The Dragon And The Giant

The Dragon and The Giant

Table of Contents

The Dragon and The Giant.....................................1 Collinson Fair....................................................2 Part I: Water..............................................................5 Chapter I...........................................................6 Chapter II........................................................15 Chapter III.......................................................25 Chapter IV.......................................................29 Chapter V........................................................41 Chapter VI.......................................................46 Chapter VII......................................................52 Chapter VIII.....................................................59 Chapter IX.......................................................65 Chapter X........................................................70 Part II: Fire..............................................................72 Chapter I.........................................................73 Chapter II........................................................80 Chapter III.......................................................87 Chapter IV.......................................................90 Chapter V........................................................93 Chapter VI.......................................................98

The Dragon and The Giant

Table of Contents The Dragon and The Giant Chapter VII....................................................107 Chapter VIII...................................................113 Chapter IX.....................................................116 Chapter X......................................................120 Part III: Air.............................................................125 Chapter I.......................................................126 Chapter II......................................................134 Chapter III.....................................................138 Chapter IV.....................................................143 Chapter V......................................................148 Chapter VI.....................................................153 Chapter VII....................................................159 Chapter VIII...................................................163 Chapter IX.....................................................169 Chapter X......................................................182 Part IV: Earth.........................................................187 Chapter I.......................................................188 Chapter II......................................................192 Chapter III.....................................................198

The Dragon and The Giant

Table of Contents The Dragon and The Giant Chapter IV.....................................................202 Chapter V......................................................206 Chapter VI.....................................................210 Chapter VII....................................................214 Chapter VIII...................................................218 Chapter IX.....................................................224 Chapter X......................................................229

The Dragon and The Giant

The Dragon and The Giant

Collinson Fair This page copyright © 2006 Silk Pagoda. http://www.silkpagoda.com • Part I: Water • Chapter I • Chapter II • Chapter III • Chapter IV • Chapter V • Chapter VI • Chapter VII • Chapter VIII • Chapter IX • Chapter X • Part II: Fire • Chapter I

The Dragon and The Giant

• Chapter II • Chapter III • Chapter IV • Chapter V • Chapter VI • Chapter VII • Chapter VIII • Chapter IX • Chapter X • Part III: Air • Chapter I • Chapter II • Chapter III • Chapter IV • Chapter V • Chapter VI • Chapter VII • Chapter VIII • Chapter IX • Chapter X

The Dragon and The Giant

• Part IV: Earth • Chapter I • Chapter II • Chapter III • Chapter IV • Chapter V • Chapter VI • Chapter VII • Chapter VIII • Chapter IX • Chapter X

The Dragon and The Giant

Part I: Water

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter I

Nate leapt from junk rail to the dock of a city afire. Around him the gutters retched, sewer mouths overstuffed with animal carcass, human waste and blood. Above, white leaflets hung down in narrow strips, their writings an impassioned plea for justice, here and there characters Nate could recognize—“Tung Meng Hui,” one of the few phrases he knew. Across the street, smoke arose from one of many bonfires set inside or outside of buildings. Screams could be heard everywhere, with the occasional rifle shot and a blast vaguely reminiscent of artillery shells. Canton hadn't changed. Nate looked back, dodged the thrown satchel that nearly took his head off, waved to his ferryman as the pilot whirled his craft around and sped down the Pearl River. Clutching his bag between waist and the giant forearms that'd earned him his most recent stage of unemployment, Nate strolled along looking for a seaman's mission, ignoring the shouts, pleas and violence that flared up in his wake. It was near

The Dragon and The Giant

nightfall, and he'd have to hit Shamian Island soon or the gates would come crashing down. That small city, a foreigner's enclave for over 50 years, was his destination. His goal. After having been kicked out of every other coastal city in the region for a litany of acts of insubordination, dereliction of duty, and drunkenness, Canton, 30 years past its heyday as a trading port, was Nate's only hope. He kept himself focused as he walked. He didn't pause at the ruckus emanating from a few seaman's lounges he'd visited once on flush days and stayed in through tapped nights. Girls at the windows didn't tempt him. The teenagers forcing themselves his way, offering any number of instant pleasures, flesh or otherwise, he waved off with a nod. A new leaf was turning, and he'd need to keep things together. For a while, Nate thought wistfully as he forced his gaze away from a particularly inviting tavern. Until the kitty was big enough to send him home again. One of Shamian's bridges now lay in his sight, at the far end of the waterfront. Plenty of time to make it, Nate told himself—barely time, he corrected as he

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felt his feet turning away. He'd been out to sea too long. The best thing now, given that pay dispute, was to sit among the comforts of home. Nate imagined himself settling in with the fine crop of British ladies, who ran their houses in an fashion as orderly as Canton was chaotic. They'd sit for tea, then. He'd regale them with stories of brazen adventures. They'd applaud his courage, cast sly glances at the muscles in his arms. A blacksmith, yes, but a well−read one. “Call me Pip,” he'd say to the one who'd cast her eyes on him with thoughts of marriage. Not ready yet for tea, he thought to himself. His clothing was tattered, grimy from the coal fires of his engineering post. His face, he knew, carried as much dirt. A bath, then, would be his first objective inside Shamian. Then the laundry. He was sure they'd have good laundry. Musing this way, his great size and singleness of purpose chasing away the last of the streetside barkers, Nate almost missed the woman on the pavement. But something brought his eyes to hers. Perhaps it was the body she kneeled over, a man

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injured somehow. Badly, no doubt. The one lying down didn't seem like he just dropped off to dirt whenever the mood hit. And anyway, it was too close to the nice part of town to be that drunk that early. Maybe it was the guards that drew Nate's eye. Two dozen of them, standing around the woman, six in a close circle, the rest holding a kind of formation that kept a gathering crowd at bay. No, it wasn't the guards, realized Nate when he reflected on the incident. It was the woman herself—lithe, youngish, the quality of her robe indicating a measure of gentility to her station, if not outright nobility. It was the way she carried herself—none of the demure allowances he expected from well−bred girls, whatever their nationality. Something about that woman, the way she stared down the fierce guardsman, their bayonets out and pointed near her, the way she glanced over in his direction briefly, and seemed to catch his eye, caused Nate to deviate from the path. He dropped his satchel to the edge of the dock and strode over towards the woman as the wrought−iron gates of Shamian Island's bridges

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began to come down. He gave a backhanded growl at the beggars who moved toward his satchel, indicating that he did remember faces and would find them. He'd nearly crossed the street as the debate between lady and head guard reached some kind of impasse and the two stood apart for a moment. He was ready to shriek a cry of warning as the guard's hands reached behind for some nefarious errand. Nate stifled that shout as the woman leapt five feet in the air, brought her legs out, and in a flash of delicate silk gown and elegant slipper, nearly took the head of the guardsman who'd been troubling her with a flying kick. It was a thing of wonder, her jump, higher than anything Nate had seen outside the circus. As a tactical maneuver, he considered it unprecedented. The power of surprise and its resultant effectiveness like something straight out of an old general's manual or memoir. However, there were still two dozen other guardsmen who quickly moved to surround the lady, forming a circle. Nate cringed as they swept closer, saw her knock back one, another in a flurry of fist

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and foot. None were incapacitated by her. They proceeded cautiously. This event would have only one outcome. Nate watched as his knuckles connected with the forehead of the guardsmen nearest. The fellow crumpled. Two more came, Nate attempted to join their heads together via fusion under heavy pressure. They combine permanently, but separated on contact with the earth. Nate sniffed. Three guards now turned their full attention to his grubby personage. They stood at 45 degree angles to each other, organized now, connecting with blows. Nate felt rather than saw the speed of their attack. Pretty good, all of them. They pulled back as he charged, moved forward as he stepped back, connecting 20 times for each glancing blow he could lay. Nate made like a log, rolled at their feet. All three jumped over him. Then spun and quickly came forward, aiming to kick a man while he was down. Nate got lucky, grabbed a leg. Then, like an overeager kid before Christmas, he broke his new toy before he could play with it. The fellow howled. His companions, stunned, moved again towards

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Nate, 135 degree angle, fists punching, feet flying. Nate bowed his head into the hail of jabs that rained down. He caught one wrist, another. Arms twisted. Men shrieked. Four down. He turned to the lady, saw seven others lying incapacitated. Nate wondered if his aid had been necessary. The remaining guardsmen backed off from the two of them. The woman smiled at Nate for a moment, pointed to the differently dressed gent lying on the ground, shouted “get him!” to Nate, in solid English. Nate, stunned, obliged, pulling the unfortunate into a fireman's carry. The woman took off at a run, her gown whipping up and giving Nate an eyeful of ankle. He trotted along quickly to the sound of rifles being loaded, zigzagging over to the spot on the dock where his bag lay. One life perched above his shoulders, another clutched against his side, Nate followed his newfound leader. Not pausing a moment, she raced along the docks, now and then glancing back at Nate, shouting at him to hurry up. What little of the Chinese vocabulary he knew he'd picked up from sailors and cooks. She must have had the same teachers. Nate

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sped up as much as he could. His companion was hard to follow, now on the ground, now leaping over the carts and vagabonds that marked Canton's harbor. She waved out to something in the water, hopefully a way out of this, Nate prayed. This dream came true as Nate heard the woman cursing someone else out for a change. He saw a flag wave towards them, a craft veered in their direction, keeping up its speed, tangent to some point on the harbor where all would meet. Behind Nate, rifles sounded. He felt a fly buzz along his arm, saw blood, increased his pace, stumbled, considered the move timely as a few iron insects soared by where his torso had been. He was too big a target. Fortunately the boat was there. The woman leapt, skirt of her robe sliding up gracefully as she landed safely, ease of her motion concealing the difficulty and impossible distance traveled. Nate hustled along, tossed his satchel to one set of outstretched arms, then gave a barnyard shotput to the man he carried. More shots. Nate felt stinging pain in his rear as

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he leapt. He missed the boat, hit the water with a splash, tried to swim, noted with curiosity that he could no longer move his right arm. Then he blacked out.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter II

Nate awoke in a room draped with hangings, silken tapestries depicting characters and images, gold thread characters on hand−wrought fabric. He understood none of it. Attempting to rise, he discovered his right side didn't respond. Turning, he observed pins emanating from his the shoulder. Nate shrieked when a cursory glance located the same pins spread all along his body, sporting little ribbons in cheerful solid colors that only accentuated his horror. They'd gotten him, he decided. That woman had raced off with her burden, cast him aside like an old mule, and now he'd be tortured until he talked, though there was no information he could offer to survive.. Nate looked for his feet, found he couldn't move his legs either. He lifted his neck, tried to discover where was bound, to see if he could do something to loosen the ropes. His captors were thorough; he couldn't even see whatever it was that held him to the bed. Nate dropped his head back, deciding he'd need time to figure some way out of this.

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Lying still, he noticed a mural on the ceiling. A two−legged lion was there, travelling from one side of the room to the other, impaling dragons with a pitchfork, turning its hand into crazy fists, besting everyone it saw, human and otherwise. Nate's eyes glazed over as the creatures chased each other round and round into his dreams. *** Nate awoke to a pair of almond eyes, gentle in expression, perched less than six inches from his own. They belonged to a male, young, Asian physique and hair wrapped in a Western orderly's uniform, white pants, shirt, shoes. Disturbed by the proximity, Nate raised his arms to shove the fellow away. Nothing doing; he was still tied down. “Speak English?” Nate asked harshly. The guy just nodded. “Name?” asked Nate. “Name?” he said more loudly, believing volume would eradicate the puzzled expression on the other's face. The man stepped back at least. Nate raised his head up, saw more of the pins sticking out. Now his chest was full of them.

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A vague hint of incense filled the air. Looking more closely, Nate decided he was on fire. “Water!” shouted Nate, disgusted and afraid. The Cantonese looked back at him, dully. Nate wondered why he wasn't in pain. Suddenly, he feared paralysis. Guns had been fired, after all. He wondered about gangrene. Maybe they were cutting him up. After all, he couldn't see or feel his legs. Maybe that was it. The damned river, dirty as hell. Country dirty too. Dirty and rotten, all of it. All of them. He offered a few choice words describing that woman who'd gotten him into this. The orderly stood there. Puzzled, but perhaps getting the gist through tone. Nate'd been strong all his life. He'd boxed on ships, smashed erratic boilers into submission with his fists, sealed cracks in a hull with a torch in one hand, sheet metal in the other, clinging the side of great ships with leg strength and pride. He sank back into oblivion imagining himself scuttling through Canton, legless, on a cart. Begging change. *** There were others in the room when Nate awoke. Coyly, silently, they stared at him. Nate lifted his

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head to get a better look, felt his torso accompany the motion. Dully, Nate reached down, pulled the cover off his legs. They looked in order, here and there beset by scratches, particularly above the knee. There was a bandage in his right calf. “Who stitched me up?” he asked. Silence. Gabby room, thought Nate. “Who stitched me up?” he repeated. Then, pointing more slowly to his leg, he looked around and said, loudly: “who doctor?” Enunciating each syllable in turn utilizing his well−developed personal lingua franca. Still nothing. They stared. Nate looked to the closest one, stepped from the bed, reaching over to grab one of them and enhance conversation. The fellow pulled back a bit, and Nate toppled with the discovery that his right leg wasn't yet up to his weight. He fell to the floor with a crash, upsetting a tray of food that lay there beside his couch. It was in this position, with lukewarm noodles on his head and broth coursing down his right side, that the woman walked in, accompanied by a man many

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years her senior. Nate stared at her, wondering if this was her father. Something about the walk they took, almost side−by−side, not the right way, as Nate remembered it. Distance was required. Respect. Everything in its order, workers in their place, family in single file, gweilo on the floor covered in with soup. His day was about to get worse, Nate knew. The old man looked at Nate for a moment, barked an order, and suddenly arms and bodies flew all around as the assembled crew at once cleaned Nate up, changed his soiled clothing, and thrust him back into bed. The process was as gentle as it was efficient. These were an army of medical staff, competent in their way. Nate thought about getting angry, decided if it'd been one or another ship's doctors he'd known doing the caretaking, there'd be a separate bit of Nate lying in another room, leg or arm maybe that he wouldn't see again until the burial time came. And that burial would be soon, Nate was sure. Nate nodded towards the woman's companion. “Ni−hao,” he said in greeting. The companion

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glanced back, nodded in return. Nate saw a flash of pigtail behind the fellow's otherwise bald head. Bit of white in the dark hair. Something you didn't see much on the mainland anymore. “That didn't work so good,” grumbled Nate, staring down at the leg that failed him. “When will it be better?” he asked more loudly. Pigtail strode closer, lifted Nate's new gown, stared at the leg for a moment. “It should be ready for your weight in a few days,” said the doc. “I apologize for my lack of skill. I've had little experience with men your size. I ask forgiveness for any discomfort these clumsy hands have caused you.” “Few days?” repeated Nate, brightening. “Doc, forget about it. You've done well for yourself in giant country.” Nate sat back, please with himself. “Out in a few days,” he said, mostly to himself. “I'm afraid you will not be able to leave us for some time,” the doctor began. “What?” said Nate, glancing down at the fists which exploded from the sleeves of his too−tight dressing gown like double−helpings of mashed

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potatoes stuffed into a teacup. “You are of course able to leave,” the doctor continued, polite as all hell. “However the Canton police believe you to be a dangerous foreign revolutionary, an anarchist, and have issued orders to shoot you on sight. There are posters with your description around the city, and a large price for your head.” “Huh?” This information took some time to gel in Nate's brain. “But I can still sneak out at night? Get to Shamian...” “The officials at Shamian have already spoken with the Canton authorities concerning you,” said the doctor patiently. “They've indicated no desire to house trouble−makers on their peaceful island.” Their was spoken angrily, Nate realized. “They will not give you sanctuary, and have agreed to turn you over to the authorities as an example should you arrive there... for punishment and execution.” “Brits,” said Nate. “Brits.” “I'm sure this must be confusing to you,” continued the doctor, his head very close to Nate's, eyes full of sympathy. “My wife can better explain,”

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said the healer, motioning insistently to the woman that she come forward. Nate looked over. Wife. She strode calmly, a bit apologetically. The husband said something to her in Chinese. She nodded. Turned again to Nate. “I fear,” she began... haltingly. “What are you afraid of?” “I fear I have gotten you into trouble,” she said. “How's that?” “The police, they do not admit that I was there... that a woman could beat them. The officers said they'd been attacked by a giant. You saved our Gi Fong,” she continued, but...” “Yeah?” “You saved face for the officers as well. They cannot be expected to win in battle against one so... large as you.” “I'm just helping everybody today.” Nate was silent for a moment. “So, since I can walk again, how the hell do I get out of here?” The doctor and his wife looked at Nate, then at each other for a time. Finally she spoke. “It is possible,” she began...

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“Yeah?” “Many things are... smuggled into Canton,” she said. “We can perhaps smuggle something out.” “What you been bringing in?” “Another time,” said the woman. “You need to rest.” And she, the doctor, and the bulk of their crew filed out. At the door, she turned to him. “I want... to thank you for your assistance. It was a very... decent thing you did. A favor I would never have expected... from a foreigner. You saved that man's life. But not yours, thought Nate. “Don't mention it,” he said aloud. “But one thing you can do for me?” “We are delighted to oblige you in anything you might desire,” said the physician. “Tell me, where the heck am I?” “My apologies, sir. My name is Dr. Wong Fei Hung. This is my clinic, Po Chi Lam. My wife, whose acquaintance you have received already, is Mok Gwai Lan. We welcome you to Canton.” Some other names were mentioned, Nate

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couldn't keep track of the bowing heads and their relations to the doc. Then the troop filed out, leaving him to rest.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter III

Further recuperation took several days. Nate gazed at his ceiling coliseum idly, changed clothes with a sadly all−male nursing staff, met with the doctor once each evening, and ate rice and vegetables with chopsticks. That last was a killer. He knew the use of chopsticks, the little slips of wood fitting into his hands like oversized toothpicks, but the food Nate received after expending so much effort... a lame reward. “A better diet for better healing and the welfare of the spirit,” said Dr. Fei Hung. “We must do all we can to keep the weight off your injured leg. There is no better way than to remove some of the weight. You will benefit from this very much.” The second morning, Nate awoke, gladdened to find a few English books for his entertainment. One was a sailing title that he read and re−read, the other something called Dream of Red Chamber, translation about a guy and a girl and a wicked stepmother. Thing was hard to read, but his nurse,

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seeing Nate about to hurl the thing across the room, looked at it, at him, said “classic−uh,” so Nate stuck with the title, its many precious characters, and their blossoms. Monotony ruled the day, save for a loud battle that took place in the mornings. Nate would awaken to shouts, clatterings, the hollow clacks bamboo makes when whacked against flesh. There were a few screams here and there. When he felt well enough, he asked his attendant if a windowed view might be possible. First few times guy thought Nate wanted a toilet, but eventually he was carted down the hall to a full−sized glass that overlooked the clinic's courtyard. Enormous place, Nate thought to himself. Before him, down three storeys, were three dozen men. Gwai Lan stood at their center, wearing a red robe. Next to her, a young man in black balanced on one leg, his other held upwards at an impossible angle, while arms were spread out for balance or, Nate thought, in an eastern sample of that magician's move which showed no ropes. She was pointing to the man's leg for a crowd of

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onlookers. Dozens of men, in lines of four, staring, some nodding politely, others as still as trained soldiers. Nate saw their faces, men as old as 50, he guessed, or young as 15. All standing there, taking orders from a Chinese woman. Fei Hung lay down at the courtyard's end, legs and back flat against the ground, oblivious to all that took place around him. On word from Gwai Lan, the men spread into a circle, stretched arms and legs, began fighting. Nate watched, bemused, as the woman flitted in and around the combatants, slashing at this one, barking at that, a dainty shepherd that nonetheless slapped thrusting hands aside, knocking down a man who'd gotten too cocky and left himself exposed. The lady could hold her own, a fact affirmed by session's end, when all the men attempted to take her down through the art. Unsuccessfully. Defeated, they lay on the ground like excess railroad ties. Last match ended, a new hour sounded, and the whole crew left the courtyard, save Fei Hung, who still lay sprawled on the ground. Nate stared at the man, wondered how he dealt with it, a wife, younger,

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yet so physically... vibrant. Be hard to come home drunk if you had to face her, he decided. Finally, bored with the man just sitting there, Nate signaled the attendant, rode back to his bed, drank more of the evil−smelling potion the doc had foisted on him, and slept most of the day.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IV

Gwai Lan visited that evening. Nate awoke sometime after her arrival. Her eyes, focused on him, were an almond pool, with healing edges and a mysterious center. Heck of a way to start the night, those things staring down at you. “Hello,” Nate said. His torso springing upright. “Hello,” she said back. Then nothing for a moment. “Nice night,” said Nate, taking a deep breath and inhaling the Canton air. It was peaceful, with a sweet breeze from the river chasing away the stench of the city. “Yes... I suppose so.” “Yeah.” “I wanted to thank you.” “You did already. You're welcome.” “No, I wanted to thank you... and, explain to you... what you did there.” “Pulled a guy out of the fire, put myself in it. Happens.” “What made you come... to my assistance?” she

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asked. “I'm a sucker for a woman in distress.” “Is it not... damsel?” “Guess so. Couldn't tell you were married. Too far away.” “Yes. Yes, I was. You are strange, for a foreigner.” “You mean, a big nose? Yeah, I guess I am.” “That island, it was... sanctuary to you. Home?” “Don't have a home.” “Family?” “Pa died before I was born. Ma when I was seven. I lived in orphanages in California. Learned the engineer's trade. Shipped out at 13.” “And no one... has been for you since?” “Nope.” “That's a lonely life you lead, Nate. I can't imagine life without family. I grew up in a large family. When I married Fei Hung, I joined an even larger one. And this place, his patients, his students... they are my family.” “I saw you out there. You're a good mother hen.” “A what?”

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“Hen. A female chicken. Makes sure all the chicks are doing OK. Bet you can give them a great pecking if they fall out of line.” Nate, normally an animated speaker, accentuated this last with a few motions of his head. Gwai Lan laughed at this. Then the two were laughing together, staring at each other. Goofy, Nate thought. “That man you rescued. He was... from Singapore.” “Yes.” “My husband didn't know about him.” “Some friend of yours?” asked Nate. Very interested suddenly in Gwai Lan's extracurricular activities. “Yes. No. Not friend. Not like that. He...” “Yes.” “I should not tell you. This is... not appropriate.” “What? I'm a foreigner. Just think of us asking rude questions all the time. I do anyway. Don't know how to act with people.” “Well, he was a friend, of my son.” “Your son?”

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“Fei Hung's Seventh Son.” “Right. How many sons that guy have?” “Counting our two... Fei Hung has 10 sons.” “A base ball team. With a spare.” “Yes. What?” “Nothing. I'll explain some other time. OK, so your son's friend is in trouble, you bail him out.” “Right. No. I was...” “Not your friend?” “Not really.” “And the Seventh Son? He couldn't be there?” “He was there. He couldn't help. Not... not like I can help. Not... like you can help. He left. To find the boat. I stayed.” “Fei Hung teach you to fight like that?” “Yes.” “He's a good teacher, with that stuff?” “Yes,” Gwai Lan smiled. “He is a very good teacher of that 'stuff'...” “And you? You're a teacher?” “Yes. I am teacher.” “Are there a lot of women teachers like that in Canton?”

