Seeds Of Destiny

by pat weakley

Book One-Britt Reid has accepted long ago that he could no longer be the Green Hornet. Now Kato's son comes into his life demanding that Reid become the Green Hornet one last time to avenge his former partner's death.

3. China

Chapter Three

China

I

Staring up at the roughly plastered ceiling, Britt was starting to have serious doubts about whether this whole China trip was such an honor after all. He could not imagine when he had been so bored. It seemed like the entire trip had been made up of nothing but one visit after another to model factories, model communes and model schools. He swore that he would go stark, raving mad if he saw one more model anything.

He had hoped to visit with some of the Chinese people to find out what they were really like, but everything had been so orchestrated, so controlled, that he'd never had a chance to meet with anyone. He had tried to strike up conversations with their very young, and very serious escorts cum guards, but every time he tried to practice his halting Chinese, he was grimly but politely rebuffed.

Despite the broad smiles and polite, deferential gestures, Britt, his father and their fellow newsmen were more prisoners than guests. They were only allowed to see what they were supposed to see and then after the show was over for the day they were herded into antique railroad cars or decrepit guest houses. There, they were closely guarded- supposedly for their own protection. Both the guests and the hosts were playing roles. They both knew it. Everyone was always smiling, but only with their lips, never with their eyes.

Britt had quickly tired of the game-playing. Henry, his father, had brought him along with the intention of teaching him about the use of propaganda, but Britt was now thinking that he could've learned that from any political campaign back home. He would've preferred to stay at home; chasing girls and partying, to laying on a thin mattress in a frail, creaky iron cot that failed to accommodate his 6'2" frame, listening through the paper thin walls to somebody's rafter rattling snores.

Earlier that morning he had made the decision to strike out on his own into the countryside so that he could discover for himself the real China. He was confident that there were scores of people out there eager to tell him their story. Even with his poor command of the Chinese language, he was positive that he would have no trouble at all. He had set aside some of his breakfast and lunch for tonight's expedition, explaining that he didn't feel well and was going to save the food for later when he did feel better. Everyone had experienced stomach problems at least once on this trip, so his actions had not aroused any suspicions, although his father had looked at him narrowly as he had wrapped the food in a piece of cloth.

Now he was ready, but he had to be very sure that his father was soundly asleep before he left the room. He had made a point of roaming around late every night under the excuse of youthful restlessness, but he did not want his father to be too alert when he made his move. Henry had learned early to keep a sharp eye on his headstrong son. If he even slightly suspected that Britt was up to something, he would further tighten Britt's already too-short leash.

Trying to slow the nervous beating of his heart, Britt listened to the slow, steady breathing of his father sleeping on the other cot that shared the tiny room. Given the uncomfortable beds and the humid, still air, Britt was amazed that anyone could sleep at all. Finally satisfied that his father was truly soundly asleep, Britt very carefully eased himself out of his bed. The ancient cot gave out a terrible screech. Britt froze in place, sure that the noise was not only loud enough to wake his father but to summon every soldier for miles around. To his relief his father stirred only briefly without waking. He relaxed from the frozen crouch over his bed.

He crept on stocking feet to the clothing he had carelessly dumped on the floor in front of his bed. They were inadequate for roving around the Chinese countryside on foot, but his father had banned from Britt's suitcase his usual attire of denims, sport shirts and boots, explaining that he was supposed to give a good impression of American youth, not look like some kind of farm hand. He contemptuously discarded the suit coat and shrugged into the white shirt. At least it was made of good material and could be made more comfortable by rolling up the sleeves. He allowed himself a quiet sigh of disgust as he examined the loafers before slipping them onto his feet. He would've given a fortune for of decent pair of hiking boots, or even a pair of sturdy sneakers. The loafers were brand new, bought again at his father's insistence, and had an annoying tendency to slip off his heels whenever he took a step.

After dressing, Britt paused for a moment thinking over his plans, making sure he was not missing anything. He thought over his rejection of the suit coat and decided to take it along. The dark coat, with its collar and lapels turned up would help cover his white shirt, making him less noticeable in the dark. He crept across the small room and very gently eased open the door. He almost jumped out of his skin when Henry mumbled sleepily, "Where are you going, Britt?"

Trying to sound casual, Britt replied, "I gotta take a leak, Dad."

"Why are you all dressed up?" Henry asked, trying to make out his son's form in the dim light.

"I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to go around in nothing but my skivvies," Britt answered, hoping his father had not noticed the small bundle that he had slipped through the barely opened door.

Henry rubbed his eyes sleepily. He was exhausted. A nagging feeling told him that Britt was up to something, but he decided the questions could wait until Britt got back to their room. He laid back in the cot, planning on waiting for Britt to return, but in a few moments was fast asleep.

Britt gently closed the door behind him as he stepped into the darkened

hallway. He was beginning to have second thoughts, but he determinedly set them aside. No really worthwhile story was ever written without taking chances, he told himself as he tiptoed to the guesthouse's lone bathroom. Once inside, Britt opened the window in the back wall, and poked his head out of the screenless window, checking for any signs of the guards. Content that the coast was clear, he thrust his gear out of the window and then wriggled his broad shoulders through the small window, following his belongings out the building.

Britt stood against the wall for a few moments, trying to get his bearings as he tried to decide in what direction he should go. The tour group would be heading northeast toward Peking by rail along the Yellow River. He decided to go in that same general direction. That way, he reasoned, he would be able to rejoin them whenever it was convenient for him to do so. With the river to the north and the mountains to the south, he should not get lost.

Near dusk, as the sun slowly sank behind him, Britt spotted a small collection of buildings surrounded by vast fields of ripening wheat. At this late hour most of the farmers were at home, sitting before their evening meal. He decided it would be a good time to get acquainted with the locals. He stood up from the rock where he had eaten his skimpy meal hidden from sight from the dusty road and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. He was still hungry and the prospect of going through the night hungry didn't appeal to him. He walked to the nearest building and entered through a small, neatly-kept courtyard. From the door of the white-stuccoed house he could hear the sound of laughter and the compelling smell of food.

Fervently hoping that offering food to a stranger was a part of traditional Chinese etiquette, he slowly opened the door and greeted the seated diners with what he hoped were the right words. All conversation suddenly died into frozen silence. Then the diner's expressions quickly changed from surprise, to shock and then to violent hatred as everyone leaped from their seats. Britt exploded out of the house, followed by angry farmers screaming unintelligible curses. Soon the commotion was echoed by the entire community as everyone sped out of their homes after the lone American.

The sky flashed and rumbled, sending heavy sheets of rain sweeping down from the thick clouds overhead, as Britt dove into the wheatfields with pitchfork wielding peasants close at his heels. To the confused American, trapped in a nightmare of deafening thunder and strobing lightning that alternately plunged him from stygian darkness into blinding light, it seemed like all of China had turned against him.

Running in blind panic, he broke out of the field and onto the banks of one of the earthen dikes that had been built to control the unpredictable waters of the Yellow River. He slipped and slid down the side of the dike and into the flood-swollen water that raged against the dike's muddy walls. The coldness quickly revived him, but the raging water caught at him, tossing him around and around, threatening to pull him under to his death. Although he was a strong swimmer, he could not fight free from the powerful current which ripped him loose every time he tried to climb up the slick sides of the dike. He gasped and choked on the filthy water until, completely drained, he gave up and began to sink under the insistent torrent. Some inner instinct for survival made him grasp at a large tree limb that nudged against him, and with the last remnants of strength he pulled his head and shoulders onto it before sinking into unconsciousness.

The humid heat of day found Britt in a shallow bend of a stream. Britt wearily pulled himself to dry land, and laid there gasping like a fish out of water. He was thoroughly lost and had no idea of where he was or how far the flood had carried him. Britt was alone in a country where he could not speak the language and where for the moment existed an uneasy truce between this country and his own. He momentarily considered contacting the local authorities in the hope that they would return him to his father, but he quickly rejected the idea. He had no idea of how they would react to having a young American appear on their doorstep. Perhaps, believing he was a spy, they would torture and kill him. He wondered whether that would be any worse than facing his father's righteous anger and disappointment.

He wandered directionless for several miles. He had no idea of how long it had been since he had last eaten and he was becoming dizzy from hunger. The searing heat of the sun beat down on him with the blows of a heavy , burning hammer, sapped what little strength he had left. His feet felt as heavy as lead and yet his head felt impossibly light. The cool mountains on the horizon beckoned to him through the waves of heat that floated above the rapidly drying ground. Through the haze of choking yellow dust, Britt saw the fanciful lines of a Chinese pagoda, its blue-tiled tiered roofs curving like wings, but he dismissed it as a mirage of his fevered mind. Finally no longer able to go on, he collapsed in the shade of a small copse of trees along a mildly trickling stream. A horrible pain ripped through his gut, folding him into a tight ball as he lost consciousness.

