by Monkey
“These are not normal monkeys, sir,” the soldier said. “They seem to be organized and led by a human— a small, dark child monk who carries a white monkey on his shoulder. Some of our men attacked the boy as he tried to release another child monk called Fu from a cage we—”
“Fu!” Ying interrupted. “He's up ahead?”
The soldier nodded.
“What about the scrolls?”
“I think Fu may have them by now, sir.”
“Fu got out of the cage?”
“Yes,” the soldier replied. “The other monk threw him a ring of keys and—”
“ARRRGH!” Ying leaped off the soldier and soared into the nearest tree. From there he could see into a small clearing farther up the trail and, sure enough, there stood Malao and Fu, talking. Fu seemed confused and upset. Malao, as usual, appeared to be making jokes. There wasn't a single soldier around.
Ying spat and sailed to the ground. He worked his way silently through the underbrush, stopping when he reached a large bush directly behind Malao. As Malao continued his banter with Fu on the opposite side, Ying slid his chain whip out from one of his oversized sleeves. In one lightning-fast motion, he wound up and lashed out around the side of the bush at ankle-height. Ying heard the familiar whoosh! and a satisfying clink! clink! clink! Even more satisfying was the sound of air rapidly exiting Malao's lungs as Ying yanked on the chain and Malao slammed into the dirt.
“Come here, you little knuckle-dragger!” Ying snarled as he stepped through the bush and pulled Malao toward him. Both Malao's ankles were wrapped tightly together with one end of the chain whip.
Ying looked over at Fu, and Fu's mouth dropped open. Ying was amused to see the scabbed-over slice in Fu's cheek stretch to a point where it had to hurt. Ying glanced down at Fu's chest and saw a dragon scroll poking out. He was about to lunge for the scroll when he noticed Fu's body go rigid.
Ying turned and saw Tonglong approaching with his men. Near the front of the group was Hok hanging from the pole.
“FU! HELP ME!” Malao cried.
Ying smirked as Fu leaped next to Malao and grabbed the end of the chain near Malao's feet. Fu's robe opened slightly and Ying saw more scrolls. As he prepared to launch himself at Fu, Ying heard monkeys approaching. Angry monkeys. He looked up and saw dozens of macaques racing toward him through the treetops.
“Fire!” Ying commanded, and shots rang out from the qiangs carried by Tonglong's men. Monkeys rained down around them. A piercing screech filled the air, and Ying noticed a white monkey run off into the trees. Blood dripped from its arm. The remaining monkeys followed the white one's hasty retreat.
Ying laughed. “Fine fighting force you have there, Malao.”
Fu growled and said, “Finer than the men you lost at Cangzhen! At least most of the monkeys … GRRRRR … escaped … ARRRRR … alive!”
Through the taut chain, Ying felt Fu tense in preparation for a mighty jerk. Ying chuckled to himself. The instant he felt Fu's big pull begin, Ying let go of the chain.
Fu sailed backward and Ying soared forward toward his closest opponent—Malao.
“Don't let him grab you!” Fu cried out.
But it was already too late. Ying clamped down on Malao's exposed neck with a powerful eagle claw. His razor-sharp fingernails pierced Malao's skin, sinking deep into a pressure point. Ying grinned at Fu as he squeezed, his nails slicing into Malao's nervous system like thin, ragged knives. Malao slipped into unconsciousness.
Ying watched Fu's eyes fill with fury. Ying discreetly formed an eagle claw with his free hand and took a deep breath. An instant later, Fu leaped at Ying's outstretched arm, attempting to break Ying's grip on Malao.
Fu can be so predictable, Ying thought. As Fu smashed into his arm, Ying released Malao and lashed out with his other hand, latching on to the back of Fu's neck with amazing speed. Fu didn't have a chance. Like Malao, Fu was unconscious within moments.
Ying lessened his grip on Fu and removed the scrolls from Fu's robe. He addressed his men.
“Did all of you see that?” Ying said. “That is how you take care of business! Quickly, efficiently, decisively!”
Ying glanced over at one of the weapons carts and saw Commander Woo sitting inside it with the hatch open. The Commander's right leg was bent at an odd angle.