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“No. I am only one. Almost. Fei Hung and I have had other students. Women students. It is not... common.” “Right. So you didn't need me there?” “Yes. No. No, I needed you there. It was so kind of you to help. And so... puzzling. Fei Hung has never heard of a foreigner intervening here. Priest, yes, they stand in middle when fight. But why foreigner comes to help in Chinese dispute. We cannot say.” “Makes two of us. Fate. Or something.” “Yes. Fate.” “And your son? Where is he?” “Seventh Son? He has left the clinic. He did not return.” “So you want to go and search for him?” “No. I cannot. It would make Fei Hung... angry.” “Why?” “He does not like... what Seventh Son do.” “And what does Seventh Son do?” “Revolution.” Nate stared at the woman for a moment. “Sounds like a tough job,” he said.

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“Yes... it. Seventh...” “Yes,” said Nate, encouraging. “Seventh Son is not able to make revolution well. He was not taught by Fei Hung.” “Why not? Heck, if I'd had a dad growing up, and he could teach me to fight, Id a learned like nothing.” “Yes. Fei Hung no teach Seventh Son. He only teach three sons. First son, he teach. First son get into fight. First son die. Fei Hung say, 'never teach again unless need to.'“ “OK. So the other two?” “They need it. They could die without teach. But no revolution. Others, want to fight. Fei Hung, he not always there. Fight for them. Boy must be man.” “Right. But all boys... we all must be men...” “You say. But Fei Hung say, other sons, they no need to fight. He teach them to fight, they fight. Every man, want to fight, son of Fei Hung. Earn... honors. Come from far and way, Fei Hung say, to fight son of Fei Hung. You understand? “Yeah. OK. So he's not teaching them. What do they—other sons. What do they do?” “One teacher. One study. In America. He lawyer

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some day. One learn building. Wood. Like that.” “Kids are into the trades. Fine. Fine. And Seventh Son?” “Fei Hung think he smartest son. He no learn to fight. He pass examination. Learn much else. Study. But he no work. Not serve emperor. Say emperor corrupt. Whole empire. Say it betrayed China. Let...” She stopped. Looked at Nate. “Seventh Son say empire weak. Old. Let the foreigners in. Let them claim China. Say we are servants to foreigner. “Yeah. So he wants us all to go.” “Yes. No. Not yet. Some day. Foreigners must go. Can do business here. But not... not like Shamian Island, Shanghai, concessions,” she enunciated the syllables of the English word deliberately. “Not have own law here. Everyone... China law.” “We said that ourselves. Americans. Fei Hung doesn't approve of this?” “He say empires come. Get weak. New empire. He... tradition. He keep the queue—the hair, you know? Illegal now have long hair. I don't question him. He great man. And my husband.”

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“And Seventh Son?” “He want to fight. Listens to Doctor Sun Yat Sen. Singapore. Gets messages from there. That what boy brought. That you saved. Boy was bringing message from Singapore. They capture him. “I'm in the thick of this. Ain't I?” She was staring at him, puzzled. “Never mind. How'd you get in the mix?” “I knew—mother knows. I knew Seventh Son going to do something. He not hide it well. I follow him. I see him look for boy. See boy hurt by soldiers. They were... found. Seventh Son try to help. I run, tell him go, get Fei Hung. I protect boy. I am nurse. Soldiers must let me... But they didn't.” “And the message got there?” “Yes.” “And the boy?” “He is fine. But he will not... revolution. Not for some time. Seventh Son is missing. I cannot watch him now.” “What can Seventh Son do, without his father teaching?” “He can fire a gun,” said the woman. And both

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were silent. Nate, calmly, seeing the maternal instinct this one possessed, her brazen attachment to her family, even her adopted children, mentally lambasted himself, ever thinking the woman was available. Gwai Lan's thoughts were unknowable. Her eyes calm and trusting, however. Nate sighed, bringing his legs together on the bed. He could stretch them out now. They'd be ready for his weight—his reduced weight—in a day or two. “So what was the message?” “I... not know. It is secret. All of it. Seventh Son belong, secret society. Secret members. Secret writing. Very dangerous, what they do. What he do.” “And he doesn't know how to fight?” “No.” “Can he run?” Gwai Lan laughed. “Very fast,” she said. “When he was younger, Fei Hung say, no fight. Learn run.” “That's a gift then.” “Yes. But where he run too? For trouble? Or away from trouble? I no think Seventh Son... has direction.” “Boys. They never do. What's your idea about this

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'revolution'?” asked Nate, changing the subject. “I...” she looked at Nate questioningly. “It's OK. I can take it.” “Canton has fought against the foreigners who brought opium to China.” “Yeah. That was the British.” “And others,” Gwai Lan said fiercely. “Germans, French, Americans... and they destroyed our Summer Palace—” “Wasn't me,” Nate said helpfully. “And they take island from China,” the woman continued. Say China island their island now. No Chinese allowed.” “Gets worse in Shanghai.” “Yes. No Chinese allowed park. No Chinese allowed some streets. I don't like this. No Chinese likes this.” “Got ya.” “But it's not foreigner—it is foreigner. But our emperor, he left us weak. His men, they take taxes. They take bribes. But we cannot tell foreigner to go. We are not advanced. Foreigner has guns. Ships. Japan came.”

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“Yeah.” “I want China to be strong again. But I not think, Fei Hung not think, we can... be democracy. Must be patient. Seventh Son, he think we must have democracy now, for China to be stronger. You, do you like democracy?” “Where I live, you need money to do things. People with money get a better life. It ain't been all that hot for me. But I guess it's better. They say so.” “You are not sure.” “Everybody talks great about their hometown, right? I left that place a long time ago.” “Yes, you are the one without a home.” “And I'm not the best guy to tell you what a grand place it is. Some good and bad. Right now, I'm not that fond of it.” “Fei Hung went to America.” “Really.” “Yes. He stayed at the—Hawaii—you call it? Islands.” “That's the place. He like it?” “He came back.” They stared at each other in silence. Outside, the

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cacophony of the city stilled. Nate thought he heard birds chirping from far beyond the din. “So can I see that boy tomorrow? The one we pulled out?” “Yes,” she said. “I think he would like that.” “Great,” said Nate. “Give me something to look forward too.” As he watched Gwai Lan's flowing body delicately exit his room, Nate felt the pain of two bullet wounds for the first time since his stay at the hospital again. Sleep came fitful that night.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter V

Raucous shouts greeted Nate early the following morning. All around him, the orderlies of the hospital were milling, shouting at one another, carving up space in the ground of what had been 'til then a private room, bringing injured, soldiers by the look of it, uniforms spattered with blood. Nate waited, finally got the eye of one staffer to let him know the original occupant was awake. Guy came over. “Much sorry, sir. Very big bandit strike outside of town. Fei Hung has no room spare. Lot of works to do.” “No problem. I'll just keep out of the way.” “Thank sir. Very good. Fei Hung be here soon.” “Time enough for that.” The rest of the morning Nate relaxed, his ears getting an opportunity to catch the wonderful ways Chinese people could curse. Compared against his own budding lexicon the tones weren't that comprehensible, but Nate did catch one thing about dung−drenched water snakes, from a grunt who'd

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gotten some shot lodged in his hindquarters, that Nate figured he'd keep with himself always. Fei Hung didn't hit the room during the day. But others did, and he thought Gwai Lan came through the haze, hard to tell. Though the noise was getting on his nerves, Nate was somewhat glad of the company, and he figured himself and his new bunkmates could tell stories about the animals on the ceiling. Then one of the patients started staring at Nate. It wasn't the staring that bothered, so much. Nate was a big guy, China a land of curious, smaller people. But there was something unfriendly about the looks Nate was getting. The patient began jabbering quickly, might not have even been Cantonese he was speaking. Suddenly two sets of eyes were on Nate. Then four. Then a fifth, and this last one could walk. Nate looked to an orderly, but among the milling bodies around he didn't see any familiar faces. Two were walking towards Nate now. One fingered the area around his belt. Drawing a blade? Nate couldn't be sure. A show of force was mandatory.

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Nate pulled his torso upright, swung his legs over, stood on his own two feet. The pain was excruciating. He looked down at his two new companions. They were jabbering loudly. Nate couldn't understand. He picked one man up with his left arm, held him high in the air, head of the human obscuring the head of the lion on the ceiling in Nate's vision. Nate made a big show of puzzlement, holding the guy there and treating him to a quizzical, childlike expression, a gaze full of innocence and teeth. The other fellow was closing in on Nate's leg, so he picked this one up too. And stood there, holding both men, until they became very quiet. The room had become quiet. Nate holding the two men, all activity outside ceased. Nate looked over, saw Fei Hung had entered. “Is this a typical greeting of foreigners?” the doctor asked. “They wanted a closer look at me. I thought I'd 'em the top side,” grunted Nate. Fei Hung barked out a few commands in Cantonese. Nate couldn't make it out, but he thought

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the words “sanctuary” were uttered. The two men in Nate's grasp managed to look even more embarrassed and afraid, the blood rushing from their faces. “You may put them down now,” said Fei Hung. “They remember the rules of my clinic.” “Fair enough,” said Nate, and stepping forward with his burden, he gently lay down the first man on a bit of white floor padding that some orderly had provided. A second padding was unrolled, and a second man deposited. Both the suddenly supine individuals stared in awe, captivated by Nate's great strength. But more, Nate realized, were they impressed by Fei Hung. Fei Hung was at the door. “It is good to see your progress,” he said. “This evening—sometime—we can walk together.” “Sure.” “And,” added Fei Hung as he moved down the hall, “look to other accommodations for you, though I'm sure you will have no further difficulties here.” Fei Hung gave a meaningful glance to the soldiery on his

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floor. They looked away. Abashed. “Right.” Nate spent the afternoon in silence, now and then glaring at his temporary bunkmates.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VI

It was a cool evening when Fei Hung again arrived. Accompanied by two hospital attendants, the doctor visited his newest patients first, checking out stitches, discerning body temperature, and making a number of gestures and motions Nate couldn't fathom. After a time, Fei Hung strolled over. Nate was sitting up, testing his leg gingerly. He stood on both legs, wrapped himself in a makeshift garment generated via a pair of silken sheets joined together that one of the orderlies had left for him. They exited in tandem. Not a sound could be heard from the remaining occupants. Fei Hung walked slowly. Nate followed as best he could. Neither said anything for a while. Nate watched his feet carefully on the wood floor. Left. Ow. Right. Left. Ow. Right. He gave no indication of the pain he felt. Fei Hung was unimpressed with this show of bravery. Instead he picked up the pace. Only long strides kept Nate from falling further behind.

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Confident with his stride, Nate snuck a glance at the ornate tapestries which lay on either side of the hallway. Wild pictures some, serene lakes others. Couldn't figure a reason for the layout, but it all came off organized somehow. Maybe they put different patients by different rooms... soldiers out back, businessmen in front, gweilo on the roof. Fair enough. The doctor looked over. “Our medicine is strange to you, yes?” “It worked.” “I'm glad. But you must forgive my lack of skill. The two bullets you absorbed were, as you say, clean wounds. You should have been up much sooner.” “How long I been out, anyway?” “Three weeks from the time of arrival until you first spoke to us. It is now two weeks from that day?” “Three weeks?” Nate was stunned. Canton was a tropical city. Hard to tell seasons. And he hadn't seen a moon. “Too long? You must forgive us...” “Nah, ain't a big deal. Nice enough to have people

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watch over you.” “Yes. Well, you will come to New Year, then. It is our important holiday.” “Ain't that the one that's a week after Christmas?” “No, we have a different calendar from you. But if you're lucky, we will let you dress as a goat.” Nate looked askance at the physician. “It is a great honor. There are only five goats.” Nate began to wonder if the doctor was laughing at him. Something in the man's eyes spoke of a private joke with the world But there was sadness there too, Nate realized. The hallway ended. They were on a balcony, overlooking the courtyard Nate had seen before. “We will house you in the rooms across the way. There are windows from which you can see the river. And a corner view of the city as well. I hope you forgive our modest accommodation.” “Hey, no prob. I like the waterfront. Always stuff to see” “Yes. There are things happening there.” Fei Hung, casually, descended a flight of stairs. Putting as much of his weight on the railing as he trusted the

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wooden banister to hold, Nate followed. Left. Ow. Right. Ow. Left. Right. Ow. Ow. Then he stumbled. Fei Hung, though a small man, turned, sent one arm up, captured the bulk of Nate's body in his palm, held him until Nate could stabilize himself. Equilibrium restored, Nate realized he was drenched in his own sweat. Fei Hung stood serene and unaffected by the exertion, but looked at Nate piteously. “We will rest, then,” the doctor said. “I admire your progress and courage.” From his seat on the steps, Nate looked Fei Hung over. “I admire your strength. And will never arm wrestle you for money.” “You are giving me too much respect. I am a student of the principles of leverage,” laughed the doctor. Nate caught his breath. The two began their descent once more. Nate, thinking they'd gone miles, looked back, gauged distance traveled at less than 200 feet. Once they reached ground he picked up the pace, then realized he wasn't sure which end of the compound he was headed to. The doctor pointed towards a spiraling staircase

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near the courtyard's edge. At that distance, Nate wasn't sure he could fit his bulk inside its narrow reach. “Don't worry,” said Fei Hung. “Those steps are iron. My grandfather built it using the forge here. It will hold you nicely. And you can work your arms lifting something besides Chinese guardsmen.” Nate grunted. The stairs came closer. Nate oozed in, like a slug between blades of grass. Despite his fears, it was an easy ascent, with wary hands providing additional acceleration. The doctor led him to a chamber beyond the stair. Rich hangings bedecked the walls, dragons, warriors, palaces. High−class stuff to pass the hours staring at. Numerous chests aligned the room, again in some order. Nate saw the bed, fabric depicting a giant, ugly soldier standing guard. Something about the man drew Nate closer in. “He will help you to sleep,” said Fei Hung. In the corner were some old photos. One sepia image caught Nate's eye. It was a group of men, nearly a dozen, Chinese, all sporting the queue, looking refined but tough somehow. Nate looked

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closer at one man. Never want to say a Chinese looks like another, but he turned to Fei Hung, questioning. “My father,” said the doctor. “He and the Ten Tigers of Canton. The revolutionary seed of my family.” Nate peered closely at the daguerreotype. “This was his room,” the doctor added. “I hope you will find it to your liking.” “He was a warrior?” asked Nate. “Yes.” Answered the doctor, leaving discreetly so his patient could collapse onto the bedding in the room's center. “A warrior and a healer. Good night. Tomorrow we can discuss your situation further, and see if the presence of my father can give us any insights as to a proposed course of action.” “Yeah. OK. Good night,” said Nate.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VII

It wasn't an evening for sleeping. Scratches below Nate's floor told him that. The sounds were loudest right beneath his waist. Rats, Nate mused. Doc ran a clean ship, but they were right by the river... He wracked his brain, trying to remember what sort of rodent China was capable of. Were they big rats, he wondered. Huge, giant Sumatran things that not a few Javanese shipmates hinted were good eating. Or perhaps the smaller rat. Domesticus rattus, a pet like that old carpenter had had. Crazy fool, kept it inside his coat, wanted to race the critter against any and all. Nate stood up, checked the desks for something to be used as a weapon, but not so valuable it couldn't stand the odd bit of animal. He was glancing inside one of the chests when a trapdoor below his bed opened, and a small Cantonese head poked out, barely visible in the moonlight. “Hello,” said Nate. And he picked the fellow up by his shoulders and dragged him in. The man beside him shrieked, horrified at the size

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of Nate. For once, being called gweilo made sense, as Nate was sure his appearance stunned the interloper, much as a giant devil would freak a priest. Nate covered the man's mouth with his hand. “Shh!” he said. “People are sleeping. A whole troop of soldiers is staying here. Some of them are healthy.” The man looked at Nate. Gave a nod that acknowledged he understood, but otherwise kept trembling. “You are foreigner who assist aunt in fighting?” he said in a staccato English. “That's me. You the Seventh Son?” “How you know that?” “Anybody else I'd get to smack for waking me up. Way my luck's been going, had to be you here. One little sneak I don't get the pleasure of smacking. I heard you down there, let you come up. I was looking forward to a little smacking.” Nate added “Sorry disappoint you,” said the man. “Got a name?” asked Nate, changing the subject. “I Ting Sen. Why move you here?” “Why not? They thought I could use a better view.

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The sea air is wonderful for my lungs here.” “It river. Polluted.” “It is? Well, I'll just have to ask your dad to move me again. Say I want something closer to the garbage drop. That'd be better no doubt.” “You no should stay here.” “Makes it rough on you, huh? What're you sneaking in like that for anyway?” “Father not happy with me.” “Yeah, well, sons and dads are like that. Always. How old are you?” “Thirty−one.” “Maybe it's time to think about leaving the nest.” “No. You leave.” “Love to. But apparently they're looking for me. Everybody. And it's going to be a hard time hiding someone of my size. Besides. I love the vegetable diet.” “You leave.” “I don't think you can make me, Ting Sen. Not up to you in any case. You looking to bed down somewhere for the night?” “Can't stay out there. Looking for me. Too.”

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“And you've been crashing in here for a while, right?” “I... yes. How you know? I keep clean.” “Too clean. Ought to have been thus. Nobody stays in this room, right?” “I not think that.” “Yeah, well, it's hard to import dust with you.” “I do next time. Make look unsettled. Like nobody walk through. “You mean climb through.” “What you say.” “Looks like we got us a standoff.” “What that?” “A draw. A stalemate. Two samurais on the bridge.” “Pfft. Japan.” “Don't get along with them?” “Japan. Bad. China bad lose to Japan. Dishonor. Weak country.” “I suppose you'll tell me more about that given time.” “Yes. Emperor of China not so strong as Emperor of Japan...”

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“I wasn't trying to encourage it. You got any money?” “I... yes. Have money. But no can stay safe place. All places watched. They are looking. Everywhere, they are looking.” “But you can slip in and out at night.” “Yes. I come and go. But can't stay. Be safe. Sleep. Here. Sanctuary.” “Right. So let's see, in your travels, you might, for example, walk past a store. Or a restaurant. Right?” “Yes.” “And they can serve meat. At these restaurants. Right?” “Meat. Pork. Chinese eat pork.” “I'm not Jewish. That's fine. How about chicken?” “Yes. Of course. Chinese eat chicken. Restaurants sell chicken. Want live chicken? Dead chicken?” “However. Just chicken. Or pork. Or meat. Bring me some. And you can stay wherever you want.” “Father no let eat meat?” “Ting Sen, your father is a cruel, cruel man. Adding insult to my many injuries.” Nate turned to his

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new bunkmate with a sad−dog look. “No say bad thing about father—so, you want revolution too?” “Don't got a horse in this race. I'm just backing whichever side gives me the grub.” “That how peasant think.” “Yeah. Peasants are smart, ain't they? I think tomorrow's meal should be a nice whole chicken, simmered, braised ever so lightly, accompanied by a half−dozen baby brothers. Boiled. And...” “You too obvious. Father know. Must eat less,” interrupted Ting Sen with a jab at Nate's belly. “Yeah, always spend too much at the market if you're hungry. OK. Just promise to get me what you can.” “Is deal. I sleep now.” “Right. Take the spot by the door.” Ting Sen looked longingly at the soft bedding. Nate put a possessive foot on the fabric. “Blankets and pads are mine and can't be separated. Father know!” said Nate. Resignedly, Ting slagged away, dropping his body with an irritated thud on the floor of the quarters

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they now shared. Nate chuckled to himself. He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of roast chicken. And pork. And beef. And fish. Even fish.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VIII

In the morning Nate awoke again to the echo of scuffling through the floor. First he reached below, wondering if this was another visitor. As his vision cleared, he saw Ting Sen through the blur. The man was performing some kind of martial arts dance. Nate listened, heard Ting Sen mouthing words. Realized the same locutions were shouted outside by a multitude. He got slowly to his feet, discovering along the way that the pain in his leg was markedly diminished. Nate walked to the window, saw the students outside. Gwai Lan led them through a series of exercises. Chinese calisthenics. Ting Sen was imitating the motions. Badly. Nate watched his roommate with a mixture of amusement and pity. Ting Sen stumbled over himself on occasion, falling to the floor and cursing. Nate moved once to help him up from a particularly messy self−imposed tangle, got cursed out, stood back and looked on the courtyard to see what Fei Hung was up to. The doctor had an active day. Off by himself with

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one student in tow, he held a kind of pitchfork and danced with it. Nate admired the grace of the doctor who spun his farming implement around, behind, above, launching into kicks, rolling on the deck, leaping in the air. He even caught the doc juggling his stick, shifting it, no hands, behind the back. The student kept up as best he could, mimicking the doctor. Their dance was elegant, like dragons at play. Beside him, Ting Sen was sweating, a wingless chicken copying the aerial grace of swans. Nate could barely stand the contrast. Suddenly a commotion at in the courtyard gate put an end to Ting Sen's training. Horns blasted. A troop of Chinese guards in full regalia walked in. Ting Sen put his exercise on hold, raced to the window where Nate stood. “Can not be,” he said. “Him.” Nate watched as behind the troop strolled an elegant figure, confident of bearing, acting as though the stunned gesticulations of Fei Hung's students were appreciative salutes. The doctor ended his routine with a flourish, the three−pronged spear flashing high in the air, captured at the end of a long

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somersault. Nate wanted to applaud, held himself for fear any of the guardsmen, who seemed altogether a different breed from the ones he'd run into twice now, might glance up from their position in the courtyard. “What's going on?” Nate asked Ting Sen. “Him come here. Must be visit troop.” “Who him?” “General Yuan Shih. Worst man ever in China. Corrupt. Evil. Can no believe father greet without hand to throat.” “It's sanctuary, right? All welcome?” “Yes. But kill serpent in your garden. That man worst serpent all China.” Nate took another look at the guy. General was older, Fei Hung's age, maybe. He'd kept in good shape, really good, if that confident stride meant anything. The guy walked toward Fei Hung. Neither said a word at first. The doctor dropped his stick to the ground, settled his clothing as he walked to greet this new guest. They met in the center of the courtyard. “Kill him, father,” said Ting Sen. Kill him now. The troop of soldiers beat their rifles to the ground

