A/N:

There are cobwebs on the corners of this fic. Sorry?

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that it was at least a little worth the wait. If so, feel free to let me know! If not, that's cool, you can let me know anyway! I truly appreciate and jump for joy at all comments. Enjoy, folks! :)

Disclaimer: I own neither Kung Fu Panda nor any of the characters associated. This work is written for entertainment purposes only and I do not financially profit from it in any way.

If Shifu didn't know better, he'd swear Han was luring him away from everyone else so he could kill him. A one-on-one art gallery tour is such a cliché excuse that it's nearly comical, but for now, Shifu wants to focus on the real less-than-threat: Han. Being murdered by a begrudging ally is only slightly less worrisome than his indifference to visual art—at least a dagger has a purpose.

Even so, a distraction would be welcome. Anything to cut through the tension. As Shifu and Han wander into a garden, stepping beneath a stone arch splashed with jasmine blossoms, the tight ball in the red panda's chest does not loosen. As they walk side by side, distanced to a humorous extent, a palpable strain looms between them.

After a trek consisting of verbal sidestepping and courteous words exchanged, they climb a short flight of stairs and reach a cherry wood bridge that arches over a pond. Ironically, the garden's vibrant beauty only highlights the discomfort between them—like trying to enjoy a sunset while wearing a blindfold.

They enter the building without saying more than a few words to each other. Perhaps Shifu can get away with the vow of silence story after all.

The interior of the Hall of Fine Arts—because of course, in the time since Shifu's seen Han, he's built a separate building for the art gallery—embodies the grandeur one would expect of an ancient art collection. The walls are adorned with a remarkable collection of calligraphy, showcasing intricate lettering. Several valuable paintings hang on the walls, each telling a distinctive narrative through vibrant colors and skilled brushwork. Everything looks expensive and internationally sought after.

Shifu would like to say that it's over-the-top, but the redone Jade Palace looks very similar. Even so, he'll pride himself in the fact that he had abstained from implementing genuine gold engravings in the columns and had instead opted for pyrite.

The manul and red panda make their way down the hall, though still distanced to a comical degree. When Shifu looks up, he sees a cluster of paper lanterns being ignited by staff. Hanging from intricately carved wooden beams, the lanterns are adorned with delicate silk that features traditional patterns, including floral motifs and dragons emerging from daunting clouds.

"Master Fulin appears much more upright than last I saw him," Shifu muses.

Han casts the red panda a wary glance, but when the manul detects no signs of either ridicule or untruthfulness, his inclination to bristle dies.

"I suppose. Even so, there's always room for improvement," he says, scoffing as if the mere mention of the leopard has derailed his otherwise pleasant-ish evening.

"That's a universal truth," Shifu replies.

"He's self-centered."

"To the point that it's worrisome?" Shifu inquires.

"Not particularly," Han replies, "only in the sense that he'll inevitably get himself in deep trouble someday. Hubris is the downfall of most empires—most men."

"That's an interesting thing to hear from you," Shifu mouths, to which the manul's ear only twitches.

"Granted, his ego-centric tendencies are surface-level and largely inconsequential," Han continues, "but even at his worst, Fulin isn't the type to force what he thinks he deserves—aside from being the head of this investigation, of course."

"My students would have no issue with him taking on the role," Shifu offers, despite the voice in the back of his mind—the one that sounds suspiciously like Po—shrieking otherwise. He pointedly ignores it and stashes the thought for later consideration, saying, "This is your affair, your people, and your city. We are only here to stand beside you in your endeavors."

"I appreciate your willful ignorance," Han says, with some level of earnestness, "but as I'm sure you've gathered, I would not have contacted you if I felt as though I had another choice."

"I'm well aware, Han, you needn't worry," Shifu retorts. "Regardless, the masters of the Jade Palace are willing to assist you in your investigation in any way we can."

Han hums. Shifu only nods. There's a sense of familiarity in the way the red panda and manul have fallen into step, in the way their measured dialogue is so close to giving way to tentative razzing and ersatz insults.

The red panda might never admit as much, but he misses having friends; true friends, with whom he can speak candidly without bothering to uphold the professional undertones of being a teacher and mentor.