“COMMANDER WOO!”Ying said. He pointed to Hok. “Look what Tonglong has caught. There is your restless spirit from Cangzhen, hanging from that pole. He was the one you felt watching you, and he snatched the Grandmaster's body from beneath your nose. Hobble over there on your one good leg and untie the one called Hok so that he can walk. He's going on a little trip.”
Commander Woo nodded and Ying looked over at Captain Yue's sedan chair. The silk curtains were drawn tight.
“CAPTAIN YUE!” Ying shouted. “Get yourself out from behind those curtains this instant.” Captain Yue poked his head out and Ying continued. “You will tie up the two troublemakers known as Fu and Malao, and they, too, will walk. Their paralysis is only temporary, so I suggest you hurry.”
Captain Yue made a sour face but nodded in consent. Ying scowled and turned to Tonglong.
“TONGLONG! You have proven your loyalty to me by capturing Hok. Now it is time for you to get your hands dirty. You will finish what was left unfinished back at the temple. Kill these monks. We will set up camp here for the night, so make sure you take them far into the forest before completing the job. I don't want any tigers coming around here to dine on their corpses or lap up their blood. If you run into any problems, fire a warning shot from a qiang. I'd hate to have to interrupt my reading to clean up any mess you might make, so don't make any mistakes. And make sure you pay special attention to Fu. He's already gotten away from you once.”
“I give you my word,” Tonglong said with a gleam in his eye. “I'll take care of the one called Fu.”
“We'll see about that,” Ying replied. “Don't forget to keep an eye on Hok. And keep a tight leash on Malao, too. Malao may not look like much, but he's a tricky little runt. Now get out of here!”
Very little time had passed, but Ying knew his world had changed forever. As he lay on his sleeping mat inside his tent, he rode a wave of emotions he had never known. He tried his best to relax, but nothing seemed to work. He was just too excited.
Now I know how Malao feels most of the time, Ying joked with himself. Pity I'll never get to tell him.
Ying was immersed in reading the first dragon scroll. His brain absorbed the information like a thirsty sea sponge. For the first time ever, Ying felt a connection with something. It wasn't a person or a place, it was a philosophy—an approach to life outlined within the first dragon scroll. He had always assumed the secret scrolls for each animal kung fu style contained advanced fighting techniques—and they did—but they also contained other things: mental guidelines, spiritual guidelines, and much, much more.
Back at Cangzhen, Ying had always been criticized for focusing all his energy on the martial aspects of his eagle-style training. He had ignored the mental and spiritual components, but he had had good reason— the fighting component was the only part that had ever made sense to him.
But now that he was reading the first dragon scroll, Ying was beginning to understand that there was more to kung fu than fighting. Having the nonfighting elements explained in a manner that his inner dragon could comprehend made all the difference. In fact, even the eagle-style fighting techniques he had perfected over time didn't make as much sense as the fighting philosophies described in the first dragon scroll. Ying now saw why dragon-style kung fu was considered the most powerful.
A dragon stylist's life was to be a rich combination of all things: positive and negative, internal and external, hard and soft. At the very surface was the self-defense component, which took the best attributes of the most effective animal kung fu styles known. Dragon-style kung fu involved the use of pressure-point attacks and joint locks from the eagle-style arsenal, pinpoint strikes from the crane style, heavy-handed blows
from the tiger style, and circular evasion movements from the snake style, all combined with the unpredictability of the monkey style.
Beyond the fighting techniques, Ying saw another side of martial training he never knew existed: leadership skills. He had had no idea that some people considered leadership an art. The first scroll outlined numerous psychological techniques that could be used to convince men to do what you wanted them to do. There was even a section on psychological warfare.
Ying could feel his power increasing with every line he read. He was more certain than ever that he was born to be a dragon. Strangely enough, some of the psychological techniques Ying read in the scroll were techniques he recognized Tonglong used when directing soldiers. Ying decided to pay closer attention to Tonglong.
