sees the crew taking out the water hose and preparing to douse the chopper. The bullhorn starts blaring in Japanese but King takes out his own megaphone and starts shouting back in Japanese.
“Honorable sirs. I am not here on a mission of war or invasion. I am here to investigate the disappearance of a luxury boat, the Tao Princess. We have good reason to believe that they were smuggling illegal cargo. Moreover, they were wanting you to provoke them so they could report on the indignation of treatment by the Japanese. They want to dishonor you.”
After a few moments of silence, the Japanese bullhorn blares. “There has been no invasion of Japanese waters by luxury craft. Our waters were violated by a small pleasure craft that we reported to the authorities.”
“Did you notice any of the passengers?”
“We saw a tall, Caucasian man, perhaps thirty years old. There was also a Chinese woman of about the same age and a teenage Chinese boy.”
“Did you see an old man?”
“Only the three we described.”
“Where was the vessel headed?”
“As far as we could determine, it was not going anywhere.”
Bingo. “Thank you so much for your cooperation. This will greatly assist in our investigation.”
King starts the helicopter again and flies away from the islands toward the Chinese mainland.
Okay, so Noah’s alive. Got off the Tao Princess and the small pleasure craft was probably the emergency vessel. Sounds like it was out of gas or had engine problems, which means they would want to get to the closest friendly land from here. If he were able to make it to China’s shores, it would be due east from here.
Either that or they’re dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For damn sure, Noah is convinced that this special watchman will not be found in any of the areas that attract tourists.
Master Wu is relying on a promise made forty years ago. Who knows how many changes of the guard have occurred in Heaven since then? Or whether it even exists at all still. A rock or an avalanche could wreak havoc in a hidden community and no one would ever know about it. Not to mention the changing nature of China’s government policy over the years in regards to religious matters. That affected Mom and Dad. How about the Shaolin?
But for the sake of argument, let’s say this sentinel exists. Is it a he or a she? Young or old? And how weird is it for me to say, “I want to find someone who will take me to Heaven. Duh?”
Wandering through the grounds, he searches for anyone who remotely might resemble a sentry. He enters one hall to see a room full of fifty Shaolin monks, all meditating as a group. He scans the lot of them but none are even aware of his existence. Okay, I’m here. Find me. Seriously.
From here, Noah wanders to the great hall where a dozen monks hypnotically chant with bell, gong and drum accompaniment. Joss sticks are lit and placed in urns throughout the hall and in front of several multi-armed warrior god figures. Hello, hello?
When no one approaches him here, he moves to one of the training courtyards, where a hundred young boys are doing their stretches supervised by a Sifu.
Kinda brings back memories. It also makes Noah realize how lucky he was to have had the personalized attention that Master Wu gave him. To an untrained observer like most tourists at Shaolin Paradise, what the boys are doing is remarkable. Each squats with the left leg bent behind his body and the right leg extended lengthwise in front. They bounce up and down and seem to have the flexibility of Olympic gymnasts. After thirty seconds, they switch leg positions―the right leg is now behind the body and the left leg is in front.
As he watches the form of the students, he sees little errors that drive him crazy. Master Wu would never let me get away with that. That arm is not completely straight. Your knee is slightly crooked! Flex higher! Higher!
The Sifu barks out, “Tiger,” and the acolytes move into position. “Tiger is the king of predators. You dominate mountains, you move like an avalanche. You jump across mountain ranges. Your eyes glow like fire, your voice is thunder, your paws are your strength.”
All the students shout in unison, “Hai!”
The Sifu leads them in a ‘tiger pouncing’ form. The right footsteps forward and the left is quickly placed beside.
Noah is going berserk. The foot is not supposed to touch the ground! Why are you letting some of them get away with that?
Right hand reaches out under left arm, clench fists and pull back to the stomach.
You’ve got to be kidding. The arms aren’t straight and the pull to the stomach is not symmetrical.
Unconsciously, Noah finds himself joining in the forms. His elbows hug the ribs, his knees lock together and he moves his head up and his look straight ahead. This is how it’s supposed to look. This is how you’re supposed to teach, you bozo. The kids are learning it all wrong.
For fifteen minutes from his sideline position, Noah follows along with the exercises. By now though, he has forgotten his anger and has lost himself in the meditation and concentration of his own forms. Twenty years of tutelage from Master Wu has not gone in vain―anyone watching Noah would think that he was a Sifu, not a lawyer, not a foundation president.
“Excuse me.”
Oh shoot. Noah turns around to see an orange-robed monk about his age staring at him. With his shaved head and chiseled body of iron, he appears every bit the Shaolin warrior.
“Sorry. I must look kind of stupid.”
; “No, not at all. I was impressed. Your form was impeccable, but you were so angry before you started. Why?”
“No, it’s nothing, really. Silly, really.” Noah, you’re talking like an embarrassed schoolboy.
“Please. I will not be offended by anything said.”
You asked for it. “Every temple, every school has its own systems...” says Noah diplomatically.
The monk interjects, “This is not my temple. You can tell me.”
Noah checks this monk out carefully. There is a calm about him that makes Noah think that he might be trustworthy, but Noah also knows that the truly disciplined Shaolin mind is unreadable.
“It’s kind of stupid. I was thinking about my girlfriend and was mad that she broke up with me...”
The monk interrupts again. “That is not the reason.”
Noah likes this guy. Straight shooter, no bull. “The truth be known, I was mad. The sifu’s form is not perfect. Better than almost anything else I’ve seen, but not good enough for a place that calls itself the best in the world. And he’s letting the students get away with murder. They are making mistakes. They’re not focused. They think they can fool anybody but really, they’re only fooling themselves. Focus, breathe, focus. Left, right. You are not doing this for yourself. It’s a disgrace to Shaolin heritage.”
Noah contains himself. “Sorry, I said too much.”
There’s a few moments of silence, then the monk says, “You didn’t say too much... You said what you said because you care.”
Noah nods—this guy understands. “It’s the way I was brought up. Trying your best is not good enough. Only perfection is acceptable. That was crap.”
This monk appraises Noah. He stares into the eyes of his soul. “You are looking for Heaven.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Only the righteous person is unhappy with the ‘almost righteous.’ Only Heaven will be acceptable for the righteous. By showing your unhappiness, you are telling me that only perfection will be acceptable, that you are trying to find Heaven... Heaven has found you.”
The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset Page 36