II

Britt spun dizzily in fever dreams for many days. The faces of friends and relatives faded in and out before his eyes, some long dead like his vigilante great-uncle, others still living like the heavy breathing blonde from his journalism class. A long time ago, when he had been very young, he and his mother had drunk some tainted water while traveling with his father on an overseas assignment for one of the wire services. Britt and his mother came down with Cholera. Only Britt had survived. Or had his fate been merely postponed? Slowly reality took form as the fever dreams faded away into phantoms of memory and he found himself gazing into age-clouded black eyes set into a face yellowed and wrinkled like ancient parchment. Noticing that Britt had returned to full awareness the old man's face crinkled into a gentle smile. When Britt tried to push himself up the old man firmly pressed him back down with surprising strength. The old man spoke rapidly to someone just out of Britt's sight.

A young man came into view with the soft pad of bare feet on the highly polished wooden floor. He was about five or six years younger than Britt, and had the shaven head and saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. He listened attentively to the old man's instructions and then turned to Britt. "Are you English?" he asked in heavily accented English.

"No," Britt replied, "I'm American. Where am I?" he asked.

"You are at Shaolin tze, Young Forest Temple. Master Sung found you and has been taking care of you these last few days. I am called Shao Lung, Little Dragon." the young man explained, his pronunciation of the word shao seeming to Britt's ears to be somewhat different between that of the temple's name and his own. "Master Sung," he continued, "has instructed me to serve as your interpreter and guide. If you have any questions, I am here to answer them."

"Little Dragon," Britt asked, "That's an interesting name. Does it mean anything special?"

"It is the name I have been given, and it is the name you may call me by," the young man replied cooly, the tone of his voice barring any further question about his origins.

"I see," Britt said, wondering about the young man whose flashing black eyes suggested a nature far at odds with the supposedly contemplative personality of a monk. "Can I ask how come you know how to speak English?"

The young man nodded slightly. "When I was a young child, I lived with a Christian missionary and his family. They taught me how to speak and read English. I was sent here when they were forced to escape the Communists."

The elderly monk gently placed a delicate long-fingered hand on the shoulder of the young man and spoke to him. Shao Lung nodded and turned back to Britt. "Master Sung wishes to know who you are and how you came to be here so far from your native country."

"My name's Britt Reid," he answered, "I'm the son of an American newspaperman. My father and I were part of a group of newsmen invited here by the Communists to see how far China has progressed under their control. During the whole trip all that was shown to us were factories and model communes, so I decide to strike out on my own, and find out for myself what your country is really like. Unfortunately I don't know much Chinese, so when I tried to talk with some farmers I must have said the wrong thing because they took after me.

I got lost during a thunderstorm and fell into a ditch where I almost drowned. I don't have any idea of how long I was in the water or how far I was carried until I was washed up near your temple. I need your help. I have to find some way to reach my father and let him know that I'm okay."

The elder monk listened to Shao Lung's interpretation with a mildly amused expression. Then he slowly rose to his feet and after leaving a set of instructions, he glided out of the room.

"Wait a minute . . . " Britt began as he tried to climb out of the cot.

Shao Lung eased him back down. "Master Sung told me to tell you that he will do what he can to return you to your own people, but it will take time. You must be patient," he said soothingly. "Master Sung has also instructed me to see to your needs. Is there anything that you require?"

"Yeah. I'd like to have my clothes back," Britt said, suddenly keenly aware of his nakedness beneath the thick quilted blanket that covered him.

"I am sorry that is not possible. Your clothing was completely ruined and had to be disposed of."

"But isn't there something around here that I could put on? I can't go around here buck naked, and I sure as hell don't want to wear those robes you all wear," Britt objected.

"I will see what can be done. You are very tall and it will be very difficult to find or make something that will fit you," Shao Lung said and broke into a large grin.

"What's so funny?" Britt asked irritatedly, wondering if he was the butt of some kind of joke.

"Most of the monks here have never seen a European before. They were very surprised to see that there was so much hair all over your body."

"Great," Britt thought. Aloud he growled, "I'm sure glad I was able to provide some education for you."

Shao Lung's grin instantly disappeared at Britt's sudden anger, "I was not making fun of you. I was thinking of what some of them said. Some even said that it proves that Europeans are closer to apes than the Chinese are. I am sorry if I have insulted you."

Hardly appeased, Britt muttered, "Okay, apology accepted. That is if you can remember that I'm an American, not a European. Those are two absolutely different things. Now why don't you just get out of here, so I can get some rest." He was starting to feel ill again and he didn't want to show his weakness to this bothersome young stranger.

"I cannot do that. Master Sung ordered me to remain at your side. I must do as I was told," Shao Lung insisted.

"Fine," Britt muttered as he slumped under the coverlet and turned his back on his appointed caretaker. "Suit yourself."

As the days passed Britt's health steadily improved until he was strong enough to go on frequent guided tours of the monastery with Shao Lung. The monastery sat at the foot of cloud shrouded mountains whose rugged grey sides were barely covered by towering pines. The grey bricks and stone of the monastery's walls and buildings seemed as eternal and stolid as the mountains as if they were made of the living rock themselves.

From the monastery's high towers Shao Lung pointed out to Britt the softly rolling foothills which sheltered grey-bricked farmsteads surrounded by lush fields of ripening grain. Occasionally farmers and their families would come to the monastery seeking advice and treatment about an illness whether it be animal or human. So too did they come to have one of the monks read a letter received from a relative who gone to live in the city or conscripted into the army.

As he Wandered through the corridors and courtyards of the ancient monastery, Britt was fascinated by the slow, graceful rhythm of life within it. The monastery was alive with activities that made it nearly self sufficient. Gardens fed the mind and body with a wide variety of flowers, vegetables and medicinal herbs.

Through open doors and in the courtyards he could see monks and their students painting flowing brushstrokes upon rice paper so beautiful it was hard to decide whether what was being created was a poem, a philosophical treatise or a mountain-filled vista. He also listened in silence to music that Shao Lung described as exquisitely beautiful even though to his western ears it seemed to be painfully dissonant.

The unique martial art they practiced was especially intriguing to the young American. It was as much a part of their daily life as the chants and prayers that vibrated through the air at all hours of the day . He remarked to his young guide, "It's strange to see monks studying fighting. I've never heard of that in the West."

"It is not common here in China either. The techniques we practice were originally developed many centuries ago by the Buddhist monk, Bodhidharma, from India. By fully developing our physical strength, we are also developing our chi, our inner strength or life force. It is through gung fu which means literally in English, hard work, that we become more able to withstand the rigors of meditation and study. According to the principle of yin-yang, the balancing of opposites, we balance the quiet stillness of meditation with the physical exertion of gung fu."

"How good are you at this gung fu?" Britt asked.

Shao Lung grinned broadly, his coal-black eyes shining with pride, "Outside of just a few of the masters, I am the best. Someday I will surpass even them."

Britt smiled wryly as the boast, "Is that just your opinion, or do the others agree with you?"

Shao Lung snorted derisively. "The others say that I am lacking in the proper humility. They say that I am too proud and that I will never attain enlightenment if I do not respect my elders. Surely though, it is not good to be falsely humble. I know what I can do. I am only being honest when I say that I am very, very good. Surely it is the others who lack humility if they are too proud to admit my abilities because I am so young. Come," he said, "In the main courtyard, many of my brothers will be demonstrating their skills before the elder masters. I will show you how good I really am."

Shao Lung led Britt to a large sandy courtyard where most of the monks had gathered around its outer edges. Two men were already involved in a sparring match in the center. Shao Lung left Britt at the sidelines and walked quickly to a platform where Master Sung and the other elders of the monastery were seated. He spoke briefly with them and then disappeared into the crowd of young men waiting for their turn to display their skills.

Britt watched as man after man tested his skills against another. No one remained victorious very long, each finding defeat after taking on only a few opponents. Then the crowd murmured in awe and cleared a path as a newcomer entered the arena. He was almost Britt's height, but was much older with tough, ropy muscles that stood out on his spare form. He bowed to the elders on the dais and then to the victor of the last match. The victor returned the bow, but left the arena, unwilling to fight the older man.

Here, Britt, thought, must be one of the best fighters, for no one came forward to challenge him. Britt couldn't spot Shao Lung and wondered where he had gone to and whether he would see the boastful young man fight. He seriously doubted that Shao Lung would be able to fight this man, never mind defeating him.

Expressing supreme confidence in every movement of his slender muscular frame, Shao Lung entered the arena. He was wearing a black padded loin cloth and padded gloves that unlike the Western version, possessed fingers. Grinning broadly, Shao Lung bowed to his opponent who returned his bow with grim disapproval. The two men then bowed to the elders on the platform, and then to the monks assembled around them and finally again to each other.

They made several ritual gestures before the larger monk flicked a quick kick at the smaller Shao Lung. Shao Lung easily sidestepped it and countered with a kick of his own which the large monk avoided and countered with a blow of his own. They moved in a dizzying blur, as move and countermove followed in rapid succession without a single blow reaching home. The two men were evenly matched despite their difference in size and age and very rarely managed to land a blow upon his opponent.

Britt shot a quick glance at his watch. An hour had passed and there was still no winner. Neither man was willing yet to admit to a defeat or a draw although both were breathing heavily and their bodies glistened with sweat. Britt gazed at the setting sun, wondering what would happen if there was still no clear winner before nightfall. Would the match be stopped when it became too dark for the two fighters to see each other or would they just light some torches and wait until somebody dropped from sheer exhaustion?

