The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  The months chased and surrounded Xiaoyu. The routines began to change drastically. Master Song was a creative tutor. He would make Xiaoyu do punches then push-ups. When the boy’s arms were spent Master Song would lunge at his head with a wooden staff, forcing him to block with shiftless arms. Master Song’s skill allowed him to toy with Xiaoyu and taunt him. Xiaoyu’s body was so tired and unmanageable he had a hard time detecting and deflecting the jabs from the wooden staff. Although the boy’s body could be worn down, Master Song quickly realized the same wasn’t true for the boy’s mind. Xiaoyu could come up with increasingly imaginative ways to overcome physical exhaustion. His favorite tactics included turning the surroundings against Master Song and turning Master Song against himself. Xiaoyu understood what most his age wouldn’t: Master Song was never intent on hurting him even when it seemed like he was. Xiaoyu learned to fake injuries to toy with Master Song. He became expert at pretending to be more exhausted than he really was. Xiaoyu’s diet was always the same—rice with vegetables and dried sometimes-salted fish. In the beginning, it left Xiaoyu wanting more but after some months he was used to it. His body adjusted to the right amount of sleep it needed to recover and made efficient use of nutrients in his food rations. Xiaoyu decided it was best for him to hide his increased recovery speed from Master Song.

  After seven months, Master Song and Xiaoyu began shadow boxing twice daily. The first round took place in the mornings after stretching. The second round was later in the afternoon. Their training sessions took on a different flavor—less drills, more sparring and more feedback. Master Song used different techniques to show his pupil some of the different styles he might see. He employed different strategies as well. Sometimes Master Song was the aggressor, to show his pupil how some opponents would try to overwhelm him psychologically and physically. Sometimes Master Song would take a more passive role and Xiaoyu would launch an assault. Master Song pointed out how quickly Xiaoyu was burning up his energy, something Xiaoyu had noticed but been unwilling to admit to himself. Master Song told Xiaoyu that no style or strategy was absolute. Fighting was a mental exercise of matching strengths with weaknesses. No fighter had an absolute advantage. Master Song pointed out that just because he was stronger than Xiaoyu didn’t mean his advantage was automatic. Strength was not efficient. A show of force was expensive in terms of energy. Master Song reminded Xiaoyu they trained together but in the evenings Master Song would leave Xiaoyu alone. Xiaoyu realized for the first time that he had no knowledge of Master Song’s recovery from day-to-day. Master Song admitted at the end of the day I’m definitely more tired than you are.

  Master Song elaborated the whole point of Xiaoyu’s training in the warehouse was to make him see things a certain way. For eight months he never left the warehouse. Trucks and workers came to drop and retrieve boxes. The boxes came and went but Xiaoyu stayed. His knowledge of the outside world was stunted so that his knowledge of would-be opponents would grow. Master Song told Xiaoyu he should be imagining his opponents constantly. He assured Xiaoyu imagining his opponents gave him a ubiquitous advantage because he would always imagine them as more than they actually were. Imagine a monster before you meet the man. In the middle of the seventh month, Master Song told Xiaoyu he had an opponent in three weeks. The Flying Dragons and the Moons shared similar mild-mannered characteristics, which made them favorite cousins in the Triad family. The counterparts on both sides were on friendly terms. Master Song’s Flying Dragons’ counterpart was a former Sanda boxer from Shenzhen. Master Song had told him about Xiaoyu and said he was talented, without mentioning he was a Jade Soldier candidate. Xiaoyu’s eight-month training was ending in late October of 1990. He was four months shy of his tenth birthday. Master Song told the Flyers they should match him against a boy who was between ten and twelve years-old.

  The night before his match Xiaoyu could only remember his instructions from Master Song. Get enough sleep. Wake up early and stretch. Run around for twenty minutes. Then stretch again. He woke up earlier than he should have. He knew it was too early without even looking at the clock. He thought of turning the lights on to remind himself of the real world but he was too comfortable in the dark. The problem was his anxiety. It could overwhelm his pitch black reality. With the lights on, he would be forced to look at neatly-stacked cardboard boxes. With the lights off, anxiety came to life. It was a ten-meter monster that could climb. It climbed around the shelves of the warehouse and thinned out its body as it slithered through the boxes sitting on shelves. It must have been feeding on the darkness because the monster grew rapidly. Before long the monster was large enough to occupy half the warehouse. Xiaoyu’s heart raced. His breathing was deep but rapid. He thought about going for the light switch but assumed the monster would beat him to it. He stayed on his cot, blanketed by agitation. Eventually, the rapid breaths and speeding heart became enough to tire out an already tired boy and he was able to sleep again. So deep was his sleep that the incredible monster died, caught in a trap somewhere in the depths of his subconscious.

