Cong saw glimpses of Mantis over the next two weeks, but to the simian's relief, his old friend didn't approach him. He began to visit the hotel every three or four days instead of daily, telling Fu that there was increased security and that he had to be more cautious. The crocodile accepted this without argument, so Cong's fears should have been eased, but they weren't. There was something off with his master, and it was worrying.

On one of the days that he was supposed to observe his friends, he woke to a chirrup across the room. For a moment, he was disoriented and thought that he'd missed the bell. Jumping up, he tripped over his blankets and fell onto the floor. Grunting, he flipped over, wondering how he fell down when his mat was simple bamboo. Cong blinked, rubbing his eyes. Shifu wasn't yelling at him to get up, and he began to relax. Then he registered his surroundings.

"Oh," he muttered.

Untangling his feet from his bedclothes, he tossed them onto the raised mat, shaking his head. It was more disheartening to wake up in no trouble in the Serpent's gang hideout than to get an earful from Shifu for being a minute late in the morning. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced morosely around his room. It was huge and spacious compared to his room at the Jade Palace, but it didn't make him feel any happier.

Cong sat down on the edge of the mat, curling his tail around himself. He had been growing more and more homesick, and everything hit him at once. Drawing his knees to his chest, he shivered, glaring at the floor. He didn't want to be there. He wished more than anything that he could go to his friends and leave this horrible life behind. But he couldn't. Fu would kill him. And, Cong thought miserably, I deserve it.

How could he leave the Jade Palace? How could he leave Shifu and the rest of the Five? Cong missed the routines that defined his day. He wanted friends to talk and laugh with, not followers who feared and despised him for his position. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and began to rock back and forth. Tears slid down his dark cheeks, but he didn't allow a noise to escape his lips.

Another chirrup, soft and compassionate sounded from the far corner of the room. He shook his head, muttering that he would be fine in a moment. Three seconds later, Cong bolted upright, looking around frantically. Mantis's name was on his lips for a moment before he snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't say it. He refused to acknowledge his friend out loud in case Fu was listening. Because that was a real possibility.

Fu was a naturally suspicious person, and Cong knew him well enough to see that the crocodile distrusted him. The simian couldn't blame him, mostly because he knew that he was right to be suspicious. Cong was lying to him, and out of all the gang members, the monkey knew that if he was caught, he would be in more trouble than anybody else. His status as a slave meant he got fewer liberties to make mistakes.

So without a word, Cong uncurled, wiped away his tears, and silently made his bed. He resisted the urge to look around. Picking up a paintbrush, he wrote on a clean sheet of paper, taking great pains with the calligraphy. When he was done, he set down the brush, left the ink uncorked, and walked into his personal bathroom to begin washing his face. There was a soft, quick noise, which Cong translated as Mantis dashing to the stand to see the note. There was a chirrup of surprise followed by quick scratching noises and another rush of movement.

Cong walked back to his bed and sat down. With trembling hands clasped in his lap, he read over the note he'd written.

Do not speak out loud. Ears are everywhere. I know you're here. All of you. Leave. I'm not worth it.

Mantis had replied, writing with his hooked arms in thin, scratchy characters.

You are worth it to us. How did you know we're here?

Cong snorted, picking up a brush.

I am not so stupid. I saw Po. He's hard to miss. I know where you're staying. I know you've been to the police to ask questions. You are lucky that Chen was gone, or you would be under observation from the rest of the gang.

Setting aside the paper, he lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He heard movement and kept staring until the noise stopped. Turning over, he glanced over Mantis's reply.

The secretary. Is she willingly a gang member?

Cong shook his head, writing out his answer before looking away again. No. Blackmail.

What does Fu have on her?

An indiscretion involving a theft from one of the gang members. Her son stole from one of them, and Fu threatened to kill her son if she didn't comply with orders.

We'll try and take care of that. How are you?

So-so. I'm not happy.

We aren't either. We miss you.

I can't come with you.

We know.

Cong stared at the words, a chill running through his veins. He changed the subject immediately.

So you're not leaving then.

No. We're going to help you.

Any reason you're not looking at me?

If Fu asks if I've seen you, I can say no. He's very good at detecting lies.

You have seen me though, right? How else would you know I'm here?

I've seen glimpses of something green, but I've never seen what it is.

Clever. I have a question for you.

What is it?

Are you safe?

Cong gritted his teeth, looking away from the page. Taking a deep breath, he placed the brush to paper again.

