A/N: Behold, the fic that toes the line between full remake and editing. I debated for a long time to just publish this over the original- or to publish it separately and archive the original. In the end I went for this, as you can probably guess from, you know, being here. Why exactly? Well it's mainly because I a) need to fill out the ending a bit, and b) it's these first few chapters that I'm the keenest to actually work on (this first chapter is entirely re-written... mostly coz I wanted something slightly funny) Plus I didn't like the title much. I mean Village Champion's not bad, but kind of sells the wrong image. I mean... people did think this was (another) tournament fic... But my blurb didn't help that... or the title...

I like the new one, but at the same time... I don't know... if anyone has any better ideas I'm glad to hear them.

It feels weird looking back on this and remembering how... different... my life was back when I wrote this. I remember I went through a kind of 'reading' phase, where a lot of my inspiration came from books in my school's library. I also was still at school back then... needless details about my personal life *aside*.

If you haven't read the original... don't worry too much. If you haven't read any of my fics before... also don't worry too much. This is a pretty stand-alone story compared to the rest of my work. Also gonna experiment with a slightly different style of narration.

Now, I should probably get to writing, shouldn't I? Oh and fair warning... these chapters are gonna be short. Because though I am adding more to this fic... it wasn't too long or complicated to begin with...

Disclaimer: This fic is not meant to represent Historical India or modern India or Vedic India in any way shape or form. The sake of this story is to entertain, if you were expecting to learn some real facts... you probably won't find them here. None of this was done with the malicious intent to insult or mock anyone else's (in this case specifically, Indian) culture.

The sun beat down mercilessly upon the dry and arid climate. Noone was too sure why of course, perhaps the dry and arid land had insulted the sun somehow and the great ball of light had responded with violence. Or perhaps it was because the sun was a mean bully who liked beating land like a slavemaster. Or it was because the specific patch of dry and arid land was situated directly in the star's line of fire. That was if you believed the earth was round... Or that the sun was a star... It looked more like a planet...

And what a planet it was! A great, beautiful, shining jewel that could dazzle and blind the poor astrologers foolish enough to stare at it. Because staring directly into the sun was darn right stupid.

The ground was hot underfoot, like a freshly fried samosa, but not quite as oily. Nor was it as soft. Perhaps long ago it had been sand, crushed into place by the weight of the countless travelers that had walked, hopped, skipped, jumped, pranced, crawled, rolled or dragged themselves across it. That was not accounting for all the birds that at some point in history had decided to land on that particular spot and enjoy the...well... there wasn't really anything to enjoy.

Alternatively the ground had always been hard and hot and harsh. Such mysteries often remained so.

The few grasses that dared to grow from little cracks in the sun-baked soil were yellow and crisp and waiting to be blown away by the first soft breeze. Not that a soft breeze would come anytime soon. Here in the desert a breeze was as rare and uninvited as the rain- though just as desirable.

On a long and winding and dust-filled road that stretched out further than most eyes could see, what looked like a small herd of young elephants pulling a cart came to a sudden halt. This was alright for them, since they didn't have to worry about the ground beneath them suddenly shifting momentum. The paying customers of Gurjot and Ravi's Rikshaw's (encompassing rickshaws for big and small alike) did not have that luxury and were promptly thrown about in an untidy pile of tails, fur and paws.

"Singh Station!" Trumpeted the driver. There was silence, save and except for the groans of those rising to their feet. There were few of them for most were no longer sure who's feet belonged to who. "I repeat Singh Station!"

"I though the last one was Singh Station?" Mumbled one elephant to another, as their disgruntled passengers pulled away from one another.

"That was the one before last and that was Singh Station number two. This is Singh Station number four!"

"But what about three?"

"Three comes after."

"But-"

"It's not like I named it."

While his subordinates bickered the Chief Elephant was getting impatient. "Last call! Singh Station! Does anyone need to get off?" Determined to keep up with his (extremely tight) schedule the bull (he was an elephant, but male elephant's can be called bulls too, despite not truly being bovine) gave his rickshaw what he considered an experimental shake. In truth it was more like a miniature earthquake that sent his unlucky (and already planning to sue) customers, back into the floor.

From the bottom of the pile of green-faced travelers shot a transparent paw made of glass. "Me! This is my stop!"

With the impressive and truly underrated skill of freeing oneself from a doggy-pile consisting of at least thirty canines, a dozen camels, twelve mice, three mongoose, four tigers, eight peafowl, and one misplaced hippopotamus, the jackal dragged himself free of the tangle of limbs and dug his paw back in to extract a suitcase. Skipping carefully over his fellow travelers the jackal exited the cart.

"That'll be four rupees."

"One second."

Dianbo came to a halt on the side of the road and after some rummaging freed up the coins and a map he'd bought in the last stop.

The elephant took the coins in his trunk, and carefully calculated them, as if worried he was getting even slightly under the (admittedly cheap) fare.

The small canine tried to attract the much larger mammal's attention. "I do have a favor to ask though. If you could just point me in the direction of-"

"All aboard!" Tooted the elephant, who was either ignoring the canine completely, or was simply too tall for the sound to reach his ears.

"Wait! I just need to kno-"

A cloud of dust cut his speech short and sent him into a coughing fit. By the time it cleared, the rattling cart, it's drivers and the poor pile of animals within, had vanished completely.

A scowl traced it's familiar path along the jackal's face. How typical... The scowl fell quickly however, overthrown by the even more familiar sigh of resignation.

At first glance this jackal was nothing of interest. Thin. Small like the rest of his kind. Unoriginal sandy brown fur. At first glance there was nothing out of place. Except the near-constant and semi-uncomfortable twitching of his eyes. And the one glass paw he had. And the metal whip curled around and stuffed into a small holster on his belt. And the heavily bandaged upper half of his muzzle. His pants were a plain red, his vest yellow and open at the front. Not because he wanted to show off any bulging muscles (not that he had any to speak of) but because it was more comfortable like that.

Dianbo's eyes darted from both corners of the map. If only it told him exactly where he was... And if only his village was on it. His village wasn't on any maps he could afford. That last fact was bothersome to say the least. Rolling the map shut, he shoved it back in his case and begun the long trek.

At least he was in the area... hopefully...

At some points in his journey he had contemplated turning back. 'Some points' was putting it too lightly... He had debated turning back every second of the way, and each time had decided against doing so.

Yes, his knowledge of the language was sub-par (especially for someone who carried an accent as thick as his). Yes, he had never really been to India. Yes, he was going further West than he'd ever been. Yes, he had no idea what kind of reception he'd get whenever or wherever he arrived. The further West he traveled the less people knew about China, and Kung Fu... and how to pronounce his name. And how to cook something that was not overly-saturated with spices. Yes, this was probably a bad idea.

But on the other paw he didn't really have anything left in China. Yes, he was the former pupil of the legendary Master flying Rhino. Yes, he had unlimited options in terms of employment. Yes, he could probably make a living just talking about his late Master. But ultimately... if he did that he'd never be able to move on. His Master had passed, of old age. His mother... had always been frail and sickly, strong though she was, and had not long outlived the Kung Fu Master. He'd gone on to compete in a tournament, with the hope of perhaps winning but ultimately... His paws instinctively went to the bandaged upper muzzle.

It hadn't helped with coping. Ironically it had only added to the grief...

Shaking his head from side to side, to free himself from those dreaded thoughts, the jackal continued onwards.