By the time the monks return to the temple, Milton has done enough cleaning to balance the chi for at least another decade. His attempts to coerce Jack and Kim into helping were completely fruitless, and Jerry's 'help' was counterproductive, but he managed to clear up all the mess that the guests (and, admittedly, he himself) had left.
Any remaining fragments of Yoshimi's spirit have been completely flushed out of his system, and Milton is just thinking that he's going to get out of this without the warriors ever finding out about the incident, when Jerry pops his head around a corner.
"Yo, Milton, where do you want me to hide these party hats?"
Milton resists the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation. He doesn't even bother quelling the desire to whack Jerry upside the head.
"Ow! Hey, man, what was that – ohhh," Jerry cuts himself off midsentence, finally spotting the telltale orange of the Shaolin. "Heh. Hey, guys! Fancy meeting you here…" Jerry trails off under the heavy gaze of the Grandmaster.
After a moment's pause, Jerry – of course – speaks again. "Well, I think I hear my mom calling. Better go. See ya!"
He starts to back up slowly, as if hesitant to scare the monks into chasing him. Po raises an eyebrow, and Jerry freezes in place. The second eyebrow rises to meet its mate, and Jerry appears to take this gesture as a challenge.
The story of the impromptu commandeering of the temple spills heedlessly from Jerry's mouth, every word true, every detail in place. He paints a surprisingly eloquent portrait of each misfortune, regaling the monks with a self-deprecation that Milton can't associate with his friend. He wonders if Po is using some sort of secret technique on Jerry, until Jerry gets to the retelling of what happened after the spirit was gone – more specifically, Milton's "epic fail" at dancing. Milton notes with gratitude the fact that Jerry glosses over the more uncomfortable parts of the tale, and wonders vaguely when the idiot in front of him acquired any sort of social skills.
When Jerry has finally finished explaining the situation, he glances up as if searching for approval, and receives it in the form of a thoughtful nod from Po. Milton wonders if it's safe to breathe a sigh of relief. The monks don't seem particularly upset, merely thoughtful. He supposes that he should have known they'd be good-natured, but at the same time he is still loath to relive that night.
Grandmaster Po looks up, and Milton nearly flinches at the intense look on his face.
"You may go," he says to Jerry, and Milton notices for the first time how truly manipulative the old man is. He is firm enough that Jerry knows to leave, but kind enough that Jerry is not hurt.
Jerry leaves as quickly as he can without running away at a full out sprint. When even the perfumed scent he trails has wafted away, the Grandmaster nods at the other warriors, and they scatter gracefully.
Po gestures at a nearby bench, and Milton sits, nearly quivering with relief. He is dreading the inevitable interrogation, but much better to get it over with.
"What do you remember from the possession?" Po queries, voice softer, gentler than normal. Milton is surprised that this is the first question. He specifically recalls Jerry describing his attempts to take advantage of Milton's amnesia.
What do I remember? He asks himself. Nothing. Nothing, I –
A rush of joy. His feet lift off the ground, and although he has performed the maneuver countless times, this time is layered with the childlike incredulity of experiencing a thing for the first time.
No! Milton scolds himself. I remember nothing. There was nothing of importance. Nothing worth remembering. It was –
His love stands before him. It feels as though he had seen her only a moment before, when in fact it has been centuries. Her gaze meets his, shyly, and his subconscious briefly replaces the blonde locks with raven.
She can't remember her promise, but he does not care. She is here, she is willing, he knows that in his heart. His love will kiss him. Her lips part. Clammy hands grasp his own. Down, down he leans. Her lips touch his and –
"No!" Milton snaps, and realizes his mistake too late. The Grandmaster's lips curl wryly, and Milton sighs in defeat.
"I remember…flying. I remember dancing. And I remember kissing Ki – Mariko! I remember kissing Mariko."
"Kim," the Grandmaster corrects. "You were kissing Kim."
"No, I wasn't," Milton retorts, irritated.
Po looks at him with just a touch of sadness, and somewhere deep inside Milton recognizes that he doesn't sound at all believable.
"Even a dead man can see that your Kim does not look like Mariko."
"I…he…I…she isn't my Kim!"
The Grandmaster looks dubious, so Milton hastily adds, "And if he didn't think it was her, then why did it work?"
"It worked because Yoshimi wanted the kiss of his love. He felt love for Kim, so his spirit was set free."
"The old dead guy loved Kim?"
"No," Po corrects with a chuckle. "The 'old dead guy' felt love for Kim."
"Then how could – oh."
The Grandmaster smiles gently, and places a hand on Milton's shoulder. "You are an intelligent boy."
Milton snorts. "Lot of good that's done for me."
"It is difficult to do the noble thing. Nobility is often the most painful of tasks."
"I know that."
"But the noble choice is not always the best choice."
Milton eyes the Grandmaster suspiciously. "What are you trying to say?"
"Your hair needs brushing."
"I – what?"
"And your ears stick out."
"Hey!"
"Also, you are far too skinny."
"Seriously? How does insulting me help in any way?"
Po stands and walks to the door. He opens it and steps through, pausing for a moment to scrutinize Milton one last time. "Sometimes, young one, the truth is the most painful choice. But it is always wise to be truthful, even if it is only within your own mind."
Then Grandmaster Po vanishes, leaving Milton with a pit in his stomach and the words of the Grandmaster ringing in his mind.