Ying closed his eyes. Once his brothers were out of the picture, he would accept the title of General and become the youngest leader ever to report directly to an emperor. While that was an admirable goal, he wanted more. Both his father and Grandmaster had been dragons to the core, but Ying wanted more power than either of them had had. The dragon scrolls would help him first become like them—then surpass them.
A distant KAA-BOOM! suddenly cut through Ying's head like a battle-ax through a winter melon.
“ARRRGH!” Ying shouted as he rolled up the first dragon scroll and dropped it onto his sleeping mat. It seemed his visions of greatness would have to wait. His men had just failed. Again. That was a warning shot from a qiang.
Ying bolted out of his tent and raced over to Tong-long's horse. He passed a wide-eyed soldier and hissed, “I'll return shortly. Tell the men not to do anything stupid while I'm gone.”
Ying unhitched the horse, leaped onto its bare back, and grabbed hold of the reins. He thrust his long toenails into the horse's sides and hung on tight with his powerful thighs, steering the animal as best he could toward the trail Tonglong's men had hacked into the forest.
Horseback riding was not a skill practiced at Cangzhen, and Ying had had little time to learn it while employed by the Emperor. He had a difficult time, to say the least. Branches tugged at his silk robe and pants, and the horse seemed to go out of its way to lean toward any tree limb that might knock Ying and his toenails from its back. By the time Ying reached the clearing where three men lay sprawled on the ground, his clothes were in tatters and his arms and legs were badly scratched and bruised. But he didn't notice. He was too busy trying to make sense of what he saw before him.
All three men lay facedown, spread quite some distance apart. Two of the men were soldiers. The third, with his thick braid and straight sword, was Tonglong. Tonglong and one of the soldiers didn't have any visible injuries, but the third man was a mess. His back appeared to have been shredded by a metal rake. Next to that soldier was a qiang, and in front of the qiang was a tree with a fresh hole at the base. The soldier must have fired the warning shot. As Ying dismounted, the mangled man turned his head to one side and moaned. Ying walked over to him and bent down.
“What happened here?” Ying asked in a firm tone. “Who did this to you?”
“A tiger, sir,” the soldier replied in a hoarse whisper.
“A tiger?” Ying said. “Are you sure?”
The man nodded ever so slightly. “A young tiger came out of nowhere to aid the boy called Fu, just like the monkeys helped the one called Malao earlier.”
Ying's carved face darkened. “Where are the boys?”
“Gone, sir.”
Ying paused. “Weren't there more men with you?”
“Yes There were five of us.”
“What happened to the other two men?”
“Gone, sir. Chased off by the tiger.”
Ying pointed to Tonglong and the other soldier in the clearing. “Are those two still alive?”
“I think so …,” the soldier muttered, “… just knocked unconscious by the boys. Those boys are not… normal, sir.”
“You don't have to tell me that,” Ying snarled. “How long have the boys been loose?”
“I'm not sure, sir. I keep passing out. But I think they ran off as soon as I fired the qiang”
Ying looked up at the sun. “By the time we wake those two up and get back to camp, it will be late. There seems to be no point in trying to search for the boys after nightfall. You men can't even seem to get things done in the daylight.”
“I'm sorry, sir.”
“You should be.”
“No, sir,” the soldier said. “You don't understand
I'm sorry because I can't answer any more questions
I'm going to sleep now. …”
With that, the man closed his eyes and began to snore.
Ying shook his head. For the first time ever, one of his men had done exactly what he said he was going to do.
Ying spat and walked over to Tonglong.
Tonglong appeared to be unconscious. He lay on his stomach, with no identifiable wounds on his back. Ying rolled Tonglong over. The only injury Ying could find was a large lump on Tonglong's forehead, over his left temple. Ying scowled. He knew firsthand that Fu and Malao both had foreheads like iron and could wield them like weapons.
As Ying stared at the lump, his frustration grew. To him, the lump was a symbol of his men's continued failure. The lump pulsed in time with Tonglong's heartbeat, a pink beacon reminding Ying that his future had just taken another step backward.
Ying bent one arm sharply and drove his elbow into the lump. Tonglong's entire body spasmed, then relaxed.