The manul gazes at a large brushstroke painting hanging on the nearest wall. The artwork is chaotic and feverish, with clashing colors that evoke the feeling of an impending typhoon—disturbing yet unavoidable in its impact. It depicts swirling fabric and tense faces, showing individuals involved in a struggle as a man dressed in an eye-catching red is guided through the turmoil.

The overlapping lines and colors make some aspects of the piece hard to identify, and Shifu tilts his head to better see what's happening, but to no avail. Shifu may not be a visual arts mogul, but there's always something to be said for perspective. The red panda turns and considers a painting on the opposite wall.

The Orchid Suites are as nice as advertised. A dark wooden chuang with delicate green silk trim and a matching green comforter sits center against a rice paper wall. Potted bamboo stalks sit in the room's corners. Bright yellow cushions and a yellow silk throw blanket are strewn across the impressive expanse of its surface. Soft white moonlight spilling in from an open window fosters a soothing atmosphere—porcelain figures on a bedside shelf offer some artistic appeal.

Overall, it's an inviting and tranquil room, but Po isn't currently feeling very peaceful. He's lying on the room's detailed carpeting, brow furrowed. As Tigress lounges against the chuang's intricate backboard, looking exceptionally tired and—oh, wait, this is her room, isn't it? —vaguely annoyed, Po continues to ponder.

"You were right about Shifu and Master Han," he says after they'd somehow drifted to the topic of them, "there's a lot of tension there—even after so much time. Master Han's pretty uptight, too, kinda like Shifu pre-inner peace."

Tigress offers an agreeing nod, but nothing else. Her eyes are closed but the occasional flick of her tail tells Po she's awake and listening.

"I talked to Master Chun and she's awesome! She reminds me a lot of Master Oogway," the panda's tone softens at the mention of the tortoise and Tigress's eyes open. The panda continues, "Han must have been raised somewhere else. Otherwise, I can't figure out how he ended up like he is, it doesn't make any sense. He's so … brooding—and not in the sexy way. Has he always been like that?"

Tigress blinks—brooding? Gears turn in her head, memories from her teenage years flashing behind her eyes. She ultimately decides on, "I suppose."

"Nice," Po says. He props himself up on his elbows, continuing in a ramble, "I just don't get it. Shifu won't say a word about him—he wouldn't even acknowledge that they used to be friends. He totally lied about it! Did you know that? He lied! To me! He said he didn't know him at all. Am I supposed to let that go? He'd never let me get away with it."

Tigress only stares at him. Po is about to ask her why when the sliding panel that connects Tigress's room to the next one glides open and Crane's beak peeks around its corner. The rest of his hatless head follows suit, and he looks characteristically timid.

"What are you guys still doing up? It's late," the bird says.

"Is it?" Po asks, "What time is it?"

"Late," Crane answers.

"Why aren't you asleep, then?" the panda asks, to which Crane only stares at him. "Oh. Sorry, buddy, I'll keep it down."

"Thank you," Crane says. Before sliding the panel shut again, the bird adds, "And, yeah, he's always been like that."

"Lucky us," Po jests.

"You know, you kind of sound like Master Shifu when he talks about Master Han," Crane says, "whenever he used to, anyway—some fifteen years ago, now—his rants were always a little angrier and more grievous, though. I think that's why he's all into sobriety now."

Tigress closes her eyes and exhales deeply. Crane winces, taking the hint loud and clear. He feigns a yawn, ruffling his feathers.

"Anyway, goodnight," he says, glancing pointedly at Po. "We should all get some sleep."

With that, he retreats into his room and allows the panel to glide back into its original position.

"Are you seriously not at all curious about what happened there?" Po inquires after a moment, "I'm going insane. I feel like I'm watching some kind of tragic stage play."

Po looks at Tigress and scoots to the edge of the chuang, sitting on it when she nods.

"It's not our place to know," Tigress predictably says.

"I just can't stop thinking about it. What do you have to do to someone for them to not want to see or talk to you for twenty years?" Po says.