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in a cadence, spun the weapons in a manner that would make a fierce drill sergeant beam with pride, rested their arms to the side and stood at ease. “Kill him, father,” repeated Ting Sen. Fei Hung and the general began speaking. “What are they saying?” asked Nate. Ting Sen was silent. “Come on, I want to know.” Laughing gestures from Fei Hung. The general, too, cracked a smile. Then the men embraced each other, stood apart, bowed and began stretching. Nate reached over to Ting Sen, placed a vise−like grip on his shoulder, pulled him off his feet and pressed the man's face to the window. “What are they saying?” he repeated. “They to fight. I tell you all,” replied Ting Sen, wincing. “Fei Hung say, 'honored general, how come you to visit our clinic?'“ “Yuan Shih say, 'I am here to pay attention to our brave sons and defenders of China's honor. I also wish to give respect to the finest man of medicine in all Canton. I have heard much about this place.'“

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“Fei Hung say, 'it is as the driest blossom of the desert catches the eye of an emperor. I am too humbled by your majesty, your brave deeds, to speak. Forgive my shame at this sorry place.'“ “Yuan Shih say...” “Forget that crap. Why are they fighting?” “Is test. Skill. Yuan Shih want know who better. His rank come from pass test. Only from test.” “What? You promote the fighters here?” “Is good way. If no can study. Can fight. Take position. Make blessed list.” “We put our champion boxers in New York hotels,” muttered Nate. “Long time China do this. Best fighter, he general. Have great skill.” “And your father's up to it?” “Can no lose face. Look.” Yuan Shih had begun to disrobe, stripping off his regalia and standing before the crowd in a simple black tunic. Fei Hung waited patiently, his attire already suited to the matter at hand. The men began circling. “If Fei Hung no fight, Fei Hung student fight. Sometime father let student take place in fight. Or

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aunt.” Nate looked over curiously. “Is simple,” continued Ting Sen. “Fei Hung no want fight unskilled man. He no fight any man no have to. Not coward, but if man lose to wife or student, he no come bother Fei Hung, and few his friends stop by want revenge. Is loss of face.” “Huh. Jack Dempsey fought every man in every town...” began Nate. “He no doctor with patients,” snapped Ting Sen. “We hear of this boxing. Father no impressed. Quiet. They begin.” Nate gave a quick look around the courtyard. Fei Hung's students formed a ring, quiet and dignified. The general's entourage fell back, reclining. There were jokes among them, a few enterprising soldiers taking wagers. None of the Po Chi Lam crowd followed suit, standing respectfully, patiently, silently. Gwai Lan waited in the corner. Proud of her husband, Nate saw. And completely unafraid for his wellbeing. The two fighters closed.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IX

Yuan Shih exploded at Fei Hung with a fury that matched his previous gentility in the overdone category. Hands, arms, feet swirling, the attack was monstrous. Fei Hung parried all, standing with his feet stuck to the ground, treelike. The doctor finally returned the assault, softly pushing the general back 100 feet or more. Neither was tired. Nate, watching, turned to Ting Sen, removed his arm from the latter's shoulder, indentation of his hand like a bear track in the fabric. He apologized with his eyes. Ting Sen was unmoved. Below them the fight had taken to the air. The general and the doctor soared above each in whirling kicks and fists erupting from aerial somersaults, strike and block with a coordination Nate felt impossible. At times Nate wasn't sure if he saw men in the courtyard below. Fei Hung pawed the earth like a tiger. Yuan Shih wove and shifted like a cobra. Their speed was phenomenal and the fighting went on from any

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angle. No boxing rules where a man down stayed down. Fei Hung made a series of rolls toward the general, now and then a foot emerged, threatening, like a stick rolling in tumbleweed. Nate gently straightened the fabric of Ting Sen's shirt. “Father no try,” said the younger man, disgustedly. “He not work hurt general. Not take chance. Bad.” “You mean there's more.” “Father have much more.” Nate had a hard time figuring out what was going on. Things moved too fast to pick out a winner or loser. Glancing around the courtyard, he saw the inhabitants of Po Chi Lam bearing smiling expressions, still respectful and quiet. The general's men grew increasingly morose. Nate decided Fei Hung was in control. The general slipped in the earth, caught the edge of Fei Hung's ankle with his chin, fell down, grasping a protruding foot from what was left of the imperial garments. Fei Hung ceased immediately. Nate was stunned to discover the man didn't even look winded.

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“What's happening?” “Coward,” muttered Ting Sen. “Coward general. Only fight weaker.” “Tell me what they're saying now!” said Nate in a fierce whisper, overcome with frustration at his inability to comprehend what was going on. Fei Hung now crouched beside the general, his hands out, massaging the affected limb. “General say,” gritted Ting Sen through clenched teeth, “his foot hurt. Is old injury. Why he go retire from imperial service. He never would turn down honor of battle with opponent so gifted as Fei Hung. But he no can stand. Father now treat foot.” “So he chickened out?” “Father say general bravest of men for suffer pain cause other men give up walking. He wonder why general not visit clinic before. Say he can—his humble skill, he can reduce the injury. Father say bad, bad injury to foot. Like the arrow that bring down dragon.” “Nice guy, your father.” “All the soldier, gather round, talk about general. Fei Hung, he keep repeat, no can believe general

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walk. Say bone was broken. Say set wrong.” “Guy ain't move like his foot was broke,” Nate said derisively. “No foot broken, only Yuan Shih bravery,” replied Ting Sen. The troops surrounded their general. As the conversation continued, with Fei Hung applying treatments, their eyes brightened. This, then, was the great courage of their leader. The men stood straighter, beaming proudly. Fei Hung drew something out of his pocket, began jabbing at the general's legs. “What—those—” said Nate. “He'll be killed. Guns—rifles—” “You no know acupuncture,” said Ting Sen. “It what make big man like you walk again. I see mark on you,” he continued, pointing at the pockmarks around Nate's knees. “Block what coming through want hurt, let what heal in.” “I been pricked with needles plenty of times. Heck, I asked for it when I worked Java. The fever was everywhere. But that...” “It work. Thousands of year. It work. It can kill. If

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general stay here, I kill.” Nate turned and caught the determination in the eyes of Ting Sen. He didn't argue the point. The general, with his troop and Fei Hung alongside, disappeared into a side door of the clinic. “Might get your chance,” said Nate. “No, there no room there. General go visit bed. Get treatment. Leave. I no have time plan now. “ “Probably good you don't knock him off under your dad's roof. We're supposed to be safe here, right?” “Yes. I no dishonor father. But general should be kill...” Ting Sen wandered away, talking animatedly with himself in Cantonese. Nate didn't interrupt the conversation further.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter X

Food was dropped off surreptitiously by their door that afternoon. Nate heard wood creaking, saw a pot with veggies and broth slip in, and winced at the racket when a peculiarly−shaped broomstick smacked angrily at cobwebs and dustmites along their balcony. He wandered slowly to the food. Behind, Ting Sen came along as well. Nate stirred the pot a bit, saw green stalks, green leaves, orange chunks that he assumed were carrots, and some clear material of a cellulose nature. His stomach sighed. “Is this medicine for me?” he asked, looking back at Ting Sen. His roommate's eyes were wide. “No. No medicine. Just special soup from cook. Delicacy. Spiced perfect. Simmer perfection.” “Well, if it's that great, too bad we ain't got no bowls to share.” “Yes. No bowl. One spoon.” “Weren't you supposed to be getting something for me?” “Can not go out now. Troop guard. Go out later.

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Get you food. Meat.” Ting Sen, his mouth open like a hyena in site of dead prey, was on the verge of salivating at the metal cauldron. Nate swallowed a few spoonfuls, left the rest of the pot with a nod. “You get me that food, Ting Sen.” Ting Sen, occupied with devouring the meal, grunted “yeah, yeah" through a mouthful of carrot. Later they sat alone, staring at each, glumly waiting for the sun to begin its decent. Ting Sen, bored, began digging through the chests of his grandfather's room. Hearing him curse, Nate looked over. “What are you searching for now” “Grandfather have many friends when I was young. Play game. Want find game.” “What kind of game?” “Mah−jong,” said Ting Sen. Then, triumphantly pulling out a velvet case, he moved to the floor by Nate, opened the box up, spilled a mess of decorated tiles on the wooden surface. “You learn play,” Ting Sen said, adding, “I get food after game. When late.” “Take a while to play?” asked Nate, his stomach

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rumbling slightly. “Can play mah−jong for hours. Days.” “Great.”

Part II: Fire

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter I

Ting Sen emerged from the clinic tunnel, strode purposefully through darkened alleys behind the waterfront. From doorways the wild laughter of prostitutes and their charges could be heard, as well the shouts and furniture breaking of sailors passing time, or thundering clamor of skills being tested and manhood asserted. Here and there were solitary movements in the shadows, danger for the unwary. Ting Sen had nothing to fear from the shadows. They knew him on sight, and his family. Scowling to himself, he cursed the big nose who occupied his father's house. What kind of creature was that, two−legged pig, with snout to match? For one such as Nate to soil the chambers of his grandfather, one of the Ten Tigers, was horrifying to Ting Sen. And not much of a warrior, despite the size. Aunt, Ting Sen heard, had done most of the fighting. The creature stood there. But his bulk was an asset, Ting Sen realized. Aunt had summoned him for shielding, he recalled. There might be something to this foreigner,

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something Ting Sen could use. Perhaps a boar, not a pig. Out of the alleys, Ting Sen paused. He glanced right and left for any sign of the watch; none appeared. He strode purposefully down Huan Shi Rd., past the vendors of rice and meat. Towards one end on the side was a butcher shop. The sign read “Wing Butcher Shop,” and it looked open, but Ting Sen strolled past to a second doorway. He scratched three times on the wood, heard a rhythmic answering knock, opened the door, and felt his shoulder being grabbed, himself rudely thrust in. “Idiot!” he shrieked to his would−be assailant. “It's Ting Sen. I made right scratch.” “Shh!” came the answer from the large man who stood before. “The watch is all around us. They were in my store today. You should not have come.” “But I must...” “You must be quiet!” answered the man. “I see them all day. They are looking for us. And Yuan Shih is among them.” “Yuan Shih was defeated by father today. He is too busy restoring his lost face to worry about us,”

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replied Ting Sen, smugly. “No. Fool. He will recover face by arresting us. Everyone knows he lost today. Half of Canton was there. By tomorrow, I will have been there too. Yuan Shi cannot face the emperor again following his humiliation and cowardice. He will come for us.” “He is not with the emperor anymore!” Ting Sen shouted. “He has retired from service. The guards he keeps... we do not know how he pays them.” “Much money to be money at court, it seems,” came a soothing voice from inside the room. “Brothers, let us sit down together and discuss these strange events quietly. Wing, will you make the tea?” The large man nodded, released Ting Sen. “Excellent. And Ting Sen, will you sit with us?” Ting Sen, abashed, walked over. “Wonderful. And let us spend a moment in quiet contemplation together before we discuss our purpose here. Ting Sen sat down, wrapped his hands around the earthen mug of green tea set before his place. The room was dark, with burning incense everywhere. To cover, Ting Sen decided, the stench

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of pork and meat all around. There were eight people combined at this gathering. But formal introductions were spared. It was in no one's interest that a leader know every man of the group. One figure was obvious. In the far corner, a man nearly as wide as he was round, the laughing eyes staring up from beneath a flabby cheeks. This was the butcher, Wing, among his father's prized students despite his bulk. Removing his thoughts from the situation at hand, Ting Sen imagined the butcher, at war with the foreigner, for who could eat the most. Normally, he'd give the edge to Wing, but of course the foreigner was hungry. From behind a silken mask at the far corner, a man spoke. “So, we have the word.” “When?” Ting Sen and several others asked at once. “Soon. The empire shall begin to fall.” “How many?” asked Ting Sen, excitement showing in his voice. “And from where?” “A full six columns will present our cause,” said the man. “They will arrive from the outside, and

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converge in the center of the city.” “Outside!” shrieked Ting Sen. “What about our members here?” “Our members are too carefully watched in this city,” another man replied. “We cannot use the them in the first strike. It must be a surprise attack.” Nods of agreement. Or was it cowardice? Ting Sen was spoiling for a fight. To not be present for the assault, when it arrived in his own city... “And they come from outside?” “Yes,” came the answer from fabric−enclosed lips. “The watched scorpion lulls the sleeper as the serpent encloses. Our forces will be gathered from numerous locations. By keeping the faction here at rest, we will stun the enemy.” “Ingenious!” said the butcher. “But... we will not want to stay out of this fight.” “There will be enough time for the strike to occur.” “And when? When?” asked Ting Sen, agonized expression on his face. “The exact date will only be known to a few. Secrets shared are no longer secrets.” “This comes from top?” Ting Sen was obstinate.

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Around him, eyes stared past teacups, engorged with disapproval at his breech of protocol. “From the highest portion of our leadership,” said silken mask, patiently. “Then it will be so!” said Wing, triumphantly. “What can we do?” “Stay calm this day. Go about your business. If you are looking to buy weapons, buy them. If you are looking to train recruits, train them. As normal as one can be in this city that is not normal. Be ready to come to the aid of China when the day arrives. Keep the eye focused upon you. That is your objective.” “And you can tell us nothing more?” asked Ting Sen, only slightly mollified. “There is much work for you to do here,” offered the host. “You can keep your guests occupied. Watch them as they watch us. Yuan Shih is a figure to be reckoned with.” “Indeed,” said silken mask. “It has come to our attention that you have in your possession a foreigner. One of such size, that the establishment cannot but look upon with suspicion. Perhaps you can employ him in certain circumstances. Far

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removed from our main activities and objectives.” “A wonderful idea!” said their host. “Accolades all around.” “I wonder,” continued silken mask, “you can employ this man's size in transporting weapons, necessary and vital for the second phase, but not so important that we cannot cope without. Should the government capture him, the loss will not be substantial. And he will not know...” “And I keep the hawk's attention,” murmured Ting Sen, half to himself. “Exactly,” replied silken mask. “Keep it... on your foreigner.” A map of Canton was brought out, its delicate graphs quickly stenciled in with probable routes for Ting Sen to take. The conspirators gathered in for a better look. “Excellent!” said one. “Send him there!” offered another. Ting Sen smiled, said little. Glad of any role to play.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter II

Ting Sen lingered as the guests filed away. It was bad form to analyze which direction the men chose, even if the return home for all would wind through multiple courses, unrelated to the travelers' actual destination. Wing stayed and looked at him. “Your father doesn't know,” said Wing. It wasn't a question. “He know much.” “He not approve.” “The son chooses his own path. The father points the way...” “He not help.” “You know the reason for that, better than any of us. You know him longer than I have.” “Yes. Known him. But...” “He is your teacher— “He no teach me! He teach brother. He teach many, say they learn defend. No teach me. I defend not self he say. I tell him, I defend China. He no teach me. You no teach me either,” Ting Sen added, looking harshly at Wing.

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Wing only laughed. What the boy didn't know or wouldn't learn... at times Fei Hung had spoken of the difficulties with this one. Wing had reminded his teacher that they were all boys once... wanting to learn. “Little Phoenix,” said Wing, using Ting Sen's boyhood nickname and throwing his vast arm around the younger man's shoulders, “you have the task now of a man. There isn't time to send you back to school like a boy. You've been given a job. Haven't you?” Ting Sen looked back, embarrassed by his tirade. “Yes,” he said meekly. “Then hadn't you better do it?” “Yes,” Ting Sen agreed. He walked toward the door, opened it, then turned around quickly. “Foreigner say he want meat!” “Meat?” asked Wing, incredulously. “Yes. Father say no meat for him. Foreigner say I stay in grandfather's room if I get him meat.” “Your father not be happy...” “I no tell him where meat come from.” “Your father knows.”

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“Foreigner very big.” “You think he eat you?” Wing laughed, made several comments about barbarians and their ways. Then he looked again at Ting Sen. “OK, I give your foreigner meat.” With a flourish, cleavers sprouted from within the butcher's vast sleeves. He spun the blades around, sent them circling in the air, turned again toward Ting Sen, said “Smoke Room!” Ting Sen followed to an inner chamber. Walked with the butcher through a darkened hallway, stepped down a concrete stair into a lamplit room where meats, wrapped in animal intestine, stood hanging. The butcher looked over. “You can cook?” he asked. “Have no heat,” Ting Sen replied. “I give you sweet sausage. He like that. Hold this,” the butcher said, passing Ting Sen an open sack. Patiently, Ting Sen waited. The butcher, mumbling to himself, walked among the hanging cylinders. Eying one crimson stalagmite, he looked back, “can foreigner eat spicy?”

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Ting Sen, remembering the celebrated flavors of the Wing Butcher shop, and the distances businessmen were expected to go, nodded. “Think so,” he said. “Foreigner live Asia long time.” “Hokay,” said Wing. Then with a flourish he both blades, looked back at Ting Sen, who was lazily clutching his sack in one hand, shouted “hold open!” with force. Ting Sen, abashed, spread the mouth of the bag wide. The butcher, with a speed that defied reason, slashed his blades across the meat. Perfectly symmetrical disks of pork and seasoning flew into the air, one after another, gliding to a rest in the carryall between Ting Sen's hands. “Good,” said the butcher after he'd cut nearly a foot off the spicy variety, and paused to tie the item back up. “Now, don't tell Mrs. Wing, but in the pantry there are specialty bun. We can give these to your foreigner as well.” The butcher exited. Ting Sen followed. Grateful to Wing, once again, for helping him, and thinking that his behavior would be an embarrassment if reconsidered later, he found

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himself wanting to change the subject. “You studied with father in Fujian?” he asked. “Yes.” “How old were you?” “I had barely ten years when I first learned of the tiger and crane. I was as proud as any of his students when he won the competitions. Did you know, Little Phoenix, of your father and Fujian?” “He never talks about it. Nor about mother.” “He was a government official then.” Ting Sen was shocked. “Under the provincial governor. He received his position after winning several contests. This governor did not like Qing.” Ting Sen's mouth dropped open. “Your father and this man began training. But the people Fujian rose up, they demanded Tang, the governor, step aside. They wanted your father to lead them. It was... an interesting time. “What...” “Qing knew of these developments. Sent troops. Tang, the governor, and your father, were too outnumbered. Tang shaved his beard, his

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moustache. He fled. Your father left for Canton.” “He never took position...” “His name was on the blessed list. He was sought after. He chose otherwise.” Ting Sen looked up in shock. “Yes. Your father could have served the throne directly. As governor, no doubt. The people wanted it.” “Why he not?” “That's for him to decide. He had his reasons. There is much of a family history you do not know. Nor I either. Your ancestors were Shaolin. The training of your father comes from the southern temple. And you know, his father did not teach him, at first. “That I know. But where do I find such a traveler now...” “Ting Sen, any of your family would teach you. Your father, your mother, I. But we will not teach you to start a rebellion. How many uprisings have there been in Canton?” “Ten.” “How many have succeeded?”

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Ting Sen looked over glumly. “How many would have succeeded if one more martial artist were involved? And, Ting Sen, what if it takes fourteen? Fifteen? Thirty−five? So many chances to lose you...” Ting Sen didn't answer. “I think you know the truth of it, don't you?” “Yes. But this time—” “Perhaps. Or next time. Or time after. Empire will fall. China grow. I believe this. Your father, I suspect, believes it too, though as his student it's presumptuous of me to say so. He may still want to reform from within. Your father has already lost a son to conflict and guns. Is it so wrong of him that he not want to lose another?” Ting Sen said nothing. Looked angrily at the carryall in his hands. Nodded. Left without saying goodbye. The butcher stared as he vanished into the darkness of Canton.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter III

A peculiar rasping sound greeted Ting Sen as he entered his grandfather's room through the trapdoor. At first he thought the foreigner was moving furniture. A shocked expression emerged on his face when he discovered it was the man's stomach growling. Ting Sen stared at Nate for a moment, struck at just how enormous this beast really was. Beside him, even the Magnificent Butcher would appear small. “I bring food,” said Ting Sen, opening the sack to display the sausage buns. “'Bout time,” replied the foreigner, his hands already thrust into the bag, digging earnestly, his wrists in pursuit of their task jabbing against the smaller man's legs. Ting Sen watched as the delicacies, fashioned with such loving care by Wing's able spouse, were devoured, one after another, nary a pause to sample the flavoring. Surprisingly, the foreigner arrested his gorging. “Whoa,” said Nate. “Gotta hold on or my stomach'll roll these things back out. Get it? Roll?” Nate laughed at his own joke. Ting Sen stared.

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“Food bringer,” said Nate. “That's your role. Whoo−hoo!” Ting Sen stared for another moment. Looked into the bag, pulled out another of the treats for himself. He moved to the other side of the room, began chewing softly at his meal. Warily, he eyed the foreigner. “Whoo−hoo!” shouted Nate. “Say, this is some of the best stuff I've ever had. What is it?” “Sausage pork bun. Specialty of the house.” “Well, you're all right there, guy. All right.” “Thank you.” Ting Sen remained by himself, wondering idly whether there was anyway he could convince the foreigner to come out as he'd been instructed. Surely some subterfuge... He watched as the giant resumed his meal, the mandibles gnashing and rending through their prizes like a bear during salmon season. How to convince... Ting Sen agonized over the difficulties, concocting and rejecting one scenario after another in his mind. To bring this one along.... lure him... “Nate!” he called out. The foreigner had crumbs stuck in his face and down his shirt.

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“Yeah...” “Father no can visit you while Chinese guard here. Get boring. Want go out on boat trip?” “Hell yeah,” Nate offered. “Any time. Need somebody to hold your back?” the foreigner continued, offering a conspiratorial wink. “Yes. Like that. Hold my back. Thank you. We can take tunnel out to river tomorrow night.” “Sure thing. Whoo. After that meal, I'll need to sleep me for a while. Yes sir.” Perhaps regretting his former conduct, Nate made a grand show of sharing, seeing to it his Chinese companion had sufficient pillows and cushion to last the night. Ting Sen politely accepted, then listened to the big man lie down and began snoring. Loudly. Rhythmically. Unceasingly. Barbarian, Ting Sen thought to himself. Gorilla. Satisfied with his plan and the credulity of his dupe, Ting Sen turned his head as far from the noise as possible, went to sleep.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IV

Ting Sen roped the foreigner's wrists to his own for the journey down to the waterfront. The clinic of Po Chi Lam held many tunnels, holdovers from the days of grandfather and the Ten Tigers of Canton. They didn't bring light. Ting Sen knew the way, and held secrecy to be paramount. Beneath a drainage slot, where moonlight crept in, Ting Sen caught a reflection of himself and the foreigner in a thin pool of water on the ground. With proper attire, they could be a Manchu and his trained bear. Disgusting, Ting Sen thought. Himself, a Manchu, wandering the frosty streets of Harbin. Nate was quiet the whole trip, listening carefully when Ting Sen said to watch his head. Only one slip−up had occurred, the American cursing loud enough to wake the clinic after a jutting beam caught his forehead. Little possibility of damage there, thought Ting Sen. But he offered apologies, and warned Nate to be more careful. Suddenly, beneath their feet, caked mud turned to a soggy marsh. They were on the river in total

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darkness. Ting Sen moved confidently ahead, made a few turns, and behind heard a gasp as Nate's eyes were stunned by the onrushing blaze of Canton at night. They emerged by a tiny inlet beneath the dock. Ting Sen moved quickly, pulling dark canvas away from a small river vessel. The boat had a dragon−prow, seating for four, and a central area to store fish or other cargo. Ting Sen smiled, blithely passed off any mention of what the other cargo might be, motioned to Nate for his assistance in putting the skiff out. “Quiet,” he snapped, as the clumsy foreigner slogged into the water with a splash. “Many guards, right above.” “Right above?” asked Nate, incredulous. “Watch river close,” replied Ting Sen. Pushing off, Ting Sen caught the foreigner's look of surprise as he discovered there were indeed Chinese guardsmen right above the dock, but facing the other way. These men, like all their regiment, had been trained by Wong Fei Hung and would refuse to look at even an explosion by an entrance to the

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master's clinic, thereby maintaining the ability to honestly say they'd seen nothing... but the foreigner did not need to know that. Ting Sen could barely suppress a smirk as he noticed the foreigner attempting to slink down further into the boat, like an elephant stepping into a circus barrel. He let the man stew for a while as he paddled, but as Ting Sen's arms quickly grew tired, he turned to the foreigner, said “OK, is clear. You paddle, I steer.” And the two headed out along the river.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter V

Ting Sen found travelling with the foreigner interminable. Not only did his physical presence upset the delicate balance of their ship, but the man hummed continuously. At least he worked hard, noted Ting Sen grudgingly, pushing their boat across the water with stunning speed. Not a trace of strain could be seen on Nate. No sweat along his brow, nor the red, flustered skin Ting Sen associated with foreigners laboring on the few occasions when gweilo did work in China. This, then, was no effort to Nate. Sturdy beast, decided Fei Hung's seventh son. The humming stopped suddenly. Noise from insect life invaded Ting Sen's musings. He turned back, curious. The foreigner made a slight gesture. Ting Sen looked him over. Wondering. Had he perhaps seen through the earlier ruse... The foreigner made a slight nod, indicating Ting Sen should glance sideways. Just below his line of sight, ripples in the water. Ting Sen was unsure. The ripples increased, but from where? Boat?

