by Nova McBee
A warm touch on the shoulder jolts me out of my trance. I look up and see Kai. He has come out to find me. He extends a hand to help me up. I take it. Once I’m on my feet, our eyes meet. I’m emotional and he can see it, but neither of us looks away. His hand, I realize, is still in mine and the warmth spreads over my body. Soon I’m wishing I could be wrapped up in his arms, or anyone’s arms. I want to be held. It’s been so long.
I drop his hand instead. My cheeks burn red. Our gaze breaks. We both stumble on words.
“The duck is getting cold,” Kai finally says.
I smile weakly, daring one more peek at his face before we walk back to the Range Rover. Back in the car, he has set up the food. Dinner begins.
“Do you like it?” he asks tearing off another piece of duck.
Looking down, his half of the meal is nearly gone.
“The duck or the ocean?” I ask, realizing I haven’t spoken much since we parked.
“You’ve hardly touched your duck.” He hands me a piece. “I was talking about the view.”
“It’s beautiful,” I manage to mutter. “I haven’t seen the ocean in more than two years. I grew up 3000 miles that way, in West Seattle.” My finger extends, pointing over the endless gray to the Pacific’s horizon.
“Phoenix,” he says, touching my arm, sending another quiver through me, “do you realize what you just did?”
“What?” I ask, suddenly nervous like I was caught speaking in my sleep.
“You just told me something about yourself.”
He’s right. It just slipped out. A moment of panic crosses over my face as if I’ve already told him my long dreadful story. But he takes another bite of duck and the weight passes. Most fear is imagined, Red used to say. Laugh at it.
“How do you know it wasn’t a lie?” I say jokingly, opening the small plastic container of brown sauce.
“Because I trust you,” he says. Trust me? He doesn’t even know me. “Maybe if you’d trust me back, you’d tell me more about yourself. Can’t be too terrible, can it?”
He has no idea. I’d shatter his peaceful nights if I told him his greatest fears were real and they existed in two people—Madame and King.
He passes me my hot tea. I grip it tightly with both hands, warming my fingers.
“So you haven’t been home in two years? What have you been doing that whole time?”
“Don’t press your luck,” I say, shoving a piece of duck into my mouth. I can’t get over how salty and tender and juicy it is. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
“We’re going to the place I study Kung Fu. To meet my two masters.” He throws the last piece of bread into his mouth.
“Why didn’t you take Xiao Yan?” I ask, her image still buzzing in my mind like a pesky fly.
“She can’t appreciate the art behind Kung Fu,” he says, starting the car.
“And you think I can?”
“Maybe. Or maybe you just need to see we’re not training to be killing machines, but men who can protect what is good.”
My face becomes stern. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“Doing what? I just want to be your friend.”
I’m not sure of Kai’s real motive for taking me here. He barely knows me and is already assuming what I need? It’s annoying. On the other hand, he has sort of looked after me since I arrived. Maybe being my friend is all he wants. Maybe that’s what I need. A friend. It doesn’t sound too bad.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We follow the small streets and enter an ancient village. Kai was right. The old buildings are stunning. Their old gray bricks, curved rooftops, and cobblestone streets play with my mind. I half-expect to see men with long queues stepping over doorway thresholds, women hiding behind hand-painted fans and draped in red silk, bowing to one another in greeting.
I keep my eyes open for any clues but see nothing.
We exit the village and arrive at a black tiled-roof farmer’s home surrounded by fields of green vegetables. Kai explains that his two masters believe in living off the earth as well as helping the people who live nearby. “They are simple men with grand ideals,” he says.
“How did you find them?” I ask.
“After my mother died, I became a monster.” His eyes fix on the green fields ahead. “I missed her. The older I got, the more restless I became. I got in a lot of trouble.”
I think back to after my mother died. I dove into school and work with my dad, anything to cover the pain. Maybe Kai and I have more in common than I think. Suddenly I’m more interested in his story.
“I thought destruction of anything would help. I came to Song Valley out of disobedience to my father. These guys found me lurking outside. I told them I wanted to learn Kung Fu. To be powerful and forget pain. They told me to use their studio to destroy things, hit, punch and kick, and to come find them when the pain of losing my mother was gone. Then they would teach me.”
“How long did that last?” I ask, noticing how big his forearms are and the tiny scars that follow his wrist to his elbow.
“Two months. When I finally realized anger and fighting didn’t help the pain, they agreed to train me. That was my first lesson. They taught me that the opposite of losing someone is saving someone. We bring healing to ourselves and others if we concentrate on life instead of death.”
I think about myself as he talks. What he’s saying makes a lot of sense. Maybe it’s why I’m still here in China, trying to heal my pain by saving trafficked girls and working for Chan to help the crash. Maybe the last year and a half can be healed. Maybe I can, too.
Kai parks the car. “The Sang Brothers changed my life. They’re so different than my father. After my mom died, his fight was against the financial markets and he won. Good for him. Look where it got him. Now he wants me to follow his path even when he’s not happy. He is not who he used to be.” He shakes his head.
