by Monkey
“Try a meditation exercise. Remember what Grandmaster always used to say? You must take control of your thoughts and your emotions, or they will control you”’
Malao shook his head. “H-how can I meditate at a time like this? B-besides, those exercises never work for me.”
“They work wonders if you give them a chance,” Hok said. “Cangzhen monks have used them for hundreds of years to separate themselves from their emotions. I'll do one with you, then we'll get Grandmaster. Okay?”
“N-no.”
“Why not?”
“N-no, Hok,” Malao said. “Please—”
Hok raised both hands. “Okay, okay. I'll tell you what, I'll go get Grandmaster myself, but I'd still like your help getting him up the tree. Why don't you go sit out on a limb until I return. We'll see how you feel when I get back, all right?”
Malao wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky forearm and nodded.
Hok nodded back and drifted out of the hollow without saying more. He disappeared into the undergrowth.
Malao stepped outside and took a deep breath. The night breeze brought with it the smell of smoke from the Cangzhen compound. Malao began to shiver uncontrollably.
I can't do it, Malao realized. I just can't.
He leaped into an adjacent tree. Then another and another. Fueled by nervous energy, Malao raced into the night. When he was tired from jumping tree to tree, he ran. When he was tired from running, he walked. In no time, he was hopelessly lost. Out of breath, his eyes filled with tears, he eventually found himself at the bank of a small stream.
Malao dipped his hands into the cool water and sloshed them around in an effort to relieve his callused palms. It helped some, so he stepped into the stream to cool his bare, aching feet. Extremely thirsty, he bent over to take a long drink, then stuck his face into the flowing water and left it there awhile, soothing his puffy eyes.
After some time, Malao stood and walked upstream until he came to a large willow tree. He climbed into it and nestled himself in a large forked branch, hidden from below by a curtain of newly formed leaves. Exhausted and alone, he drifted off to sleep.
Late the next morning, Malao woke to four eyes staring at him. The eyes blinked, then disappeared behind a wall of willow leaves.
Malao sat up and poked his head through the leaves. He saw two brown macaques racing off through the treetops. A troop of more than one hundred was moving toward the same stream he had waded in before climbing the tree and falling asleep.
After what he had been through, Malao was in no mood to tangle with a monkey troop. Sometimes macaques could be aggressive. Malao hopped to his feet, and a tremendous racket erupted beneath the willow. He looked down and saw three monkeys standing around the base of his tree, scolding him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Malao noticed a fourth monkey approaching. It was pure white and larger than the others. It looked like it might weigh almost as much as Malao did. The white monkey began to pace back and forth on bent legs and straight arms below the willow, its thick thigh muscles and forearms bulging. It barked out orders, and different groups of monkeys responded accordingly. Some drank from the stream, while others kept an eye out for danger.
As Malao stared, the white monkey looked up at him and bared its teeth. Malao saw that it had only one eye. He also saw that it had four razor-sharp fangs, each as long as his thumb. He knew what those were for. Malao grabbed hold of the decorated stick tucked into his robe and began to pull it out.
The white monkey zeroed in on the movement. Its icy eye locked on Malao's. The other monkeys stationed beneath the tree stared, too.
Malao stopped. He knew he usually reacted aggressively to aggressive actions like someone raising a weapon, so he decided to do just the opposite. He slowly removed his hand, leaving the weapon hidden. Then he sat back and did his best to relax.
To Malao's relief, the monkeys below relaxed, too. The white one even stopped pacing. Still, the white monkey and the enforcers remained beneath the tree with their eyes glued to Malao.
Malao scratched his head. The monkeys’ behavior confused him. He had never seen a group of macaques as militant as this. And he had certainly never seen monkeys on the ground keeping an eye on a potential enemy in a tree. It was usually the other way around.
The white monkey barked once. At the stream, a group of mothers stepped up to the water's edge with babies clinging to their bodies like large brown clumps of thistledown. Behind the mothers, two young monkeys played roughly. Malao noted how their attacks and defensive maneuvers mirrored the movements he made during his training exercises. Like him, the monkeys’ arsenal included an unlimited combination of tumbles, jumps, dodges, sweeps, feints, and strikes.