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Fish? Nate indicated Ting Sen should look forward. To the side were the ruins of a fishing village, in front, some mild debris offering a spate of obstacles. Ting Sen felt a hand on his shoulder, was suddenly looking straight up at the moon. “Watch out,” shouted Nate. Through the air, hooks flashed down, trailing ropes. A pair bit into the ship's prow. Ting Sen was afraid now. The foreigner had a calm look about him. With a shriek, half a dozen men sprung forth, jumping on their vessel with unintelligible cries. Nate raised an oar, smote three at one blow, the bodies hitting water with a rousing splash. “Cut the lines,” Nate shouted at Ting Sen. “We can beat 'em easy.” Ting Sen moved to comply, sawing at the ropes with a small knife. Too slow, this work. One strand cut; another. Nate grabbed another of their uninvited guests, tossed him aside. An assailant clambered towards Ting Sen, knife at the ready. Nate hauled this one back by the ankle, gave a blow to his face, flicked him into the soft current. Disgusted at Ting Sen's

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progress, the foreigner snapped the ropes in his hands, sending their boat tilting precariously. “Pull with the oars!” shouted Nate as the last of the alien tethers were removed. “We'll speed up past 'em.” Ting Sen offered a disbelieving glance at the foreigner's resettled bulk. Nate slid his oars into the water, slashing the paddle back and forth with astounding speed. Ting Sen felt the prow of their vessel rise with the foreigner's efforts. He grabbed an oar, seeking to provide what assistance he could. They pressed on. A quick glance back showed the two putting some distance between themselves and their pursuers. “Don't look!” shouted Nate. “Row!” Ting Sen obliged, nearly giddy with excitement and the wild hope that his own arms—as well as the foreigner's—were sufficient to best the enemy. He laughed for a time, almost child−like. Triumphant. “Look out!” shouted Nate. Ting Sen, awakened from his brief stupor, turned. “Starboard side,” said the foreigner. “More of 'em.... Port too!” Nate added.

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Ting Sen looked forward, saw junks racing towards them. From three sides now they were beset. There was no way to outrun all the boats. Any jump from the dragon's mouth would take them straight to the tiger's den. Ting Sen stopped paddling. “Don't give up!” shouted Nate, splashing the back of Ting Sen's as oars were brought into the air. “We'll go starboard. That one's heavy in the water.” “Heavy in the water?” asked Ting Sen, meekly, noticing their direction shifting. “That means most men, right?” “Sure!” said Nate. “But that means hardest to steer two. Straight for 'em now. Don't ease up. I've worked boats like this around Java. As long as your friends out there don't have blowdarts, we're fine.” “Blowdarts?” asked Ting Sen, puzzling over the term as their boat adopted a clear collision course. “Blowdarts. Tube you spit through, sends out a needle or poison dart.” “No,” said Ting Sen. “No blow−dart. Gun!” A popping sound from aft added credibility to this statement.

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“Glad to hear it. Always been afraid of them blowdarts.” And the foreigner's oars splashed down with a cadence born of desperation. Ting Sen watched as the nearest ship grew ever closer. The speed was uncanny. Save for a railroad trip once to Fujian, he'd never gone this fast in his life. The foreigner was unconcerned about their impending disaster. The boat ahead was packed, Ting Sen saw, with gangsters, druglords, pirates—he knew not what. At Wing's shop, nothing in their secret discussions, which promised some form of difficulty, had prepared Ting Sen for this level of enemy. The foreigner didn't need to know that, however. They were beset. He would protect. As the other ship pulled to within 100 feet, Ting Sen saw what Nate meant about low in the water. Packed to the rim with fighters, Fei Hung's seventh son discovered. There was some movement at the rear of the ship. Collision imminent, the foreigner spoke again. “Those were some great sausages you got for me, Ting Sen.”

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VI

With the painted brass dragon snout of the other vessel in his eyes, Ting Sen felt his own boat move. “Hard starboard, now!” shouted Nate. Ting Sen, stunned, did nothing, but saw the serpent's head shift quickly to the left as Nate concentrated the rowing to one side. On board, dozens of figures popped up. Ting Sen saw wood brush against wood as the ships scraped each other. There was little effect on either boat, but Ting Sen saw the would−be raiders stumble, reaching against the deck for support or crashing into each other. A few that had already reached the ship's edge fell awkwardly into the water, one smacking his head off Ting Sen's oar. Puzzled, he turned to look at the foreigner. Nate had seized the other ship by the dragon's neck, and though maintaining his balance by remaining planted at the center of their boat, was calmly and effortlessly bouncing the other vessel with one arm, levering the ship through a reptilian fulcrum.

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Amazed, Ting Sen watched the greenish veins on the foreigner's bicep pop. Nate's face showed little effort, but the swaying of his arm caused their opposition to twitch and fall like an earthquake had hit. Wondering if they'd get through this, Ting Sen allowed himself hope. Those positive sentiments were shattered as, with a crack, the dragon's head came off in Nate's hand. Immediately, the other vessel stopped twitching. Men regained their feet, nine shades of fury in their eyes as they peered over the bow. Ting Sen looked at Nate, but the foreigner, calmly, stuck his giant, meaty paw where the dragon had lodged. Reaching over slightly but maintaining his seat, he pulled a plank from the boat, tossed it with a splash into the river as the first raiders again sought to leap upon the pair. That bit of wood rested high above the waterline. But suddenly all movement stopped as the foreigner grasped again the dragon, and casually wedged the serpent's nostrils where before a plank had lain. With every man on two boats watching, the foreigner thrust the dragon up, splitting one timber, another, another.

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Ting Sen watched with glee as the foreigner flexed the head of the dragon against timber. An enormous gash, nearly two feet long and just above the water, lay in the other ship. Casting his serpentine crowbar aside, Nate leaned across, disrupting the calm of their own vessel but somehow not capsizing, and with his hand curved like a fisherman's hook, pulled several chunks of wooden treasure from the other ship's surface. Immediately, the stricken scow took on water. Ting Sen watched as the men scurried about, one end of the boat rising calmly, but inexorably to the air, the other shifting down with sickening speed. A few men jumped towards them now, one landing on his stomach by the foreigner, shrieking in terror as Nate's eyes widened, and like a chastened rat crawling off their ship with horror. Nate looked at Ting Sen, smiled, began pulling away with his oar as the other boat went down. “Two to go,” he shouted. And a look behind showed their pursuers still in the hunt. Ting Sen rowed with Nate, but his arms grew

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tired. Behind, the trailing vessels had paired up for the hunt, gliding along side by side. The plop of bullets striking water could be heard. Nate, too, pulled at the oars with less vigor. The big man had not, after all, put his muscles to the test in weeks. Ting Sen saw the pack gaining. Nate looked at Ting Sen, at the murky darkness along the shoreline. “So what are we carrying in this tub?” the giant asked. Ting Sen cast a suspicious glance at Nate. The foreigner's eyes were hopeful, guileless, expecting. Scowling to himself, Ting Sen sent his arm to the canvas that separated himself from Nate, lifted the covering. In the middle of their boat were several dozen boxes, labeled in Swedish and English, “danger.” The giant's eyes spread wide. He was reaching over even as Ting Sen muttered “fire sticks.” Nate opened a box, inspected the contents. “Sweating,” he said. “You shouldn't have left them out.” The engineer pulled two of the reddish cylinders from the box, replaced the lid, and opened another,

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smaller container. “Blasting caps, dry.” Nate palmed several of the tiny disks, reached again into the box and drew out a spool of cord. He looked at Ting Sen. “You got a match or something?” Ting Sen sent his hands searching around his body. Matches. No. He did not smoke. At home, with lanterns, he would draw flame out of the oily pools, now and then reigniting the incense that boosted his studies. He looked at Nate, helpless and afraid. The foreigner smiled. Both turned to the now−fast−gaining ships behind. “Hold these,” he said to Ting Sen, and passed over the two sticks, now with dynamite, blasting caps and cord in place. The foreigner reached down, grabbed his dragon souvenir. He slid his hand along the edge of the bow, wincing, Ting Sen noticed, puzzled. When the foreigner withdrew his paw from the boat's edge, there were small splinters inside. Ting Sen stared as the foreigner rubbed these bits of wood together, added some shards of timber from debris that lay within their boat, and scratched the whole thing against the dragon's head.

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Furiously, the foreigner rubbed. Ting Sen watched as the paint of the dragon's eyes flaked off rapidly. No response, not a spark to be seen. The other ships grew closer. Ting Sen heard the sound of rifles being loaded. Nate, his hands moving together furiously, looked to Ting Sen. “Nope,” he smiled. “Ain't this a fix. Sure there ain't some medallion or something? Bit of coin on ya?” “No metal,” said Ting Sen, visibly shrinking as the despair again crept in. “Not bring.” Behind, a row of Chinese brigands lined the deck, each with gun pointed at the smaller quarry. Several shots fired as both travelers glanced over. “Well,” said Nate, “let's hope there's enough sweat on 'em.” And the giant lifted the cover again, grabbed several of the red sticks, turned, and began lobbing the explosive, unlit and uncapped, at their pursuers. Ting Sen listened, heard the stick rattling on wood. The firing stopped as the pirates looked over at this new foreigner's trick. Nate, beside, heaved one stick in a high arc, attempted to bash the item with another piece of explosive in mid−air. The sticks

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did not collide. The giant's throws were strong, but inaccurate in the night. Ting Sen swore he heard laughter from the other ship. The group of men on deck again raised their firearms. Nate, frustrated, tossed a handful of sticks at once. Ting Sen watched as a gunman, laughing, fired at the red sticks as though they were claypots. Another man reached over, tried to knock his rifle away, but the shot went off. Slowly, in the air above the two vessels, came the most beautiful vision Ting Sen had ever experienced. One of the sticks erupted into a white, smoky blossom. Small bits trailed down like daytime fireworks. Suddenly, another blossom, another. Each one lower than the last. Ting Sen turned, saw the foreigner complete another toss. Felt them explode in the air, one just above the enemy ship. The explosive Nate had sent earlier jumped into the act. Half a flower sprouted up from the ship. Then another. Another. Ting Sen looked at Nate, who was now rowing, fast, bent down as far as the giant could get. A concussive force emanated from the blossoms upon them. Ting Sen felt a stunning

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blow to his back, looked around, discovered he was now lying on the floor of their boat. The foreigner was paddling furiously. Sitting upright, slowly, Ting Sen looked out at the scene on the river. Two boats were in flames, the fire jumping from the victim of Nate's one−man shelling, to the smaller, companion vessel that had sailed too close. All Canton province awakened with the blast; lights blazed in the huts of many a fishing village. Dimly, Ting Sen saw men, damaged by the red flower, jumping into the water to extinguish the flames on their bodies. The spectacle behind, no one paid any attention to the little boat which sped away from the scene, propelled by a hunched−over gweilo and his Cantonese friend. Ting Sen gazed again at the foreigner with a new respect, and a measure of awe. Nate finally saw the gap−mouthed Cantonese in his boat. “Yeah?” “Father, one−time, beat drug gang. On Canton harbor. Thirty of them. You did more.” “Naw,” said Nate, idly fingering a blasting cap.

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“Your dad wouldn't have risked everything. They were idiots. We... were lucky.” Ting Sen, thinking over these words, nodded, and smiled for the first time in Nate's presence. “Yes,” said Ting Sen. “Idiot. Who fire gun at dynamite?”

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VII

The rest of their trek down river was uneventful. Here and there, Nate observed women drawing water, men setting their boats out for a day's fishing. The night was cool, the skies clear. At a small inlet, marked by a wooden temple gate, Ting Sen pointed. “Go here,” he said. Excited that he'd finally achieved something. “They here.” “OK,” replied Nate, already pulling their boat towards the shore. “But I ain't unloading this stuff. Too dangerous.” “That fine. They help us.” “Who?” asked Nate, as no motion could be detected on the banks. “They here,” Ting Sen repeated, insistent. “Got ya,” replied the foreigner as the two reached the shore. Ting Sen leapt from their boat, leaving Nate to pull the vessel inland. Suddenly cautious, Nate did not appreciate having to slide their tiny craft over grating rocks. Nothing exploded, but with the transport safely on shore, Nate stepped away. Quickly, Ting Sen walked ahead, calling out in his

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native dialect. “Hello! Get here now. Ting Sen. I bring cargo. Where?” Ting Sen quickened his pace, leaving the foreigner behind. Logs lay on their sides, half−sunk in the earth and forming a natural stair to the temple's main entrance. The way was marked with torches, lit, their burning oil showing no motion beyond Ting Sen's flickering shadow. “You, come on!” shouted Ting Sen to Nate. “We go together here. No good they find you without me.” The foreigner shrugged, nodded, began to climb the temple stair. Ting Sen cried out his terse message of welcome to the bushes and trees, here and there a nighttime avian called back, but no human response could be heard. Slowing, the two approached the temple. On each side of the brick path, sculpted dragons were on guard. Ting Sen stepped ahead, past an enormous bell, towards the wooden entranceway. Behind, Nate stared at the roof, looking for signs of life on the terra cotta ceiling. Unaccosted, they passed the entranceway.

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Nate waiting by the door, Ting Sen entered the temple, his eyes roaming along the walls as Hsuan Tsang sped from the ancient capital of China to the west, where, he'd been informed, some scripture could be found. Along the way Tsang endured hardships, the paintings indicated, but the old man bore them well, helped to some degree by an odd figure in armor, who stood by, loyally, when trouble engulfed them. Ting Sen ignored the artwork, save to dismiss it internally for not arousing the proper degree of feeling in the onlooker, but then, this location wasn't chosen for its sacredness. The lack of anyone to greet them was puzzling. Ting Sen moved past a side altar, where a monkey god could be worshipped, and headed towards the rear of the temple, where a door led to a back courtyard, and a monk or someone would appear. Halfway to the door, Ting Sen turned. Something was wrong about this temple. Incense burned, the bell was there, but something... odd. “We go back!” he called out to Nate. “Now! Get to boat.” Turning, he raced out, as the doors opened

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and dozens of warriors in imperial livery spilled out. “Run!” shouted Ting Sen. But the foreigner turned back just in time to catch two feet square on his chest. Nate splattered back into the room, upsetting a shrine to Monkey, and coating himself in ash from the incense. Trying to rise, he found rifles pointed square at his head. Ting Sen spun around, looked for a leader, saw a man wearing a silken mask giving orders from the rear of the temple. Quickly two soldiers raced over, seized his wrists and bound them with rope. Nate's hands and feet were also tied. “What's going on?” asked Ting Sen in Mandarin. “Him, yes, why me?” Silken Mask walked up to the smaller of his captives. Smiling beneath his satin covering, he waved a mailed fist in the air. Suddenly the men surrounding Nate plowed in. Their oversized captive resisted, shrugging off assailants like an angry bull tossing aside junior ranch hands, but their numbers were too great for the tired giant. Ting Sen watched as Nate took a vicious blow to the head. Bleeding, staggered, the crowd stood,

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waiting as the giant swayed. Glancing at Silken Mask, Ting Sen shouted: “No good. No like this! He not supposed hurt like this.” At his tone Nate looked up at his friend and companion, hurt and bewilderment intertwined in his eyes, he caught the tone of it... or spoke the language. Ting Sen looked away in shame as the guardsmen resumed their beating. The fight drained out. The giant fell to the floor. “An interesting opponent,” offered the man in the fabric cowl. Around Nate fully a dozen men lay unconscious, some never to rise again. Those still walking treated the foreigner to swift kicks all around his body. Suddenly all leapt back as Nate, in an unconscious stupor, rolled over on his stomach. At this Silken Mask laughed. “Yes, he has some qualities. Perhaps I shall fight him to experience these qualities further. Leave him alive!” Silken Mask shouted to a guardsmen who had drawn his blade. “I will test this foreigner's skills myself. For now, cart him away.” “You are unfair,” shouted Ting Sen. “There is no

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need for this action. I brought what you wanted. Did what you wanted! Obeyed explicitly. Why are you hurting us? Him? Why?” Silken Mask sighed, loudly. Turning to Ting Sen with a bored look in his eyes, he paused for a moment, reached back, and felled the son of Wong Fei Hung with one blow to his head. “I find you very tiresome,” offered Silken Mask to the fluttering, dilated pupils of Ting Sen.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VIII

Ting Sen awoke in darkness. A searing pain coursed through his skull, obscuring his recall of prior events. Dimly, he sensed a giant bulk nearby. Nate was snoring, loudly, but without gusto. There was something wrong with that sound, Ting Sen knew. They were moving, the pair. Ting Sen heard the rattling sounds of a motorcar engine, a truck perhaps. Now and then a backfire exploded. With a sudden burst of effort, Ting Sen brought himself upright. His legs were bound, he discovered, but as his vision cleared and adjusted to the darkness, he learned his own hands could move. The foreigner, next to him, shifted his body awkwardly as their conveyance went around a curve. “Nate,” said Ting Sen in English. “Wake up. Wake up now. Must get up.” The foreigner was completely oblivious. Ting Sen wondered if the man had been drinking. Realized, from the bruises, that this man's unconsciousness wasn't from any binge. Everywhere, the giant bore

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the marks of a vicious assault. His fingers twisted awkwardly. His legs bled. On his giant stomach, protruding from the shredded robe, Ting Sen observed horrific discolorations. From somewhere, Ting Sen's father spoke. “The fluid is damned. When the vessels are damned, the body drowns. Let the blood flow out. Ting Sen stared again at the foreigner. “Let the blood flow out. Save the body. With hidden reserves of strength, Ting Sen shifted his body forward. Wriggling with the bonds on his legs, he reached the foreigner. Desperately, he tried to roll Nate over. It was no use. His arms had not the strength in the best of times. In his current condition, he couldn't move the giant one inch. Nate's breathing grew more hoarse. Rapid. He was choking in it. Ting Sen squirmed, got his mouth next to the foreigner's ear. “Roll!” Ting Sen whispered fiercely. “You turn over. Or you die.” The foreigner was oblivious to Ting Sen's words. Vaguely, desperately, Ting Sen tried to recall more of his father's teaching. Weightlessness, he

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remembered. The hidden training. Ting Sen tried to recall it then. Not from his father, his grandfather. What the stranger from Shao Lin had taught. Secret messages. The self. Focus. Ting Sen again reached his arm beneath Nate's shoulder. With his father and grandfather beside, in one hand, he lifted the gigantic form, turning the giant 180 degrees. Nate, choking, made gurgling noises. Ting Sen crawled across the foreigner's body, stuck his fingers between Nate's lips, induced vomiting. Nate spat blood on the floor. A small puddle. Dangerous. Ting Sen listened. The giant's breathing slowed, grew more relaxed. Grasping for a pulse, Ting Sen felt the heart rate decrease, become more normal. Nate fell into a deep sleep. He would survive. For now.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IX

As their conveyance lumbered ahead, Ting Sen patiently removed the bonds from his legs. He found he could pull the ropes, tight as the cords were, by pressing thighs together, and working the strands down with his thumbs. Blood was drawn here and there along the calf, but Ting Sen wanted to bleed. Turning his attentions once more to Nate, Ting Sen discovered no limbs broken, bruises all across the man, and a leg injury that had reopened. He applied pressure as best he could, wondered if the man had excess stores of blood to match his bulk. Now and then during the ride Nate moaned. Ting Sen wondered where they were going. What place, and what reason. He must have been speaking aloud. “You'll find out soon!” laughed a voice above. Others found this funny. They smashed their feet down in mirth. Soldiers, Ting Sen decided after additional crude humor. Urine flowed in their direction, then the tattered remains of a paltry repast swung down. Betimes their

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rooftop companions shouted down with a supposed jest. The trip was interminable; the distance traveled unknown. Ting Sen gave what aid he could to the foreigner, drew strength from the hopeless plots for revenge that whirled through his brain, ideas as stunning in their force as their impossibility. Beside him, Nate late dormant. Recovering, Ting Sen hoped. Sometime the din above ceased. Ting Sen pondered the man in the silken mask, who he was, what he was working for. An imperial figure, obviously, but who? And why? Alone now, with the beaten giant lying on the floor, Ting Sen considered the revolution he'd been fighting. It was a goal, an objective, a dream, but never had he considered the reality, the blood, the possibility of despair. Seeing this foreigner—he found it hard, even now to call him friend—Ting Sen for the first time saw the impact of battle. He felt, too, real defeat. Desperately, inwardly, he began to crave revenge. Revenge against the soldiers above, revenge against the man who'd betrayed them.