“My dad did the same, after my mom died.” Kai looks shocked at my admission, but I’m strangely calm. I’ve never talked about my dad’s grief with anyone. Somehow it feels right to say it out loud. Normal. It doesn’t even bother me that I’m admitting this to Kai because he understands, and I don’t think he’ll share it with anyone.
Hearing this confession about my dad, however, does something weird. I loved my dad, but if I’m honest, he was headed down the same road as Chan. He never let me spend the money I made for him. He only wanted to make more. I wonder if he would have bounced back to his old self, if we all just had more time. I’ll never know, though, so there’s no point in speculating.
Kai holds the key in his hand and stares at me, as if he’s deciding if he should ask another question or not.
I decide for him. “No more questions.”
I jump out the car. Thankfully, Kai does too, without another word about my family.
Kai directs me down a small stone path through lush foliage. At the end we come to a covered area full of wooden dummies, bamboo poles stuck in the cement ground, large square stones, and hanging punching bags covered in rope.
Two men come out to meet us. They are dressed in the humble clothing of farmers. Dark blue jacket and pants, white tee-shirt, black woven shoes, no socks. They walk slowly. I’m not fooled by their outer appearance. In the span of ten seconds I’ve calculated enough about them to know I wouldn’t want them to be my enemy.
They are just slightly taller than I am, but both have an upper body mass that is twice the build of an average man their height. Both also have acute balance, evidenced by the way they move lightly on their toes. Their hands, rough and callused, look like they spend their spare time pinching rocks in half. Physical appearance aside, the look on their faces hold a confidence that tells me they fear nothing. These men are lions.
Instantly, I step closer to Kai even though the numbers predict they are not a threat.
Surprisingly, they sense my fear, like great lions do, but instead of encroaching on me, they submit and ba
ck off. They become gentle, like lambs, like the gentleness of Red. I let down my guard. This combination of gentleness and power is rare in men. They know their own strength but can leave it in an instant to gain trust. I remember Kai’s first lesson; fighting won’t heal the pain. I decide to like them then and there.
“Phoenix meimei,” one master says. His arms lift, and his left hand covers the fist he makes with his right hand in the traditional kung fu greeting. “I am Master Sang Tao, and my brother Master Sang Han. Welcome to our humble home.”
I quicken at the dialect they use. It’s the same as Red’s. Is Song Valley Red’s home?
I cup my fist, returning his greeting to show respect. “Thank you. I’m honored to be in the home of two true Kung Fu Masters.”
“Xiao Kai flatters us. Unfortunately, the ancient tradition of kung fu is dying. There is no more place for us in the world. Now, we are just farmers.”
“Why is it dying?”
“In ancient Kung Fu, to lower standards led to death. Kung fu stood for things that were righteous, pure, and just. When our services were not needed as before, there was nothing to cling to, like stumbling in the dark. In our hearts we wish for only one thing—purpose—but we cannot find it.”
His speech saddens me, like it’s me, hoping for purpose in my old life when it’s gone. Starting over is the only answer for us.
“I hope you see the heart behind our tradition today,” his brother says.
“I’m sure I will,” I reply, my mind spinning with possibilities. I follow the men into an indoor courtyard made for sparring.
“For you.” Master Sang Tao motions to a table set with hot tea, fresh-cut fruit, a variety of nuts, and dry meat. A firm round pillow is next to the table. I dip my head again in thanks before I sit, legs crossed in front of me.
Meanwhile Kai picks up a stone the size of a soccer ball and walks towards me. His expression is playful. Setting it down beside me, he says, “Keep this stone in mind when you watch us.” He points to a small waterfall cascading over a mound of rocks in the garden behind the arena. “Also the water.”
The two masters exit down a narrow hallway.
“Stones and water, huh?” I lift my eyebrows. “Are you going to get metaphoric on me?”
Kai laughs. “Listen, you can tell how strong someone is by their forearms.” He taps his lower arm. “After bruising and callusing the bone, it hardens, making it strong enough to break through wood, brick, bone, and so on. Kung fu is not about muscle.” Kai takes a deep breath and extends his arms. Then his arms cut through the air smoothly, like he’s writing calligraphy. “It is about stone-like discipline, stone-like virtue, stone-like internal focus. It is also like water. Fluid, gentle, quick, ungraspable, unbreakable.”
“What do you mean, like water?” I ask, playing along.
“Stand up and I’ll show you,” he says.
Jumping over the threshold that surrounds the sparring arena, Kai dips his fingers in the water. “In kung fu we call the two main defenses, Water and Rock. Water is implemented if someone has harder forearms than you—you avoid their moves by maneuvering around them.” He shakes the water off. “Hold up your arm.” As his punch comes towards me, he slides my arm along his to deflect it from the target on my body. “You should learn this technique, but if you are stronger, you implement the rock—blocking their moves. A simple block can transform into an attack.”
“You said kung fu isn’t about harming,” I remind him.
“That’s right. The fundamental teachings of kung fu is called 8 Hands – essentially, it is 8 blocking techniques. Next, there’s 36 Elbows, another blocking technique. All defense. 36 Elbows is taught as a sequence. Learning to link the moves is key. Not many can do this. But if you can, the sequence enables you to fight a lot of people at once.”
“Have you mastered it?” I ask, curious.