The young monkeys were both about the same size, and they seemed equally matched. However, Malao knew that most monkey-style kung fu techniques had been developed with the assumption that your opponent would be bigger and stronger than you. These techniques helped him tremendously when fending off his larger, older brothers in both formal sparring matches and everyday roughhousing. To help him close the gap even further, Malao had trained extra hard. He had had to make up for what he lacked in size with quickness, accuracy, and stamina.
Monkey-style kung fu was very demanding, but Malao had pushed through all the pain—often pushing himself until he dropped. Literally. One of the most grueling exercises he performed was called Monkey Rope training. It was designed to develop strong back and shoulder muscles, which are critical for the swinging movements central to monkey-style kung fu. Malao would climb a thick rope hanging from the top of Cangzhen's tallest tree, using only his hands. He would then climb down again, still using only his hands. And then he'd climb back up. And then back down. Over and over until his hands bled.
To make matters worse, Grandmaster would sometimes stand on the ground at the end of the rope, watching. After Malao made ten or eleven trips up and down the rope, Grandmaster would begin to swing the rope wildly in an attempt to throw Malao off. Grandmaster was usually successful. Malao would fly through the air, frantically grabbing at tree branches as he tumbled back to earth. Fortunately for Malao, he always managed to grab hold of something with his aching hands before it was too late.
Still, Malao had always felt that Grandmaster would have somehow managed to catch him if he had ever plummeted to earth. As strange as it sounded, Malao knew part of him would miss Grandmaster always pushing his skills to their limits.
Downstream, the farthest group of monkeys began to chatter frantically. Their mood swing was contagious. The rest of the groups screeched and shrieked in succession before racing downstream to join the mayhem. With the white monkey in the lead, the group of enforcers below Malao's willow raced off, too.
In the distance, Malao heard a voice cry out, “MONKEYS! MAN THE CARTS!”
Malao scurried through the treetops to see what the commotion was all about. Long before he actually saw anything, he heard cries from both monkeys and men. When the scene finally came into view, Malao's heart sank. A massacre was unfolding.
The monkeys were swarming down from the trees onto large carts that rested on a wide trail. Thirty or forty men surrounded the carts in small groups. The men waited until a cart was completely covered with monkeys before drawing their weapons and lashing out. Quick and agile, most of the monkeys managed to escape the swinging swords and stabbing spears. However, some of the younger monkeys fell to the weapons.
To Malao's disbelief, monkeys continued to pour out of the trees, back onto the same carts. Malao assumed the monkeys were determined to get their hands on anything edible, regardless of the risk. Oddly, most of the carts didn't seem to contain food. When the monkeys lifted back the heavy blankets covering the carts, Malao saw gold. Huge piles of gold.
Malao shivered. He had seen enough death at Cangzhen to last a lifetime. He needed to stop the slaughter, but it would be no easy task. The men protecting the gold were extremely skilled with their weapons.
“Look what I got!” one man shouted as he hoisted a speared monkey high overhead. “Lunch! For all my friends!”
The men roared with laughter.
“Hey, I got one, too,” another man called out. “Seven or eight more and we'll have a feast!”
The group cheered.
“Watch the gold!” a third man shouted. “I just speared one trying to make off with some. Don't they realize that we're the bandits in this region? No one steals from us!”
“Here, here!” the group chanted, and Malao realized the bandits were enjoying this. It was a game to them. A cruel, deadly, horrible game. They didn't have to kill the monkeys. All they had to do was shoo them away. That's what the monks did if they were transporting items and encountered a monkey troop in the forest.
“STOP!” Malao yelled. He burst through the tree-tops and landed on top of one of the gold carts.
The bandits stared at Malao, surprised. The monkeys, however, continued to leap onto the carts.
The monkeys must really be desperate for food, Malao thought. Or gold. But what would monkeys do with gold?