Ying grabbed Tonglong by his thick ponytail braid and dragged him toward the horse, ignoring the two remaining soldiers. He was determined to make it back to camp before sunset.
“Come on,” Malao said. “We need to keep moving while it's still daylight.”
“No,” Fu replied, sucking wind. He plopped down on the forest floor. “I need a break. I don't care if Ying and his men catch up. My legs are killing me.”
Malao rolled his eyes and walked over to Fu's side. He sat down and adjusted his singed robe. The decorated stick poked him in the ribs, but he didn't mind. He was just happy Captain Yue hadn't searched him before tying him up.
Malao scratched his head. “Where do you think we are?”
“Still pretty close to Ying's camp,” Fu replied. “I can smell them cooking dinner.”
“Dinner?” Malao said. “I'm starving. What are they cooking?”
Fu sighed. “Does it really matter? It's not like we're going to get any. I'd rather not talk about food right now.”
Malao began to fidget. “Okay, let's talk about something else, then. How about Hok? He didn't look so good back there.”
“Hok's fine. You know how tough he is. He's probably just exhausted. Who knows what he went through with Tonglong.”
“I guess you're right,” Malao said. He scratched his head again. “Do you think what Hok overheard about Grandmaster killing Ying's father is true?”
“I don't know what to think anymore,” Fu grumbled.
“What about the other things Hok said? Like Cangzhen being a base for secret activities and Grandmaster being some kind of powerful leader?”
“I said, I don't know what to think, Malao. Now will you please be quiet?”
“Fine,” Malao said. He stood and stretched. “You know, I can't believe Hok went to Shaolin Temple without us.”
Fu growled and stared at Malao. “Why are you still talking?”
Malao folded his arms and pouted.
“You could have gone with Hok, you know,” Fu said. “No one forced you to stay here.”
“But I felt bad for you, Pussycat. You looked so lonely back there. I didn't want you to start crying or anything.”
“Watch it,” Fu said.
Malao giggled. “So what are we going to do about the scrolls?”
“I don't know. I'll think of something. Now, would you mind keeping your rice hole closed? I need to think in peace.”
Malao turned away. “Have it your way,” he said with a huff. He
walked over to the base of a large elm and sprang up onto the lowest branch. As he scanned the tree looking for a suitable resting spot, the scent of cooking drifted past his nose.
Mmmm, Malao thought. It smells like mushroom soup. His eyes suddenly widened and he leaped down from the tree, crashing into Fu.
“What the—” Fu began to say.
“Mushrooms! Mushrooms! Mushrooms!” Malao chanted. “Fu, do you think you can take me to the trail Tonglong's men cut through the forest?”
“Probably. Why?”
“I've got a plan, that's why! And it's a good one! Come on, Pussycat, we need to hurry. We've only got until sunset!”
“You look ridiculous,” Fu said.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Malao asked.
Fu didn't respond.
Malao smirked. “That's what I thought. Now keep quiet. Ying and his men may come along any moment.”
Malao adjusted the clumps of grass poking out of his sleeves and tightened the large bundle tied to his head. He walked over to a cluster of mushrooms and smiled. Just as he suspected—sleeping mushrooms. He'd recognized them when they'd passed by earlier with Tonglong and the soldiers. Malao picked two handfuls and tied them up in the lower corner of his robe. Now all he needed was Ying's pouch of powdered dragon bone to set his plan in motion.
“Let's go,” Malao whispered. He crept silently through the evening shadows toward Ying's camp, staying close to the makeshift trail that had led them into the forest with Tonglong. Fu followed, but Malao noticed he looked uneasy. A moment later, Fu signaled to Malao that he heard someone up ahead. Malao motioned for Fu to follow him up a large oak tree. Fu did so without comment. Malao grinned. He was enjoying being the boss for once.
Malao settled into the tree's enormous arms and crossed his legs. He formed a makeshift table on his lap with his robe and untied the knot around the mushrooms. Carefully, he laid each one upside down on his lap and removed the stems. He picked up a mushroom cap and flipped it over into his cupped palm, running a finger across the gills. Tiny spores sprinkled into his hand. He grabbed another cap, and then another, until he had collected spores from all of them.