“Kung fu is also about being humble.” Kai smiles largely. He doesn’t need to respond for me to know the answer. “Now, for the different clothes I promised you.” He turns and heads down the same hallway as his masters.
The three men come back dressed in black and white kung fu uniforms. Immediately they start warming up. With their forearms, they slam wooden dummies and glide speedily around the hanging punching bags.
Before I know it, they move into sparring. I watch carefully for the stone-like blocks and also the water-like deflections. Each of their movements is clearly executed, just as Kai said. When I watched men fight in the Pratt, what went on looked simply like brutality, the winner was whoever could swing the fastest punch. But kung fu was like a mathematical dance.
Kai moves gracefully. His footsteps are so light that if I closed my eyes, I’d hear nothing. All the muscles in his arms flex, defining themselves. His face is straight and focused as if there’s only one goal in mind; but behind his focus, there’s serenity.
Their sparring becomes more vigorous. Their actions remain smooth, choreographed, but their breathing becomes more exerted, like gusts of wind in autumn. I catch Kai’s eye. Sweat beads his face, and he smiles at me just long enough for his two masters to double up on him. Is this the 36 Elbow technique he’s employing now? It’s clear that any average fighter would be no match for Kai, but his masters are too practiced, too strong. Kai keeps them at bay for seven minutes, three seconds, but then ends up on his back.
When they finish, all of them are wet with perspiration, but none look tired. They bow at my applause.
Kai comes over, a happy expression on his face. “What did you think?”
“Impressive,” I say. “I’ll admit it changed my view, a little.”
He beams proudly. “We are going to get cleaned up. Be out soon.” They retreat down the hallway again.
My eyes move around the courtyard to the different plaques on the wall. A scroll with history of Song Valley draws my eye. Standing, I walk over to the article and study the map of the town. Chills travel down my spine.
My blindfold has been removed.
King. I’m in his hometown.
The map of Song Valley hypnotizes me from the wall. It’s the ruins of the former dynasty, where the tunnels began. King and Red’s hometown. Since I never drove through all of it, it’s smaller than I had estimated, but the distances align perfectly with the map I already calculated internally—driving the back roads to the Pratt and to the port, the stint into Song Valley and…the warehouse is just minutes from here.
Is today my chance?
My stomach squirms with fear at the thought of being so near to King. A part of me wants to run far away. But nothing happens by chance. Or so Red believed.
A bowl of incense burns next to the small table. A box of matches is next to it. I grab it, slipping it into my pocket. Resolve sinks in.
I’m going to get those records. And if there’s any cargo, I’m going to take it and light that place on fire.
It’s dark by the time Kai appears. He’s back in slacks and a dark gray button down. We spend ten minutes exchanging thanks, goodbyes, bows, and plans to meet again. It feels like an eternity.
Finally, we get to the car. Kai presses an automatic lock and I hop in.
Before he’s seated, I blurt out, “Can we take a drive? What about the port?”
It’s dark, but I put on my sunglasses and wrap a scarf around my head. Kai gives me a funny look.
“Sure,” he says, gauging my expression. The car roars to life.
As we drive, Kai shares the local history. “It’s an ancient town. Old legends from Song Dynasty. That’s how the town got its name. Used to be the old port town, until the delta eroded most of the coast. Go west a bit and you can see a few stone structures at the old port.” He’s ignorantly describing the Pratt. If only the government knew the old barracks had underground catacombs and what they were being used for.
I nod in silence. I could tell him more, but I don’t.
“The new port is as big as 500 hundred soccer fields,” he spouts off. Then he sur
prises me with information I’m not expecting. “The old port is private property now. A man named Yu Chen owns it.”
“Yu?” I say. “I thought a man named King owned it.”
“Maybe. There was a land dispute after an incident in the town. Yu, the real owner disappeared, and the claim was withdrawn. If it was sold, the deed was never registered.”
“How do you know so much about this place?” I ask, making a mental note to locate the real owner.
“My father. He followed everything that went on here.”
“Why is he so interested in Song Valley?”
“Don’t know. He hates it here. Claims gangsters live here.” He shrugs it off with a laugh. “I am not sure where he gets that stuff.”
It’s official. Chan hasn’t told him about the Pratt. That’s a relief.
We arrive at the port gate. Kai rounds the corner slowly and stops the car.
“I know someone who works here.” I point to the port, even though my eyes are on the small road leading to the warehouse. “Mind if I hop over to say hello?”
“What? Like a friend?” he says.
“Shocked?” I say playfully. Friend is definitely not the right word. But I don’t want him involved.
Kai looks like he’s about to object to me walking around in the dark, but his phone rings. By the way his voice changes and eyebrows raise, it’s an important one.
“Give me fifteen minutes?” I say in a low voice. He nods reluctantly, pointing to the phone as if telling me it will be awhile. Perfect.
Besides, I’m just going to have a peek first. I’ll rely on my calculations. Safe to go—low odds of danger—I’ll proceed. Not safe—retreat.
I hop out of the car and walk around to the back hatch. There’s a small puddle there, so with my boots I kick up a bit of mud and cover the license plate. Just like Guard San used to do.