Slowly Shao Lung's youthful stamina overcame the older man's skill and he began to increasingly break through his guard. He continued pressing his advantage, aggressively attacking his tiring opponent without letting up. Britt smiled in admiration. Perhaps the little guy wasn't full of hot air, after all. But as the last rays of the sun faded away Shao Lung suddenly broke off his assault and bowed in respect to the older man, who on wobbly legs returned it. The crowd roared its approval of Shao Lung's respectful gesture and the older man's skill.

Britt stayed at the edges of the crowd, watching Shao Lung and the older monk receive the congratulations of their fellows. Grinning broadly and flushed with victory, Shao Lung caught Britt's eye. He threaded through the saffron-robed throng, and caught up Britt's arm, leading him to a quiet corner.

"Very impressive," Britt admitted. "But why didn't you go ahead and finish him?"

Shao Lung shook his head. "There would have been no purpose to that. He is very good. I had no wish to disgrace him. Tell me, what do you think of gung fu now?" he asked eagerly.

It's an interesting fighting technique, but I don't think it'd be any good in a real fight," Britt commented.

"What do you mean, real fight?" Shao Lung demanded angrily.

"Well . . . all that ritual bowing and stuff. I mean, while you're busy doing that some guy could blow you away with a gun or stick you between the ribs," Britt explained.

Shao Lung crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Britt. "Of course you consider yourself an expert in that kind of fighting?"

"More than my father would willingly allow," Britt admitted. "In fact, he hired an ex-cop to keep me out of just that kind of trouble."

"So, how does one fight in a 'real' fight?" Shao Lung asked.

"For one thing. You throw all the rules out the window. And for another, you never give the other bum an even break."

"Is that the way people always fight in your country? Without honor? There is nothing there like gung fu?"

"In street fighting there is no honor, only survival. But while there is nothing just like gung fu, there are other, more formal, ways of fighting. Like boxing and wrestling. They have all kinds of rules about how you're supposed to fight, but . . . "

"What do you know of those fighting techniques?" Shao Lung interrupted. He was intrigued by the idea of new kinds of fighting techniques. "Do you know how to do them?"

"A little," Britt said with a slight shrug. "I've wrestled and boxed a little in high school and college and have always taken my weight class," he said in careless understatement. "But like I said, stuff like that is useless in the real world."

"That doesn't matter. I want you to teach me the Western way of fighting." Shao Lung demanded.

"I don't know. I'm not very good at teaching."

"Teach me what you do know, and I will teach you gung fu," Shao Lung offered.

"What makes you think I want to learn it?" Britt goaded. "I've never had any problems defending myself. Why should I go to the trouble of learning gung fu?"

"If you are too lazy to learn something new, that is your problem. I still want to learn the Western way of fighting. You will show me," Shao Lung demanded.

Britt shook his head. He was enjoying needling the cocky young oriental. "Nah. I don't want to hurt you. My father told me never to pick on anybody who's smaller than me. Besides you must be tired now."

Shao Lung stepped back, sizing up the big American, "I am not too tired to fight you. I think you are just full of talk. You don't really know Western fighting techniques, or," he paused meaningfully, "perhaps you are ashamed of what little skill you do have."

"Oh, you think so?" Britt asked, drawing himself to his full height, crossing his arms across his chest. He was over six inches taller than Shao Lung and even though he had lost a lot of weight during his illness, he still out weighed him by several pounds.

Shao Lung nodded curtly. "I know so," he said defiantly.

Britt looked at Shao Lung through narrowed eyes. "You remind me of someone I know."

"I remind you of a friend of yours?"

"Well, actually, you remind me of his chicken," Britt teased.

"His chicken?" Shao Lung exclaimed, outraged by Britt's insult.

"Yeah. You see, he owned this Bantam rooster," Britt said, enjoying Shao Lung's confusion. "And this rooster was the king of the chicken coop. He wouldn't let anybody mess with him. Pound for pound he was the toughest bird around. He wasn't afraid of anything. Not dogs, not cats, nothing. Well, one day this coyote, that's an animal that's kind of like a wolf, only smaller and a lot smarter. Anyway," Britt continued, warming up to his story. "This coyote came right into the chicken yard and chases all the other chickens around the place and this little rooster comes right up to the coyote and tries to take him on."

"And this, uh, coyote, is defeated by the rooster," Shao Lung interrupted impatiently, tiring of Britt's pointless story.

"Nope. The rooster gets eaten by the coyote," Britt finished, grinning broadly.

"I guess the point of your little story is that you see yourself as this coyote and me as the rooster," Shao Lung said contemptuously.

"No. What I'm getting at is that it doesn't matter how brave you are, if your opponent is a lot bigger than you, it's best not to try to fight him. You'll wind up losing if you do."

Shao Lung snorted derisively. "You have proven nothing, except you talk too much. Talking does not make the better fighter."

Britt glanced at the now-empty courtyard. "You sure you want to do it now? It's getting too dark for us to even see each other."

Shao Lung sidestepped to the courtyard's center and with a flourish of his hand pointed out the brilliant full moon above them. "The moon will be our light and the witness to your defeat."

"I'm not going to dress in no skimpy loincloth," Britt warned.

"That is not necessary. It is not the costume a man wears that matters, it is the man within it," Shao Lung countered angrily. "I am tiring of your delaying tactics. Prove to me right now that you are not all talk."

Britt shrugged his shoulders and ambled casually to the center of the courtyard and faced the slender oriental. Shao Lung made a deep bow and Britt returned it, but as he rose he threw a powerful roundhouse punch, knocking Shao Lung off his feet. Shao Lung rolled when he hit the ground and bounced back to his feet. "Why you . . . " he began heatedly.

"There are no rules in the real world, Shorty," Britt goaded.

The two young men wove in battle in the bright moonlight, their shadows intertwining and separating in eerie counterpoint. Neither man was willing to admit defeat at the hands of the other. Shao Lung had expected to defeat the American easily, but his fighting style was completely foreign to what he had ever experienced in the monastery. The precise forms and movements that had been constantly drilled into him were ineffective against the American braggart. He never did what Shao Lung expected him to do. He was never where he was supposed to be. His method of fighting was without grace or rhythm or style. Instead he possessed an amazing, brutally powerful strength, so that every hit he managed to get through Shao Lung's guard was enough to knock him dizzy. He felt like he was trying to knock down a tree with his bare feet. It was not impossible, but it was very difficult. And painful.

Britt too, found it hard trying to pin down the graceful Shao Lung. He was accustomed to using his size and strength to win, but he found it hard to get a hand on his elusive opponent. The much smaller Shao Lung repeatedly slipped out of his reach. Shao Lung's method of combining attack and block in the same movement made most of his few hits very costly. His body was starting to turn black and blue from failing to effectively protect himself. Suddenly he found his feet swept out from under him by a low sweeping kick. His breath was knocked out of him, but he swept up his own longer legs and knocked Shao Lung to the ground before he could dodge out of the way. Britt tried to press his advantage by using his greater weight to pin Shao Lung to the ground, but the agile young man repeatedly slipped out of his hold.

They grappled futilely for several long minutes until they were drenched by an icy bucket of water. Still holding the empty bucket, Master Sung angrily berated Shao Lung as he hastily climbed to his feet. Britt scrambled to his feet and stood next to the downcast Shao Lung. "Hey! Lay off him. I'm as much at fault as he is," Britt defended Shao Lung, not caring whether the old master understood him or not.

Master Sung glared at Britt's interruption and shot a few more angry words at Shao Lung, who meekly bowed at the old man's back as he stalked away.

"What did he say?"Britt demanded.

Thoroughly reprimanded, a crestfallen Shao Lung answered, "Master Sung said that we should not have been fighting. Even though you look and feel well, you are not yet fully recovered. A match such as this could make you very sick again. He reminded me that he had told me to watch over you. I have betrayed his trust in me. I have lost face."

"Good God, Shao Lung it's not all that bad. I'm fine. Can't you tell him that we weren't really fighting. I mean, well, that we weren't really mad at each other. We were just, uh, sparring, trying to find out how Western fighting techniques compare with gung fu," Britt said, absently wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He had not even noticed when it had started bleeding. He also noticed that Shao Lung was sporting an impressive shiner that had almost closed his right eye completely shut.

Shao Lung found a piece of cloth and gave it to Britt. "No. It was entirely my fault. I have failed Master Sung, myself and you," he said dejectedly.

"What will happen to you now?" Britt asked, worried that he might lose his only friend in the whole country. He hated to admit to himself that the idea of being alone again was frightening.

"I am to report to Master Sung in his quarters. He will tell me what my punishment is to be."

"Isn't there anything I can do? Anything I can say?"

Shao Lung shook his head sadly. "Nothing."

Shao Lung sat back on his haunches, tiredly surveying the expanse of the Great Hall that stretched around him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and flexed his fingers that were sore and raw from the harsh soap he was using to clean the floor.