He settles against the chuang's backboard beside Tigress, raising an eyebrow at the abundance of throw pillows. He doesn't think there's even a need for half as many—it's a little upsetting.

"They have reasons for keeping it under wraps, I'm sure."

"How can you hate someone who used to be your friend?" he ponders.

"I don't think they hate each other," Tigress says, "they were very close. It's impossible to hate someone when you remember loving them just as clearly. Think of Tai Lung."

"Yeah, I guess Shifu just seems more angry than anything else," the panda says. He continues, "I mean, they went to tour the art gallery together. That's not something you do with your sworn enemy."

"What's the saying? 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'?" Tigress inquires, though her tone has a joking lilt.

Po gasps. "So you do have a theory!" he exclaims.

"No, I don't," she tells him, serious again, "and neither should you."

Po doesn't register what she says, and instead, like the genius he is, decides to declare, "I don't like that this is our first time in bed together and we're talking about Shifu."

Tigress, truly annoyed now, whaps Po with a throw pillow as hard as she can. He cackles and yelps as it explodes against his shoulder and coats him in feathers. The tiger crosses her arms and stares forward as Po brushes himself off. He smiles, pleased with himself.

They look at each other—each for different reasons, but, of course, Po has an agenda—and Po makes the face he does before he says something he knows will land him in deep trouble.

"Second," he amends.

The look he gets in response is almost enough to kill him, and if Tigress has anything to say about it, the subsequent pillow to the head will be enough to finish the job.

Han follows the red panda's thoughtful gaze to a large, inked painting atop a silk canvas depicting a room of people. The men and women—some lounging and others standing—are gathered in the vicinity of tables littered with food and tea. They watch a woman strum a pipa. Another woman lingers in a distant doorway, surveying the party's happenings.

Han lets the red panda's words settle in the ripple-less space between them. He opts to observe the painting hanging before him, perhaps searching for which of its qualities of this painting managed to catch Shifu's eye.

The tension between them loosens—not by much, but just enough—and the air becomes a little less heavy.

"The Night Revels. It's meant to represent celebration, I believe," Han says, though it comes out as more of a question. He elaborates, "The artist wished to communicate—if I remember correctly—the importance of savoring the pleasures of life."

Han gestures to more sections of the painting that trail off of the first painting's right, seemingly following a progression of events. There are four more paintings featuring the same party depicted in the first piece, each featuring recurring characters, all identifiable via their detailed garb.

Another painting hangs next to the first. This one is long and rectangular, resembling an unfurled scroll. It depicts a dusky sky with a glaring red sun. Below the sun stands a notably beautiful woman dressed in traditional attire. She stands in a grassy field, looking content and appreciative. On the opposite side of the painting, a group of people appears to be staring at her.

"I like this one," Han muses, "though the artist's wife took his pieces as a betrayal of their marriage because he often portrayed his life without her, as if she didn't exist. He painted this to placate her. What do you think?" When Shifu doesn't reply, he says, "Is it too on the nose? You never thought much of paintings."

"May I ask why you're telling me this?" Shifu inquires.

Han looks away from the painting and considers Shifu. "What am I telling you?" he inquires somewhat coyly, "Do you and this painting have a rocky history?"

Shifu isn't taken aback by Han's dodginess, per se, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't send him for a small loop. The manul had always excelled at underhanded remarks, but being on the butt end of them is proving itself irritating.

"As you said, I don't think much of paintings," the red panda retorts, "so I'm curious as to why we're discussing one at all."

"Could it be that I'm trying to be the bigger person?" Han says.

"You can try," Shifu says, "but you've never succeeded, so I don't know what you think is different now."

"Do you not grow tired of being so unflinchingly resentful?" the manul says, "I give you credit for coming to our aid, but you hold a grudge like no one I've ever met. It's ridiculous. You're ridiculous."

"You sidestep accountability like no one I've ever met," Shifu retorts, "And if we must have this conversation, I'd like to remind you that you were the one who suggested—!"

"Shifu, don't—!" Han cuts himself off, likely out of self-preservation.

"You're trying to act as though this—working together again, after so many years—isn't complicated!" Shifu presses, "I can put up a front for my students, but I would hope you don't expect me to do the same when we're alone."

