by Monkey
Fu slowed to a fast walk and looked up at Malao and the white monkey high in the treetops. “Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked.
“No,” Malao replied. “You want me to climb higher and take a look around?”
Fu stopped and bent over, panting heavily. “Yeah. See if you can find some water, too. I'm dying of thirst.”
“Hang on,” Malao said. He climbed higher and broke through the canopy with the white monkey at his side. The warm evening sun hit his face and he paused, filling his lungs with clean, fresh air. He turned to the monkey and patted its head. “It's nice up here, huh?” The monkey seemed to smile and nod. Malao smiled back.
The white monkey scratched the scab on the side of its head and Malao glanced at the larger scab on the monkey's arm. He remembered that his new friend had been injured while trying to protect him. He would never forget that.
The white monkey stopped scratching and stared at something in the distance. Malao followed its gaze. Not too far away he saw a break in the trees. It snaked through the forest for many li. A river. Perfect.
Malao turned around in a complete circle and realized he had no idea where they were. He shrugged his shoulders and patted the monkey's head again. “Keep an eye out for danger. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.” As Malao climbed down, the white monkey remained where it was, scanning the area.
Malao found Fu sitting on a large rock with his head in his hands.
“Let's go,” Malao said. “I don't know where we are, but there's a river not too far away.”
“Okay,” Fu mumbled, but he didn't move.
“Are you all right?” Malao asked.
Fu pulled his hands slowly off his face and sighed. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine.”
“I said I'm fine, Malao.”
Malao scratched his head. “I wonder what happened to the Drunkard.”
Fu looked up. “Can you do me a favor? Please don't call him the Drunkard anymore, okay?”
“Sure,” Malao said. “What should I call him, then?”
“I don't know.”
“How about if I just call him your father?”
Fu put his face back in his hands. “I don't think so.”
“Why not?” Malao asked.
“Because there's no proof that he's my father, that's why not.”
“Oh, come on, Fu. You can't be serious.”
Fu looked up at Malao. “I'm dead serious.”
“I would be proud if he was my father,” Malao said, “no matter what people call him. He saved us.”
“I know,” Fu said. “I was there, remember?”
“Well, doesn't that mean something?”
“Of course it does. I just feel …” Fu shook his head. “I don't know how I feel.”
“That's all right,” Malao said, patting Fu's shoulder. “I've been thinking a lot about the Monkey King and how he might be … you know … my father. At least we know your father is a nice guy. If I knew my father was a nice guy, I would—”
“That's enough,” Fu said, shrugging off Malao. “I know you're just trying to help, but I want to be alone right now.”
“Fine,” Malao said, standing up. “I guess I'll head over to that river alone and take a nice, long drink of cool, refreshing—”
“Goodbye, Malao.”
“Suit yourself, Pussycat. You better hope I don't get lost on my way back. It would be a shame if you didn't have me around to talk to anymore.” Malao grinned.
“Yeah, that would be a real shame,” Fu said. “Unfortunately, I'm sure your little friend would find you and guide you right back here.”
Malao rolled his eyes.
Fu sighed. “I wish one of the villagers was here to guide us to Shaolin—”
Malao suddenly jumped high into the air and he clapped his hands. “A guide! Of course! Why didn't I think of that sooner?”
“What are you talking about?” Fu asked.
“Watch this,” Malao said. He looked up into the treetops and waved his arms. The white monkey scurried down and over to Malao's side. Malao looked the monkey straight in the eye. “Can you take us to Shaolin Temple?”
The white monkey seemed to smile and grabbed Malao's hand. It squeezed three times, then scurried off. Malao giggled happily.
“How about that!” Malao said. “You wished for a guide, and now we have one! Come on, Fu!” Malao raced after the monkey.
“Hey!” Fu called out as he ran after them. “I wished for a villager!”
One day later, Malao found himself wishing for a few things of his own. First and foremost was a large hat to shield him from the heavy rain. A dry robe would be nice, too. Preferably one without singed holes in the backside.