"Can you use a hand?" Britt's voice echoed through the huge room as he walked toward Shao Lung with a bucket in his hand. "I guess this is the proper thing to wear when you're scrubbing floors in China," he said, tugging at the cotton loin cloth that wound between his buttocks. "I don't mind going native, especially since I don't have any of my own clothes, but I'll punch out anybody who tries to shave my head," he said with a crooked grin.

"You should not be here," Shao Lung said, surprised at Britt presence.

"Uh, uh. I should be here," Britt disagreed. "Since half of the blame is mine, so should half the punishment. I'm just glad that you only have to do was the floor. It's just this room's floor, right?"

"Yes. That is enough."

"Yeah, it sure is," Britt agreed, sizing up the hall's vast expanse and the massive Buddha that dominated the room with solemn eyes that flashed like something alive in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles that filled the entire hall with a soft golden glow that failed to penetrate the furthest corners.

Master Sung glanced through the slightly open door and smiled to himself. He was pleased to find that the two young men were beginning to cooperate with each other. Chin, the monk that Shao Lung had fought to a standstill, was not so pleased. "Again Shao Lung has disobeyed you. Now he is sharing with that foreigner the punishment that was to be his alone. He should have sent him away and done as he was commanded."

Master Sung shook his head, quietly pressing the door closed, not wishing to alert Shao Lung and Britt to the fact that they were being watched. "The American came of his own will and offered to share the punishment. That is most admirable. It is good that they are learning to work together."

"Work?" Hmph," Chin said derisively, "Listen to their laughter. They are not working. They are enjoying themselves. You cannot call what they are doing punishment.

"The object of punishment is to teach a lesson, to straighten a tree that is starting to grow crookedly, not to stunt its growth. I wanted Shao Lung to become friends with the American and now he is becoming so. The punishment is accomplishing it purpose. Those two young men are learning to work together and that is good. It is also good to hear Shao Lung laugh. Before I have only heard him laugh after he has won a match or played a trick on another. Now for the first time, I am hearing him laughing with a friend."

Chin shook his head disagreeably. "That Shao Lung. You never should have taken him in. He had been a constant threat to the tranquility of the temple. He is always impatient. The only time he is attentive is when we teach gung fu. Even then, he is always in a rush, always seeking the quickest and simplest way of doing something. He has no respect for the traditions of this temple."

"Nevertheless he is an excellent pupil and is quickly surpassing all others in skill. Soon, even you will have to acknowledge him as your better. Perhaps that is why you dislike him so," Master Sung pointed out.

"I am not the only one," Chin protested.

"No, you are not. Shao Lung is a gadfly. He irritates those who would rather remain set in their plodding paths, not caring where they are going or why. They are unable to look beyond their own noses to see the horizon. I wish we had more impatient ones like our little dragon. Times are changing and without the youth of ones like him this temple and everything it means will die."

Chin reluctantly yielded, "Despite my reservations, I will accept your decision as I always have, but the foreigner, he does not belong here. He is well now and he should leave us. If the Communists find out that he is here, it could endanger us all. All too often in the past our temple has been destroyed by governments that have objected to our activities. Even now they are trying to turn the villagers in the valley below our monastery against us. If they discover that foreigner among us," Chin warned, "They will have the excuse they need to destroy us."

"I cannot turn him out, to wander alone and defenseless in a country where he does not speak the language. He would be as helpless as a newborn babe and would soon come to harm. I cannot allow that. I found him and nursed him back to health. It is my duty to see that he is returned to his father safely," Master Sung argued gently.

"Then turn him over to the authorities. Perhaps if they understand that we were waiting for him to get well before turning him over to them, they will not punish us. I am sure they will return him to his own people safely," Chin said, trying to sound reasonable.

"If I could be sure of his safety, I would do as you suggest, but these people, these Communists, have no love of that young man's country. I fear that if I put him into their hands he will be harmed, or even killed. I cannot allow that to happen," Master Sung explained.

"Something must be done with him. He cannot stay here forever."

"I realize that. When the proper time comes, the solution will present itself."

"I do not share your faith in that happening. That foreigner's presence here will destroy us all."

"Perhaps that is our fate. My decision stands. We will not send him away until the proper time," Master Sung stated firmly, the tone of his voice allowing no further argument.

III

Britt pushed back from his writing for a moment, reading over what he had written while he waited for the ink to dry. He had decided to start a journal as a way to fill the time while the monks were involved in their meditations. It was impossible for him to use the brushes that the monks used for writing but Master sung had been able to produce from the monastery's storeroom an antique fountain pen. The brush ink was not the best for a pen, but he made do. He resolved that the next time he went on an adventure he would remember to take a pen along. Perhaps, he thought, the material he was putting down would form a good basis for an award winning story. Something that would make up for all the trouble he had caused his father.

"Uh, Shao Lung," he asked the young man as he entered the room, "Have you heard anything about my father and his party yet?"

"No. I am sorry, but there has been no news about them. But you shouldn't worry. It is very difficult for us to find out what is happening outside of the monastery."

"There must be some way that I can get in contact with the American consulate in Hong Kong," Britt said as he began pacing the room. "I have to find some way to get back home. I've been here for almost two months. Everyone probably has given me up for dead by now."

"Aren't you happy here?" Shao Lung asked.

Britt stopped his pacing. "Yeah. I guess in a way I've been happy here. I've learned about things, a way of life, I never though existed before. I'm glad that I've had that chance, but I don't belong here. I miss my father, and my friends. One way or the other, I must go home. Isn't there anything I can do, besides wait?"

Shao Lung thought for a moment. "There is nothing either of us can do, but I have heard that Chin knows many people in the village. Perhaps he could find a way of getting word out to your people that you are safe," he suggested.

"Hey! That's a great idea," Britt said eagerly. "Why don't we talk to him right now? Why didn't you mention him before?"

"He has never accepted your being here. I don't know if he will want to help you," Shao Lung said as he tried to keep up with Britt who was already out the door.

"If he doesn't want me here, then he should be happy to get rid of me," Britt reasoned.

"His way of getting rid of you, might not be the same as yours," Shao Lung warned, "It could be very unpleasant."

"Of course, I am willing to help you. I have made no secret of my objection to your being here. I will be very glad to help you return to your own people," Chin smiled smugly as he watched the surprised Shao Lung translate his words. "Shao Lung and I have not been the best of friends, but that is to be expected when the young try to usurp their betters."

Shao Lung frowned angrily at Chin's words, saying to Britt, "Sometimes the incompetent have an inflated idea of their own abilities."

When Chin asked Shao Lung what he had said, Britt tightly grasped his friend's arm to stop him from literally interpreting what he had said, "Tell him that I will be forever in his debt and that I will greatly appreciate any aid he will be able to give me," Britt said and added, "Don't queer things for me by getting him mad at us," he warned.

After the pair had left, Chin rose and gazed toward the village where the peasants were returning from their work in the fields. "Yes, young man, I can understand your eagerness to go," he said to himself with a wolfish grin, "And I will be very happy to aid you. Whether you will truly appreciate what I do, that will be another matter, but that is not important. I will be rid of you and that bothersome upstart as well."

After many days of anxious waiting Britt was, for the hundredth time, pulling out the few things he had collected during his stay at the monastery. He arranged them and rearranged them, trying to decide the best way to pack them for his eagerly anticipated trip home. "You act like you will be leaving soon," Shao Lung remarked, watching Britt rolling his journal in oilcloth and tying it with a red cord.

"I just want to be prepared," Britt explained. "When the word comes, I may have to move quickly. I don't want to forget anything."

"You should not count so much on Chin's being able to help you. He might fail, or he may not be doing what he said he would. I think you are trusting him too much."

Without stopping what he was doing, Britt answered, "Maybe I am and then again, maybe not, but I have a feeling that I better be prepared all the same," he paused, suddenly noticing that Shao Lung seemed to be upset. "What's bugging you?" he asked worriedly. "Have you heard something you're not telling me?"

"I have heard nothing. It's just . . . It's just that I have enjoyed your company a great deal. I am going to miss you very much."

"I'll miss you too. I'll try to keep in touch. I promise," Britt said, relieved that there was no bad news for him.

"I want to go with you," Shao Lung blurted out quickly.

Britt stared at his friend, surprised by the desperation in his voice. "Why would you ever want to leave here?"

"For the same reasons you do," Shao Lung replied, trying not to sound so desperate. "I don't want to live the rest of my life here. The others might be satisfied with it. Some, like Chin, have even chosen to return, preferring the life of a monk to that of the outside world. I have never had that chance. I want to see something of the world you have told me so much about. This might be my last chance. If you go and I cannot leave with you, I might have to stay here the rest of my life."

"I don't see why you'd want to leave here. It's nothing like you've imagined. For a lot of people it's a dreary stifling existence of trying to make it from one day to another, keeping just one step ahead of the bill collector. Your life here is much better. Much easier. It's safe, ordered, peaceful. There are none of the headaches that plague the rest of us."

"I don't want a life of just meditation and contemplation. I want more out of my life than that. I want to do something with my life. Please give me that chance," Shao Lung pressed.

Barely convinced, Britt relented. "I'll try to get you out of here, but it won't be easy. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble with my father and probably with the governments of the U.S. and China too. So I'm not exactly the right person to plead your case. But if I can get out of here, I'll do everything I can to get you out too."