  Xiaoyu woke up feeling strong and victorious. He wasn’t sure why. He had no memory of the large monster that occupied the warehouse hours before. He wrapped his hands and stretched. As he stretched, he would have welcomed company—man or monster. He sat comfortably in a full split, leaning first to the right then to the left. He stood at attention with his body straight and raised his right hand in the air. Remaining mostly still he kicked his right palm with his right leg. He then tried the left side and repeated. He ran around the warehouse forty times. He knew it took him about thirty seconds to do one lap around the warehouse. Without a timer, he told himself forty times around would be twenty minutes. He maintained a steady heart rate and took a small break after finishing his laps. Then he continued stretching. Master Song entered the warehouse an hour later than he would have on a normal training day. He brought Xiaoyu breakfast of a fried egg over rice—strong protein with vitamins over weak protein with carbohydrates.

  “How did you sleep?” asked Master Song.

  “Good,” said Xiaoyu.

  “How do you feel?” asked Master Song.

  “Good,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Did you stretch?” asked Master Song.

  “I stretched, ran, then stretched,” said Xiaoyu.

  “Good. Did you do any work with the dummy?” asked Master Song. Xiaoyu’s brow narrowed and he looked confused.

  “You didn’t say,” said Xiaoyu.

  “I know. I didn’t want you to do any work with the dummy, that’s why I didn’t say,” said Master Song, “I said before it is good to imagine your opponents. That’s what the dummy is for. But you must also clear your thoughts of your opponent so you can face him. Today you’re going to hit, but it won’t be this. It’ll be a real opponent who is going to hit back. Now is not the time for imagining things. Now is the time for letting all things go. When you meet him you will see him, then you will know.” The explanation seemed to satisfy Xiaoyu. He finished what was left of his breakfast and made his bed. On a non-training day, Xiaoyu had no clue what else he should do. Master Song did some combinations on the wood dummy for Xiaoyu’s benefit or his own. Never before had he seemed so playful in front of Xiaoyu. He kicked the dummy in no particular fashion and jumped up and down howling.

  “Don’t I look like Bruce Lee?” asked Master Song.

  “Of course not,” said Xiaoyu, “Bruce Lee looks way better than you.” Master Song looked at Xiaoyu and laughed. Master Song had achieved his goal—a light-hearted moment with his pupil. It was his way of saying he was proud of Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu understood the same. A serious mood returned to the warehouse quickly. Master Song looked at his watch then looked at Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu could read Master Song’s face; it was time to go. Xiaoyu followed Master Song out of the warehouse the same way he had entered with the stocky man eight months before. It was a sunlit day, his first in over eight months. A 1982 gray Volkswagen Rabbit was parked in front of the bay doors of the warehouse. Xiaoyu knew
Master Song came and went by bus on their usual training days. He had come by car—the day was special. Xiaoyu instinctively went for the back seat. Master Song told him his place was in the front. Before starting the engine, Master Song reached toward the back seat and grabbed a plastic bag that he let rest in Xiaoyu’s lap. Xiaoyu reached in the bag to feel the polished skin. He dragged his finger over the surface of a wet fabric. Pulling the fabric out, it was revealed to be a black silk wushu shirt. Master Song told Xiaoyu it should fit. Both knew the only way to be sure was for Xiaoyu to try it on. Also in the bag, was a black rubber mouthpiece. Xiaoyu enjoyed the esteem of the ride. The car was nothing special, but the feeling made up the difference. The silk shirt was comfortable and it was the first time since arriving in Hong Kong that he was allowed a front seat view. The city looked different from the front seat—more knowable, less like a stranger. He felt like a passenger and not like a package, the difference of going for a ride or being transported. Master Song opened the glove compartment and removed a black cassette tape. He put his little finger into the reel hole of the tape to tighten the ribbon then pushed the cassette into the tape deck. A few static moments later Dire Straits’ Walk of Life sounded in the car. Xiaoyu had never heard the song before; it made him feel like a ten year-old boy—for the first time. A Jade Soldier candidate, but he was still at the age of discovery. They took the CHT Tunnel crossing over to Kowloon and into Flying Dragon territory. They spent little time on Gascoigne Road before pulling onto the streets of Yau Ma Tei. Two left turns later, Master Song pulled up to the entrance of an underground garage. The garage was for extended stay guests visiting family at the hospital across the street. The Flyers limited access to the fifth and sixth sublevels. Level five had its own private entrance. Instead of a yellow arm like the outside entrance, it had a sliding iron gate born and bred to keep others out. A flat polished metal console was sticking out of the cement floor in front of the iron gate. Master Song stopped his car in front of the console. On the console were three stainless steel push buttons—top, bottom, middle. Master Song reached in his pocket for a torn piece of brown paper bag. He studied the piece of paper for a few seconds then pushed the buttons in sequence. After pushing the buttons Master Song waited. Nothing. Master Song studied the piece of paper more carefully, realizing some of the buttons had to be pressed at the same time. Satisfied, the gate began to move.