Several monkeys began grabbing gold bullion from the cart Malao was standing on. The bandits immediately resumed their assault.
Malao took action. He jumped and waved his arms, and monkeys scattered. He twisted and scurried and swiped, and monkeys leaped off the carts. Determined to continue until every last monkey left the area, Malao flipped and kicked and swayed and swung and leaped from cart to cart, and soon a tremendous shrill filled the forest from high up. The monkeys immediately abandoned the carts and returned to the trees.
Breathing heavily, Malao looked into a tall oak tree and saw the large snow-white monkey scowling down at him with its one good eye.
“What did you do that for?” one of the bandits sneered at Malao. In his hands was a bloody spear.
Malao spun around and glared at the bandit from atop a gold cart. He crouched low, ready to spring. His hands trembled.
A second bandit, holding a broadsword, approached Malao. “A better question for our little friend is, Just who do you think you are, meddling in our business? Are you some kind of animal-loving monk? I notice you're wearing an orange robe. You've got to be the tiniest monk I've ever seen.”
Malao bared his teeth and began to shake violently. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a huge, hairy man approaching empty-handed. The man was one of the largest humans Malao had ever seen. His face was covered by a heavy black beard and his forearms were blanketed with hair as thick as the greasy mass on top of his head. Extremely tall and large-boned, the man cast a shadow over every bandit he passed. His enormous stomach jiggled and sloshed with every step.
The giant spoke with a deep, thunderous growl. “Quiet! I will handle this. Answer the questions, boy. Why did you do that, and who do you think you are?”
Malao pulled himself tight into a ball in an effort to control his shaking. His teeth rattled as he spoke. “I—I did that because it is not necessary to kill the monkeys. All you have to do is shoo them away. As for my name, it is Malao.”
A few of the bandits laughed. The large man questioning Malao remained dead serious. “Why would you call yourself Monkey?. And why did you choose a Cantonese word for your name? Are you from Canton?”
“I did not n-name myself,” Malao replied. “The Grandmaster of our temple did. He was Cantonese. Our temple was not in Canton, though. It was in this v-very region.”
“And what temple would that be?” the burly man asked.
“It was called C-Cangzhen Temple,” Malao said. “But you would never have heard of it. It was s-secret.”
“Why do you talk about it in past tense?”
Malao trembled. “It was d-destroyed last night.”
The big man paused and his close-set eyes narrowed. He stared at Malao that way for quite some time, as if waiting for Malao to say something. Malao felt like he was about to burst from the tension of the moment.
“Why did you kill those monkeys?!” Malao shouted suddenly. “What did they ever do to you?”
The large man's nostrils flared. “What business is it of yours?”
“Where I come from people don't kill animals,” Malao said. “Especially monkeys!”
“Well, where I come from, boy, we do kill animals— especially monkeys. We eat them. And we enjoy it very much. Why should that concern you?”
“People get along fine without eating meat,” Malao said. “Just look at me. We were allowed to eat meat at our temple for special occasions, but I've never eaten any. Ever!”
A grin spread across the large man's face. “Oh, I believe you. Perhaps if you ate some meat, you wouldn't be so small.”
Malao frowned and the bandits laughed.
The big man seemed to relax. “Let me see if I understand you. You would like me to stop eating monkeys, even though I've been doing it my entire life. Is that what you're saying?”
“Yes,” Malao replied.
“Well then,” the man asked in a polite tone. “Do you have any more requests, young man?”
Malao stood up, his anxiety slipping away. “Well, since you asked, me and my brothers are supposed to uncover the secrets of our pasts. We are orphans. Maybe you could help.”
The big man smirked. “You mean you want me to help you find your parents? Or maybe a long-lost uncle?”
Malao shrugged. “I guess that's what it means.”
“Isn't that sweet?” the large man said, smiling now. “Your temple was destroyed, and now you want Mommy and Daddy to help you seek revenge.”
Malao stared at the man. He suddenly had a feeling he was being toyed with.
