Cong walked through the city silently. It had been a glorious month, a horrible month. The praise and shame warred within him daily, but the praise was beginning to win. Ever since his demonstration with the thieves, he had been steadily rising within the ranks again. The old members, the highest-ranked, easily fell back into the old pattern. Some of the newer members watched carefully and fell into their own pattern.
The monkey basked in the honor he was given, bestowed by those with a skewed sense of honor. And he loved it. The bows from those lower down were different from those given to him in the Valley of Peace. There was fear, resentment, and awe. He had always been humble when receiving praise in the Valley, but here, in a gang of murderers and thieves, a sharp delight filled him, coupled with the heady tang of pride that he'd missed in the past fifteen years. Shifu hadn't liked pride, but Cong couldn't resist showing off his rank and prestige and being in Fu's favor to the point that he felt drunk with power.
With the increasing rank came more subordinates to command, to instruct, and Cong ate it up as he lorded over them with an iron fist. Part of him despised what he was turning into—even in his first stint with the Serpents he had been one of the more merciful officers—but now he was trying to force away the memories of kindness and generosity that had become his lifeblood in the Valley. And Fu's approval at the new anger he sensed in his surrogate son made the monkey love it all the more.
His old nature was dying, transforming into a dark parody of what he had been. Fu noticed that his skills had increased in his time away. Cong walked with a lighter step, had more control over his tail and more strength in all his limbs. He thought that his slave had groomed himself to be a powerful thug, and he beamed at the simian. Cong alone knew that it was years of focus and kung fu training that had strengthened his control, lightened his steps, and made him able to be a true shadow passing through the night, unseen and unknown until the light of day showed the damage.
The evening before, Cong had swiped a jade statue with eyes of ruby. Fu had sold it on the black market and granted Cong a purse of coins for him to spend how he pleased. With a hat pulled low over his eyes and robes of black on his back, his tail tucked safely away, he strode through the Xiu Marketplace, looking at wares and listening to the prices. He turned a corner, intent on a piece of ripe fruit, preferably a plump, juicy peach, but he froze, every muscle in his body locking into place as he saw Po tossing coins onto the fruit vendor's stand and picking up a basket of peaches.
For a few heart-stopping moments, Cong's entire world seemed to narrow onto Po's large form, easily hefting the peaches onto his shoulder. He turned and Cong ducked his head, turning to look at some fans. The merchant asked if he was looking for a fan for a pretty lady, and Cong nodded, all of his senses straining to find out where Po was going. But in the hustle and bustle of a large marketplace in the early morning, he could hear nothing.
Forcing his eyes to sweep the delicate, hand-painted fans, he acted like he was trying to decide. A huge shadow fell over the booth, and Cong stepped aside as Po reached down to pick up a red fan with beautiful vines of gold. The merchant turned away from the monkey and focused on the panda. In a moment, he realized who he was talking to.
"Dragon Warrior!" he gasped, bowing low. "May I help you? A fan for a pretty lady?"
"Huh?" Po's voice washed over Cong, and the façade he had crafted began to crack. "Oh, no. Sorry. Just looking. This one reminds me of Tigress. She'd love this."
"Master Tigress?" the goose asked, looking surprised. "She does not seem to be the type to use such things. They are delicate, and she is…"
Po must have given a frown because the bird trailed off uneasily. The panda set the peaches down right beside Cong.
"You speak of something you know nothing about." Cong nearly passed out at those words, swallowing hard. He pretended to look at a pink fan with peach petals painted on it, shielding his face from one of his friends. The goose ignored him, speaking to Po again.
"My apologies, Dragon Warrior," the goose said. "I'll give you a good deal on this fan."
"Nah," Po said. "I don't have any more coins on me. Let somebody else buy it. Bye!"
Po picked up the basket and grunted as he heaved it onto his shoulder. Then he padded away. The goose was muttering about the Dragon Warrior stopping to look at his fans. Cong looked at the fan that Po had said Tigress would like. He knew the panda was right. She collected them. And this one was her favorite color, delicately designed and painted with exquisite care. Before the monkey knew what he was doing, he opened his purse.
"How much for this one," Cong asked, picking up the fan.
"Huh? Oh, fourteen yuan," the goose said.
Cong knew it was a markup because he'd seen Po, the Dragon Warrior, fawn over it. He didn't care, pulling out the coins and sliding them over. He picked up the fan, spreading it out to look at the design.
The merchant took the coins. "Your lady a fan of Master Tigress?" he asked knowingly.
Cong kept his hat low, hiding his identity as Fu had taught him. "Enamored. And if the Dragon Warrior likes it, I am sure that it will please her."
"Good luck," the goose said then turned to another potential customer.