  Master Song pulled passed a row of white utilities vans and parked his car in Spot 24. Opening the driver side door Master Song looked around, thinking the space should be more crowded. Looking back at Xiaoyu, his eyes told the boy the two of them would have to explore to find where they should be. Xiaoyu got out of the car and walked around to Master Song’s side.

  “Someone should meet us here,” said Master Song.

  “Why don’t we keep going?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “I was told to park in Spot 24. That someone would be here for us,” said Master Song.

  “Do we wait here?” asked Xiaoyu.

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” said Master Song.

  The sound of a popped lock undid their conversation. The door to a white utility van swung open behind them. The noise attracted Master Song’s attention first. Master Song turned to see a familiar face stepping out of the van. The man was burly, a statue of brute strength. He was tall in an unaccommodating way. His body seemed to expand in all directions. Despite his size, Xiaoyu’s mind stayed clear as he approached. Master Song took a step forward and shook the man’s hand. The men exchanged greetings before the large man lead Master Song and Xiaoyu further into the garage and around a concrete partition separating part of the garage. Xiaoyu became confident they were in the right place because of the black Mercedes cars that occupied a majority of the parking spots. Some of the cars were occupied, some were not. Men formed huddles billowing smoke. Everyone had tobacco in some form; almost everyone had it lit. When Master Song and Xiaoyu entered the crowded area the attention was immediate. More people began to climb out of their cars. A few faces were familiar to Xiaoyu, the stocky man and the thin man were there, along with Mr. Cheung and his chubby driver. One other recognizable face was there—Uncle Woo, the Dragon Head. It was the first time Xiaoyu had seen him standing. He wasn’t tall but taller than he looked while seated. Xiaoyu scanned the faces on his left and his right for one face in particular, Li Xing, his uncle. Li Xing’s face was not in the crowd. Xiaoyu wasn’t sure if he was one of the few still waiting in the car. Deni Tam was also missing. Xiaoyu imagined him coming fashionably and ceremoniously late. Deni struck him as a man who stood on ceremony. Judging by the amount of effort, this was a ceremony.

  Xiaoyu didn’t feel any different from the gathering of Mercedes men. The contrast was welcomed. He spent the prior eight months in a jade solitary confinement. His only human interaction was with Master Song. The assembly was surprisingly reassuring, a welcome party at the gate of the world. Xiaoyu understood he would have to fight for a place in it. He stuck by Master Song’s side as if they would both have to fight—they would. Xiaoyu had already been selected; he was protected by the Mark. The eight dragons stood at careful watch over their newly anointed. Only he could wear the Mark for the Moons. So long as he lived, the Mark protected him. Master Song walked into the crowd without the same protection. If his pupil lost his opening fight, there would be serious questions about his ability to train the candidate. Although Xiaoyu couldn’t be replaced, his master could. Though Xiaoyu would fight, Master Song’s name was on the match.

  “Why don’t we get warmed up?” said Master Song. Xiaoyu assented by taking off his black silk top. The sleeves of silk had covered his arms, but when he took them off he began to draw looks like he had never seen. Xiaoyu wasn’t a stranger to unwelcomed eyes. He got stares a lot and had grown accustomed to them. In Kuandian he was the Heigui. Leaving Kuandian meant it had been a long time since he had been called Black Devil. But he heard the name constantly. Heigui was his name for himself in his own mind. The looks took Xiaoyu by surprise because they were different looks. They weren’t looking at his skin; they were looking at his scales. He was a different sort of creature. They could care less about Heigui; they cared everything about the Mark. A meditative silence came over the crowd. The stakes were raised and clear. The Flyers became increasingly disinterested in the match. They began to feel like they had been set up. The Moons were uncertain about how they should react. They all looked at Uncle Woo and he didn’t bat an eye. They hadn’t enlisted a Jade Soldier candidate since Uncle Woo became Dragon Head. And Uncle Woo didn’t rise the ranks of the Moons without reason. He knew to test Xiaoyu he would have to fight him against the best boy from another branch. The Flyers wouldn’t have sent their best to fight a would-be Jade Soldier. To be the best brawler out of boys taken in from the streets was one thing, to be a Jade Soldier was a different thing entirely.

  Master Song led Xiaoyu through a series of warm-up drills. The silence was so complete it was as if they were still in the warehouse. The Flyers and the Moons were impressed at how accurately the boy could kick his master’s hands. The boy could stretch his legs fully and hit his target while maintaining balance enough to immediately switch legs. So exact was the boy’s technique it appeared less like a warm-up session, more like a how-to session. The Flyers were confused about their next move. Xiaoyu showed no shyness in warming up in front of a crowd of strangers. He moved smoothly as if no one was watching at all. To save face, the Flyers decided they should keep their end of the agreement and debut their champion. A signaling nod was given to a broad shouldered man, who went to the back of his Mercedes and opened the door. A lean dark-skinned boy stepped out of the car. Observers thought he was tall for his age, without knowing his age. He might have been a good-looking boy but for the many scars on his face and arms. He looked as if many of his meals were stolen and many of his companions gone. The boy’s life had been a harsh and lonely one. From far away it was clear that he had a size advantage on the would-be Jade
Soldier. His arms and legs were longer.