"Of course, not. Gods forbid someone expect anything of you," Han retorts bitterly.

"I'm not following," Shifu says.

"How convenient," Han says. He scoffs. "You did a lot of things for yourself, back then, and it seems you do the same now."

"What sense is there in playing make-believe?" Shifu asks.

"I'm not proud, Shifu, and that has not changed," the manul barks, "but you were not in the right and I will never let you forget that so long as you hold this over my head."

The entryway doors of the gallery fly apart. They crash against the walls of the hallway with the force with which they are shoved open. An unfortunately placed vase shatters when one of the doors knocks it from its podium.

Shifu and Han whip around and adopt defensive stances, assessing the frame of the open doorway. The sky is cloudless, but an invisible shroud of unease lingers in the spread. Only with the doors open can distant booms be heard.

A shadow withered yet withstanding, stretches across the length of the hallway in a muddy, ominous branch, its silhouette short and rounded. It's Master Chun. A gong chimes in the near distance, its thrum deep and resonating.

"Han," Chun calls, "something is wrong!"

"Maybe Shifu went to a lot of trouble to make a whole bunch of food for—I don't know, what would you make food for? —Master Han's birthday," Po rambles, "but he didn't show up to the party! So Shifu did all that work for nothing and had to eat all the food himself."

"Had to?" Tigress inquires.

"Coping mechanism," Po explains. He says, "They're both pretty negative. Maybe they were feeding off of each other's pessimism like—like a buffet of sadness. That's not a good basis for a friendship."

Tigress off-handedly wonders if Po is hungry. He's making a lot of food-related analogies.

"Do you think Fulin had something to do with it? He seems like he would."

"I don't know what to tell you," Tigress says, nearly groaning at the mention of the leopard.

She isn't sure how Fulin keeps coming up, the topic of him seeming to drift into the conversation like an unwelcome guest. Po had been entertained by concocting various theories about the dispute between Shifu and Han, but his amusement was fleeting. His true frustration is anchored with Fulin, for whatever reason, and each time the conversation circles back to the guy, it reignites the itchy irritation that has been simmering in Tigress's chest since arriving in Jiangsu.

"I think he did," the panda says. When Tigress doesn't react, doesn't match his disdain for the leopard, he raises an eyebrow.

Tigress is the type to keep her anger quiet. The type to tame it, to keep it below the surface like lava in a dormant volcano. It will then fester and feed off itself until she allows it to burst in a calculated, perfectly timed eruption that usually takes place in battle—she has it down to a science. The thing about science, though, is that Po doesn't get it. While he "gets" Tigress in the typical sense, her methodical, technical way of navigating her feelings has always been a bit disconcerting. That all is to say that her sudden apparent apathy toward Fulin is troubling.

"I don't despise him, or anything," Po says, "he's not the kind of guy you really hate—he's just honest. And difficult. Very difficult."

"I agree," Tigress says, "which is why I would rather not talk about him if it isn't necessary."

"He's just such a—!" Po pauses. A sigh. He lamely finishes, "An unpleasant fellow."

Tigress sighs. She says, "You know I'll humor you if it's something worth humoring, but he isn't. He never has been."

This takes Po somewhat aback. He looks around the room as if searching for a witness to share his confusion. He settles on, "I disagree."

"Why?" Tigress asks.

"You're too calm right now!" Po exclaims, tone still light, ignoring Tigress's question. She rolls her eyes. He doesn't notice. "Share in my frustration, here, come on!" he says.

"No."

"Why?" Po inquires.

"Too much of my anger has gone to him as it is," Tigress says, "and to give him any more does nothing for me. If it does for you, that's fine, but I'm only interested in protecting my peace. Do what serves you."

"I just don't appreciate it when over-confident idiots try to put my friends down," Po says.

"He is arrogant, but—and this is not at all to defend him—he isn't an idiot," Tigress says, "and he proved as much tonight when he showed me the information he's gathered on the attacks thus far. His knowledge will be helpful."

"Tonight? At dinner?" Po asks, visibly confused.