As they trudged toward Shaolin Temple, the rain came down in buckets, soaking Malao, Fu, and the white monkey to the bone. Malao did his best to look at the bright side. At least the downpour would wash away what few footprints they left, making it all but impossible for Ying and his men to track them.
The following day wasn't much better, nor the day after that. There were enough breaks in the storm to squeeze in a few meals of roasted mushrooms, but for the most part Malao found himself cold, wet, and hungry. He was itchy, too. Black, prickly hair had begun to sprout on his head.
To make matters worse, Fu was acting strange. He was extremely quiet and grumpy. Malao kept his distance.
By the fourth day, the sun finally began to shine again. Malao noticed that the change in the weather brought about a change in Fu. Fu began to talk again. Of course, most of it was complaints about the itchy black hair on his own large head, but Malao would take complaints over silence anytime.
Malao told Fu about his numerous adventures. He told him about the bandits, who, like the Governor had mentioned, had huge amounts of gold. He also explained how he had helped Hok retrieve Grandmaster's body. They talked for hours about what they thought Seh and Hok might be doing and debated over where their oldest brother, Long, might have disappeared to.
After nearly a week, Fu began to share some of his adventures. He described in great detail his tiger-hook-sword battle with Tonglong and how he originally came to possess the dragon scrolls. He also talked about how he had become blood brothers with the young tiger that had helped him, Malao, and Hok escape Tonglong in the forest. Fu even told Malao about the villagers and how the Drunkard had been shot trying to rescue him from Ying's number three man, Captain Yue.
Still, Fu never wanted to talk about the Drunkard in depth, and he always changed the subject whenever Malao brought up the Monkey King. It seemed any kind of father talk was off-limits as far as Fu was concerned. Malao didn't push.
Malao noticed that if there was one topic that really seemed to get Fu talking, it was Ying. Malao and Fu spent hour after hour arguing about where they thought Ying might appear next. In the end, they agreed that it really didn't matter where Ying showed up. They were headed to Shaolin Temple together, and nothing was going to stop them.
Nearly ten days after they had left the village, Malao decided Fu was finally back to his old self. It was a mixed blessing.
“I am so hungry!” Fu said. “Could you please ask our tour guide to find us something to eat?”
“Quit your complaining, Pussycat,” Malao replied. “I'm sure they'll have plenty to eat at Shaolin.”
“Yeah, if we ever make it there,” Fu said. “Are you sure your friend knows where he's going? I don't see any sign of a temple. In fact, I haven't seen anything but trees and the back of your fuzzy head for days. We're not even on a trail. We're just following some one-eyed monkey through the forest. We should be there by now. The Governor said Shaolin was ten days away.”
“The Governor probably traveled on a road,” Malao said. “We've been walking through the forest.”
“Yeah, but the Governor probably stopped and rested for a reasonable period of time every night. We've been traveling almost nonstop the whole time. Maybe we should look for a
road.”
“No,” Malao said. “Someone might see us and report us to Ying. This is the best way to travel.”
Fu shook his head. “I bet we're hopelessly lost. I bet—”
The white monkey suddenly stopped up ahead and stared back at Fu. It seemed to snicker.
Malao grinned. “Satisfied?”
“Satisfied with what?” Fu asked.
“Look.” Malao pointed through the trees. Ahead was a clearing that appeared to contain numerous stone structures. Each one was tall and skinny and pointed to the heavens like a finger.
Fu rushed forward and Malao followed. The clearing was enormous and filled with a sea of stone monuments, which ranged in size from Malao's height to the height of several men. Though he had never been there before, Malao knew exactly what he was looking at—Shaolin Temple's famous Pagoda Forest.
“We made it!” Fu said.
Malao smiled. He looked back at the white monkey, which sat high atop a large maple at the edge of the tree line. The monkey made a quick motion like it was blowing Malao a kiss, then it disappeared into the forest. Malao sighed and looked at Fu.