Suddenly they fell to the floor as the ground beneath their feet shook violently. "What the hell?" Britt said, pulling himself to his feet. "Was that an earthquake?"

"No," Shao Lung said, running to an outer window. "Look! We're being attacked," he said, pointing to a wave of blue clothed figures that poured through the temple's shattered gates. Before Britt could move to stop him, Shao Lung charged out of the room. Britt looked at the things on the bed, briefly considering striking out on his own. With a sigh, he decided against it.

It was a hopeless battle from the beginning. Although the Shao-lin monks were martial arts experts, they could not overcome the relentless tide of humanity that pressed against their small numbers. Not matter how many people fell beneath the monks whirling hands and feet and the ancient weapons they used, there were always more to take their fallen comrades' places.

Elbowing, shoving and punching anybody who got in the way, Britt waded through the surging humanity that filled the courtyard. He avoided the pockets of pitched battle that swirled around him, trying not to get involved in the useless defense of the temple which was already starting to smoulder from the many torches brought by the fanatical Maoists who chanted sayings from the little red books clutched in their hands as they bore down upon the temple's defenders.

Only by the virtue of his greater height was he finally able to spot Shao Lung pressed into a corner against the temple wall. Britt shoved and threw out of his way anyone who happened to block his path to his embattled friend's side. He arrived just in time to see Shao Lung fall under the sheer weight of his attackers. Desperately Britt dug his way through the struggling bodies, tossing away each one like so much trash, until he was able to lift his friend clear.

"We've got to get out of here!" he shouted, pulling Shao Lung to his feet and half-carrying him to the quiet of the Great Hall.

"No! I can't. I must stay to defend the temple!" Shao Lung shouted back to Britt, roughly pulling out of his grasp.

"It's no use. We've got to get out of here before the whole place burns down."

"No. I will not leave the others. If they die here, so will I," Shao Lung declared stubbornly.

"The American is right, Shao Lung. You and he must leave now," Master Sung said quietly, seeming to come from nowhere. " The temple is falling. You must escape now, while there is still time."

"Are you coming with us?" Britt asked.

"No. My time is almost over. I will spend what time I have left here," Master Sung said calmly as he knelt before the giant Buddha.

"Then I will die defending you peace," Shao Lung fiercely announced.

"No, Little Dragon, it is critical that you survive. And the American as well."

"My duty is here, with you," Shao Lung argued.

"Your duty is to deliver him to his people safely. He cannot survive in the countryside alone."

Britt nervously watched the outer door as Shao Lung spoke to his master. He could hear the mob's shouts echo through the courtyard above the screams of the dying monks. The air in the hall was already becoming heavy with the smell of the monastery's ancient timbers burning. He hoped that they decided what to do soon, or it would be too late for them to do anything.

"Young Reid," Master Sung addressed Britt in English, "You and Shao Lung must leave here immediately."

"You knew how to speak English all this time?" Britt said in shocked surprise.

Master Sung nodded and smiled benevolently. "Much can be learned from one when he thinks another does not understand what he is saying. You must safeguard Shao Lung. He is very valuable. He is the one that those outside want. You must make sure he does not fall into their hands. That was my duty which I must now turn over to you."

"They won't take me alive," Shao Lung angrily interrupted, "I will make sure that many will die in the attempt."

Ignoring Shao Lung's outburst, Britt asked, "Why is he so important to them?"

"I cannot tell you that. Shao Lung will tell your father and those of your people who are in authority and only them." Master Sung told Britt. "Behind the great statue is a secret passageway between the temple and the cliffs. You will take that to safety."

"My things . . . " Britt began.

"No need to worry. They are safe in the passageway. Take them and leave here quickly," Master Sung instructed. "Shao Lung, you will go with young Reid. You will not argue with me about this."

Shao Lung bowed to Master Sung, his mouth a hard straight line.

"Die traitor! Die with all that you hold dear!" screamed Chin, firing a shotgun blast into the elder monk's back, killing him instantly.

Shao Lung launched himself into the air with the terrifying scream of a wounded wildcat. Chin caught him in midair with the butt of the shotgun, knocking him to the ground. Shao Lung tumbled to the floor, but back-flipped to his feet in a single sinuous movement. Chin threw aside the gun, its butt shattered from it impact with Shao Lung's body. "Now Shao Lung you will acknowledge me as your true master," chin declared, bowing to the much younger man.

"Never will I acknowledge you as anything as anything but a fool and a murderer," hissed Shao Lung through clenched teeth, returning Chin's bow.

Britt quietly walked to the old monk's body and covered it with the folds of his saffron robe. "Goodbye, Old Man," he said softly.

He stood upright and watched for a few moments as Chin and Shao Lung stalked around each other, trying to find an opening in each other's defense. Several times one or the other would make a feint trying to force the other to make a false move, but Britt could see that they were too well matched and that it would be along time before there was an obvious winner. He decided that he and Shao Lung did not have that time. He picked up the discarded shotgun and fired a blast over the combatants' heads. "I have no more time for this bullshit. We are leaving right now," he gritted in a deadly serious voice.

Chin whirled and flashed a throwing dart at Britt who barely dodged the poisonous missile. Reflexively he fired and Chin fell to the floor, cursing the intruding American with his last breath.

"You interfered!" Shao Lung accused angrily, "You had no right!"

"I don't give a damn if I had the right or not," Britt retorted heatedly.

"What you did was dishonorable."

"Damn it! In the real world there is no such thing as honor. There is only survival. Master Sung wanted me to watch out for you, although right now it escapes me why I should. But I made a promise and I plan to keep it even if I have knock you out and carry you out of here," Britt said grimly, his pale blue eyes not betraying the sickness he felt in his gut. He had never killed a man before, nor seen one shattered by a shotgun blast.

Shao Lung ground his teeth in indecision. It would be so easy to beat the big American, even with a gun in his hands. He shot a quick glance at Master Sung's cloaked body.

"He's dead," Britt said softly.

"He will live in me forever," Shao Lung said. "You have avenged his death. In time the death of the others and the destruction of this temple will be avenged as well. Even if there is no honor in the 'real' world, there is such a thing as revenge." He glared defiantly at Britt. "And such a thing as promises. We have made those that we must fulfill," he said, walking toward the great Buddha.

Shao Lung squeezed behind the massive statue until he discovered a thin sliver of light from a secret door that was held open by an olive-green knapsack. He nudged it with his foot and seeing that it was fully packed, he nodded to himself. He headed back the way he had come to fetch Britt who was on alert for any more intruders into the great Hall.

"I've found the door. It's a tight squeeze, but it can be done."

The door opened up to a narrow cleft between the outer wall of the monastery and the sheer cliffs behind it. The shadows from the monastery's massive wall hid them from view, but did nothing to shield them from the terrific heat from the late afternoon sun impassively shining on the dying monastery. Britt rested his back against the great stone wall, trying to get his bearings, but he could still feel the heat from the fires that raged within right through the thick wall. "We better get moving," he said to Shao Lung who was leaning against a huge boulder that blocked the path. "I don't know how much longer those walls are going to hold."

"The smoke's going to be thick through here, too," Shao Lung commented as he started scrambling over the rock. Once he reached the top, he extended a hand up to Britt. "The path is blocked with old rock-falls. We're going to have a hard time getting through."

"Yeah," Britt agreed grimly as he reached to top. "But it's better than being caught in that inferno inside those walls."

"Do you think anyone else got out?" Shao Lung asked.

"Maybe," Britt said, although he personally had serious doubts that any of the monks had been able to escape. He also had serious doubts that any of the attackers had possessed enough sense to escape the flames they had set.

Britt urged Shao Lung along as the massive walls began to crack and groan. "Watch where you're going. Those walls don't look very stable." Suddenly he shouted, "Look out!" Shao Lung saw the falling piece of stonework moments too late and disappeared under it. Britt shoved his shoulder against the rock, but it refused to budge.

"Leave me," Shao Lung urged from under the rock. "It's no use. Get out of here before the rest of the wall comes down."

"I'm not leaving you," Britt said as he tried shoving at the rock again. "I will move that damn thing off you."

Another piece of stonework came tumbling down, narrowly missing Britt. "Get out of here!" Shao Lung screamed at Britt. "At least one of us should get out of here alive!"

"No way. I promised that old man that I'd get you out in one piece and that's what I'm going to do." Britt bit his lip, trying to figure out what to do. "Besides I can't manage without you," he admitted quietly as he walked around the rock.

What was it that Master Sung had told him about? About something called chi. He shook his head. When the old monk had told him about it, he had dismissed it as a bunch of Eastern gobbledygook. Now he wondered was it possible? Could he do it? He closed his eyes. Above the crackle of the flames that were only a few feet behind the thick wall he could hear Shao Lungs labored breathing. He knew that the young oriental was in pain despite his efforts to hide it.

Britt tried closing that all out, trying to quiet the fear and apprehension that threatened to drown him. He tried to clear everything from his mind. The logical side of him told him that it was impossible, that the rock was far too big. No one could do it. He reached further into himself, blanking out the negative thoughts, remembering stories of desperate people under desperate circumstances lifting impossible weights to save another's life. He reached past the desperation, past the fear, past must and into could. He pressed his shoulder again against the rock and pushed. The rock gave a little, but Britt didn't notice. He didn't notice his back protesting, his leg and arm muscles knotting and screaming against the demand for the impossible. It wasn't impossible. It was possible. The rock gave way.