The big man turned to the bandits and bellowed, “Gentlemen! Monkey Boy here says he's searching for his family. It looks to me like he found them. Don't you agree? I believe that is his sister stuck like a pig at the end of that spear!” The large man pointed to a spear held by one of the bandits. The spear-holder raised the spear high and shook it. The bandits roared with laughter.
Malao began to shiver again.
One of the bandits shouted, “Hey, I wonder if his father is the Monkey King? The kid really seems to enjoy hanging out on top of that gold cart!”
The bandits roared again.
Malao felt a powerful jolt behind his eyes as if he'd been blindsided by a roundhouse kick.
“Monkey King?” he mumbled. That name sounded familiar to him. Of course, he knew about the monkey king of legend—a magical creature that supposedly lived thousands of years ago. However, Malao was almost certain the bandit was referring to a real person. Someone who simply had the nickname Monkey King. Malao shook his head to clear his senses.
“Aw, stop teasing the boy,” another bandit yelled out. “You know there's no Monkey King. The monkeys only steal gold because it's shiny and they like to look at it. They don't deliver it to anyone. Leave the boy be and let's get on our way.”
“This boy isn't going anywhere,” the big man replied, suddenly serious. “He's robbed us of a feast. He belongs to me now. My stomach has been aching for days because I haven't had any fresh meat, but I know a cure. Liver soup. I've made it before with monkey livers, and it worked wonders every time. However, they say it works best with human liver!”
The huge man lunged at Malao. Malao leaped straight into the air. He touched down on top of the man's greasy head and bounded toward the trunk of the nearest tree. Malao latched on to the tree for the briefest of moments, then sprang in a completely different direction an instant before the big man slammed his shoulder into the tree. The tree shook violently and the entire group of bandits erupted with laughter. The large man winced.
Malao looked down from high atop a large maple. He saw the big man pull a small object from one of several pouches hanging from his sash. It was a throwing dart! The man's eyes seemed to drift apart and Malao focused on the one eye that remained on him, prepared to leap if the man launched the dart in his direction.
The large man's hand suddenly flash
ed outward in a blur, but not in Malao's direction. It followed the path of the drifting eye. High atop a neighboring tree, the white monkey cried out. It fell to the ground, clutching its head, and the big man pounced on it.
Malao howled and leaped down from the treetop, landing in the center of the large man's back. He grabbed the short, greasy hair on the back of the man's head with his left hand and yanked the decorated stick from his robe with his right. As Malao raised the stick, one of the man's enormous hands flew back and grabbed it. The man swung his huge arm powerfully down. Malao let go of the man's hair and grabbed on to the stick with both hands as his body was flung forward over the man's shoulder.
Still holding on to the stick, Malao landed flat on his back next to the white monkey. He groaned.
Upon seeing the stick, the monkey seemed to lose its mind. With one paw against its bleeding head, it unfurled its other claw and slashed viciously across the top of the large man's hand. The man cried out and let go of the stick. The monkey bared its long, razor-sharp fangs and launched its face at Malao's hands. Malao let go as the monkey clamped its jaws down onto the stick.
The white monkey sprang to its feet, the stick in its teeth, and darted off into the trees. Malao leaped after it but fell heavily to the earth as a large net was cast over him. Several men held the ends of the net down, out of Malao's reach. Malao wriggled and clawed and kicked, but it was no use. He stopped struggling and stared up at his captors through the tightly woven holes in the net.
The burly man walked away, only to return moments later carrying a huge pair of golden melon hammers. The large, round heads of the war hammers glistened at the end of metal handles, each as long as Malao's leg. The big man stared coldly at Malao as he raised his huge arms in preparation for a crushing blow.
“That's very brave of you, Hung—killing a child with the aid of several others and a net,” a voice called out from the crowd. “I speak a little Cantonese myself, you know, and I recognize your name as Cantonese, just like the boy's. How strange. Cantonese names are so rare in this region. Stranger still is the significance of your name. Hung means ‘bear’ in Cantonese, and you really do remind me of a bear. A big, lazy panda bear. If you were a real man, you would dismiss your helpers and fight the boy alone, hand to hand.”