  Master Song had taken his time to warm up his pupil and then decided not to say anything. He didn’t want to weigh down Xiaoyu’s mind by telling him something. He studied the other boy head-to-toe and thought of a way for Xiaoyu to best him, but he said nothing to Xiaoyu. Master Song had been instructing for a long time and understood its limits. Not all principles were worthy of instruction, some things were life-taught and self-learned. Master Song knew the path to execution could be a guided one but the path to victory had to be found. He could see clearly the boy was older than Xiaoyu; he thought a little reminder wouldn’t be disruptive. He put his hand on Xiaoyu’s shoulder and said one word, adapt. The other boy took no punches and threw no kicks. He found space enough to stretch by himself. He stretched silently for the better of ten minutes. When he stopped he was ready. The large man who first met Master Song and Xiaoyu waved Xiaoyu over. The other boy understood he was to approach also. As the boy came closer, Xiaoyu looked at his eyes. They were dark. Not a deep darkness but dark as if the light in his mind were broken or out. Xiaoyu kept looking at the boy’s eyes, even when the boy met his gaze he didn’t stop staring. The large man began to talk. Xiaoyu couldn’t hear him; he only heard a low-pitched buzz sound that seemed to come from the other boy. He heard another sound that he recognized as his own heartbeat. The large man backed easily away, the boys stayed.

  The garage sat in silence. Xiaoyu’s heart was steady but his mind was racing with old habits. His mind began to classify the other boy, something it did with all opponents. When his mind began to settle, Xiaoyu realized the boy was a drone. Fighting was his one function, even if he would die in the process. He had no higher purpose. The Flyers and the Moons looked intently at the standoff. The set up was the most interesting nature could cook up—a fight between two different species. But the species weren’t Mother Nature’s creations. A car horn shot from one end of the garage to the other to start the fight—drone versus dragon. The boy drone responded quickly throwing his long legs at Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu blocked the first kick and the second, the two were repeats. Xiaoyu hopped to his left so as not to give the boy a stationary target. Realizing that he could no longer kick with the same leg, the boy paused to try to think of something else. Xiaoyu saw an opening to counter but decided against it because he was still studying his opponent. Xiaoyu did a quick leaning lunge at the boy just to test his reaction. The boy jumped backward. Xiaoyu thought it was a mistake. He thought the boy should have capitalized by knocking him further off his center of gravity. One of his long-legged kicks could have sent Xiaoyu flying to the floor. The drone had simply not thought of it or reacted quick enough. Xiaoyu’s understanding of the boy deepened. His legs were the parts he saw as weapons. He could only think of attacking with his legs. That was the creature he was. The drone faked with his left leg then kicked with his right. It was a different strategy but more of the same. Instead of blocking the kick, Xiaoyu pushed the boy’s leg down and moved in to counter with a spinning sidekick that landed on the left side of the boy’s pelvis. The kick hurt the drone even though it had missed its mark. The drone was noticeably irritated by the pain in his pelvis and the irritation began to show. He closed the gap between Xiaoyu and himself without realizing the loss of his long-leg kicks. The drone tried to get close and engage Xiaoyu in a boxing match. The drone threw different punch combinations at Xiaoyu, who used his arms as a shield over his face. One punch landed directly against Xiaoyu’s arm forcing his forearm into his face. The force of the blow sent Xiaoyu stumbling backward but he stayed on his feet. Xiaoyu tried to recover quickly, but the drone immediately covered the space between them. He tried to overwhelm Xiaoyu with another series of punches. Xiaoyu instinctively raised his arms in front of his face as a cage. As his arms absorbed punch after punch, his mind went into overdrive. With an idea in place, he started to back up to draw the boy even closer. Realizing his punches weren’t delivering maximum effect the boy hit Xiaoyu with a right hook that circumvented his arm-cage. The right hook hit Xiaoyu square in the bottom of his left jaw and sent him sideways in a wobbly motion. The idea in Xiaoyu’s mind overrode the pain in his face. Xiaoyu tilted his head down as if riddling from the pain of the blow. As the drone came in to close it out, Xiaoyu charged at his waist. Wrapping his arms around the drone’s waist, Xiaoyu stretched his left foot behind the boy and twisted both their bodies around, causing them both to lose balance. Xiaoyu tucked his head into the drone’s gut, which felt like a bowling ball when the boy’s body hit the floor.