Britt stood motionless. His entire body was shaking from the unusual strain. He sat on the ground next to Shao Lung who stared at him in open mouthed amazement. At the same time they asked each other, "Are you okay?" and grinned in relief.

Britt and Shao Lung continued along the narrow path between the monastery and the cliffs. The sky was darkening with the coming of evening and black clouds heavy with rain were beginning to roll in. Finally they were clear of the monastery, but the path was no wider than the width of a man's shoulder. A heavy wind was picking up and threatened to tear them from the narrow path. Clutching at the sides of the cliff they continued on until they came to a narrow cleft cut into the rock. They entered and found an old door solidly blocking their way. Thunder crashed overhead and rain began clattering against the cliff wall. Shao Lung pressed his hands against the door, but it didn't budge. He looked questioningly at Britt who shook his head.

"It's your turn now," Britt said.

Shao Lung ran his hands around the door until he felt a small depression. He eased his fingers through it and pressed something. The door slowly creaked open. Shao Lung entered first, but stopped cold just within the entrance. Like something out of his worst nightmares a gigantic demon of brightly painted stone glared down at him. In its hands it held a huge curved sword that looked ready to slice him in half.

Britt's low whistle broke his trance. "Wow, this must be some kind of secret sanctuary for the monastery."

"This is a sacred place," Shao Lung whispered, not wishing to disturb the forbidding silence. He saw Britt pull out some matches that had been waterproofed by imbedding in wax. "We should not be here," he said uneasily.

Britt scraped some wax free from the tip of the match and reached for a torch set into the wall. "We have no choice. Besides Master Sung wouldn't have shown us the way if we shouldn't be here." He lit the torch. "This place must go on forever," he commented, peering into the depths of the cavern. "Have you ever heard of this place before?"

"No. Probably only the elders knew about it."

"So you don't think Chin knew about it."

"I doubt it. I don't think he was much trusted after returning to the monastery.

"Good."

"Why?" Shao Lung asked, puzzled. "Chin is dead. We are safe now."

"Maybe. But I'm worried about what he might have told his friends in the village."

"Why?"

"It's obvious he told them about us. He probably thought that the authorities would come and get us and then he would have us out of his life and probably have some kind of big reward for it in the bargain."

"You must be wrong. He would have never betrayed the monastery like that. True he hated the two of us, but he was part of the temple. I don't think he would have had a hand in its destruction. Remember, he called Master Sung a traitor. It sounds like he thought Master Sung was responsible for the attack."

"No. I don't think so," Britt said. "I think he held Master Sung responsible for allowing us to stay at the temple. I think his buddies in the village pulled a double cross on him. They probably thought it would be a good way to destroy the monastery, which is an insult to their Communist beliefs, and get us out of there without leaving anybody alive who might know about us. Which brings me to the question. Why are you so important? They could use me in some kind of trade or blackmail, but you - Why are you so important to them?"

"I can't tell you. I was forbidden to tell anyone, even you."

"Master Sung said you could tell my father. Why can't you tell me? I would like to know why those people back there had to die. I'd like to know what I'm against," Britt insisted.

Shao Lung sadly shook his head. "I am sorry, but I still can't tell you. I must do as I was ordered. You need not worry. As soon as I see you returned to your own people, I will leave."

"That's not what Master Sung wanted."

"I know, but I have been responsible for too many deaths already. It is safer for you if we separate after you are well on your way out of China."

"You're mighty selective about what orders you will and will not obey," Britt remarked wryly.

"I am doing this for your sake and for the sake of everyone else. I am cursed. I have been cursed from the day I was born. My mother died bearing me. The missionary who raised me and his family barely escaped with their lives when the Communists came to power. Now the monastery is destroyed and all the monks are dead, including Master Sung. Every life I have touched has been destroyed. I don't want to destroy yours as well."

"You've just had a run of bad luck. There is no such thing as curses. That's just a bunch of superstition."

Shao Lung snorted derisively. "Like all Westerners, you dismiss something as superstition because you don't understand it. You can't feel it, you can't weigh it, you can't measure it with your instruments so you call it superstition. There are things in this world that are beyond human knowledge, but they are real, even though they can't be known by Western methods. How do you think you lifted that stone? You could not possibly have lifted it, but you did. You found something in yourself and used it to free me. Something that cannot be measured, or experimented with, but yet it still exists."

"Yeah, well, people have been known to do things like that under a lot of stress. That's all that I did. Nothing more. There's nothing supernatural about it."

"Of course, it's not supernatural. I never claimed that it was, but logically speaking what you did was impossible, and yet you did do it. I saw how you were. You weren't panicking. You were calm and under control. You drew something out of yourself and you lifted that rock. You did it consciously. You willed yourself to do it. I challenge you to explain it according to your Western logic."

"Maybe you're right about some things, but that still doesn't mean that curses are real. You can't make me believe that you are cursed. I'm still going to see that you come to the States with me. That's what you said that you wanted and that's what Master Sung wanted. By the way isn't there some kind of tradition about serving someone after he's saved your life?"

"There is, but I warn you, don't try to hold me to it. You'll come to regret it."

"If that's the only way I can get you to come with me, I will hold you to it."

Shao Lung shook his head. "You're a fool. Some day in the future you will wish you had left me here in China."

Britt smiled ruefully. He opened the knapsack and pulled out some food. "My father always said I didn't have a lick of sense," he said offering some of the food to Shao Lung.

"Your father was right," Shao Lung agreed, refusing the food with a shake of his head.

"You should eat something," Britt said, "You got to save your strength. We have a long way ahead of us."

"I'm not hungry."

"Have it your way," Britt said as Shao Lung huddled against the cold rock wall, his slight shoulders bowed beneath his soot-darkened robes. Above his head, devout worshipers danced in a tropical paradise, the colors of the ancient painting still luridly bright.

Britt gazed curiously about him. Then he noticed a red silken cord disappearing into the cavern's depths. "Stay here," he said pointing out the cord, "I'm going to check that out."

Shao Lung raised his head, "Don't. It could be dangerous. There might be traps to kill trespassers."

Britt shook his head, "That cord looks recent. Maybe it's meant as a guide to a way out of here."

"Don't go!" Shao Lung said uselessly as Britt lit another torch and disappeared into the darkness. He shook his head at the American's stubbornness, stood up, picked up the knapsack and followed him.

The cavern was a maze of galleries filled with sacred carvings and paintings done by generations of devout artisans. The most ancient works bore the brilliant colors and sensually lithe figures of Buddhism's Indian origins, while the later works were the more subtle shades and forms of a mature Chinese style.

Other rooms contained intricately carved wooden chests and wardrobes. Intrigued by what they might contain, Britt lifted the lid of one and found inside heavy silk robes that were heavily embroidered in fanciful designs of dragons and wild creatures of the forests. Shao Lung grabbed his arm, when he reached to open another chest, "Don't touch these things," he cautioned, "It is enough that we are in here at all. It is not right to disturb these things."

Britt's eyes burned with excitement. "This stuff could've belonged to royalty. There might be gold here or jewels. Just think of what might have been stashed here for centuries."

"Anything here of great value will be protected. There will be ways to stop the greedy from taking those things."

Britt pulled his arm free. "I'm not being greedy. I'm not just interested in whether it's valuable. Just think of the historical importance of this stuff. I know people who would give their eyeteeth to be in our shoes right now."

Shao Lung reached again for Britt as he strode for a black lacquered wardrobe. A low hiss and Britt turned barely in time to see a red-tasseled lance shoot out of a far wall, aiming for Shao Lung's heart. Britt tackled him scant moments before the shining tip found its mark.

Shao Lung stared at the black shaft harmlessly lying beside him, "Again, you have saved my life. Thank you."

"Yeah. Except this time it was my fault. My stupidity almost killed you. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you," Britt said, helping Shao Lung to his feet. "Am I forgiven?" he asked.

Shao Lung smiled. "Yes, but this time, no more side trips. I want to get out of here as soon as possible."

Britt agreed and they continued to follow the red cord until they came to a blank wall. "Another hidden door, I bet," Britt said, searching for a way to open it.

Shao Lung nodded his agreement. "You're right, and here," he said, bending down to pick up a bundle laying against the wall, "Are some clothes and some more food. And," he added, "Some gold and silver coins," as he sifted glittering coins in the torchlight.

Morning found the two young men shuffling through the thick yellow dust of an old dirt road along the broad muddy river that still frothed violently with the flood waters from the previous night's thunderstorm. "How much further until we get to the next village?" Britt asked as Shao Lung consulted the map that Master Sung had placed in the knapsack.

"According to this map, we may reach the next village by nightfall, that is if it is still there. This is a very old map." Shao Lung gazed critically at Britt appearance. "I'm afraid that even with those clothes Master Sung packed, you will still attract too much attention. You are far too tall and your eyes and complexion will not allow you to pass as Chinese."