The monkey carefully folded the fan and slipped it into his belt. He turned, closing his purse, and, with a sick feeling in his heart, headed into a dim alley. When there were no more people to see him, he freed his tail and began to climb. On swift and silent feet, he padded across the roofs, searching for his friend. Po was hard to miss, and he wasn't trying to not be seen, so Cong trailed him easily. When the panda walked into a fine hotel, Cong swallowed. He knew immediately where they would be, and he climbed the five-story structure to sit on the roof. The window was open, letting in a fresh breeze while letting out the sounds of his friends' discussion.
Cong concealed himself between two points in the roof. There, hidden deep in shadow, he listened to the friends he had known and love for so long speaking to each other. His sharp ears caught every word, and he realized that he was starving to hear friendly voices. Curling up, he stilled himself completely, knowing how sensitive Tigress's and Shifu's ears were. Their idle chatter stopped when the door to the room opened. In an instant, Cong's mind raced, filled with information learned long ago and drilled into his head through many heists.
Twenty paces from door to window, thirty paces across. Large room, living area/bedroom with rolled-up bamboo mats that are usually spread against the wall. Door is fancy woodwork with carved dragon design, high-level security lock, advanced picking skills required. Guests typically sleep with feet toward door in case of intruder.
"Hey, guys!" Po said, snapping Cong back to the present.
"Peaches!" Viper exclaimed, a sibilant hiss in her voice with the 's'.
"Yep. A whole basketful!"
"Of course," Tigress said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "How many have you eaten?"
There was a soft thunk as the basket hit the floor. "Oh…three or five," Po said guiltily.
"Toss one over here," Mantis said. He chirruped in pleasure a moment later, no doubt gobbling down the sweet flesh of the fruit.
Shifu's steady voice came from farther inside. "Did you find anything out about the Serpents?"
Cong's heart began to beat fast, but he kept his breathing as quiet as possible. Slowly, painfully slowly, he shifted down closer to the window, making sure that he stayed in his hiding spot. He could hear Po munching on another peach before he spoke.
"The police say they know of them, but they don't know where their base of operations is. They've arrested quite a few members, but none of them have talked, and those that were close were murdered in the night. No witnesses."
"And those they've arrested," Tigress said; Cong could imagine her stiff posture, sniffing the peach before taking a bite. Sure enough, she paused, and he could practically see her thoughtful eyes studying Po. "Have they any we could interrogate?"
"Not at the moment," Po replied. There was a creak as he sat down. Small bench, undecorated, off in the corner nearest to the window. "There was just a murder there last week. Three boars died. No evidence of physical injury. They think it was poison, but they can't be sure."
Cong knew it was poison. He had been sent to steal that night, but several members had been sent to silence the weak ones. Their inside man (actually it was a female that Fu was blackmailing) told them that the interrogators were sure they would break within a few more days. That was the end of their lives and the police's hopes. He felt a strange clenching sensation around his heart at the sad tone in Po's voice and a burst of shame that he hadn't felt bad about their deaths before.
"So no leads," Shifu said. Cong could imagine his ear twitching as his master ("former master," he thought ruthlessly) processed their options.
"They would be known in the underbelly," Viper said. "Mantis could spy. Nobody would notice him."
"That's not a bad idea," Mantis agreed. "I'm up for it. I have to see him again."
"I am most eager to see him, too. We must talk," Shifu said. "Close that window, Tigress. The smell of frying oil is too thick."
Cong sat there numbly for a moment then he heard footsteps, and the window closed, effectively cutting off their voices. He couldn't force himself to move as his mind took in everything that he'd learned. Thoughts flew by with dizzying speed, and Cong struggled to breathe as he put together the pieces.
His friends were here, despite the plea in his letter. They had tracked him down. He knew it had been a gamble to leave without a word. He could have made something up, returned his thefts himself, left with Shifu's blessing. But he hadn't. From what Po had said earlier, they had spoken to Wu Long. But how had they found out about his old friend? And why Wu Long, the only one he had ever confided in about his thieving addiction?
Cong sat there, still and silent, thinking over everything he had done over the past couple of months. Every action and thought took on a new depth, a new angle. He began to feel sick with shame as each day passed through his mind. The pride that he had fed day after day and made fat with praise, fear, and awe began to shrivel and scream as his conscience attacked it, bringing Shifu's many warnings to stave off pride forward.
Hours passed, and he didn't move. He was due to check in with Fu, and it was only when the sun was high in the sky that he uncurled his tight muscles and climbed down. He had been locked into the same position for so long that every joint protested loudly. Dropping to the ground, he hid his tail again and pulled his hat low over his eyes.
He had to have a reason for not checking in. So, despite his heart aching, his conscience screaming at him, and tears pricking his eyes, he headed for the richer part of town to swipe an item he had been scoping out for a month. It would please Fu, and perhaps the thrill he got from a daylight robbery would bury the thought that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted his friends to find him.