And yet again, I'm starting a new story in the midst of an incomplete one. Damn, I hate myself for not being motivated enough to actually finish my stories. Someone get a gun and hold it to my head while I write so I'll keep at it. Anyway, this story is about Cheng in the 2010 Karate Kid movie; he's the evil Chinese kid who beats up Dre in the first part of the movie (this kid is crazy good, it's insanity. He's one of the reasons I actually liked the movie). I wouldn't really classify this as a story, per se, more of a collection of short stories that somehow all connect to form one big story, if that makes sense. The pairing is Cheng/OC and some Cheng/Meiying. In this story, Cheng is thirteen-going-on-fourteen. In a recent interview from the Beijing Premiere, Zhenwei Wang (the young actor who plays Cheng) states that he is 15-years-old that year, which could mean he's probably fourteen-going-on-fifteen. That was probably unnecessary info, but oh well. In this story, Cheng's family name is going to be Wang (like his real name), and since in China last names go first, it's going to be Wang Cheng, then, got it? I don't speak any Chinese at all (please be kind), so basically, if I type in regular like this then they are speaking Chinese. If I type in italics then they are speaking in English. Now that we all understand each other, let's rock-n-roll...

P.S. Anyone wanna take me on for beta? Thanks...

Untitled

Prologue

The hallway was empty. Deserted, even. Like a ghost town of old western movies. The air seemed thicker in there and the halls' lone inhabitant, a small boy in a fiery uniform, seemed to have to work even harder to breathe normally as he nervously anticipated what he knew was inevitably waiting for him beyond the swinging doors of the auditorium.

The sound of the cheering crowd boomed through even though at least two walls separated Cheng from them in the safety of the hallway, where he leaned his back against one wall and hung his head down. The sound echoed in the corridor and made the floor shake, and eventually traveled into Cheng's ears, filling it up and overflowing. It seemed to muffle his senses.

His heart pounded just as loud. It sounded deep within him; like a low drum signaling a coming attack. It gave a negative connotation, and all at once he felt like the walls were closing in on him, soffocating him, and leaving him no way of escape. Cheng exhaled, his breath coming out in labored tufts of air, like a fish struggling to breathe, and he clenched his fist.

There was once a time when he would have goen out to the platform without a thought of hesitation; when he would stalk triumphantly up to the platform, flash a smile at the crowd (a smile that could easily have been a smirk, were there someone out there who cared enough to notice the difference), look to his teacher and teammates, and then face his opponent without any fear at all.

He had grown too used to victory, too accustomed to easily bringing down his challengers without even breaking a sweat, and he had forgotten what it felt like to lose, to be laughed at, to be scared, and now as he faced the final fight of the evening, he hid in the hallway. The fear felt like an entirely new sensation to him, like a bird taking its first flight after spending days with solid ground under its feet and then having to take in the feeling of having absolutely nothing underneath to catch him. He had built himself up and then let himself free-fall.

Cheng listened to his heart continually pumping blood through his body, and suddenly he was ten-years-old again and facing his very first tournament. Back then, he had been skinny, inexperienced, new, and very much afraid. He hid in the hallway, only a few shivers away from an anxiety attack, while out on the platform and tall boy waited to beat him to a pulp. It had been enough to make him pull out the first time.

But now was not his first tournament. It had been four years since then. Cheng knew he shouldn't be nervous. He shouldn't be scared, he shouldn't be hiding in the hallway from what was out there. But he still did. It wasn't the boy he fighting he was scared of, but rather he was scared of himself.

And as if the cheering crowd was not enough pressure upon his shoulders, he was scared of being inadequate, of not being good enough, of failing everyone. The air-conditioning was on and was blazing through the building, but he felt hot and dizzy. The anxiety only added to the feeling and the walls were slowly crushing him.

Eventually, it began to resemble drowning...drowning a boiling pot, where the water both burned and overwhelmed you at the same time, and if you didn't drown fast enough, then the boiling hot water would surely kill you. There was no way out.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of the crowd; some cheered his name and others chanted his opponent's name, but to him it only sounded like a loud bell, ringing in his ears, as if the sound of his own pounding heart were not enough to drive him mad. A haze was clouding his mind and he couldn't think; it was disorienting.

Cheng felt his knees giving away and he put one arm on the wall behind him, trying to steady himself. And just as he was ready to collapse, he felt something soft and warm being pushed into his hand, and he held it there and felt cool air suddenly returning and filling his lungs, and then he was able to breathe again.

Cheng looked down at the hand that was holding his, and the whole world went quiet. His heart was still going at 50 miles per hour, but Cheng felt her hand squeeze his and a calm swept over him. He looked up into her smiling face, and nothing was confusing anymore.

TBC...

Where is he? What is he thinking? Why is he in the hallway? Who's that holding his hand? Who could she be? Oh no! Thanks for reading... please review... I know it's been over-used, the whole "please review" thing, but seriously... please review...

-Monay