The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  The drone coughed out the wind, forced up by the impact. Xiaoyu kept his head low against the boy’s body, biting deep into his mouthpiece. While the drone was still feeling the impact of the fall, Xiaoyu hit him with a hammer fist to the left cheek. The drone had forgotten he was in a fight. He began flaying his arms like a bee on its back. Xiaoyu kept his teeth tight and his chin poked into the drone’s stomach. The drone started to slap him on the head while wrapping his legs around Xiaoyu’s body. Xiaoyu reformed his arm cage to protect his head. He realized putting the boy on the floor, took away his ability to kick, but it wasn’t an absolute advantage. The drone now had his legs locked around Xiaoyu while slapping him in the head. The drone’s hits were an annoyance if anything, but Xiaoyu couldn’t think of what to do. His heart began to beat faster as the drone slapped his head. Xiaoyu’s heart began to speak so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. His heart demanded brutal violence over strategy. Without thinking, Xiaoyu locked his hands together to form a mace. No longer using his arm-cage a few of the drone’s hits landed on Xiaoyu’s face. Xiaoyu raised his arms high and pushed off the floor with his legs to leverage his body. Xiaoyu brought his mace down hard on the drone’s face. The blow angered the drone making Xiaoyu quickly recover his arm-cage. The arm-cage absorbed the drone’s hits for only seconds before Xiaoyu exploded out of the cage and hit the drone in the jaw with a mini right hook. Xiaoyu could feel the drone’s legs loosen their grip. He head-butted the drone in the sternum as he rose to his feet. Xiaoyu stepped on the drone’s stomach then on his face before ending up on solid ground. Xiaoyu used his solid footing to launch an assault on the drone’s head with his feet. He kicked the drone in the cheek, breaking the bone. The pain forced the drone to cover his head with his hands. His head and hands got kicked. It was clear the drone wasn’t in the same condition he once was, but Xiaoyu didn’t know when the fight would be over. He kept kicking the drone in the head. The drone tried to get on his feet and run in the opposite direction—away from Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu pushed him hard in the back felling him on his knees. Xiaoyu stomped on the drone’s left ankle, a warden punishing his prisoner for attempted escape. The drone’s ankle flattened in an awkward direction. A small noise came followed by the drone’s shriek. Something gave—a bone, a ligament or a tendon. Xiaoyu jumped on the drone’s butt before dropping to his knees on his back. He grabbed the drone’s head and forced it down to begin a series of hard blows to the base of the drone’s skull at the neck. This was one technique, despite so many others, that Xiaoyu had learned from his master. After the fifth blow to the back of his skull, the drone was unconscious. Xiaoyu realized he could do more harm to an unconscious drone. He rose to his feet to start another series of kicks to the drone’s head. The Flyers and the Moons alike were surprised by Xiaoyu’s willingness to assail an unconscious opponent. To Xiaoyu an opponent was an opponent, conscious or not.

  A car horn sounded that drowned out the sound of the first kick to the unconscious drone. Xiaoyu understood it was time for him to stop. He stood over his opponent not knowing what to do. Xiaoyu wasn’t familiar with procedure. For him, there could be another horn or another opponent. If there was a second boy waiting in one of the Mercedes cars, Xiaoyu wanted the boy to see him standing over his opponent. He wanted the image burnt into the back of the boy’s mind. There was no other boy for Xiaoyu to fight. If there were, the Flyers wouldn’t have fought him against Xiaoyu. The Flyers didn’t know much about Xiaoyu. But they knew he had a deep understanding of damage and that was all they needed to know about him, that and his adaptability.

  All formalities were taken. The large man approached Master Song with extended hand. The two men shook hands much like they had before the fight. Two medium-sized men from the Flyers hoisted the drone by his arms and legs carrying him back to the Mercedes he came from. Flyers and Moons met each other halfway to shake hands and exchange words. Uncle Woo didn’t move. His counterpart from the Flyers was absent so he only shook hands with those who came to him—most Flyers did. Xiaoyu looked at Master Song, who gave him a slight smirk. The Flyers made awkward noises as they piled into their black cars. The fight left them in an awkward position. The boy, the drone, would need extensive medical treatment but they didn’t know if it was worth the investment. He was worth a lot when he could carry his own weight, but they didn’t think they would recoup their investment if they paid to fix him. They received a hint as they filed out of the garage. The oil-soaked image of the towering Kowloon East Medical Centre reflected on the black exterior of the Mercedes cars as the Flyers drove away. As was tradition, the losers left first.

  The Moons stayed and had cigarettes. A man went to the back of the Mercedes Uncle Woo stood in front of. He popped the trunk and returned seconds later with a wooden box. Xiaoyu watched as the Moons’ senior members levied the box for cigars. They were noticeably loud with the Flyers gone and the mood lightened as they laughed and joked, puffing on Montecristos. If he hadn’t realized it before, Xiaoyu understood the Moons were a tobacco culture. Xiaoyu stood near Master Song, who had nothing to say, at least, not in front of the Moons. Time passed and the Moons puffed away before one broke the huddle and walked toward Xiaoyu, it was Uncle Woo.