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But there was more to it. So many times in his life, Ting Sen had wanted to fight, to hurt, to destroy what he saw as wrong, period. Now, he needed to understand it. Why had he and the foreigner been taken in this way. Why had a simple plan, decoying, taking eyes away, moving some arms when weapons and moved flowed through Canton each day—why a plan that caused the foreigner to be seen in cities up the river, and outside Guangdong Province, that little bit of mystery, the uncertainty of an enemy—why all of this, for a son who did little, and a westerner, who aside from eating, would do much less.? Ting Sen wondered if his aunt—his mother—her, had picked up more information that day. If he'd happened into something very large indeed. No, impossible. He was not so young. He didn't think the situation that special. Just a Canton revolt, an annual occurrence, like lychee gathering or First Moon cake. Why then. And who? There seemed no good answer as the truck churned its way through gravel and dirt roads, now and then honking, driver cursing at a peasant,

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knocking aside a cartholder. Ting Sen wondered again where they headed. Somehow, he slept.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter X

Ting Sen's eyes recoiled as their resting area was exposed to sunlight when a door opened. After he adjusted to the blaze of day, he caught leering glances from several dozen imperial troops. At his side, Nate lay, moaning in agony, unaware of their surroundings. Rudely, Ting Sen's shoulders were grabbed, his head bounced against the truck's side, he body tossed onto the ground like vegetables in a sack. Grunting, several troops pulled the foreigner out, somewhat more delicately, but in a manner that bespoke less than care. In addition to the guardsmen, Ting Sen saw various softer figures. Men in robes with hands that had foresworn work, eunuchs and servants abounding, and at their center a begowned Mandarin, nails long, eyes, made up, body no doubt perfumed. Dangerous figure that he was, Ting Sen felt his arms stretched behind, his bonds replaced more tightly. Nate had kept his ropes, though as a

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precaution the cord circling the giant's limbs was tested. When everything was in order, a whistle sounded, and the Mandarin and his entourage moved forward. They paid Ting Sen no mind, but the giant attracted much attention and comment. “Disgusting,” muttered the forum. “Revolting.” “A beast!” There was laughter at both captives. The closer the group came, the more silken handkerchiefs went up, protecting sensitive nostrils, actions suggestive of government onlookers at a championship agricultural fair in Sichuan or Sinkiang. Ting Sen found their presence, their gaze, intolerable. A few girls were among the Mandarin's group. Ting Sen heard them twitter as portions of Nate's arm were laid out in their hairy, bloodied majesty. “Barbarian,” they whispered. Some signs of life emanated from the foreigner. Ting Sen watched, hopefully, as Nate stirred slightly. Now it would begin, he decided. Now, some retribution for what had been done. He'd only needed a rest.

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Nate's arm flopped back down, and he lay insensate to redoubled acts of poking and prodding as the crowd grew bolder. Finally, bored easily, the group walked away, keeping a respectful distance behind the Mandarin. One of the officials gave instructions that Nate and Ting Sen were to be placed in the horse barn, with water and some food for Ting Sen, and hay or other as the foreigner might eat. Ting Sen shambled about as a soldier's foot guided him to an upright position. Nate was placed under a board and dragged through attached ropes by half a dozen men. As he was pushed away, Ting Sen looked about, thought he saw the Mandarin speaking to the man in the Silken Mask. A fist to the side of Ting Sen's head, coupled with curses, impressed upon the son of Wong Fei Hung that now was the time to abandon curiosity and step quickly. Their trek continued, now and then a pause for the unfortunates who had to move Nate around to take a breather. Ting Sen was pressed into barn, forcibly shoved up a bamboo ladder, had his wrists chained, tightly against the wall, but at least there

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was give enough in the links to let him sit down. They dumped Nate to the ground, tied his hands and feet to a pole at the base of the barn, and left him there, face−down, Ting Sen saw from his perch above. Calling out to the man produced no reply, save mockery from guards left on duty. No longer concerned with holding appearances, Ting Sen thrashed angrily against the chains that held. Nothing would let him slip out of these, he realized. The steel clasps were so tight they cut into the bones on his shins and forearms. Perhaps if he starved, he could escape, but not otherwise. An uncontrollable tirade ensued as the son of Wong Fei Hung forgot all decorum, forgot all shame, forgot the guards laughing, and merely shouted, rattled his chains, kicked at the pole, fell, raised himself, and continued his rant. A few guardsmen had returned to the barn to watch from below. Amusement in their eyes. Ting Sen spat towards them. The men laughed harder. Some threw hay and rocks at their prisoner above. One kicked at their prisoner below. Nate rolled and grunted a bit when feet came into contact with his

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body, sending everyone a few steps back. Ting Sen settled. The men left. Later that evening, a meal was served. Ting Sen waited, alone among many. *** Inwardly seething and plotting revenge, Ting Sen spent the next day sullenly observing his captors. Anything for an advantage. Some chance to break away. Or find out what was going on. None came to speak with him. A few played games like placing dishes out of his reach, hoping that hunger might generate renewed outbursts from their wild pet. Ting Sen stared at the men, watching their twittering motions with a stone face. Quickly the would−be tormentors grew tired of their game. That night some rice was slid across to Ting Sen. He stared at it, at the faces of those who served it. A hint of furtive glances in his direction resulted in Ting Sen kicking the food away. The soldiers guffawed at this, slapping one of the larger members on the back. Sheepishly, the object of their attention drew some coins from his pocket, paying all. There were several sets of guards, Ting Sen

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noticed. A liveried sort, stiff with integrity, came into the barn now and again. Pausing only to change horses. Others, stronger, with bearings of confidence and discipline, roamed about the periphery. These men were tall. Northern. Manchu. Around Ting Sen, the soldiers were smaller. Less sophisticated. He watched them walk, saw the uncertainty of their strides, the lack of discipline and pride. Here, he thought was a chance. If only the others could be made to leave... He formulated a series of plans in his mind, quickly casting them aside when he glanced down at Nate's body, eyed the foreigner's massive chest heaving with irregular breaths, but no signs of consciousness. Grimly, Ting Sen began pulling at the chains that kept him in place. The metal bit hard into his flesh as he shifted his wrists and scratched at his post.

Part III: Air

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter I

Mok Gwai Lan strode purposefully through the archway of Po Chi Lam. Behind her, two attendants from the clinic attempted to keep pace, wondering why their mistress had so much vigor in her efforts to supervise the morning's shopping. New Year was coming. In a short time the streets of Canton would be awash with firecrackers, celebrants, families and revelers. With the drink consumed, her husband's clinic would see no end of customers after. But it was a happy time in an unhappy year, and around many were determined to see a change of luck. Gwai Lan paid no notice to the people who gathered, hawking wares, offering sweet cakes, wines, treats. Turning smartly down Huan Shi, she pushed past an aggressive vendor of live fowl. Behind, her attendants slammed into the man, upsetting his cart and launching his cages into the air amid a clamor of curses and squawks. “Mistress!” shouted Jan Juin, her main assistant. “Wait!”

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“Pay for his entire stock and take it back,” ordered Gwai Lan, instantly shifting the vendor's eyes from an angry red to a delighted gleam. “We'll have hens for the New Year.” Stunned, Jan Juin was about to question his supervisor, thought better of it. With a nod, Gwai Lan turned and continued down the road, glaring fiercely at another man who tried to force a lucrative collision. The fellow, a peasant from the rural areas outside the city, considered, stepped back humbly. Finally, she reached the door of Wing Butcher Shop, entered. Lan Hsing, Wing's wife sat behind the counter, supervising her clerks, offering greetings, heckling the baggers, and taking money. She smiled brightly at Gwai Lan. “Something for Po Chi Lam, Auntie?” asked Lan Hsing. “Later. I must speak with your husband.” Concerned at this tone, Lan Hsing paused for a moment, said “he very busy now. Can come later?” “I must speak with him immediately,” retorted Gwai Lan. Something about her manner brought Lan

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Hsing to her feet. “OK, OK, I take you to him. He with meat.” “Fine. Thank you, Auntie,” replied Gwai Lan, smiling as best she could and stepping behind the counter into the rear of the shop. Wing's hands were an orgy of motion as they hacked into the stacks of viands all around. The knife he wielded, covered in blood and entrails, would have disgusted many an onlooker. Wing himself looked little better, face and apron covered with debris. Gwai Lan waited impatiently for the man to look up. She wanted to see his eyes before rushing to any judgement. Realizing a stillness in the room, Wing glanced around, first at his assistants, then caught his wife and the spouse of his master in the room. That instant of surprise convinced Gwai Lan. “Leave us,” she said tersely to Lan Hsing, a slight that would not be smoothed over without many afternoons of tea and sweetened delicacies. Shocked, Lan Hsing filed out, Wing's assistants exiting as well.

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The room's two remaining occupants stared at each other for a time. Gwai Lan impatient, Wing thinking rapidly. He spoke first. “What brings you to my humble shop this day?” he asked with a hopeful, trilling note to his voice. One, Gwai Lan reflected, that he must use when coming home drunk from the pubs. “I look for my son,” Gwai Lan replied. “That little one,” smiled Wing indulgently. “Why, he's always getting out, isn't he?” “Not the little one. My other son,” replied Gwai Lan. “Ting Sen,” she added angrily when it looked like Wing might try to dissemble out. “Why—why would I know where he is?” asked the butcher. “After all, that young man has been known to prowl in and out of Canton. He could be anywhere.” “Yes. And the foreigner with him. I owe a debt to that foreigner. And something is not right.” “Yes. The giant. I've heard of him. But... why me?” “Because,” replied Gwai Lan angrily, reaching into her bag and throwing out bits of bun and sausage

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she'd found in Wong Kai Ying's chamber, “these wrappings could only have come from your shop. And must have been given to Ting Sen by you....” A few gasps could be heard from outside. Wing cursed at the listeners, raced to the door to offer a quick spate of discipline. Despite her reluctance to touch a man so encrusted with his work, Gwai Lan reached out, stopping the much larger Wing in his tracks, and nearly knocking him off balance. “You will not get out of this so easily,” she said. “Where is my son? You are the last to have seen him... and the foreigner as well.” “Was the foreigner with your son?” Wing started, glancing humbly at the woman in his shop. With a shout Gwai Lan pressed her fists forward. “Wing! I have studied with Fei Hung, same as you. Will you challenge me here? On this day?” Changing tactics, Wing's eyes looked over his would−be attacker. “Perhaps,” offered Wing. “Yes, perhaps. But is your Kung Fu as good as mine? I have been Fei Hung's disciple for many years... this would not be a

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proper duel.” “Has he taught you his Shadowless Kick? Or the fifth way? Or...” Gwai Lan's tone was shrill. “Yes.” Wing replied. “All of them. He calls me his best student when we train others. Would you really like to try?” “Well,” answered Gwai Lan, more calmly. “That is so. And, perhaps, you would win. And it gets me no closer to my son. Or the truth. But tell me, Wing the Butcher, can you stop me from destroying your shop on this New Year?” And with a snarl, Gwai Lan spun, kicked a giant hole in the wall separating the cleaning area from the customers. The reaction came, loud, stunned. Customers raced for the door. Gwai Lan turned, smugly, to Wing, who stood in stark terror, not at the wife of Fei Hung, but his own spouse, who was now angrily looking at her husband and her friend. “This is New Year!” shouted Lan Hsing, her head peering through the opening. “One of the few days good for business in these times. What have you done to so antagonize the wife of your master?” Wing started. Both women converged upon him

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now. This situation was untenable. He sat down hard to the ground, a rooster overrun by hens. Sighing at the pair, he began to speak. “Ting Sen, and foreigner, leave on boat.” “Yes, I knew that,” answered Gwai Lan. “To go where?” Wing glanced at the hole in the wall, the customers outside who had arrested their flight and now peered over the counter for a better glimpse at this early display of fireworks. “I no can tell,” he replied sadly. His wife began to harangue once more. Gwai Lan gently stroked an another of the shop's barriers, glancing at the butcher to see which wall held the roof. “I show you!” he shouted finally. His wife, annoyed at this defection, began to speak, but a glance from Gwai Lan stopped her. Summoning Wing's top apprentice from a place in front of the counter where the boy cowered, Lan Hsing put the fellow in charge of cutting, returned calmly the front, cajoled and bullied the customers and onlookers into purchasing, and said nothing more to her husband. “A long trip,” Wing muttered to Gwai Lan, glancing

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down at his soiled body. “I must get clean.” “Hurry,” the wife of Fei Hung replied impatiently.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter II

A foreign patron of Fei Hung's discretely provided Wing and Gwai Lan with a steam−powered vessel to achieve their destination. The donor, a prominent individual with the expatriate community had contracted a peculiar ailment sometime during his revels in the City of Shanghai. Luckily, the man's spouse and household had returned to their home nation during this period, so Fei Hung's delicate and time−consuming treatments were both successful and unobserved. Gwai Lan, who had provided the man his medicines, finally took the gentlemen, a shipping magnate, up on his offer of anything, anytime. Their new vessel steamed along the Pearl River with, to Wing, frightening speeds. Never had the butcher moved this fast. Their captain, a Malay fluent in Canton dialect, laughed heartily as Fei Hung's student began to look sick. Four crew were aboard, Javanese perhaps, in any event happy that they didn't need to load cargo this day. Wing stood near the prow, catching glimpses of

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angry fisherman, junk owners trundling cargo, and now and then a ferry operator taking his passengers from one end to the other. The steamship set up an enormous wake. Not a few boats were upset by their passing, some literally. Gwai Lan sat astern, watching intently. She listened as two of the crewmen pointed to an area near shore, where a load of debris had washed along the riverbank. Their speculation was hard to follow. Words here and there she understood, bomb—firestick, something. Gwai Lan turned to Wing, wondering if the butcher understood. Wing listened intently, his face whitening. He turned to Gwai Lan. “They say a small boat was attacked by three riverboat pirate ships. Only two men were aboard this boat. A giant, and one other.” Gwai Lan's eyes widened and she turned to the crewmen. “They say, the giant had fire, and he threw it at the boats. And he destroyed all three with his fire. Fire on a stick.” “What?”

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“Dynamite. The giant and your son were taking dynamite down the river. They must have used it.” “Did they survive?” “The crewmen believe so.” Gwai Lan turned back, staring at the scraps of wood along the river. Many days, she considered. Too long for the injured to remain. They'd either have moved away, on their own power, or... “We'll visit the temple first,” offered Wing decisively, and not, Gwai Lan realized, all that interested in seeing what lay between the planks along the riverside. Perhaps this butcher had not so strong a stomach. “How far now?” asked Gwai Lan, changing the subject. “If we paddled, an hour or two, depending on current, returned the butcher. Perhaps in this machine, much faster.” Wing was somber. “My son had best be all right,” said Gwai Lan. “I hope so,” returned Wing. Their eyes locked, Gwai Lan silently promising recriminations if anything should happen to her family. Wing turned away first, his head shaking slightly.

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The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter III

From a distance, Gwai Lan and Wing caught sight of the bustling temple. This season was marked with paper lanterns, crowds coming in to worship, fake money offered as sacrifice to luck and prosperity. Nearing, the dock was packed in with dozens of small boats. Their steamship nearly caused several to capsize as it approached. To angry shouts, Gwai Lan and Wing disembarked, Wing offering matching curses and an upraised fist to the small crowd that gathered round. Their reputation did not spread to these parts. AT least not on site. Gwai Lan could have educated the passersby quickly, but she was too much in a hurry. Besides, it never worked to identify yourself verbally. “Where would they go?” she asked Wing. “Into the main temple,” answered the butcher as his hand flared out to smash a threatening oar in half. Their steamer pulled back from the coast, the captain waiting and waving, indicated he'd be there for as much time as Gwai Lan and her companion needed.

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Passing by the now−parting throng, Gwai Lan felt for a moment the spirit of New Year. One vendor had prepared the daintiest of rice confections. A specialty of some nearby village, no doubt. For a moment she paused amid the crowd, basking in the smells, hearing the music in market chatter, watching a few kites whirl in the distance. A quiet moment. Wing halted, watching her. Gwai Lan looked up from her brief gaze at the butcher. Turning to Wing, she barked instructions to enter the temple, and the two made their way through the revellers with little incident. Past the dragon statues several monks stood, waving incense, clanging bells, smiles on their faces but no words passing through their lips. They bowed, moved up the trail and entered the temple. Wing paused to look at the gold figures; he'd always been a fan of monkey. Dropping a few coins in, he fell back as Gwai Lan marched earnestly towards the central altar. The monks bowed as she passed, still none spoke. At the far end, a woman selling incense sticks looked over. “Buddha bless you,” said the vendor.

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“And to you,” replied Gwai Lan. “I am here seeking information.” “They perhaps have that,” replied the woman. “The way can be known. You must come for classes. Are you new to the village?” “I don't seek that information. I'm looking for someone—two people—who came to this temple several nights ago. I haven't heard from them since.” “Several nights ago. But—why—they wouldn't have come here. The temple—it wasn't open,” answered the woman, somewhat flustered by Gwai Lan's manner. “The monks made a short pilgrimage to a mountain nearby, where this temple's founder is buried. They do that every year.” Gwai Lan turned to Wing, who was mimicking the stances of Monkey King before that altar. By some instinct, the butcher turned, became serious, shambled through the temple quickly and moved to her side. “No one at the temple for several days,” said Gwai Lan. “Make sense,” began Wing, puzzled. “Who is your contact here?” the wife of Fei Hung

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asked. “I don't have one,” Wing returned. Frustrated, Gwai Lan turned to the woman. “Is there anyone—someone we could speak to—who would have been here while the monks were away.” “I—no—yes. They didn't have guards, but one of the brethren did stay close at hand. I was with the monks in their travel. My family has been associated with this temple since its founding,” began the woman, her hands spreading out unconsciously around her little shop in its key position of the temple. “That man—not a true monk, you understand—” she continued disdainfully, “but he does help out here, and sleeps near the other brothers, a sort of hut behind the official residences. You can find him...” The incense vendor was speaking to air. Without so much as a polite “blessings to you,” Gwai Lan had moved halfway down the temple towards the exit, Wing in tow. In a huff, the seller sniffed in their direction, bent down, and idly stacked cylinders of

incense.

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The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IV

The road to the dormitories was humble, fitting. Merely a dirt trail that led past small gardens, ponds bristling with koi, and a few cooking pits scattered about, managing a vegetarian diet for so many. Gwai Lan saw koi rise to the surface as she passed, their golden−red fins offering a cheerful greeting, and almost lining up toward the far edge, pointing the way. At her side, Wing struggled to keep up, the short legs of the butcher experiencing difficulty matching her longer, forceful strides. The dormitory lay before them, modest housing, with terra cotta shingles stacked neatly together like clams in a seagull's dream. Gwai Lan stared a bit. This was the main residence. But where did the help reside? A small hut—shack really, like it would be used to store garden implements, poked out from the rear edge of the monk's housing. Gwai Lan glanced at Wing, whose own gaze focused in the same direction. “Must be there,” she said. And the butcher

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agreed. The two moved past the dormitory, Gwai Lan curiously peering inside windows as she passed, unable to resist temptation to know what the men might be up to. Most of the monks were out. A few sat idly, tending to their sandals, mending a robe... skillful handling of a needle, Gwai Lan thought. They said nothing, even among themselves. Ashamed of herself for invading their privacy, Gwai Lan hurried ahead, Wing's breathing increasing as he barely kept pace. Gwai Lan barely felt the ground beneath her feet until by the entrance to the worker's shack. “Entrance” was the sort of polite compliment Fei Hung taught Gwai Lan to make. Always decent, so gentle and respectful. The worker lived in a hovel, a dirty hovel, cracked on the sides. Disgracing himself, Gwai Lan's mother would have said, showing disrespect to the monks. Poverty was one thing, unavoidable perhaps, but you carried yourself with a measure of pride. Gwai Lan didn't bother announcing herself, stepping into the residence. A short man, face pock−marked from a condition that might not be

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treatable, sat in the center, amid numerous bottles of rice wine. Wing, behind her, glanced at the containers, looked at her in surprise. These beverages were a bit much for a poor monk's assistant. Gwai Lan imagined monks drinking fermented sweet potatoes, wallowing in filth, a ghastly, horrid existence. She kicked the bottles aside, brought the man to his feet with one toe wedged into his filthy robes. Where a surly expression had lodged on the workman's face, now Gwai Lan saw fear and willingness. “The men that were here. Where did they go?” she asked, sternly. At the other edge of her leg, her would−be informant didn't answer. “Where did they go?” Gwai Lan repeated, flicking her limbs slightly and drawing the worker above ground. “Up road. In truck!” The worker blurted out. “Was a giant with them?” asked Wing, bemused at this side of Fei Hung's wife. “Giant? Yes. Big bear. He hunt down. They draw him along. Into truck. He beat first.”

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“Him beat?” shouted Gwai Lan. “They attacked.” “Yes. Bear knock down. Many... soldiers,” said the worker after a pause. “Soldiers beat down. Took dozen. Two dozen. Other man, they catch. He not take so many. One man bring him down.” “Bring down? They're....” “No dead, no dead,” said the worker, nervously. “I help bear into truck. Both alive. But they beaten.... not good,” added the decrepit figure hopefully, “not good beat those defenseless.” “Even worse to set people up for a fall and not warn them!” shouted Gwai Lan. “Which direction did the truck go?” “Up road. North.” “North?” Gwai Lan looked at Wing. “What's north? Fifty−100 miles away? In a truck...” Wing paused. He wracked his brain, trying to think of camps that distant. This temple was the outer reach, he knew. A riverside base for troops heading to Canton. Not sure of the exact direction... “Maybe it's a decoy. They could have figured that one,” and Wing pointed now at the worker, who had slumped to the ground away from Gwai Lan's dread

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limbs, “would talk. And drove off.” “So, we follow a truck,” said Gwai Lan intently. And she exited the hovel. Wing, hungry, reached down for a handful of lychee as they exited. The worker sighed to himself with relief, thankful that the wife of Fei Hung considered him too disgusting to chastise. Wing gave a quick message of thanks to their boat crew, and after the ship departed, the butcher and Gwai Lan went off on foot, easily discerning the ruts generated by a full truck's passage on a road that seldom carried more than human−drawn carts.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter V

Wing grew increasingly tiresome during their walk together. The butcher, though he trained each day with her husband or on his own, objected to the exercise of a drawn−out hike. Enduring complaints was something Gwai Lan did each day, but the butcher's near−constant whining got on her nerves. It didn't help that the tracks they'd so gleefully begun following hours ago had faded, flattened by seasonal rains, heavy foot traffic, and less−sandy turf than the riverside trail that had looked so promising. Gwai Lan found herself unsure. Was this truly the way to go? On one side of their route lay a small village. Glancing in, Gwai Lan was excited to discover a petrol stand, the only one either had noticed since their trek began. She pulled Wing, who'd stopped to point out, again, the damage his feet were suffering, rudely toward this new destination. The rest of the village sat in shabby disarray. On rooftops, terra cotta shingles were cracked. A small shrine at the center lay toppled. A few sellers in what

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passed for the market glanced at them, hopefully. One dirty child, wearing a tattered rag that covered nothing, raced up to offer water. Wing made a comment about New Year's finery. Gwai Lan reached down and handed the boy a coin, scowling at her companion, who immediately became silent. The petrol stand lay on the far edge of town. Position deliberately, Gwai Lan thought, to generate commercial traffic for the other inhabitants. This civic initiative hadn't borne fruit yet, however. She walked with the butcher through dusty streets, catching snarls born of rage from those who sat idly beside their hovels. Gwai Lan offered understanding glances to these bestial figures; Wing, beside her, growled back. They reached the petrol stand. It carried one pump. Marks in the ground indicated something big had come by recently. Gwai Lan looked for an owner, saw none, moved to the front of the garage, where makeshift parts lay scattered about. The faint whisper of a bellows pumping reached her ears. She sniffed the air,

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headed for the smell of wood and coal. A man, with several assistants, looking better fed than anyone they'd seen in this village so far, had before him some metallic artifact of motorized travel. One underling stoked the fire. Others pointed eagerly at various aspects of the ferric wizard's prize on display before them all. Gwai Lan walked over. “What you want?” said the leader, alert to their presence by the repositioned staring of his subordinates. “We are seeking information about a truck that may have passed through here,” Gwai Lan replied sweetly. “Many truck pass through,” offered the man, dismissively. He turned away from Gwai Lan, struck the head of a young apprentice who'd smirked at his remark. “Surely not that many,” continued Gwai Lan in her best clinic voice. “This truck was full of persons. Soldier persons,” she added meaningfully. “They likely would have needed the fuel your station provides.” “Soldier have own petrol,” said the man. Not

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turning to face her. Wing, beside Gwai Lan, grew annoyed, headed over and grasped the fellow by the wrist. “We know a truck came through here,” he said, bringing the fellow's arm down, and the rest of his body with it. “We want to know where they went.” Grimacing, the man nodded, snatched his wrist as Wing loosened his grip slightly. “You want know about soldier truck,” said the man. Whistling a call, he took a few quick steps away from the newcomers, his underlings forming a protective circle around their master. At a side entrance, more than a dozen young men from the town entered the little repairs area. Wing looked at Gwai Lan. She smiled back, wryly. The newcomers picked up tools and metal chunks, staring back grimly. “Soldiers no want people know anything,” said the leader. “That why they left some men behind.” The fighters closed in around the pair. Their leader barked out orders, warning them to be gentle with the lady. She might be high−born, and there were to be no incidents that might embarrass their

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masters. Gwai Lan smiled again at Wing. She'd have her training this day.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VI

Wing shifted closer to Gwai Lan, guarding her flank. Before them, objects waved menacingly, bonds uncurled to constrain the intruders and, perhaps, deliver them. An idea formed in Gwai Lan's mind, but got rejected as the last thing she wanted was to wait in this horrible place for what might come. She flicked her wrist out aimlessly, severed an iron bar that had gotten too close, and made quite a mark on the chest of the man who'd been wielding it. Around them, the presumptive glory she'd seen in so many men's eyes faded, like morning haze prior to the sun's ascent. Wing dropped down, upset three, came about, brought his leg into the chest of a man. Gwai Lan, disgusted at the town, at the station, at the persons here, decided her main enemy was the petrol stand itself. Accordingly, she leapt up, feet splaying out, in a whir punching toe−shaped holes in the roof, forming an arc like machine gun fire, came down, grabbed a bar, and went to it.

