Mr Ping
"Hello, welcome to Dragon Warrior Noodles and Tofu," said the still kicking – or should it be still quacking? – voice of the current oldest resident in the valley.
Mr Ping.
The 70-year-old master of noodles. The quickest and breeziest chef in all of China.
But most importantly, the loving father of the Dragon Warrior.
A certain family-themed phrase has been passed down from age to age, all the way through the rivers of history.
"Like mother, like daughter."
Or the male version: "Like father, like son."
And that phrase rings ever true in the relationship between Mr Ping and his son.
Selflessness, humility, acceptance, and love.
These four core values were intimately passed on from father to son over the past 30 years of their life together. And while the valley knows that Po is truly a paragon to behold for generations to come, they'd never forget the loving efforts of his father to raise him up to conquer all of life's challenges.
So alas, while Mr Ping claims that it's just his shrewd businessman mind that keeps his restaurant numbers in full bloom, everyone else knows that it is the charismatic goose himself that pours all of his heart out into life that keeps the people attracted to his humble little diner.
That, and of course the Dragon Warrior memorabilia that said father displays for all the people to see while they eat. It keeps admiration and morale levels up, Mr Ping says to those who are curious enough to ask.
"Excuse me, Mr Ping?" a swine farmer asked as he and his son walked into the entrance of the restaurant, "Where is the Dragon Warrior now?"
The old, silver goose could see the admiration glowing out of the young piglet's eyes as the child shook with excitement next to his father. Disappointingly, it would seem that they would have to wait a bit.
Hiding his sheepishness, Mr Ping responded, "Oh he's not here at the moment. He's busy out there, protecting the valley. All that lovely, heroic jazz."
"Look! It's the Dragon Warrior!"
The rabbit who had stood up and interrupted the relative peace and quiet of the restaurant pointed to the familiar panda in question. There was no mistaking who that was.
"Po!" squawked Mr Ping in pure joy. He ran over to his son as fast as his old goose legs could carry him. His son happily bent down so that his father could peck him on the cheek.
"You didn't tell me you were coming! I would have saved you some stinky tofu!"
"Uh, thanks Dad, but could I talk to you for a minute?" queried Po, as he took the stack of empty used bowls from his father's wings and made his way to the kitchen. The audience clapped and cheered as he made his way past.
As he entered the kitchen, he heard the jubilation of the patrons as his father announced free desserts on the house, then some aww's as the old goose followed said statement up with the requirement of one extra purchase from the menu.
Classic business manoeuvre, Dad.
Po's amused reflections were brought to a halt by his father's ecstatic voice.
"It's so good to see you, Po! Have you lost weight? I can almost put my wings around you!"
"Um, maybe a little," Po smiled proudly.
"Oh, poor you!" his father continued in apparent obliviousness, "You must feel weak! Let me get you something to eat!"
"Uh, thanks Dad, but I'm not hungry," Po replied, his distraction and unease boiling to the surface.
"Not hungry? Son, are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Po answered halfmindedly, "It was just… earlier today, I was fighting these bandits…"
The panda could feel his father tense up a bit at this.
"Nothing too dangerous," the bear added, "But then the strangest thing happened. I had this crazy vision. I think I saw my mom, and me, as a baby…"
"Your mom? A baby?" Mr Ping pieced together, suddenly getting a very bad feeling about this.
"Uh, Dad, how do I… say this?" asked Po, with surprising delicacy in his voice. The panda gazed over to the family portrait hung high up on the wall, of him as a cub and of his father back when the goose wasn't always covered in silver feathers. That painting was a testament to their love for each other, and that love for each other would start getting tested today, right now.
"Dad?" Po probed again, "Where exactly did I come from?"
His father turned, and Po saw a wave of pain cascading through his old man's eyes.
"Well, son, baby geese come from a small egg… eh, don't ask me where your egg came from!"
"Dad…" Po sighed in slight vexation and abashment, "That's not what I meant."