  “How about celebrating with a good meal?” asked Uncle Woo, “You hungry?”

  “Yes,” said Xiaoyu.

  “What about you Mr. Song?” asked Uncle Woo.

  “If you pick the restaurant,” said Master Song, “He knows all the great places in Hong Kong.”

  “My father always said you can do everything with good food in your stomach, without it you’ll do anything,” said Uncle Woo.

  “I believe him,” said Master Song.

  “Just follow us out,” said Uncle Woo.

  The Mynah Prime Palace had no connection to the Triads other than being Uncle Woo’s favorite place to eat. Uncle Woo was so fond of the restaurant that he was a frequent visitor, even though the restaurant was in Mong Kok, the Golden Masters’ territory. The restaurant did good business but the Triads couldn’t have such a restaurant because the food ingredients and overhead were too costly. The restaurant had a Peking Duck with Lemongrass Sauce that satisfied every time. It also had a wide assortment of seafood and a chef who specialized in all types of seafood. Uncle Woo often bragged the chef was a cousin of his, which had been true at some point in time. Uncle Woo insisted Xiaoyu sit by him and he took time explaining the best dishes to Xiaoyu and how they were prepared. Uncle Woo had decided early that he would develop a sense of culture to hide his smuggler beginnings. This deepened the relationship between him and Mr. Cheung. Mr. Cheung knew he had started out as a young man from wide-open country in Guangdong, who ended up driving a boat around the waters of Hong Kong. Although Uncle Woo had become cultured over decades in Hong Kong, Mr. Cheung knew he had simple origins and was always more comfortable keeping things simple. Uncle Woo had Mr. Cheung remind him often.

  Like Uncle Woo, Xiaoyu had learned to navigate muddy waters. The two took to each other immediately. Xiaoyu was also from a small rural place, but had learned to adapt to a big city.

  “Which one do you like the best?” Xiaoyu asked.

  “That one there,” Uncle Woo pointed to the Peking Duck with Lemongrass Sauce.

  “Good enough for you, good enough for me,” said Xiaoyu causing Uncle Woo to smile.

  “Two ducks with lemon sauce for right here and here,” said Uncle Woo to Mr. Cheung’s chubby driver, designated to put in the table’s order. Xiaoyu spent much of his time telling Uncle Woo about himself and eating duck. Uncle Woo was genuinely interested. Over the meal, it was decide that Xiaoyu and Master Song would continue to train at the warehouse but Xiaoyu would no longer live there. He would get his own hotel room again. Master Song would pick him up mornings and drop him off evenings. It was also decided that he should regularly spar against other boys at a local gym. They solicited suggestions about how to hide his tattoo. They decided he would have to wear long sleeves when training with o
ther boys. Uncle Woo was noticeably excited; he had only met one other Jade Soldier in his lifetime and it wasn’t for the Moons. He knew the last time the Moons had one, but it was decades earlier before he was high-ranking. He would never have been in the same room with the Dragon Head in his early days, and Jade Soldiers guarded Dragon Heads. He spent his years as Dragon Head trying to make the Moons more horizontal and less hierarchical. There was one other thing decided at the table and it frustrated Xiaoyu. Uncle Woo considered himself too old to need much protection, especially by the time Xiaoyu finished his eight years. It was decided he would serve as the primary protector of Deni Tam, the Moons were looking toward the future. But they didn’t tell Deni.

  Xiaoyu was moved into Island Gardens Plaza Hotel number 311. The building wasn’t tall and skinny; it was short and fat. It took up half the block and only a quarter of the sky. The face of the building was flat with ribs showing. Angular cement pillars striped the face of the building on either side of each window. Each window gave birth to an external AC unit. The building had a ten year-old design with a one year-old paint job. The baby-blue hotel wasn’t high-class; it was middle of the road after renovation. Uncle Woo wanted it that way. Uncle Woo liked his branch to keep a low-profile. The only thing lower than the building’s profile was the building itself. It was a four-story endomorph surrounded by twenty-story athletes. The building wasn’t tall enough to make the team but useful enough to make the cut—the Moons owned the whole thing out right. The hotel wasn’t big enough to have a full restaurant. It provided a simple buffet breakfast of rice, eggs, dumplings and spring rolls with your choice of tea or undrinkable coffee. Still, many drank the coffee. Xiaoyu was given special status. He was brought his choice of breakfast from the buffet. If the hotel ran out of anything, it was instructed to take special requests from room 311. At night the kitchen wasn’t open, so someone was instructed to fill his order from the menus of nearby restaurants. After a few weeks of residency, Xiaoyu had compiled a rainbow assortment of menus from local restaurants. He trained with Master Song during the day which he enjoyed, but his favorite activity was pouring over the pink, blue and yellow menu leaflets in the evening. Xiaoyu wasn’t allowed to order food directly to the hotel on his own. The front desk staff would pick up his food and made sure it was delivered to his room quickly.