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Moving swiftly, Gwai Lan floored one man; Wing another. The crew facing them paused. Gwai Lan advanced, her forearm knocking two aside. Wing laughed, leapt above the fray, came down in the direction of the leader. Gwai Lan, bored with jumping, forced her way straight through like a bull or crunch−time shopper. Around men were unconscious. Here and there a few attempted to swing their useless improvised weapons. Gwai Lan caught the sticks, sent them back at their owners, or flexed them against the walls of the shop in passing. Wing, seeing what she was up to, exited the building, two or three men before. Outside, with more room, and a crowd, the butcher flashed his dazzling style, dropping opponents with a somersault, bringing feet to rest against chin while executing a backwards flip. As his part of the melee swept towards the market, Wing leapt above two fighters, brought his fists to their heads, dove behind a stall, and re−emerged with breakfast between his lips. The crowd applauded. The shopkeeper, not receiving immediate payment from Wing, berated

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him from her stand. More than half the opponents who'd so confidently faced the pair lay prone on the ground. Those still standing paused to regroup, and consider again their containment strategy. Gwai Lan ended such discussion. With a crack, the structure which so oppressed began to lean. The wife of Fei Hung again brought her foot to a supporting beam. Tumbling, the roof began to hove in on itself. Wing shouted exultantly as she leapt away. The building fell, a stunning cacophony of dust and debris. Gwai Lan shot an approving glance at the butcher, a nearly unprecedented appraisal from so severe a personage. Wing smiled in receipt. The pair strode amongst the debris, looking for the leader and former owner of a thriving petrol. Gwai Lan brushed roofing shards off the face of one failed assailant; Wing kicked idly at prone bodies. The man they sought seemed improbably lost. Wing made a comment about “too big to vanish,” when the duo finally caught sight of someone running off behind the fallen structure.

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Smiling, Gwai Lan raced ahead, Wing trailing slightly. Flight evidenced guilt. It was the one sought. Gwai Lan narrowed the gap between herself and the pursued, her long legs chewing distance like champion jaws at a noodle festival. Sweating, swearing, the man glanced back at her, attempted to increase his speed, stumbled, picked himself up, turned back, and she was upon him. The man looked at her, his gaze a myriad of fear, envy, and self−disgust. Despite his western profession, Gwai Lan mused, this one had not begun to appreciate foreign ideals concerning women. Had he come to her clinic, she'd have been more discrete, recognizing Fei Hung's insistence on politesse within reason, and doing her utmost to make the guests comfortable, even if it meant signaling a less−skilled, male clinic worker over to handle treatments that their guests wouldn't tolerate from a woman. In this circumstance, Gwai Lan did not need her husband's approval, nor was his reputation on the line. She reached down and slapped away the traces of smugness that had appeared on the fallen man's

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face. “There was a truck that came through here,” she repeated. “A truck full of soldiers. Where did it go?” Silently, defiantly, the man stared back. His eyes widened, however, as Gwai Lan curled her fingers, the delicate joints erupting into cracks more menacing than any verbal threat. She looked down at him, but the man, catching sight of Wing behind, began to speak. Looking directly at the huffing figure of the butcher, their captive blurted: “They no far. No far! Truck can no go far.” “Where?” repeated Gwai Lan. Silence. “Where did the truck go?” asked Wing, recovering his breath. “It go. To villa. Palace. Pagoda. Three miles up road. Turn. Many people follow trail. No can miss. Behind... rice paddy, fish ponds. No one fish in ponds.” “Thank you,” said Gwai Lan. “You welcome,” the man replied to Wing. “We'll go now,” Gwai Lan smiled. “Before you can get word to them. But if we're captured, don't worry,

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we'll make sure to tell them how helpful you were in all this.” The man snarled at her, glanced back at the ruins of his shop, sighed, and moved to the road, away from the duo and away from the town. “Mean,” said Wing to the doctor's wife. “You weren't like this before.” “I want my son back,” replied Gwai Lan. Wing stood silent for a moment. Then moved quickly, his shambling gait catching her stride, as they headed in the direction of the villa.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VII

The villa lurked ahead with the kind of over−ripe richness too common to late Qing China. Gwai Lan and Wing kept glancing at the structure, vast swathes of hand−hewn brick, adorned with sculptures set by artisans, just right with the texture, the countryside and the air. Giant gaping holes were all 'round, visible from far away. Gwai Lan marveled at the openings, wondering if it was some new kind of defense. Perhaps this was a way to prevent the foreigners returning. In her mind, she credited whichever man had conceived of them, of such an elaborate defense. They were not, after all, at war with the foreigners currently, so far as Gwai Lan knew. Then a bird flew out of one particularly large bit of blackness. The creature was joined in the air by dozens of its friends. Gwai Lan saw a man pop out at the edge of the hole where feathered creatures had escaped. There was shouting. Curses. From the grounds, guns fired. A few birds fell. Most escaped. But perhaps they

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nested there and faced these attackers each day. Wing looked at Gwai Lan. They said nothing for a moment, began climbing to the top of a hill across from the villa. From its height, 400 feet above foot path, they watched more closely the activities below. An entire troop was on hand. Hundreds of soldiers. Even with Fei Hung, and his school, this was too much of a challenge. Gwai Lan sat down, dejectedly. Sifted handfuls of dirt and rock between her fingers. Wing continued his surveillance. Time passed. Wing abandoned his perch, finally. Settled in beside her, but not too close. The butcher was affected by her actions. The dirt in her hands. Her looked at her for a time, but would not meet her gaze. “They can move him,” offered the butcher, hopefully. “He won't stay here forever.” “And what of the foreigner?” Gwai Lan shot back. “I can not abandon him. I've caused this problem for him. We can spirit my son away. Yes. But the foreigner. We must take him too. He will not be so easy.”

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Wing nodded. “There must be some way to get in,” he said after a moment. “Disguise?” he offered. “As what?” You no look like soldier. I no court woman.” Gwai Lan's eyes flashed angrily, her teeth bared in a tigress' snarl. “Servant?” “They live there. The people of the towns... they don't work here. Probably bring eunuchs from court. What can they need from outside here?” Gwai Lan stared meaningfully at the front entrance to the courtyard, where guards stood by, shooing away beggars and searching the goods of farmers who'd brought wares. As Wing and Gwai Lan watched, a gaggle of women came into view at the far edge of the path. These ladies stumbled together, laughing at one another. Raucous shouts could be heard from them, unsuitable, Gwai Lan thought, to a woman of court status. One damsel reached into the hem of another's gown, snatched a comb, shambled away on bound feet. The other followed, trudging delicately after. The group erupted into laughter as pursuer

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captured pursued, snatched back the ornament, gave a loud slap in punishment. Closer now, Gwai Lan could see the clothes weren't so fine; ripped here and there, the bright colorations faded. On the face of each woman, makeup had been painted on, a few days ago, some with deep cracks like the fissures near a steaming ravine. “They no court lady,” Wing began. “They travel in packs,” Gwai Lan rejoined quickly. “Can be straggler... is for your son.” “I know. I know,” replied Gwai Lan resignedly. “And Ting Sen will never thank me for this.” “The foreigner might... and if you wore your costume...” “Shut up, Wing. “

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VIII

Until that moment, Gwai Lan had considered herself lucky not to know how a courtesan dressed. She'd seen them in the clinic, wandering through with a variety of ailments, some self−inflicted, some opium−related, many suffering the batterings of a rough trade, but at Po Chi Lam the women had one and all found solace in simple garments. Dimly, Gwai Lan remembered a few that came in, poor folk from the countryside. There were elements to their hair, tied a certain way, pinches of the cheek to suggest rough. Wing watched her, saw her mind working these things out. Embarrassed, she turned to the man: “Fetch me some straw, and do not hurry back!” Wing agreed quickly, perhaps embarrassed himself, or perhaps seeking to watch her struggles from afar... no, not Wing. He knew Fei Hung quite well as master, though the butcher would never be allowed to repeat any of what he'd seen here, she'd see to that if she had to rip out his tongue and serve it at his shop.

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Gwai Lan steeled herself, wondering for a moment if it would be better to remove any traces of naivete. Wrong. Wrong. Keep the shyness. A young one, just starting out. That was the way. A coy temptress, one the soldiers would see no point in grasping after. Promised to the leadership. She dabbed small specks of dirt onto her face to create a look, then removed the earthen stain with saliva indelicately applied to her fingers. All to enhance the fresh look of a newly−desperate peasant girl. Inwardly, Gwai Lan felt herself filthy. Her efforts took shape. Gwai Lan remembered the walks peasant girls took as they entered her husband's clinic. Their strides weren't minced like the professional women of the cities. It was a kind of shambling gate they took, indelicate. How to practice that... make it convincing? The guards they'd seen, the good ones would be attentive to feet, observing motions from a distance. She stood up, thought of herself as a girl from Anyang province, walking as they did, much like her husband taught the styles of crane, and monkey, and hyena. Walk like a peasant girl... what would it take?

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How to stumble as they did? Gwai Lan puzzled over the matter, shambling about a bit, now a mockery of the stances. She'd done that with Fei Hung when he'd begun giving her private lessons, away from the students. He'd indulged, seeing value in the over−exaggeration of motions... though her future husband had dropped pupil to the ground more than once when he felt she wasn't taking the matters seriously enough. Gwai Lan paused, remembering the time she'd hit her head. Thinking of the man who'd so dominated her, the skilled doctor, suddenly, desperately falling beside her, dousing her face with cool water, the anxious glance in his eyes as she came to. They'd not kissed then. But the moment was there for both. Falling. Why did they seem to fall? What about the girls of the countryside? Why could they not walk right? Gwai Lan cried out. Somewhere in her pacing, her toe kicked an oversize pebble from the hillside. Of course. The girls of the countryside wore no shoes. They wrapped their feet in rags. But the city... required it,

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with all the debris, and the fashions, the petty sense of fashions. Gwai Lan tried to imagine herself growing up without shoes. She stared at her feet, visualizing an unbalanced, unfamiliar and rather unwanted enclosure. Her whole body joined this vision, of the girl, walking, who didn't walk, working at an unpleasant task, calling to the men of the towns. She shambled around the hillside, affecting this walk. No. That wasn't it. Something else... Gwai Lan briefly considered vulgar causes. Not that. No. A fresh face, after all. Why did the peasant girls walk so? She considered again her feet. Sought to mimic the outsized steps, the uncertainty. Did they lose that walk? Gwai Lan considered, believed they did. The girls who survived, they'd not stay so fresh for long. They blended in, or perished. A brutal life. The answer came to her suddenly as she remembered treating animals. There were dogs that came to Fei Hung's clinic, small creatures, carried in arms. Their feet, without the calluses, nearly, from a lifetime of being held. Then, too, the stronger dogs, hunting beasts, creatures owned by foreigners,

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mostly. These feet, scratched, battered, muscular pads, even in the ones so young. The girls of the towns, Gwai Lan realized, had feet like the bigger dogs, patches of flesh that made fitting into shoes difficult. So hard to imagine. Gwai Lan paused, stared at the flesh below her ankle. How to make it so? She pulled a few pebbles from the dirt, pressed them into her skin. Walked. Yes, that was—no, a half−dozen steps were unsatisfactory. Better, but still not acceptable. She had little time left. Stones were adjusted. She strode again. The pebbles wouldn't hold over a long trek, could fall out right before some guard, and the pain was not abating. Gwai Lan stopped. Stared down at the grass and dirt. In a flash of inspiration she bound up the dirt and grass into tiny clumps, pressed these upon the base of her feet, packed it down, walked, packed again. Better. And should dirt fall from a peasant girl's feet? A subject of laughter, but hardly suspicion. Little more was expected. Gwai Lan walked further. Yes. That was it. Not perfect. No. But good enough. With the walk, her eyes became those of the

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eager would−be courtesan. Beckoning to the trees, the sky. Come to me. A measure of pleading, of desperation. Gwai Lan captured the peculiar innocence so quickly lost. Perfect. She called to Wing. The butcher's reaction as he neared told Gwai Lan her efforts worked. This night she would find her son.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IX

Beyond the walk, Gwai Lan found her most difficult task was keeping humble. The girlish combinations of innocence, fear and wonder were abandoned prior to the commencement of her courtship with Fei Hung. Her husband believed very much that women should walk with pride. While there were times, he believed, that she should seem more accommodating to men, it was only when they were patients at the clinic, while the guests recuperated, and only if it avoided trouble. Like a shopkeeper or a matron, Gwai Lan yielded to no one on the streets of Canton, offering respect and demanding it in return. There were no difficulties in passing herself off to the soldiers. They saw her, her garb, and immediately pointed the way to the main house, but the gestures they made, the familiar hands on the fabric of her torn costume, the catcalls and even touches she bore as she passed through a gauntlet of soldiers, were nearly impossible to abide.

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Her debt to the foreigner would be paid. At the entrance to the main hall an official, garbed in traditional gown and face covered in plaster makeup, greeted her with a bored expression. “I going for leader,” said Gwai Lan in a sing−song voice. “Yes. You would be,” replied the official with a bored expression. “Why so late? Who sent you?” “Am special gift,” chanted Gwai Lan. She stumbled over the words, offering a hint of incomprehension, a girl with command only of the rural dialects. “Right. Yes. You would be,” repeated the round−faced functionary. Gwai Lan stared at him, a puzzled look on her face and eyes wide. Neither spoke. Finally the man relented. “Very well,” he sighed. Quickly, names were called. Servants in livery appeared, bowed low before the eminent one, turned to Gwai Lan. “Shall we put her with the other girls?” asked the oldest of the new arrivals. “No, dolt!” replied the official. “Keep her separate. It is the preferred treatment. You will need to clean

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her up a bit—” catching a smile at this, the official batted away at the men with a fan. “Send for one of the maids—the older ones,” added the householder to turned−away heads and seeking hands. “You will entertain him this night, girl,” said the official to Gwai Lan with a sneer. “Or you will entertain every man in the barracks.” Gwai Lan's face showed no comprehension of the words uttered, but she allowed herself anxiety at the tone. The official picked at her sleeve, felt disdainfully the muscles of Gwai Lan's arms. “Right from her village,” he said. “Pulling water each day. Disgusting. Away with all of you!” Gwai Lan followed as the uniformed servants raced from management. Her eyes kept firmly on the floor, she noted the decorations, tiles like the Uighur people made, illustrating the rooms grandly. Upstairs, patterns formed, telling stories, simple ones in a few steps, then more complicated... then obscene. Keeping in character, Gwai Lan tittered slightly at the images of men and women. The guards ahead heard her, one tapped her leg indelicately, hands waving rapidly and indicating

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forward. Gwai Lan looked at the man for a moment, almost gave it away, stared back down and quickened her pace. They brought her to a dressing chamber, shoved her inside rudely, said “wait here,” and left, bolting the door behind. It was a small anteroom or temporary living space. Cushions abounded. To the far side lay another door. Gwai Lan tested it, discovered locks. She sat for a moment, recalled herself, heard voices. Two men were speaking, enjoying each other's company and gossiping, as men would, about the figures in their work life. Behind the panel quiet steps of serving girls could be heard, swishing about, opening one lid, closing another, spooning food, refilling drinks. One voice had a familiar ring to Gwai Lan, but the men spoke in Beijing dialect, so she spent all her efforts trying to comprehend the unfamiliar terms and pronunciations. With each course, Gwai Lan grew hungrier. On the other side, they ate swallow's nests, thousand−year−old egg and shark's fin soup. Gwai Lan heard roaring approval for peculiar animal

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concoctions outside even a Cantonese purview. The men sample numerous wines, indulged in rice, sucked the meat of fresh lychee, and onward. All through this, the words, so hard for Gwai Lan to understand, rewarded her improving comprehension with banality. Who cared, really, what one eunuch was like? How important was it that this minister's daughter would soon marry that upstart's son? And the high−ranking woman with the top lieutenant of the palace guard? So irrelevant. Not for the first time Gwai Lan considered the argument Ting Sen made, that Beijing people were lazy, incapable of working like their southern counterparts. It was a sobering reflection to think of Ting Sen. Gwai Lan wondered if she hadn't made a huge mistake coming in here, wasting time, for this... boring dialogue. Hands were clapped. Gwai Lan smiled. A release now. Dishes were quickly pulled away. In the traditional banquet, all was over, the guests would leave, perhaps to experience the newest girl arrival. Or not. The plates cleared, the swishing of feet at an end,

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the two speakers remained. And kept talking. And talking. But, suddenly, this conversation was less dull. Indeed, for Gwai Lan's purposes, it became downright interesting. Silently, Gwai Lan stretched her neck, refocused, sat even closer to the panel. “And your servants are gone?” said one. This the man whose voice... but something wrong about it. So familiar. “Yes. They are quite disciplined. We shall not hear from them for a time.” “Good. We have much to speak of. Though this sumptuous meal you have provided does me great honor. That wonderful sauce on the duck...” inwardly Gwai Lan groaned. “Indeed,” replied the host, cutting his guest off. “But we are not here to speak of cooked food any longer. There is that raw beast you have brought into my stables. What shall be done with him? Food for that animal shall empty my larder.” “Yes. But is he not amusing to watch?” replied the guest. “I found this oversized barbarian, such a helpless giant, fascinating to look upon. A fearsome creature. Yet utterly ineffectual. His own

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governments have abandoned the man. We can parade him before the people as a sign of our own strength.” “Don't worry,” added the guest. “I will not take much more advantage of your generous hospitality. It was a matter of preparing some container for him to be displayed. We shall tell the people we visited the barbarian homeland and brought back a captive. In the more rural areas I intend to visit soon, they will flock to see him, and his weakness will serve to enforce the opinion of our strength. It is nearly time.” “So, your course of action is decided then?” “It was decided long ago. When the barbarians destroyed our Summer Palace. That none then could stand before them is a tragedy. I will rectify this.” “But you cannot face the white devils. Our forces are not yet prepared... and it would be easier to play them against each other.” “No, first we must consolidate our power. There are too many out there who would fight with us when the emperor is deposed. And others who would fight for the emperor. We must eliminate such difficulties.” “And the democratic movement? This Sun Yat

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Sen?” “He is further from us than the Japanese emperor. So far away. But that is part of my plan...” “Is it?” asked the host. “And what will your plan entail there?” “We will let them have their invasion. And their rebellion. They will take a city. Or part of it.” “But... my friend,” said the host. “How can they take a city? Their numbers are small. They have few weapons. Why, your own men told me you'd taken armaments from the little one that's housed here. How will they enter the city?” “Simple,” replied the guest. “All has been arranged. The forces of Canton will not offer resistance to them. Our forces. These men will enter the city. They have plans to occupy a landmark. It would cause much humiliation in Beijing... and fear—” “Yes. Fear. So they hold this landmark—which one?” “A few secrets. You will know in time. Then, my—our forces, dear friend, will enter the city once more. They will reclaim the landmark, cast the rebels

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aside, humiliate them. Simple, no?” “Excellent. Yes. I see, now. The emperor is humiliated....” “Our factions in court are humiliated.” “But the people derive no hope because these others are beaten so easily.” “Are the people so hopeless? They crave symbols. It is a difficult time.” “The people crave a strong emperor. They see the world outside, glimpses of it. The people want not to be weak. We shall give them a symbol of strength.” “All right. Yes. It proceeds as we hoped. Why, then, is the little one in my barn? I understand this dancing bear, but why the little one?” Gwai Lan's heart leapt into her throat. The little one—Ting Sen. Both were here. Not the castle... the stables. She was wasting her time. But... how to extricate herself. Nothing, then, but to listen and plan. “It is not the little one that concerns me. So many of our students now, their ludicrous ideas for change. You would think they should study classics. Or this

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Western science China could learn from. Industry, perhaps. But no, it is not far more important to apply the teachings of tiny nations, infant nations, to a land as prized as ours. No, I care not for that little one. But he is of a family... “Him. Family? Who?” “A doctor in Canton. A man they call Fei Hung.” “So important? We've heard little of him in Beijing.” “Ah, yes. You would not. But had you been stationed in Fujian province, like so many of my mine were long ago, you would know of this Fei Hung. There, he trained the military forces. The people loved him. In a famine, they stormed the provincial palace, chanting his name, demanding he be put in as governor. “Oh, so he looted the palace then. I've not kept good track of Fujian governors. Dreadful province. Well, there are many taels of silver available for politically useful men. It is the emperor's treasury, after all. I hardly see the need of holding one such little boy.” “Yes. Yes. Yes. You are correct. Were he an