Honestly? I don't know. Fu knows something's changed. He's watching me. I'm going to have to burn this before leaving. Somebody's been in my room every day after I leave. Please, leave me here. Just forget about me. I'll be fine if you're gone.

A knock on the door made Cong jump to his feet he heard a quick noise, felt a shift of air around him, and the paper was gone. A flash of green and cream told him that Mantis had dashed into the bathroom. Cong capped the ink bottle, shook out his limbs, then walked to the door.

"Who is it?" he asked tightly.

"Bohai. Open up."

Cong opened the door and stood there, morphing his gaze into a cool stare. The rhino appraised him. Bohai was the third highest-ranked member in the gang. The fact that it was somebody high up at his door worried him.

"Can I help you?"

"There is a meeting in an hour."

"I will be there," Cong said. "Anything else?"

Bohai worried his bottom lip then leaned down. "Be careful. There might be a spy in our ranks."

"A spy? Who?" Cong asked, adding a hint of fear to his voice.

"We don't know yet."

"What kind of idiot would willingly go against Fu?"

"Whoever they are, they will be punished."

Cong bared his teeth, letting his anger flow into his words. "Of course they will."

Bohai blinked. "You're angry again?"

"I'm always angry, Bohai. But it's exhausting to be angry all the time." Cong's shoulder's slumped. "I just don't know how to tell Fu. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

The rhino pursed his lips and nodded. "That is true. Fu is no longer as agile as he was. An old wound in his side slows him more than he'd like to admit."

"Mm. I was there when he got it," Cong said. "I hated seeing him so weak." Tears prickled in his eyes, and he sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't want to see him like that again."

Bohai watched him closely then shrugged. "Meeting in an hour."

He turned and left Cong standing there staring after him. A few moments later, the simian closed the door and leaned against it, gritting his teeth. A soft noise brought his attention to the side table. The ink bottle was open again, and the paper lay there on the table. Cong approached, glancing around and seeing no sign of Mantis. Sitting back down, he read Mantis's response.

I know that you're lying, Monkey. You're not fine here. You told Bohai that you're angry, and I can see that. I know you well, and I've never seen you so emotional. You're hurting so badly, and I know that it's probably more complicated than we can understand. But we want to understand. We want to know who you really are. And I have something important to tell you.

You're not just a slave, Monkey. And you're not just a thief. You're so much more than that. You're our friend, our family, and we will not rest until you are back home with us. We miss you so much. We don't know your history. We don't know as much about you as we should. And we want to change that. But we need the chance to do it.

We're trying to come up with a plan to help you. I won't go into detail because there aren't many yet. But you don't need to know in case Fu asks. I only ask that you be safe right now. Do what you're told. Don't let yourself be too visible in the gang. Don't get caught. One day we will laugh together again.

Mantis

Cong read and reread the note. So, they knew now. They knew he wasn't his own person, that he was a slave. For a few minutes, he didn't know what to feel. A numb sensation radiated from his heart, eclipsing the natural shame he was expected to feel. He wondered at that. Why wasn't he crying and recoiling? Why was he unsure of how to feel?

He read it again and finally began to understand. Mantis' tone wasn't hostile or shocked. His words weren't angry, they were compassionate. They didn't hate him for what he was. There wasn't even any anger toward his thievery in the Valley of Peace. Wonder filled his heart, and he pressed his hands against his lips to silence his laughter. Filled with the ecstasy of relief and giddy with the thought that he still had friends, he laughed into his hands like he hadn't in a long, long time. Tears flowed down his face again, but these were tears of delight.

The laughter finally tapered away, leaving peace behind in his heart. He read the entire conversation again and again for over half an hour, trying to memorize each word. He had no idea when he would hear from Mantis or any of the others again. It was too dangerous to try and communicate with them daily, just as it was too dangerous to continually scope out the hotel.

Setting the letter aside, he washed himself in his bathroom, cleaning his fur and face in hot water. After he dried himself, he walked back into the room and looked over the note one last time. He lit a candle then held the corner of the page against the flickering flame until it caught. As the evidence of his continued friendship with those outside of the Serpent Gang turned to ash, he felt a confident peace that he was doing the right thing.

Cong knew that he was going to go through a rough time in the next few weeks, and he was fine with that. Because at the end of it, if he wasn't dead, he would be able to see his friends face to face again. And then maybe one day, he would be able to laugh with them again, and perhaps he would even consider himself to be Master Monkey again, the honorable Kung Fu Master, instead of Cong, the intelligent head of thieves. And with those hopes inside of him, he swept up the ash, placed it in his pouch to dispose of later, and prepared himself for the meeting.