Fu smirked. “Wasn't that precious.”
Malao punched Fu in the arm.
Fu laughed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go meet our new brothers! I wonder what they're having for dinner?”
Malao scratched his head. “Hey, do you mind if I do something first? It should only take a few moments.”
“What could be more important than dinner?”
“I'd like to find the small pagoda built for the boy who … you know …”
Fu raised his eyebrows. “The boy who fell into the soup?”
Malao nodded.
“You're terrible, Malao. Haven't you joked enough about that?”
“No, no,” Malao said. “This is no joke. Honest. I want to pay my respects. Will you help me find it?”
Fu groaned. “I guess so. Why don't we—” Fu suddenly stopped talking. He stood perfectly still and pointed through the Pagoda Forest.
Malao followed Fu's finger and saw tendrils of smoke rising into the sky. He strained his eyes and began to make out a series of rooftops behind a high wall. One or two looked charred and broken.
“A big fire?” Malao said.
“Shhh!” Fu whispered. “More like an attack, I think. Just like Cangzhen.”
“No way,” Malao said. “This is Shaolin Temple. Nobody could—”
“Quiet!” Fu whispered. “The enemy might be all around us.”
Malao rolled his eyes. “You're paranoid, Pussycat.”
“Oh, yeah? Where are all the monks?”
“It's the middle of the afternoon,” Malao said. “If this were Cangzhen, it would be nap time. You remember nap time, don't you?”
“Keep your voice down!” Fu whispered. “It's better to be safe than sorry.”
“Fine,” Malao whispered. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Let's split up.” Fu pointed to a tall oak behind Malao. “You climb that tree and keep an eye out while I sneak up to the compound and investigate. If you see anything suspicious, screech like a monkey. Otherwise, stay quiet and sit tight. I'll come back here as soon as I'm through.”
Without another word, Fu turned and sprinted over to a large six-sided pagoda. After quickly scanning the area, he ran and dove next to a smaller one with a rectangular base. A moment later, Malao lost sight of him.
Malao shrugged his shoulders and walked to the tree Fu had singled out. He stretched and casually leaped toward the thick trunk—but felt himself suddenly yanked back to earth. A firm hand slithered over his mouth and clamped down hard enough to bruise his lips.
A familiar voice hissed in his ear, “Silly little monkey. You should learn to listen to your older brothers.”
Malao knew there was no point in fighting back. He relaxed and the hand over his mouth slipped away, dragging a thin line of saliva across his cheek.
“That's disgusting,” Seh said. He took a step back and wiped his hand on the corner of his blue silk robe.
“That's what you get for sneaking up on me like that again,” Malao replied. “Can't you just say hello like a normal person?”
“Keep your voice down,” Seh whispered.
Malao wiped his cheek and looked up at his tallest brother. He noticed Seh's spiky black hair was longer than his and appeared to be growing in unevenly.
“Hey, what happened to your hat?” Malao asked. “Maybe you should put it back on. It looks like your head got too close to Fu when he was practicing with his tiger hook swords.”
“Stop goofing around,” Seh said. “This is serious. I overheard you talking to Fu, and he is right. The enemy could still be near.”
“What enemy?” Malao asked. “And by the way, what are you doing here?”
“That's a really long story,” Seh replied.
Malao rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on—”
“Shhh,” Seh whispered. “The bandits heard about a planned attack on Shaolin and I volunteered to warn the monks, okay? Obviously, I arrived too late.”
“When did you get here?”
“This morning.”
“Do you know who did this?”
“The rumor was a huge platoon of soldiers led by one of the Emperor's generals. But I don't know for sure. I haven't found anyone alive to ask.”
Malao lowered his head. “This is terrible.”
“You have no idea how terrible,” Seh said. “It's awful back inside the Shaolin compound. Is that where Fu is headed?”
“Yeah.”
“He's in for an unpleasant surprise. I better go see if I can catch him.”
“Wait a moment,” Malao said. “Have you seen Hok?”