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ordinary man, it would be so. We would own him. Or... we would eliminate him. That is not the case. He is not so ordinary. He does no share our values. It was his father, long ago an opponent, that made him different. Or perhaps another teacher. When the people demanded he take over, that he depose the former governor, Fei Hung would have none of it.” “None of it? What did he do?” “He took the old governor away, protected him. Ran to Canton. Entered his father's clinic. Never again took part in politics. “A strange man. Why—so many advantages he passed up.” “Yes. Very strange, and very dangerous. His kung fu is unsurpassed. He trains the guardsmen of Canton and holds sway over as many soldiers in that region as myself... if he so chose. I would not wish to face him in war.” “Ahhh, his son keeps him out of the fray...” “As he was before. This Fei Hung is very attached to his family. So, I keep the boy. The hairy one we exhibit as an artifact of our power. Our plans proceed. And—”

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“And China has a new emperor within the year. Excellent, you have outdone yourself.” Gritting her teeth, Gwai Lan tried once more to place the familiar voice of the who'd lain out such horrible strategies about her own family. But there was much on her mind here. She'd leaned close to the door too long. Her head ached, her legs cramped. With a clap, doors in the other room opened, servants reappeared. Gwai Lan heard one man call, ask for new girls to be brought in. Gwai tensed, flexed, readied. The door to her chamber opened. She burst out, knocked the palace official to his side, raced down the hall, encountered servants, fighting men, spear carriers, moved through, beneath and above the throng with speed and surprise, jumping on the shoulders of men through the giant hall, and reached the staircase. Wild shouts from all sides. Gwai Lan elbowed one man who'd tried to claim the wife of Fei Hung, rolled a few steps, sprang up, knocked back a half−strength troop who'd risen to see what the clamour was about, saw more focused guardsmen

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emerge and flank the foyer of this building, sealing the side exits, adopted a puzzled expression on her face, charmed the room with the beguiling figure of a wayward country girl, spun her legs around, in a shattering kick burst through the pair at watch over the front door, and raced through the grounds outside.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter X

In the courtyard, men fought to get into the palace much as men had fought to get out. It was a general alarm now. Someone grabbed Gwai Lan. She turned, saw too many with more coming. Terrified expression on her face, Gwai shouted the Anyang word for master, shrieked out “murder” in pidgin−Cantonese. Added, “inside, inside!” The troop acknowledged her statements, raced ahead into the fray. Gwai Lan stared at the ground, saw the flattened dirt of horse−tracks that led away from the palace, followed these at top speed. By two trees the road forked, one way leading out, the other towards a giant, evil smelling structure. In the front were four men, sullen. Lacking the time for a charm offensive, she sped forward, introducing her girlish arrival to one man with a fist−chop that knocked him unconscious, dislodging the gunk in her right sole on another man's forehead, clearing her left foot against a reasonably clean stomach, and bouncing over the forth guardian, from behind giving the man a gentle

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push that sent him tumbling among the grass and horse leavings. Inside the giant lay on the floor. Gwai Lan slammed the door shut. Two men protected. Gwai Lan snarled at them, they snarled back. She grabbed a pitchfork, whirled and struck one, then the other, pole−end only, but with a shout that indicated where she'd stick it if they didn't get out of her way. The fellows ducked behind, offering apologies On the ground was the giant. Prone there, his breathing erratic, body an enormous mess of yellow and black, with here and the trailing stains of dried blood, like a map to the pain this man had suffered. He wasn't conscious, this one. Gwai Lan looked within the stables, saw two horses that appeared fresh. She lashed these together, brought them forward. Pleading, she begged Nate to waken. Nothing. And this travel... but it would a fate worse than death and he could survive shots. Foreign physiology. Much risk. Gwai Lan pondered how to waken him. From above a shattering cry. “Mother!”

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Gwai Lan looked up. “Ting Sen.” The boy at the top was unhappy. “Mother, you must hurry. Must. There are two troops. The good ones come. You cannot defeat all of them. They are organized.” “How do you know?” “Look!” And Gwai Lan, already halfway up the ladder, peered closely at her son. The boy had managed to free one arm and both legs from his bindings. At his side lay a guard. Unconscious. She wasn't sure how, but looked in at the boy with new respect. “You learned without lessons,” she offered, eyes brightening like any proud parent. “No time for praise,” said Ting Sen to the young woman before himself. “You get out of here. Take Nate. Back door. I make noise.” “But—but Ting Sen, you must come back to us.” “No—yes. I will come back. They send me to Canton. You watch for me. I be there. But you save foreigner. We both... owe him debt.” “I can't get him out alone,” said Gwai Lan. “I know you cannot.” Here, Ting Sen brought

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forward his last bound arm—Gwai Lan chopped and in an instant her son was free. “We get him up, I make diversion, you go free. Must happen, they outside front now, surround building soon.” Gwai turned toward the window, saw the truth in her son's statements. The two raced down the ladder, heaved Nate's bulk upon the two horses there. Ting Sen pointed to the back wall. “Go fast. Not solid,” he said. And Gwai Lan understood. “I make noise,” added the son of Fei Hung, picking up an oil lamp from the ground. Gwai Lan rode between the two horses. As the wall approached, she leapt forward, using her legs to punch multiple holes in the wooden structure, holes that widened enormously when the horses collided. Only a few splinters and bits of timber rested in the foreigner's hair. Gwai Lan eyed her son one last time, saw in the rising flames he was achieving his goal, aimed for the wall and a rendezvous with Wing. The guards pulled away from the gate and it was

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little challenge to punch through. With Wing beside her and Nate resting in a cart, Gwai Lan looked back, watched as the fires engulfed several buildings in the compound. “What happened there?” asked Wing. “Ting Sen—the boy?” “My son became a man,” replied Gwai Lan. “He insisted I repay his debt to this one,” she continued, pointing at the foreigner in his rest. “I obey his wishes.” Wing stared at her for a moment, this strange young wife of Fei Hung who'd carried him forward this day. Muttering to himself, he pressed their animals onward. Hearing some of his complaints, Gwai looked over, patted the butcher's cheek. “They won't hurt Ting Sen,” she said knowingly. But it is up to his father to get him from them. This, at least, Wing understood.

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Part IV: Earth

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter I

Fei Hung stood calmly in his armory. On the floor at his side lay the head for this year's lion dance. All around were weapons of great variety, implements of destruction he'd sampled and, calmly, mastered. His wife knelt before him, explaining as best she could what had happened to the foreigner, the butcher and their son. Neither spoke after she'd finished. Gwai Lan kept her eyes down, humbling herself in a way Fei Hung could never recall her doing. Back in his private room, the foreigner rested, his wounds not life−threatening, though the man would always bear scars. Finally, Fei Hung nodded, turned away from his wife and donned the great cat's head. His feet moved with the peculiar rhythm of the animal, strides sensuous and forceful. Not once did Gwai Lan look up as her husband danced, spun and flew in this practice celebration. Her eyes came up suddenly with the sound of mache crashing. Gwai Lan saw her husband's foot exit the head of

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the lion. She turned a puzzled gaze to his eyes. “Bad luck to keep unused,” answered Fei Hung to the unspoken question, then the doctor turned and left the room. A brief stop to clean his body, then time for evening rounds. The soldiers departed, Po Chi Lam had a more typical set of occupants, farmers in from the countryside with varying ailments, sailors who'd suffered mishaps on the river, the people of the city, packed and ill, working girls, aristocrats, side by side, paying what they could afford, not a room empty... Or one empty room. Completing his trip around the upper courtyard, Fei Hung glanced up at his father's residence. The lights of Ting Sen did not appear here. Dimly, the son of a Canton Tiger wondered what he'd thought, housing his most intractable son with the giant. Ting Sen a sailor. Yes. He'd wanted the boy to travel so... perhaps the people would abandon Po Chi Lam were they to realize the clinic's doctor was so fallible. Fei Hung wanted to trust his wife's judgement. Wanted to very much. From the first he'd met her, something about Mok Gwai Lan had caught his

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eye... a fire, a spirit, that roused him from his grief for the loves he'd lost too quickly long ago. Yet his wife was not of his age, she did not share his view of many things. A gift, Fei Hung realized, walking past the coal furnace and generator that he alone would never have installed, but, alas, not everything new was so wonderful. The intensity of his meditation grew. Fei Hung lost track of his destination, unsure, finally, if there had even been one. Behind the kitchens he walked, still abuzz with their cleanup, past the training grounds, where students, stunned, bowed before the master as he passed, into hallways, up stairs, Fei Hung considered this dilemma. No answers would come this night, Fei Hung decided as, with a measure of surprise, the doctor discovered himself in the room with the foreigner. Idly Fei Hung wondered if he'd so lost control that he spoke his thoughts aloud. But, no.. Fortunately, that small embarrassment was saved him. He glanced at the foreigner, walked closer, heard the giant's raspy breathing, healthier, now, but, — no. The foreigner was awake. And eyeing Fei Hung

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slightly. “Something on your mind, Doc?” inquired Nate.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter II

For once in his life Fei Hung found himself without words. He'd been so long keeping to his own counsel. Yet a thing brought him here. An idea, a geas, a pull. Something in Fei Hung's own being decided the giant had answers and drew the pair together in this room, awake and silent. Idly, Fei Hung eyed his wife's work in repairing broken limbs. The splint at the leg, built as it was of numerous bamboo poles tied together, seemed particularly inspired. And quite functional. Continuing the charade, Fei Hung measured his patient's pulse. Finally, the giant could stand the silence no more. Acting the part of a wounded bear, he stretched as much as his limbs and restraints would allow, yawned boldly, and glanced at his physician with a curious, open look in his eyes. “Something on your mind, Doc?” he rasped again. “Got bad news for me?” “No, no, no, no,” said Fei Hung still out−of−kilter. “I would have you know you will be with us, walking around and taking blows intended for my family

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when they go off on their strange errands.” Fei Hung's smile as he said this last was a little nervous. It was unusual for the son of Wong Kay−Ying, bred to want nothing, to find himself in the debt of any man. Nate, however, adored the concept and offered bold peals of laughter, though it was mirth through the strains of chest agony. “How many kids ya got, Doc?” The foreigner asked, a twinkle in his eye. “I have eight other children,” answered Fei Hung. “But fortunately only one wife. So there won't be any further difficulties there.” “Oh, well, if'n I only gotta lie here eight more times... you won't make me eat just the vegetables any more, will ya Doc?” Now it was Fei Hung's turn to laugh. “Perhaps, Nate, you should consider a diet less hazardous to your health. The food my son brought back to you led you into difficulty, did it not?” “Yeah,” Nate said. “But I felt so good walking into it. Geeze, Doc, guys like me, we'll never eat that rabbit food.”

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“Right. I suspected as much. I fear, I placed you in harm's way.” “You mean I'd help your kid if he fed me? And you knew he'd feed me?” “It was not my intention that you... travel with my son. Rather, that you'd, perhaps, give him insight into other ways of life. I've much feared the isolation of Ting Sen. He is... not fit for life here. Yet not well−adapted to the world outside. I've been uncertain how he would make his way. “He held up fine, Doc. You'd've been proud.” “My wife said the same thing. I hope so. I had another son. One that... I trained in the ways of Kung fu. He was — he would have been — better than me. As good as my father or my teacher. But, he was unused to the outside world.” “What happened?” “He bested a drug gang by the waterfront,” answered Fei Hung. “Surrounded by a dozen opponents, my young son rendered them all unconscious.” “That's pretty good.” “Yes. It was wrong of me. But... I was proud of

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this son. And of what he had done. There are, perhaps, too many drug lords on the waterfront, but he did not kill a one of them.” “So?” “So a few days later, again he found himself in a melee, surrounded there.” “And?” “And they shot him from behind. He'd been lured into it. Tricked. Perhaps had I been—but of course, he could handle himself.” “Your kid gets shot in the back, and you feel guilty?” “Yes.” “Doc, nobody's perfect. You have no more chance of predicting that than anyone. And come on, I won my first fight against some punks, no way anybody could keep me cooped up at home. Bet you were the same way...” “I... yes. No. You must understand, my father did not train me in kung fu. I had to learn... secretly. From another. It was only later.” “After you'd fought somebody?” “Yes. Worse than my son. In the streets. For

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pride. You know of this?” The giant absorbed information as he did food, Fei Hung thought. A dangerous opponent, were they rivals. “Caught a few details. Ting Sen wasn't sure though.” “Yes. A few details. Right... And my teacher, a fine man... He was, they said, from the mountain. Yes. Very good. Very fine teacher. But, of course, he was angry. Taught me a certain style. A fighting style. So I was a fighter. Yes. But my father, he had more to teach me... more to give... things that protected me.” Fei Hung could not believe himself so animated in his conversation. This abandonment of reserve—of the famed reserve. Unprecedented in his own experience. Before him, the foreigner sat quietly, patiently... inscrutable. This was a complicated situation. Fei Hung felt the need to recover himself, sought to escape the room suddenly. Out of balance. An explosion of shouts outside the room gave the doctor a convenient excuse. Racing to the outside, expecting a new batch of patients, Fei Hung saw the licks of yellow and orange on the roof where Po Chi

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Lam faced the street. Fire stalked his clinic.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter III

In a daze, Fei Hung staggered. Beside him Gwai Lan appeared, saw her husband upset, turned away and summoned the entire clinic staff. Immediately buckets appeared, a chain formed, small blaze in the courtyard dissipated in an angry hiss. Black smoke followed. They were on the rooftops now. Had Fei Hung noticed, he'd have been proud of their balance, their poise, their calm in this disaster. But the doctor was lost for a moment. Visions of his clinic erupted into flame turned in his mind to the visions of his youth, of Fujian province, and the flames he'd seen there. Sadness struck his heart. Fei Hung walked out the open gate as behind Gwai Lan barked orders. In the streets lay pandemonium. The fires of Po Chi Lam were localized, not spreading to neighboring roofs, but all around were guardsmen, strangers. Battles erupted in the streets of Canton. One man, a looter, a guardsmen, a fool, turned to Fei Hung, attempting to molest the teacher. Disinterestedly, Fei Hung lay the chap on the

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ground, continued his trek. What, then was happening to his city? His steps took a circular course, down to the waterfront, back. Everywhere guardsmen, all kinds. The people shrieked in terror, in anger, in rage. Fei Hung had heard these shrieks before. Another revolution afoot. Turning, Fei Hung walked back to his clinic. In the fires above, already more under control, he saw a vision, not of a city this time, but of a country, riven with strife, with war, with foreign invaders. The dragon fell, the throne shattered, the old ways gone in a horrifying blaze. On a far rooftop and nearly out of his eyes, Fei Hung spied a lurking figure. This man crept, slowly, deliberately, away from Po Chi Lam. Away from the fires. Away... from his crime. Swiftly Fei Hung leapt, up an overturned cart, onto a shop's leaning roof, feet barely touching a drain pipe, rooftop achieved, quick sprint, and he caught the man, smelled the gasoline, saw the guardsman's face beneath the peasant's clothes. Angrily, Fei Hung struck, once, again. Blows,

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feebly, were returned, but an angry doctor cast them aside. He grabbed the man by the ear, tossed him to the ground, leapt behind, and led him back to the clinic. Gwai Lan was in control, her charges had the blaze nearly in hand. A few paused, wondering at the conduct of their leader. Fei Hung showed his prisoner. Finally, triumphantly, the blaze extinguished in a massive outpouring of water and steam. Even in the newly dark clinic, everyone knew disaster had been averted. As heads turned to discuss the strange conduct of their leader, a few looked down to Fei Hung with his prisoner. “Arson,” came the cry. “Traitor,” was answered. “Murderer,” shouted another, below and in pain from burns. Soon Fei Hung and his prisoner were surrounded. Many wanted to enact justice. Fei Hung raised his hand. The crowd silenced instantly. “Hold him,” said the doctor. “We will tend to him later. See to the injured, cover any holes in the roof,

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and let us, this night, stand guard for further attacks. The streets of Canton are in tumult. I fear this will be a long siege.” His followers nodded, seeing the wisdom. Men drew pikes from the armory, stood guard at the gate, by the water, and above. There would be no surprises to this clinic.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter IV

Fei Hung walked past his clinic staff, heading straight for the armory. Word of the master's destination spread. His most trusted students appeared, begging for instruction, for the chance to make their own stand in this chaos. The assault on the clinic puzzled them; angered some. They felt themselves a target. Fei Hung knew they were right, but Gwai Lan's information about Ting Sen was kept private, a matter between husband and wife. A mishmash of reports were voiced. Imperial troops... not from Canton, on the outskirts of the city. Revolutionaries around, students mostly, in small numbers. Additional forces not in place. Sun Yat Sen, the leader of Teng Meng Hui, still in Penang. The revolutionaries were marching on the capital building. Riots in the streets affected the strength of local guardsmen, everything confused, but the strength of the revolutionaries estimated to be small. “They'll be trapped!” Fei Hung said loudly. His students and wife looked up. None could recall ever glimpsing this much emotion from their master. In

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nine previous uprisings, Fei Hung had never chosen sides. It had been a source of conflict with a few of the younger students, who on a few occasions had left Po Chi Lam. Was this the time, many eyes asked. “Do we help them?” asked one, hopefully. “Do we join them?” asked another. “Master, do we fight?” several called out when Fei Hung failed to answer immediately. They'd seen the look in his eyes, that of a tiger or a dragon. Only a few had ever seen him this way before. They would rush to his aid, Fei Hung knew. But with so many groups milling about, heading this way and that, battling each and the people as much as any real enemies—to Fei Hung this situation called for an individual response. “No. We stay here. But I will know more of this revolution. My wife,” he continued with a smile, “will remain in charge of Po Chi Lam. Here,” he added, making sure with a glance that she understood the message. Gwai Lan's eyes met his above the throng, nodded, dutifully. Po Chi Lam's staff were chattering to themselves,

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wondering who would seek information, who would guard, who would draw what weapon. “Students,” Fei Hung called out, drawing their attention. All eyes forward. They stood together, forming rows as for lessons. “Students, we must be careful. I fear an unknown enemy has brought the fight to us, brought fire to a place of learning, of healing. You know of the history, of the destruction of Shaolin by treachery and fire...” The students nodded, shouted to themselves at this. “We are not Shaolin, but it can happen again, in these troubled times, anywhere the old learning has passed on. We must be prepared...” “We're ready, master,” shouted the students. They were stunned at this change in Fei Hung. Angry at what had happened. Ready and quite willing to take to the streets themselves. Fei Hung did not wish this. But he wanted them prepared for anything that might come through Po Chi Lam's gates. “I don't know if anyone can be ready. But I trust you all, my wonderful students.”

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“Thank you, Master,” they shouted. “We will serve you.” Gwai Lan alone was silent, looking at her husband thoughtfully. “I go to the chambers of Wong Kay−Ying. There are documents there he would have me consult, and I must meditate on the actions we will take. Listen to Mok Gwai Lan. Those of you on guard, hold your positions. Some of you must rest and prepare to man the clinic. We will have many patients before long.” With military precision, the students signaled to Fei Hung that his instructions were understood. In rows they filed out, some armed, others not, taking their places, restocking the clinic, some to the roof and walks with patching materials. Fei Hung nodded to his wife. Both considered speaking. Neither did as the pair exited separately. The doctor strode purposefully to the room of his father.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter V

Fei Hung sat himself on the floor Nate had shared with Ting Sen. Above, the Wong Kay−Ying and 10 Tigers of Canton stared down, judging Fei Hung, a once−renegade student. His son, then, snatched away in a plot. These Canton plots. Nine now. Ten? And leaderless, it appeared. No order in the streets. No coordination. Fei Hung could not blame the revolutionaries, then. Much was afoot to disrupt them. Briefly, he considered the news he'd heard about Po Chi Lam's former guests. He remembered the stories of imperial troops in Sichuan Province, the disturbing reports of dead bodies in a quantity not seen since the boxers... and information Fei Hung erased from his mind as he followed his doctor's oath to treat the sick and injured, no matter their station. The revolutionaries... this Teng Meng Hui, what had it gotten them, Fei Hung wondered. People dead. Soldiers dead. Farmers dead. Government weak. Foreigners... good and bad, but foreigners in his proud country. His strong country. Foreigners in

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control. And everyone plotting. Wong Kay−Ying looked down, in anger at what had happened to his beloved land. More death now. Foreigners kill Chinese. Chinese kill Chinese. On and on, the fight rages through the body, leaving it weak, too weak for the next coming of foreigners... or Chinese. Wong Kay−Ying would not approve of his son's actions, Fei Hung knew. Kay−Ying had only taught him kung fu after Fei Hung'd begun learning secretly, and only to use for the right reason. Indeed, there was a struggle then. Fei Hung was unsure, in his defiance, what price he would pay. That fear of his father.... But then, in Wong Kay−Ying's day, there were many great instructors in Canton, so many to teach, one as good as the next. Now, with Fei Hung, there were students, many, but, perhaps, only Fei Hung himself could stand among the 10 Tigers, and then off to the side, not attempting to overstate himself. Yes. Only off to the side. At the very least, Fei Hung decided, he should have stood for election in China's new assembly. To represent the people. But... no. Fei Hung saw little

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purpose in that; in this democracy, and always he feared the people chanting his name. Better to let new blood handle this new way. Idly, Fei Hung fingered the pictures in the room. He wasted little time in his busy existence as physician, teacher and father, but here he found himself lingering, pawing one picture, another. And there, at the bottom, a shocking photo. Wong Hawn−Sum, Fei Hung's eldest. The boy he'd trained, almost from birth, to be the best martial artist and carry on the family's tradition into a new century. Nothing Fei Hung taught this son prepared the boy for an assassin's bullet. No move in Hawn−Sum's repetoire could prevent a shot in the back. Or perhaps something... Yes. Fei Hung was not a good teacher. Not on the level of the 10 Tigers. Nothing close. The people of Fujian, who long ago had called his name, who had wanted him for their governor, did not understand it. Fei Hung was right to abandon politics for medicine. The untaught move. The senses he should have imparted. One cannot stop a bullet, but one can dodge them. Hawn−Sum was his fault, then. For

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what he had not done. Much that he had not done. Before his father, Fei Hung stood upright, made a solemn vow to 10 Tigers not to let another son fall through inaction. Not to fail behind the walls of his clinic. An oath escaped Fei Hung's lips. He bowed to his father, turned to the floor, left the room via tunneled exit, plans forming in his mind, actions clear, but honoring the need for additional information before he stepped into the swirling maelstrom of Canton.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VI

Fei Hung took a circuitous route to the city center. It was not a personal choice. Speed mattered this night. But the people of Canton were uncooperative. No two streets alike in a wild evening. Down one avenue, celebrants lit fireworks, drank rice wine, and sang their chants in the hope for a better new year. Round another, students openly fought with guards, townspeople, and one another. Near the water, packs of looters contested with drug gangs and each other for the contents of warehouses. By the foreigner's island, turbanned Sikhs stood guard, swords and guns at the ready. Elsewhere, Canton's own protectors sat quietly among themselves, drinking and playing at Mah−jong while the city burned. Nowhere in all this could Fei Hung ascertain order or purpose. He didn't know, truly, if a fight was on in the streets or anyone out there tried to stop it. But nothing came from the water, he saw. And none of the troops his wife mentioned could be seen. Still there was something at the city center.