  Xiaoyu and Master Song began to train at a local sparring gym—the warehouse had out lived its usefulness. Xiaoyu would be fighting on a large stage so he needed a bigger practice home. More than anything, he needed opponents. The gym was relatively new—no rust and no mildew—so many Sanda boxing coaches had moved their business to the gym. Wushu students trained there as well in the mornings. The gym had a daily evolution from practitioners of martial arts to practitioners of martial acts. By four o’clock in the afternoon, there wasn’t a Taichi or Wushu student to be found. The gym was full of kickboxing students whose movements were directed at targets. In the middle of the gym, was a training ring. The ring was a perfect square—a 6x6 meter laboratory. During practice, two fighters could share the ring with their sparring partners. For a timed fight, the conditions were as real as could be. The fight would be organized and the fighters would be stuck with each other, until one of them bowed out or knocked out. Xiaoyu’s next fight was in the ring roughly six weeks after he fought the drone. This fight was different. There were other boys his age sitting in foldable steel chairs around the ring. One of the gym staff served as referee. The fight itself was not controversial, Xiaoyu won by knocking the other boy out at the end of the eleventh minute. The controversy surrounded how much padding the boys should wear. Sanda was a gloves only affair. Punching was allowed. Kicking was allowed, as was grappling, but the only protection afforded was your opponent’s padded gloves and your ability to defend yourself. Mouthpieces and groin cups were a given. Xiaoyu was almost ten years-old and his opponent was almost twelve. The adults realized the boys couldn’t hit each other as hard as if they were full-grown. But the organizers didn’t want the boys to sustain injuries that might harm their physical development. The decision was to let the boys wear padded headgear but not foot pads. Instead, their feet and ankles would be taped to guard against flesh wounds, as was tradition.

  The fight was informative for almost everyone in the gym. The other boys watching would have bet against Xiaoyu initially; he seemed shy early on—afraid to hit or get hit. What it took them almost three minutes to realize was Xiaoyu wasn’t a fighter ready to fight. He was a different kind of creature, a boy gifted with the strength of a grown woman—his own mother. Xiaoyu was strong enough to deliver a solid blow to his opponent. But his mother’s energy gave him an almost female intuition. Unlike the other boy, he was able to ignore the poke of his Y-chromosome—egging him to land the first blow. He understood trying to land the first punch increased his likelihood of making the first mistake. His intuition was diplomatic enough to give that courtesy to the other boy. When the other boy obliged him, the fight took a clear direction—in Xiaoyu’s favor. Xiaoyu danced around the boy for over a minute throwing kicks to keep the boy from getting too bold. Xiaoyu got close to the ropes once or twice before the other boy decided to try and pin him. The boy overstretched on a punch trying to knock Xiaoyu into the ropes. Xiaoyu took on the persona of Baba, who punished his mistakes. The boy’s advance cost him in the form of a right hook to his defenseless chin. Xiaoyu capitalized on the boy’s spinning vision. The right hook made the boy’s eyes roll up making him blind to Xiaoyu’s feet. Xiaoyu’s right hook was followed immediately with a right-footed roundhouse to the boy’s head. The boy’s body did a half twist exposing his back. Xiaoyu ran up behind the boy locking his arms around the boy’s waist. Xiaoyu swept the other boy’s legs with his right foot taking the boy to the floor. He finished this fight much like he had the previous one. The two competitors stayed in the ring but only one was conscious.

  Master Song motioned for Xiaoyu to exit the ring. He climbed out of the ring on the side adjacent to Master Song who gave him a stern look. Master Song asked him why he had knocked the boy out. His answer was to finish the fight. Master Song pointed out the referee had called the fight before he had knocked the boy out and had tried to pull him off the boy. Xiaoyu said he hadn’t noticed. He was honest. Master Song felt he had to explain something Xiaoyu had not considered, something only adults considered. Master Song told Xiaoyu that he had to refrain from knocking his opponents out or it would be difficult for Master Song to find opponents for him. Master Song pointed out the boy was two years older than Xiaoyu. If instructors didn’t want to fight their twelve year-old students against Xiaoyu then he would have to fight older students. The speech was meant to shock Xiaoyu as any warning would but it was a warning Xiaoyu couldn’t understand. Xiaoyu understood numbers higher than twelve but he couldn’t understand the fiasco of fighting boys older than twelve. If he was to be a true Jade Soldier, he would have to take all comers. That was how the Artist had explained it and that was how he had understood it. Since the Mark, that was how he thought. He fought how he thought. If he was to guard Uncle Woo or Deni Tam, he could only trust an unconscious opponent.