Britt kicked up some of the dirt with his foot, "You're right, but maybe if I'm really dirty and hunch over a bit maybe people won't notice."

"And if you pull the cap way down and keep your eyes lowered maybe they won't be noticed either. But if you do all that, you will be noticed anyway because you are acting strangely."

"Whatever I do, I'll attract attention we don't want," Britt agreed. "I don't have any idea of what to do. At least now that your hair is growing out you won't be connected with the monastery."

Shao Lung replaced the map and looked down the road. "We have a long way to go. We better get going."

"Yeah," Britt agreed as he slung the knapsack over his shoulder.

As Shao Lung predicted, they reached the village just as the sun began sinking below the horizon. A very ancient town, old even in the days of the emperors, it was much larger than most of the tiny hamlets Britt and Shao Lung had bypassed on their journey away from the doomed monastery. It was one of the few good fording points across the great river, and since time immemorial it had been an important crossroads for travelers and the major marketplace for the farmers of the region. Unlike the poor farming villages its narrow twisting streets were full of bustling activity as grain laden ox carts threaded their way to the docks along the river.

They wandered along the streets until Britt spotted a long line of men busy loading an old rusting hulk of a barge. "That's our key out of here," he said.

"How is that?" Shao Lung asked.

"We'll just join that work gang and when the barge leaves, we'll be on board. It should be a snap."

Shao Lung looked side wise at Britt, wondering how many of the tall American's plans turned out as they were supposed to.

With the heavy bales on their backs, the two young men melted easily into the long line of workmen. Throughout the night they worked, waiting until the ship was nearly full. "We'll hide behind those boxes until the barge leaves port," Britt said.

"And then what will we do?" Shao Lung asked skeptically.

"When the barge gets to the mouth of the river, we'll find a way to get south to Hong Kong or maybe north to South Korea."

Shao Lung stared at Britt in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how we will do that?"

"No, but when the time comes, I'm sure something will come up," Britt said confidently.

Settled into the narrow niche they had built from a clever arrangement of boxes and bales of grain, they quickly fell into a deep sleep and were barely aware of when the barge weighted anchor and began its slow way down the river. The barge's gentle wallowing sway rocked them into a deep dreamless slumber, until they were jerked awake by a bright light, and a gruff voice. Kicking the boxes away from around the two young men, a large man lifted Shao Lung up and threw him against the bulkhead.

Britt rose to his feet and rammed his fist into the man's soft belly. Shoving him against the bulkhead near where the stunned Shao Lung was gathering his feet beneath him. "Tell the bastard I want to see the captain," Britt gritted through clenched teeth to Shao Lung, as he locked his hapless prisoner with an icy glare, banging the man's head against the bulkhead a few times to make his point. Surprised by Britt's sudden change in temperament, Shao Lung rapidly did as he was told.

Captain Chou stared open mouthed at the tall man that his first mate escorted into his cramped cabin. He was obviously a foreigner, but he had never seen such a one as him. Despite his filthy clothes and stubbled beard he carried himself proudly, with more authority than suited one so young. He tried to avoid the young man's unnaturally pale eyes, but was as compelled to look into them like a helpless bird caught by the malevolent gaze of a cobra. Mentally he fumbled through his memory for an old charm against the evil eye that his grandmother had taught him. He barely noticed the young Chinese who quickly interpreted the round eye's words. "We want passage on this miserable ship of yours. It is not for you to ask us our reasons for it is none of your business," he said arrogantly.

"But the authorities, if they find out, I will be executed," the captain protested.

"They will not find out if no one tells them," Shao Lung translated as Britt dug into the knapsack and drew out several large, heavy silver coins. "This is half of your payment. You will get the rest when you deliver us to where we want to go. Where is your ship heading?"

"Jinan is our final destination. It will take us several days to get there. We have many stops to make along the way," Captain Chou answered, hungrily eyeing the gleaming coins in the tall one's hand.

"Good, then we will pay you to continue on past Jinan until you reach the mouth of the river. We will leave your ship then and pay you the rest of the money at that time. It is in your best interest that you do not betray us. If you do, we will tell the authorities that you offered to give us passage for payment. Are you willing to gamble that they won't believe us? Now, you will instruct your people to leave us alone. My companion here, will take care of our needs," Britt ordered through Shao Lung, "And you will give him whatever we need."

The captain bowed his obedience as Britt handed him the coins. His eyes eagerly measured their worth as they clinked into his open palm. They were enough to fully repair his ship. The total promised amount would be more than enough to buy another, or better yet buy him easy passage out of this damnable communism that he had been trapped into. He had also caught the gleam of gold sparkling deep in the tall one's satchel. The captain knew that neither man would be able to remain awake all the time. Sometime they would both have to rest and then he would see that these stowaways feed the fishes. After, of course, he had separated them from their money.

Shao Lung angrily turned to Britt when they were alone in the small space in the hold that had been hastily cleared for them. "I don't like the way you took over. You have no right treating me like I was some kind of servant. I could have taken that man without your interference."

"And then what would you have done with him?" Britt argued. "He's the First Mate. He would've been missed sooner or later."

Shao Lung shrugged. "I don't know, but how can you be so naive? You know we can't trust that captain. Even now, I know he is thinking of a way to kill us and take our money."

"I know that. That's why we can't ever let our guard down."

"It's going to be a very long trip. I don't think we will be able to last that long. The captain and his entire crew will be waiting for any chance to overcome us."

"That's the chance we will have to take. I don't like it any more than you do," Britt admitted.

"Promise me one thing then."

"What?"

"The First Mate. I want him."

"He's yours."

Captain Chou patiently bided his time for several days. Trying to allay any suspicions that his unexpected guests might have, he frequently went out of his way to see that they were made comfortable and lacked nothing. Early in the morning they would be coming into the port at Jinan, so the night before he called his First Mate and some of his more bloodthirsty crewmen into his cabin. "Did the round eye and his dog see you come in here?" he asked the First Mate.

The First Mate grinned a rotten gap-toothed smile. "No. They are too busy eating our rice to notice anything."

"Good. Then we will be upon them before they are even aware what is happening." He noted with approval the deadly sharpness of the machetes that the First Mate and his men were caressing. His 'passengers' might be formidable hand to hand fighters, but asleep and unarmed they would be easy game. Soon, very soon, the gold and silver in the tall one's pack would be his as well as any kind of reward those communist bureaucrats might deign to give him.

The captain and his crew crept across the barge's heavily loaded deck. The sky was pitch black and a fierce wind snatched at their clothing. A jagged bolt of lighting knifed across the sky, a herald of the coming storm. Already the ungainly barge was starting to lurch back and forth upon the wind-driven waves. The captain thought for a moment about returning to the wheelhouse, and leaving his men to do the dirty work alone, but he did not trust them. Far too easily they could take most of the money and leave him with only a small fraction. Although they had sailed many times together, he could not trust them not to betray him or even decide to kill him as well as the strangers.

The hold was not completely dark as a sputtering oil lamp that swayed with the ship's slow rocking filled the area with a dim, fitful light. The captain halted his crew and signaled for silence. He motioned toward the two forms wrapped in thin blankets laying on the floor. "The fools," the captain said to himself. As he had expected the two had become careless and both were soundly asleep. With blood curdling screams the captain and his men charged upon the two forms and began fiercely hacking at them. Suddenly behind them issued a strange unearthly yell.

Shao Lung flew into them and disarmed one after another with flying feet and deadly fists before they could make a move. One man charged Shao Lung from behind with a raised machete but before he could bring it down, Britt had wrapped his forearm around his neck in an iron grip. He lifted the man into the air until he lost consciousness and then threw his aside like an old rag doll. Back to back Britt and Shao Lung fought using stout poles to fend off the deadly machetes that slashed through the air toward their heads, legs or anything else that might be exposed.

Shao Lung's pole was sliced in half from a powerful stroke by the First Mate, but instead of being at a disadvantage, Shao Lung swung and flashed the two halves, turning them into impromptu nunchaku. He knocked the machete from the First Mate's hands with a numbing force and then smashed his head with a single powerful blow. Shao Lung leaped over the First Mate's body, ready for further battle, but found no one else to fight.

Filled with the hot flush of victory, Shao Lung walked to Britt who held the captain captive with his back against some bales of grain. Britt grimly looked at the bloodied skull of the First Mate. "Did you have to kill him?" he asked.

"Of course. He was trying to kill me." Shao Lung said, surprised by Britt's disapproval. They had been in a battle for their lives and yet Britt expected him to try to preserve the lives of those who had planned to kill them in their sleep.

"I guess you couldn't help killing him. It's just that I don't feel right about killing somebody. Even if he was a no-good bastard." Britt admitted, unable to fully explain what he felt. "Tell the captain here that he had forfeited his payment. From now on the ship is ours. If he wishes to live, he had better cooperate."

With the grudging aid of the captain and those of his men who had not been killed in the fight, Britt and Shao Lung guided the barge past the port of Jinan with its running lights darkened. "Captain, do you know if there are patrol boats past Jinan?" Britt asked the sullen captain through Shao Lung.