"After dinner, I asked him to show me what they had collected in terms of evidence of foul play, information—the things we need to be focusing on."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've gone with you."

"To be honest, I didn't trust either of you to refrain from picking a fight," Tigress says, "and it isn't what we need right now—so I would very much like to stop talking about him."

"Why? Did he say something to you?" Po asks, his tone turning over into something less easygoing.

Tigress pauses a second too long before irritably saying, "He isn't worth having—!"

"He did," Po declares. He shifts so that he's now facing Tigress. "And you didn't trust me to not pick a fight? You were the one pushing him at dinner."

The tiger retorts, "I seem to recall you telling him outright that you wanted to train so as not to 'hit too hard.' That was juvenile, by the way."

"As if he wasn't egging us on!" Po counters.

"Panda, that's what he does," Tigress asserts.

"And you're gonna take that?" the panda shoots back, "Since when?"

"I'll take it if it means we bring Qiong to justice and stop more villagers from being hurt or killed," Tigress retorts, "and Fulin won't make that easy, but that's the way he is. My top priority is to complete the mission. It should be yours, too."

"What if I have more than one priority?" inquires the panda.

"You choose one," Tigress deadpans, to which Po all but recoils.

"We aren't having this conversation," Tigress tells him. She rises from the chuang and strides to the middle of the room. With barely concealed aggravation, she says, "And I'd like to get at least a few hours of sleep, so if you don't mind—?"

"Was it about the last time you were here?" the panda inquires, "Did something happen then?"

He stands and follows Tigress and contrasts her offensive stance with his more opening and imploring one. She doesn't meet his eyes.

"No, and you need to stop."

"Was it about Shifu?" he presses.

"Po."

"About me?" he persists.

"Panda," she growls, pointedly avoiding his gaze for fear of giving herself away.

"Was it about your past?" Po asks. "Before the Jade Palace or Bao Gu. I've heard you guys share some common ground in not knowing things, I'm guessing that's—?"

Po stops himself as Tigress's expression flickers—a mix of disbelief, hurt, and rage dashes across her face. She sobers her expression just as quickly as control had escaped her, but the panda had seen what he needed to.

"I'm sorry," Po says, "but Fulin, for now, while we're here, isn't just your problem and you not trusting me to hold myself together around him is—!"

Her tone darkens as she interrupts him to say, "I need you to leave."

Shock flashes across Po's face. When she finally meets his gaze, the coldness in her eyes strikes him like a rock to the stomach. The way she looks at him now reminds him of how it felt when he first arrived at the Jade Palace. He almost feels as though they're in the same situation: he's in her room, she doesn't want him there, and nothing he can say or do will change her mind. This time, however, he's equally as frustrated as she is.

He walks past her and slides the door open, his features vexed and tense. She closes it behind him. Po, now engulfed in darkness, briefly lets his arms fall by his sides, but he's tense. He compromises with himself by putting his hands on his hips and then crossing his arms. He silently groans and pushes his palms into his eyes.

Heavy footsteps catch Po's attention—as if on an inconvenient cue, Fulin darts around the corner at the end of the hallway. A lantern swings precariously in his hand. In Po's scatterbrained, post-argument mind, he can only stare.

"What are you doing?" the leopard inquires harshly.

"What?" Po retorts, not quite as sharply but with a definite edge.

"We're being attacked!" Fulin exclaims incredulously.

"What?" Tigress says as she promptly appears from her room.

She and Po deliberately avoid each other's gaze. Fulin's stare lingers on them for just a moment—had the panda been in her room? Perhaps there is something to Civet's theory. If so, some unknowns have certainly been resolved.

As the doors of their respective quarters swing open, the rest of the Furious Five step out, each sporting signs of a restless night. Even so, determination glimmers in their eyes, igniting a spark of readiness for the challenges ahead.

"The flour and fireworks factory is on fire," Fulin tells them, "and so is the sugar mill. Civilians are trapped. We need to hurry."

The masters assemble in the quad beside the training hall, their figures silhouetted against the fading light of dusk. The air is thick with anticipation as they lean in closely, voices low but urgent, strategizing their battle plan with a determined resolve. Each gesture is deliberate; hands emphasize key points while furrowed brows reveal the weight of their thoughts.