"I know, it's not," Mr Ping replied sadly, solemnity replacing the elderly bird's usual jubilance, "Po, I think it's time I told you something that I should've told you long ago."
"Yeah…?" Po asked in quaint nervousness. He subconsciously took a tiny step forwards to listen to what his dad had to say.
"You might have been kind of… adopted, my son."
"I knew it."
"You knew? Well who told you?!"
"No one! I mean, come on Dad, really?!"
"Well if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"
"Why didn't you say anything?!" Po retorted, hurt etched in his raised voice. When he noticed his father looking shamefully at the slate wall behind him, Po got a firmer hold of his emotions.
"Dad?" he asked again, his voice now returning to empathetic softness, "How did I get here? Where did I come from?"
It then seemed that either his father had not heard him or ignored the question, for the old goose was pulling an empty basket out of a nearby cupboard.
But of course a father would hear the painful cry of his child.
"Actually son," he said, gesturing with his wing to the basket he laid between them, "You came from this."
"It was just another day in the restaurant. Time to make the noodles."
30 years ago, a middle-aged goose waddled out of his family restaurant to collect his weekly delivery of ingredients. He had ordered an extra amount of radishes, for his new hit, Radish-Mein, had been a smash success amongst the villagers.
"I went out to the back, where my vegetables had just been delivered."
The goose sighed as the sun's dwindling rays of gold touched his feathers, warm aromas blending the town into a pleasant atmospheric afternoon. He planned to take in his vegetables, and then meet up with Mr Xou for a long awaited mah-jong match with his old pig friend. A rattle of wood on cobblestone snatched his attention away from his nightly plans.
"There were cabbages, turnips and radishes… only there were no radishes!"
The mild commotion was coming from one of the boxes. Warily, Ping approached it, but before he could take a peek for himself, his patience rewarded him and the answer revealed itself.
A baby panda, no more than a few months old, looking a little worse for wear.
"It was just a very hungry baby panda."
Despite his scraggy appearance, the baby cared not for it. He had just eaten his afternoon meal, and he burped contentedly, rolling over and giving his sweetest smile to the curious onlooker that came his way.
Ping was transfixed. Yes, the baby's actions were adorable to stare at, but he was deeply perturbed by the lack of biological parental figures around the place.
The streets were empty too, with no evidence of any recent arrivals or departures.
"There was no note. Of course… you could've eaten it. I waited for someone to come looking for you, but no one did."
Seeing that none had approached him or the baby at all, Ping decided to move in his food crates first, and then deal with the matter of the infant.
As soon as he had brought his first crate inside, however, the goose heard despairing wailing resonating from outside. The poor cub was still starving. Picking up his last radish, Ping rolled it with enough precision so that it came to a well-calculated stop just in front of the baby panda. The infant swallowed it happily, little green unworldly eyes staring gratefully at his newfound custodian. The edges of Ping's beak flitted upwards in paternal amusement.
"I brought you inside, fed you, gave you a bath…"
The baby panda was more than thrilled to follow the trail of dumplings, bakery and sliced veggies left behind for him, and soon found himself rolling forward into a tub filled with soapy water. Ping smiled at his little innovative caretaking ploy.
He started brushing the cub, every so often watching in amusement as the little panda intently tried his first bubble… and decided that the taste was revolting. Other bath time shenanigans happened too, such as the classic blowing your mouth in the water, and splashing your appendages gleefully. Ping watched it all with warmth in his heart.
"And then I fed you again, and again…"
The goose expertly and fluidly sliced up more raw vegetables for the panda cub to eat, before realising he had warmer foods for the child to consume.
Feeding soup to the child went well, until the little one almost swallowed the spoon whole down his windpipe, nearly giving the goose a heart attack. Following this incident, the bird decided it was for the best to just let the child drink out of the bowl.
"And of course, I tried to put some pants on you."