Seh's narrow eyes widened. “Hok? No. Why?”
“He told me and Fu that he would meet us here. But that was eleven or twelve days ago. The plan was for him to come here first, and then Fu and I would meet up with him later. Ying stole the dragon scrolls from Fu, but then we stole them back again.”
“You guys stole the scrolls back?”
“Sort of,” Malao said. “We got three. Ying still has one.”
Seh patted Malao's fuzzy head. “Nice work, little brother. Did you happen to see Long?”
“No. How about you?”
“I still haven't seen him, either,” Seh replied. “I'm sure he's fine, though. Listen, I want to catch up with Fu before he gets to the gates. Why don't you climb the tree like Fu suggested? We'll come back for you soon.”
“Why can't I come with you?” Malao asked.
“Having a lookout is a really good idea, Malao. It's an important job.”
“But what am I supposed to look out for ? You already said you haven't seen anyone.”
“Please climb the tree, Malao.”
Malao pouted. “Fine. I'll be waiting up there. Alone.”
“Thanks,” Seh said. He spun around and headed straight into the Pagoda Forest without bothering to sneak around like Fu had done.
That's funny, Malao thought. Seh doesn't look too concerned about staying hidden. Why should I sit in a tree while he and Fu get to look around? I have something important I'd like to check out, too. And it shouldn't take long to find it. I could probably take a look and be back in the tree long before those two return.
After making sure Seh was out of sight, Malao raced around the Pagoda Forest scanning only the smallest monuments. There were nearly two hundred pagodas in the forest, but it didn't take him long to search just the small ones. Unfortunately, he didn't find what he was looking for—the pagoda dedicated to the boy who fell into the soup. Malao began to wonder if there was another group of pagodas somewhere nearby. Or perhaps the boy's memorial was placed off to the side, away from the grown-ups’? Malao scampered into the surrounding tree line.
About twenty paces in, Malao came to a small clearing bordered on three sides by a wall of thick vegetation. A heavy patchwork of vines hung from the treetops all the way to the gr
ound. The snarled mess appeared to stretch well into the bowels of the forest.
From the edge of the tangle came a calm, smooth voice.
“Hello, little one.”
Malao jumped. He looked up and saw a slender bald man in an orange monk's robe lying sprawled along a large branch high off the ground. The monk appeared to be about thirty years old and seemed very comfortable up there. One arm and one leg dangled lazily in midair.
“Who are you?” Malao asked.
“Who am I?” the monk purred. “I believe the question is, who are you? And, maybe more importantly, who is the tall one in blue?”
“He's my brother,” Malao said. “We're monks from Cangzhen Temple.”
The monk's bushy black eyebrows raised up. “Cangzhen? You're so … young. What are you doing here?”
“Our temple was destroyed and we need help,” Malao said. “But it doesn't look like there's anyone left here who could help us. Well, except for you, I guess. What happened?”
“Two days ago Shaolin was attacked by soldiers,” the monk replied. “Soldiers with qiangs. Thousands of soldiers fell in the battle, along with every single warrior monk. I am all that is left.”
Malao felt his heart sink. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Why, the Emperor, of course. He's the only one with enough power to accomplish such a feat. He didn't do it alone, though. He had help.”
“What kind of help?” Malao asked. “Was Shaolin betrayed by a traitor?”
“A traitor?” the monk said. “I guess some people might call him that. He's been called worse.”
Malao sighed. “Our temple was betrayed by a traitor. My former brother, Ying, returned and snuck soldiers into our compound. Those soldiers had qiangs, too. More than one hundred monks died.”
“Really?” the monk said, scratching the side of his face. “That's a shame. It sounds like Cangzhen suffered the same fate as Shaolin. Except Shaolin's losses were far greater. There were more than one thousand monks here and, like I said, I am all that is left. How many escaped the attack on Cangzhen?”
“Fi—”
“Don't answer that question,” Seh interrupted as he slipped into the clearing.