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Emanating from it, crowds massed tighter, fires burned brighter, leaving it near impossible to move or even see what was happening. Fei Hung wondered if the city's guards could make it through to stop trouble, or if messages from trouble spots could work their way out. Abandoning the streets, Fei Hung took to the roofs, his strides over terra cotta noiseless under quiet conditions, himself entirely invisible in the moonless night. Yes, something was happening at the city center. Fei Hung eyed a group, walking almost in unison, nearly military in their precision, approaching the government offices with shouts, threats, claps, and the odd bit of gunfire. Their numbers were small, Fei Hung realized. Less than a hundred. He leapt closer, straining to see if his son was among them. The troop formed a wedge before the offices. Half a dozen guards, men who'd trained with Fei Hung, appeared to face them. Fei Hung watched, fearful for loss of life. His students, then, could hurt these men. But the guard merely approached the revolutionaries, calmly, obsequiously. Fei Hung was

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stunned. Surely, even on New Year, reinforcements could be obtained? How many men would it take to defeat so few? The assailants pushed forward. Fei Hung watched, stunned, as men he'd instructed moved to the side. Outnumbered, yes. But pride? Responsibility? What would their masters say in the morning? No signs of violence had been on display. Idly, Fei Hung tried to remember the name of the government captain. The one in charge. An−shi, the man's name was. Perhaps a cunning fellow. No doubt they'd prepared for such violence. Of course when the students entered, they'd be at peace, but behind them, weapons would be drawn, and the invaders surprised, surrounded, arrested. Peaceably. Yes. That was it. Fei Hung had leapt to conclusions. He'd been wrong before, why not this time? Of course there was a plan to deal with an invasion such as this. Of course. Indeed, with the many occurrences in Canton, officials must spend their time preparing. Organized assaults required organized resistance. No doubt a greater show of force would have been required had there been

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thousands of men, but less than a hundred... no, the guardsmen were simply planning the best way to deal with the problem, avoiding loss of life. Fei Hung paused, full of admiration for the many students he'd trained. Why, he'd have to single them out for courage at his next session. Have Gwai Lan explain the many ways of dealing with an enemy. Suddenly within the courtyard of the government complex, dozens of men in imperial livery appeared. Shouting, they raced out, past the attackers, tossing weapons aside and fleeing into the night. Emboldened, the newcomers took up positions inside the government building, hanging banners proclaiming the Chinese Republic. Fei Hung made a nest for himself among roof tiles, stunned. He spent the night reconsidering his opinions of imperial students and their courage.

The Dragon and The Giant

Chapter VII

It was the silence that awakened him. Odd, suddenly, the way the laughing cheers stopped, the triumph quieted, the pistols that ceased to fire. Atop his perch, Fei Hung listened for any of the previous moments of joy that had marked the prior evening. Dull, eerie silence this morning, as though Fei Hung were on a tree in the countryside, rather than by the scene of a battle in one of China's busiest cities. A veteran of many New Year's, Fei Hung knew not to expect much early in the mornings after. Barring some major accident, like a fire or a collapsed building, even Po Chi Lam would be subdued, until the sick and injured came trickling through later in the day. But not a sound could be heard from the government center. Fearing the worst, Fei Hung peered closer in, nearly abandoning the cover his rooftop vantage afforded him in the bright morning. A photographer stood by the government center. Two men, one Fei Hung recognized as Huang Hsing,

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a leader and former guest of Po Chi Lam, were posing for pictures, with the flag of Teng Meng Hui behind. Reinforcements had not arrived for the troop. Nor could Sun Yat Sen or others of his inner circle be seen. Fei Hung grew anxious. This number... an imminent slaughter, even at the hands of Canton's understaffed garrison. Perhaps the rebels knew better, Fei Hung thought. Could they really, finally, have the support of the people? Were Gwai Lan's fears in vain? Fei Hung thought not. But he did not see his own son among them, only quiet faces, with the flush of a surprise victory. To their credit, the rebels did hold their positions well. Despite exhaustion, men stayed at their posts, watching over their conquered territory, wary of anything that might come down the road. They had not long to wait. Finally, in the distance, Fei Hung heard the tell−tale cadence of a marching force. Dozens of men... hundreds. On horseback, on foot, carefully

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ringing the streets around government center, sealing the place off like a python squeezing its prey, slowly, inexorably. Fei Hung pitied the rebels then; their crimes against the state would not go unpunished. Wary shouts now from the government complex. Men rose up. All stood their posts, waiting. Outside the forces continued their march. Slowly taking up positions, just outside of rifle range. The photographer, pictures taken, was allowed to leave. Fei Hung saw no purpose in this slaughter. Idly, he wondered if he might convince the man in charge to spare the poor students, their rebellion a waste. Little hope of that. As the troops outside neared, Fei Hung saw the imperial livery. These, then were not the forces of Canton. Gwai Lan had been correct in her information. The insurgents were in a desperate situation. But where was Ting Sen? Fei Hung waited for the drama to unfold, still seeking that missing piece of information, when a shout from Huang Hsing could be heard:

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“Hold your positions. Do not falter. We will not surrender. We are Teng Meng Hui!” A rousing cheer met this cry. Fei Hung prayed his own son was not among them. Surrounding the building, thinking little of the architecture, or the folly of attacking cities, the government forces opened fire. Fei Hung's cries of anguish were drowned in the explosion of rifles from each side.

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Chapter VIII

The battle ended quickly. Defenders of the government building were unable to hold positions for long against overwhelming force. Fei Hung estimated they were outnumbered 5 to 1 in the streets, but there waves to the imperial forces. Few causalities were taken by the organized soldiery below. They merely shot, and shot more, peppering the building with tiny blasts, and removing one infiltrator after another. Fei Hung was disgusted by the violence. From inside, the shots decreased in number. Too few bullets as well, Fei Hung decided. An obvious weakness for anyone who relied on weapons. The cry of cease−fire filled the streets. Weakly, a few men called out in surrender from behind the walls, asking only to be taken alive. The troops formed ranks, stood at attention, waiting, rifles put aside for smaller arms. Messengers sped off on foot with their tale of quick victory. Some soldiers approached the gates of the city building, planting hooks in the brick fence, preparing for the

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final onslaught. From one end of the street, a palanquin approached, carried by four swift runners. From the other side, a masked man on horseback came down to earnest salutes. Meeting at the center, the mounted rider spoke quietly to the palanquin's occupant. From inside the government building, cries for mercy grew louder and more desperate. The two men continued their speech, the mounted rider nodding agreement. Another messenger sped off. Reforming, the troops massed before the gates. At a signal, soldiers began climbing. No words were spoken to the building's inhabitants. Fei Hung watched, horrified, as a wounded assailant before the gates dropped his weapon, knelt down in obeisance, and received a knife to his back. With the sight of blood, the soldiers raced forward. Fei Hung stared more closely at the mass of men entering the gates. Among them a non−soldier. A man, dressed in rags, bound at the wrists, was pushed through with a squad. Fei Hung recognized his own son just as another

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screech signaled a halt in the life of a surrendering rebel. “Ting−Sen,” Fei Hung shouted. Below the entire troop glanced up as the son of Wong Kai−Ying abandoned his shadowy perch, and without so much as a stretch leapt to the ground below. More than a thousand soldiers stood between Fei Hung, the masked rider, and his son, now pushed inside the gates. Fei Hung sped forward, his wrists flashing, shattering the pikes of the first soldiers to approach. One man fired a rifle, was struck by a member of his own troop, signaling the danger an errant shot would pose to their leaders. Still Fei Hung advanced, nearer now to the man at the palanquin. A brief communication with the leader, yes. Inside more death could be heard, deaths of the weak and wounded. Outside, Fei Hung held his own, besting opponents in a circle, leaping over lines of men, moving with a speed that inspired awe. All the skills acquired by the Doctor during his years of training were used. One man felled by the crane, another the lion's roar. Fei Hung leapt up

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against an entire column that stood before the palanquin, knocking down 20 men with his daylight Shadowless Kick. The numbers of fallen and unconscious grew as the doctor advanced. But his opponents were too many. Strategy must be employed. Fei Hung danced past outstretched pikes, kicked up, landed on top of the palanquin, upset the box's inhabitant by slapping away his carriers. The troop paused. The doctor rested. Before Fei Hung stood the man with the silken mask. Inside the palanquin, a man banged, demanding to be let out. Silken mask dismounted. Fei Hung eyed him carefully. No words were spoken between the two. Inside the government building, violence ceased. Only the cries of the palanquin rider could be heard. Fei Hung silenced these, stomping his foot against the wrought wood below his feet. The standoff continued, silken mask not speaking, Fei Hung silent. The soldiers grew restless, eyeing the doctor. Some drew out their rifles. Fei Hung knew no fear, stared straight into the eyes of the cowled leader of these forces. Finally,

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the masked one spoke. “Kill him,” he said calmly. And soldiers drew up arms, aiming carefully at the doctor, away from the palanquin. Fei Hung stood calmly. Hammers were cocked. From inside the palanquin, muffled shrieks emitted as the occupant rested, terrified. Silken Mask brought his hand up. Armed men waited for the wrist to drop. Suddenly a cry from the mysterious leader. Eyes shifted away from the doctor, focusing on the cowled figure, and the meat cleaver that stood out from his palm. The disturbance spread among the guards. Fei Hung watched as flashing silk brought down man after man. Suddenly in the air Wing could be seen above the throng, before retouching the ground and knocking men back with force and fury. Fei Hung seized the moment, branching forward with his legs, grabbing a rifle, and swinging it about, knocking his firing squad onto their backs. He stayed by the palanquin, calling out to the butcher and whatever of his students were along. “Wing, inside,” shouted Fei Hung. “Bring the

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others,” he continued, then stopped abruptly as the identity of the second man became clear. It was Gwai Lan, his wife. Infuriated, Fei Hung kicked the palanquin into the air, raced over the heads of stunned guardsmen, and with a flying leap, knocked the box into the unprotected gateway, following its path with choice heels and toes into the faces of any man foolish enough to stand in the doctor's way. Behind, Wing moved through the crowd, Gwai Lan beside. The pair fought their way through. Shortly after, what few of the imperial troops to have taken position inside the government complex emerged. Head first.

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Chapter IX

Within the government complex, a family reunion ensued, as tender as it was short−lived. Fei Hung embraced his son, stepped aside so the boy and his mother could be together. Wing rested apart, kicking idly at the sideways palanquin with his boot. Together, the group surveyed what remained of the rebels forces. Most were dead, Fei Hung saw. But he and Wing moved among the fallen, here and there finding a man still alive. By some miracle, a dozen of the inhabitants could walk out under their own power. The rest, more than 70 souls, including some women, would never walk again. Fei Hung looked to his son again. Ting Sen, battered and bruised, stood near the front gate, eyeing the doctor silently. Fei Hung spoke first. “Hello, Ting Sen,” he offered cheerfully. “Hello, father. I am sorry to have gotten you into this...” “Nonsense. I am proud to be here with you. Your mother has told me of your bravery and courage. Though, Ting Sen, I would ask in the future...”

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“Yes?” “If you start a revolution, please, include more men. China has lots of people. Use some of them. Don't be selfish. There is glory to be shared the New Year.” Ting Sen stared at his father. This sort of humor was a new thing. Fei Hung continued his jesting, pointing at the box on the ground. “I fear, dear boy, that I must impose on the hospitality of your friends.” “What do you mean?” “The palanquin contains one official of high standing at the imperial court. We may have to feed him for a time. Ting Sen stared at his father with a mixture of awe and love, such as Fei Hung hadn't seen since he first took the boy kite−flying. “I consider him a house−warming gift for the Canton government building's new occupants. A humble offering for your friends, to be sure, but the best I could do on such short notice. Sadly the masked one was out of my reach, or I'd've brought him as well.

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Ting Sen's jaws dropped further as he eyed his father. “You should be flattered, my son. It is not often that distinguished personages of Beijing officials make great efforts to ensnare a man of Canton. They must value your intellect greatly. Perhaps,” continued Fei Hung, “we can interrogate that fellow there on the ground a bit more, and find out what all this was really about.” Ting Sen stepped forward and opened the palanquin. The eunuch who had guested with Silken Mask spilled out onto the dirt, eyeing the doctor and his son warily while at once sputtering curses and asserting his own importance. Fei Hung and Ting Sen waited patiently. Behind them, a few of the surviving defenders, curious, marched over. Fei Hung again led. “Why were you so interested in my son?” The eunuch glared at the doctor for a moment, saw no reason to keep quiet, and began speaking. “Because he was a potential obstacle. As were you. Our strategy was brilliant. Keep the family of Wong Fei Hung occupied, Teng Men Hui

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undermanned, the empire uninformed. This rebellion has occupied a government building. It has been put down. Soon, we will attain our own place.” The eunuch rose, proudly, as he uttered this. Fei Hung and Ting Sen stared at one another, puzzled. “You wanted them to take the building,” asked the doctor. “Of course!” replied the eunuch. “So many rebellions in Canton. The cry at court is for a stronger man to rule. The two of you rabble wouldn't know; there is a struggle... This matter in Canton only seals the need for a greater force... and shows who has that force. It was quite successful. “So, this—all this,” began Fei Hung angrily, pointing to the many bodies that lay around, “to get you a better seat, some paltry gain.” “Paltry? Fool. A high seat within the imperial court of China, the Middle Kingdom, paltry? Have you no ambition? Can you not see what is of value? What is most precious on earth? You understand nothing. “ Ting Sen, appalled, watched this man speaking. Vaguely, he wished the foreigner were in place, the better to crush the skull of this one. Nate would no

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doubt enjoy the task, Ting Sen decided. Fei Hung had grown silent. His mother and Wing came and joined them. “Yes?” asked Fei Hung. “There's something you should see outside,” said Gwai Lan. “What?” “Come see,” offered Wing, grimly. “Bring him too.” Ting Sen was tasked with escorting their visitor to the edge of the fence. Stunned, he watched as the imperial forces brought the dynamite he and Nate had boated down the Pearl River. Here and there, soldiers moved bundles of the explosive to the walls of the government building. Behind, torches were lit in preparation. Fei Hung stared at their official guest. “It seems,” said the doctor, “your people have other concerns than for your ambition. Unless you can move closer to the throne via martyrdom.”

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Chapter X

Fei Hung waited as Wing, Gwai Lan and his son gathered round. The eunuch stood behind the group, shouting at the people outside. Wing was for fighting their way out. Gwai Lan stood silently, awaiting instruction from her husband. Ting Sen looked at the eunuch, listened to the sounds of the dread explosive being planted, and eloquently cursed the Manchus who ruled his country. Fei Hung looked hard at his son until the tirade ceased. Ting Sen, abashed, met his father's eyes. “You know, my son,” said Fei Hung, “both your grandfather and I were taught by a Manchu. A great teacher,” Fei Hung continued, smiling vaguely to himself as the taunts from outside the compound grew more shrill, like vultures shrieking as they circled closer to dying prey. “We cannot all fight,” Fei Hung said finally. “Wing, you take the survivors over the back wall. Gwai Lan, Ting Sen, go with him. You three may have to battle your way to safety, but it's likely to be token resistance.”

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Objections were shouted from all three members of Fei Hung's party. Fei Hung silenced these with a gesture. “No, all of you... Wing, you are my best student. Gwai Lan, my wife and mother of my children. I am an old man. Should anything happen, I can most easily be lost. Ting Sen must go with you,” said Fei Hung with a twinkle in his eye. “He has not yet completed his schooling.” “What will you do?” asked his son, ashamed for what he had gotten his father into. “I will teach them the ways of Hung Gar Kung Fu. The Tiger and the Crane. The five animals and the five elements. You need not worry for me. I don't plan on dying today. But I will distract them while you return to Po Chi Lam.” “And the eunuch?” asked Wing, a puzzled expression on his face “He stays with me. Go to the back now. Climb the fence. I'll start when you leave. And this time, you three, obey me.” The troop filed out as ordered, a lonely, woeful bunch. Fei Hung eyed the eunuch, whose cries for

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justice had faded, now asking only for mercy from the world outside. “I wonder about your friends,” said the doctor. “Do you, now?” “Yes. I wonder.” “Perhaps you should go to them.” “I—what?” “It is not my interest to cause the death of so important an administrator to the well−being of China. When my followers have gotten far enough away, you may walk out the front gate.” The eunuch stared at Fei Hung. “But then... they—without me, you'll—” The eunuch, stunned, made a throat−slashing gesture. Fei Hung eyed the man shrewdly. “With you, I'll... as well. There has been enough death today. Think this night of your role in it. Ask if China has benefited from your administration.” “Yes. I have been wrong—I...” “Perhaps you should find another career then. One where no harm comes to others.” “I...” “But not yet. First, my friends will to leave this

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compound in one piece.” Fei Hung stared at the back fence, saw the last of the stragglers exit, then his son, then Gwai Lan. His wife had an sorrowful, hopeful glance for husband. Fei Hung met these eyes with a promise. Then she was gone. Fei Hung listened, then, for sounds of struggle or gunfire. He heard nothing in the air, no trace of Gwai Lan's shouts or Wing's fists. “And now,” said Fei Hung to the eunuch, “watch closely.” “Why?” “I would teach these imperial forces something of Po Chi Lam and the Ten Tigers. You are free to go.” Fei Hung leapt once more to the wall. Stunned, the eunuch glanced up at this man, puzzled by such self−destructive behavior, then raced through the front gate. “Escaping! They are escaping!” shouted the court official and guardian of the public trust. “They let me go—they are escaping...” The eunuch's tirade was cut short by a bullet to the throat. Fei Hung looked for the shooter, saw several

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troops holding rifles by the man in the silken mask. Below, the dynamite at the base of the wall was being lit. Fei Hung stood on the wall, began the basic motions of Tiger and Crane. Soldiers backed away from the scene, fearful of explosions. Silken mask stood calmly, his bandaged hand waving them on. The steps Fei Hung made on the wall, despite their elegance and skill, elicited catcalls from the troops. Some asked whether the great doctor would dance away an imperial troop. Fei Hung held his place, focusing his body and mind. Seconds before the first dynamite exploded he leapt from the wall, thinking not of the tiger nor the crane, nor the leopard, nor even the snake. When Fei Hung came to earth his mind was focused on the most difficult of teachings, that of The Dragon. The Iron Fist. Rubble from the explosions cascaded outward behind Fei Hung, leaving chunks of scorched earth. Fei Hung paid no heed to the devastating blasts behind when he faced the first guardsmen. Their stunned gazes and blurred vision from the debris

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would normally earned solicitations and encouragements to lie down and sip tea from the doctor. But not this day. Behind the ruined walls lay 70 men, needlessly dead. In front of them was a court official, murdered. Somewhere his family and prized student were rushing away. Fei Hung would see something good of this horrid day. He charted a course through the soldiers, who flopped aside like reeds as he passed. One man fell, another, a dozen. Rifles were snatched up and tossed behind, would−be combatants had arms and legs broken while the son of Wong Kai−Ying strode forward. The guardsmen, though as well−trained and focused as any in China, pulled back from Fei Hung, more afraid of him now than even of the blast. A look in his eyes, one not seen since the emotional days of Fei Hung's youth and the devastation of Fujian, forced men back. Quickly Fei Hung reached the masked man's outer circle of bodyguards. These, the most trusted soldiers, held their ground.

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It mattered little. Fei Hung cut through the protective circle like a scythe through sorghum cane. A second circle formed. The silken one was shouting, demanding. His troops looked behind at their leader, wondering now at his courage. Silken mask saw the question in their eyes—was their leader a coward? All was silent as the masked man ceased his clamor, gazing down at Fei Hung, motioning his soldiers aside. Fei Hung stood before the silken one. The two stared at one another for a time. Troops, those who could walk, formed a casual second circle. Fei Hung leaned forward suddenly, his voice a whisper that only silken mask could hear. “Tell me, General,” said Fei Hung. “Must I spare you again this day, or has your foot healed enough that we might continue our contest?” Suddenly the doctor's hand shot forward, ripped the fabric away. Once again, Fei Hung stood before General Yuan Shih. “There is much you do not know of this,” the General began. “Nor do I want to,” replied Fei Hung. “I saw this

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world of courts, intrigues and power long ago. I turned back from it then.” “It could be yours,” said Shih. “A man such as you... why...” “What, aiding you in your quest? No. I would not have come this day. I care nothing for rebellions. Nothing for governments. Everyone who knows me knows this.” “Yes. Perhaps bringing Ting Sen was a mistake...” “And the patient under my care.” “Yes.” “And the eunuch you've just killed. Why did you do that, I wonder?” “A nuisance. More useful as a martyr in the streets than as an ally in the chambers behind the throne. He would not have lived to return to Beijing,” continued the general. “Killed by the rebels in passing.” “Of course. A man such as you... always calculating. I confess I cannot understand it. But if you promise to stay out of Canton, I will let you leave this day.”

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Here the general laughed. “Let me leave. Let me leave! I have a thousand men here. You are but one.” “Yes,” said Fei Hung, hands outstretched to within inches of the general's person. “But none stand between us now.” The General looked again at Fei Hung, saw the doctor was serious. Suddenly, the man looked afraid. Not much. A little bit. Some of his soldiers saw. “And what's to stop me from...” “Shooting me in the back? Your own men, general. They follow you because of your courage in an insecure time. Would you have them think you weak? Too weak to take on an old doctor?” “I... no,” said the general. “I—you would—I think of you as an excellent tactician, Dr. Fei Hung.” “Perhaps I am. Remember that the next time you involve my family. Good day.” And with a nod to the surrounding forces, Fei Hung turned, body tight with iron fist, and walked away through corridor of soldiers who gave the doctor a respectful, wide birth. Behind, the general began shouting.

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“Very well, men. We've won this day. The rebels shall trouble Canton no more. We'll leave this mess for the city authorities, such as they are.” But something forced to the language. Some small quality lost. Fei Hung was not surprised to discover the General went back into retirement in a southern province, staying away from Beijing... and Canton.

Epilogue Fei Hung, Gwai Lan and Wing stood at the rear of a group that approached the ruins of the Canton government building. Around stood guards, men from the city, now. Workers began to clear the rubble from the dynamite. In front of their entourage, Ting Sen stood with a leader of Sun Yat Sen's party. Respectfully but firmly, they received permission to enter the complex and remove the bodies to a garden some distance away. Fei Hung and his wife marvelled at the diplomacy their son employed in his advisory role. In Po Chi Lam, Nate began to heal, eating his

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vegetable diet and reading what books he could find, waiting for the ship that would take him home.