The baby scrambled away, squealing and giggling. Ping waddled laxly after it. The child knocked into a table, spilling the contents of food over the edge, then it crawled underneath the benchtops and bumped its head there, sending pots, pans and bowls to the ground. Some shattered, some clattered, and one wok bounced around, by some coincidence landing squarely on the head of the cub who had just crawled out from underneath the counter. The small panda let out a startled cry and started whimpering, each anguished quaver intensifying by the second. Ping, moved heavily by all of this, stooped low to the child's eye level, and swivelled the wok around gently.
The child turned its head slowly, and his green orbs locked with that of the elder.
The goose felt his heart melt completely, and he couldn't stop a few tears filling the bottom of his own brown eyes as he smiled lovingly at the little one he would call his own from this moment onward.
The child sensed this significant change too, and he smiled affectionately at his newfound caretaker. His protector.
His father.
"Finally, I made a decision that would change my life forever… to make my soup without radishes…"
The bird watched over his cub, as the latter sat contentedly in an armchair. The avian brought over a bowl filled with a new kind of noodle soup he had created. It was a noodle soup with a secret ingredient that he would now prize as his most precious creation. He fed it to the panda cub, who deserved it free and full of unconditional love. For the infant had brought about this wonderful new dish creation.
But even more importantly…
"And to raise you as my own son. Xiao Po, my little panda."
That child was his.
Now and forever.
And Ping would always treasure that blessing for all of his days.
"From that moment on, both my soup and my life have been that much sweeter."
"And little Po, that's the end of the story. Look at me! Wait, no don't look at me…"
Mr Ping raised an abashed wing to momentarily excuse himself to regain his composure. He couldn't lose his control in front of the greatest warrior China had ever known. And… he couldn't lose face in front of his son.
His only son…
However, said only son was still just only standing rod-straight, mouth still agape and soul still longing for answers.
"That's it? That can't be it! There's gotta be more, Dad!"
"Well, there was that time where you ate all my bamboo furniture. It was imported too."
The conversation between parent and child was interrupted by the ringing of the counter bell and a clattering of coins. A customer.
"One dumpling please. Dragon Warrior size!"
With strength one would not believe could come from a goose, Mr Ping heaved a gigantic dumpling over to the bunny, a smile not leaving the cook's face. The rabbit peeped his thanks and bounced off with the dumpling in his paws.
Mr Ping turned back to his child, and tried to sufficiently reach out once more.
With the old goose's luck though, it was bound to go a bit lopsided.
"Oh Po, your story may not have such a happy beginning, but look how it all turned out! You got me! You got Kung Fu! And you got noodles!"
Mr Ping tried earnestly hard to hide his concerns behind a veil of a wide smile upon his beak, but his son, attuned to spiritual auras and the like, sensed his father's unease.
"I know… but I just have so many questions! Like how did I ever fit into this tiny basket? Why didn't I like pants?..."
Father and son locked gazes for the briefest of moments. That was all that was needed to feel the other's pain.
The son felt isolated. Uncertain. All sense of contentment dashed and faith in his caretakers starting to crack. Shifu's recent teachings had eluded his senses, and now his father is afraid of the truth? The panda never learned that value from his parent, he was sure. So why was it being deconstructed so blatantly now? Everything he had known about his life started dismantling itself bit by bit, and if the process completed itself, he wasn't certain if he would ever be the same again.
As for the father, he felt hurt. Hurt that he had failed his child. Hurt that he had broken his own teachings. Hurt that he had hidden in cowardice from the truth. And hurt for the fact that it seemed his son was now willing to cast him out of his life. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But when his son would eventually find the answers he sought, the father was certain that the son would leave him behind to live alone. To grieve alone. To pass out of this life, alone.
But all that didn't encompass the pain Ping felt when his only child – the adult panda who long ago was once a little, helpless cub looking to him for love and care – spoke these next few words.
"Who am I?"