Captain Chou hesitated, considering the value of lying, but a quick slash of Shao Lung's hand stopping just a fraction away from his throat convinced him to tell the truth. "As you come closer to the river's mouth, the patrol boats become as thick as flies. You will not escape them. Give me back my ship and I will leave you on the river's bank. Perhaps if you are very lucky, you will find another way out of China."

Britt sat uneasily on the barge's deck. They had shut the barge's engines down in an effort to escape the Chinese army patrol boats and were floating along with the river's current. A thick fog had floated in with the first rays of the new morning. It covered the river and the ship like a heavy, damp blanket. From his vantage point he could barely see the barge's bow. The trees along the banks were ghostly forms barely visible from the ship. The fog muted all sounds. All he could hear was the quiet slapping of the waves against the ship's sides as it floated soundlessly with the river's current.

Shao Lung softly cleared his throat as he came up beside Britt. "I don't like this. I can't see anything. We could be lost and never know it."

Not wanting to break the oppressive silence, Britt whispered, "Don't worry about getting lost. We're riding with the current and there's only one way to go and that's straight to the ocean, exactly where we want to go. Besides this fog is a lucky break for us. All night we've been able to elude patrol boats, and now with this fog we will be covered until late in the morning. By then we should be well out to sea."

Shao Lung remained unconvinced. "Maybe you're right, but it still bothers me," he said, rubbing his arms with his hands against the damp chill.

A low throbbing noise caught Britt's attention. He impatiently motioned for silence, trying to isolate the sound's source. As he stood listening as crewman appeared out of the mist. Shao Lung listened closely to the agitated man. Alarmed, he quickly translated, "He says that a ship is approaching us. It's moving very fast and is directly in our way."

Britt swore. "It's probably a patrol boat. In this fog it won't be able to see us until it's too late. There's no time for us to get the engines going for us to get out of its way." His eyes narrowed as he thought of their options. "We're going to have to abandon ship. Get the men organized and get them on board the lifeboat. I'll meet you there after I pick up some things from the cabin."

"I'll go with you."

"No. You have to get the crew to safety. You're the only one who can do that."

"Then forget your things. They can be replaced."

"I'm not leaving my journal. I've put too much work into it for it to wind up on the bottom of the river," Britt insisted. "Now get going. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

Britt watched Shao Lung for a moment as he disappeared into the fog and then moved toward the captain's cabin. He and Shao Lung had taken it for their own when they had taken over the ship. Although it was cramped and stank of stale cigarette smoke and sweat, it had been better than the hole they had occupied below decks. Britt almost reached the door when a terrible shudder shook the ancient barge. Britt glanced toward the bow and saw a massive flame piercing the grey cloud that surrounded them. He momentarily considered leaving his things behind but decided against it.

Suddenly the ship tilted starboard violently, flinging Britt against the opposite bulkhead. He pulled himself to his feet and scrambled for the backpack laying on the bed. Again the dying ship tilted crazily, forcefully throwing Britt against the other bulkhead, banging his head against the tarnished brass rim of the cabin's lone porthole. Britt painfully shook his head trying to see through the fog that seemed to have invaded the cabin. He touched his fingers to the back of his head and gazed uncomprehendingly at the sticky wetness on his fingertips. Blinking his eyes in confusion, Britt forced disobedient legs to carry him out onto the deck.

His entire world shrank into a maelstrom of flame and fog on a deck that rocked and tipped like a funhouse floor that threatened to upset his delicate balance. A slightly familiar face appeared before him, but he couldn't remember the name to attach to it. The person's voice seemed to echo and reverberate down a long tunnel, "Everybody's off. It's time for you to leave now."

"My things . . . " Britt said thickly.

"I have them. They're safe. It's time to go," said the voice beneath concerned black eyes. Britt nodded agreement and flinched at the pain the movement caused.

Britt slowly opened his eyes and found himself on a soft bed draped with crisp white sheets. "Dad!" he said in surprise, recognizing the worried middle-aged man sitting at the side of his bed.

Henry Reid smiled gently. "Good morning Sleeping Beauty. I'm glad to see that you've decided to rejoin the living," he said wryly.

Britt bolted upright. Had it all been a dream, he wondered. Were all his adventures just the workings of a fevered mind? "Where am I? What's happened?"

"You're in an American hospital in Korea. You were fished out of the ocean a few days ago," Henry Reid answered as he firmly pressed his son back down.

"Then it did all happen," Britt said quietly. "Shao Lung, did he make it?"

"Yes. He made it and so did the crewmen of that barge you boys commandeered. The Red Chinese are demanding the crewmen's return, claiming that you and your friend kidnaped them. They also want you two sent back to that you can be properly punished for your 'crimes'. I don't think the crewmen want to return and we don't have any intention of forcing them to. As for your punishment, that's another matter."

Britt sighed wearily. Here it comes, he thought. Maybe he should have stayed in China. "I'm sorry Dad. I know I caused you a lot of trouble."

Henry frowned. "Britt, you have no idea of just how much trouble you've caused. Your disappearance caused a major international incident. We were lucky that the Reds decided just to kick us out instead of shooting us as spies. Because of your little escapade they have permanently shut the door to the West. Right now, the Bamboo Curtain is closed as tightly as a miser's fist," he said angrily.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know what I can say or do to make up for what I did. Maybe someday you'll manage to forgive me," Britt said miserably.

Henry looked at his hands for a moment, trying to avoid the pain in his son's eyes. His first impulse when Britt had woken up was to hug him tightly, to tell him how much he loved him, but he had decided that the boy had to know how much trouble his foolish actions had caused. He needed to be taught a lesson. He looked at his son. He was dark, like his mother and had her uncanny aqua-grey eyes. He was so much like her, headstrong, given to acting without consideration of the consequences, especially to himself. The boy had it in him to become a great man, perhaps even greater than himself, but he wouldn't amount to anything if he didn't learn some caution, if he didn't learn to think before he did something. Damn, Henry thought, he's my only child. What am I going to do with him?

"There's nothing you can do to make up for what you've done, Britt." Britt's shoulders drooped even more at his father's gentle words. "You're my son and that's the most important thing. I thought I had lost you for good." Henry's voice broke for a moment. He grasped Britt's shoulders. "Thank God you're safe," he said overcome with relief.

The soft scrape of feet broke the embarrassed silence between father and son. "Come in young man. Britt's doing fine now," Henry said, acknowledging the newcomer's presence. "Your young friend has been waiting for you to wake up."

"I owe you my life, Shao Lung. If it hadn't been for you, I might be dead now," Britt said thankfully.

"No thanks are necessary. You would have done the same thing. I must tell you though that Shao Lung no longer exists."

"I don't understand," Britt said, puzzled.

"You stirred up quite a hornet's nest Britt, when you brought this young man out of China. The Reds want him very badly, so we had to give him a new identity," the elder Reid explained.

"Yes. I am now Kato, the valet you hired in Hong Kong."

"Kato? Isn't that a Japanese name?"

Henry smiled. "Yes it is. We hope that will further confuse the Reds who will be looking for a young Chinese. Someone else bearing Shao Lung's name will be going to Taiwan, in order to leave a false trail, while we head back home. I don't know if that will work for very long, so the sooner we get back to the States the better. Do you feel strong enough to travel?"

"I feel fine. But Shao Lung, uh, Kato," Britt quickly corrected himself. "You don't have to be a valet. I'm sure they can think of a better cover besides that of a servant. I know I forced you to come with me because I saved your life, but we're even now. You're free to live your own life, whatever way you chose to."

"I have already discussed it with your father and this is what I want." Kato raised his hand when Britt started to protest. "Please, I am doing this because this is what I want. Perhaps later I may want to do something else, but considering our experiences the last few days, I don't think I ever will. I wanted some excitement, some useful way to use my skill in gung fu and from what your father has told me, I will have plenty of chances to do so."

Returning to the present, Britt sighed deeply as he rubbed his eyes. The exhaustion that he had been fighting was starting to overtake him. Lee watched the traffic in silence for a few moments, trying to absorb all that he had been told. Finally he spoke, "So you never found why my father was so important to the Red Chinese."

"No. I never did find out. After my father died, I went through all his papers, mainly trying to find anything that would help me run the Sentinel, but I didn't see anything that had to do with Kato. One thing though, a short time after Mao Tse Tung died, sometime in the 70's, a pair of very official Chinese guys came into my office demanding that I tell them where Kato was. To think of it, they did refer to him as Kato, and not by the name he was known by in China. Of course, I told them I hadn't heard from him in years and had no interest in hearing from him either. They tried to talk tough to scare the 'truth' from me and I had to physically throw them out. I never knew why they wanted to find him and to tell you the truth, I didn't really care. I'm sorry. I should have dug a little deeper and found out why they wanted him."

"So my roots will always remain a mystery," Lee said unhappily.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If you're lucky enough to get into China during one of those times the government decides to allow foreigners in, perhaps you can find out something more." Britt thought for a moment. "John's working as a foreign correspondent for the Sentinel. Perhaps he might enjoy an assignment there. Say, trying to find out what happened to the Shao lin temple. He'll need an interpreter, of course. Do you speak Chinese?"

"Very well," Lee said, instantly brightening.

"Good. Well, we shall see what the future brings."