Amidst the gathering, Chun stands warily, her sharp eyes scanning the faces of everyone in attendance. The tension in her posture reflects her unease. Han, who stays closely by her side, is equally as perturbed, but his presence seems to be a sort of quiet comfort, a reassuring shadow against the gathering storm.

Between snippets of dialogue, the group's gazes are irresistibly drawn to the growing plume of smoke rising ominously in the near distance. It billows and churns, a dark omen that curls into the sky, transforming the fading blue into a sinister gray. Han breaks away from the huddle, squinting toward the source of the smoke, his expression shifting.

"We must disable the north dam," Han declares, "there isn't another water source close enough—the nearest rapids won't reach the fire."

Civet says, "If we can remove one of the blocks, the river should take its old course and run through the road next to the factories."

"We can separate the fires and control them, and the flooding should be easy to manage," Otter adds.

"Crane, Mantis, help them," Tigress instructs, "and give us a signal once the dam is broken."

Mantis leaps onto the brim of Crane's hat. Crane nods and extends his legs to Civet and Otter. They grab on, and he takes off, soaring purposefully in the direction Civet points, the thrill of haste urging them to go as fast as possible.

"Monkey, Viper, come with me," Tigress orders, "we need to evacuate civilians from the premises—this is our top priority. We'll gather them at the palace's courtyard and decide from there."

"No, have them congregate at the port, we can't risk Qiong finding them and deciding to take hostages," Fulin says.

"If Qiong's here, isn't he going to the port, anyway?" Po inquires. The panda turns to Shifu and says, "Shifu, I'm gonna go uphill and—!"

"No, I need you here until we know what's going on," the red panda says.

"We can't wait for one of your students to report back," Han argues, "we're wasting time as it is."

"We need to get a vantage point of the fires," Tigress says, "if Qiong and his crew are here, we need to know immediately. They cannot—!"

"They are here," Fulin interrupts, "two factories don't spontaneously go up in flames—much less at the same time."

"A flour and fireworks factory might," Monkey mutters.

"Go look for Qiong, then," Han says to Fulin, "you know his tendencies better than I do. If he's here, his presence will be brief. Find him."

"Yes, Master," Fulins says.

With a surge of energy, the leopard leaps onto a nearby tree, propelling himself upwards. In an instant, he vanishes into the lush canopy, a blur of spots against the green.

"Po, go with him," Shifu says, to which Po crinkles his nose, "and if the fire is mobile, do not near its head. You will wait until Crane gives the signal that the dam has been hindered. If you find gunpowder, disengage and focus on saving villagers."

"I will prepare the palace for housing those who need shelter," Chun says.

Han nods and smiles. With determined steps, she breaks away from the group and sets off in the direction of the Topaz Palace.

"Where are you guys going?" the panda asks, looking between Shifu and Han.

"I will meet you and Fulin from the fire's western flank—there's a cave system that runs beneath the factories and I want to confirm it hasn't been tampered with," Han says before Shifu can open his mouth.

In a comically similar manner to Fulin, the manul sprints away into the darkness of the woods, heading in the general direction of the Orchid Suites.

"Han—!" the red panda stops himself when the manul dashes out of sight.

Shifu, suddenly notably more aggravated, takes off after Han with a frustrated growl. Po, Tigress, Monkey, and Viper watch as the two run off into the night. Po turns around to look at his friends and shrugs.

Just then, an explosion shakes the mountain, unleashing a violent plume of red and black into the sky. Deep orange flames flare and twist, clawing at the air like a wild beast, as the ground trembles beneath the sheer force of the fire's fury. Po looks at Tigress—maybe it's a habit and for guidance, maybe it's out of concern, or maybe it's something else entirely.

"Go!" Tigress exclaims.

A/N:

Thanks so much for reading! And thank you for waiting, too—I know this one took a while. I was feeling a little rusty, which may be evident. An unfortunate part of my writing process is being unmotivated and doing nothing for 6~ months. Whoops.

The paintings that Shifu and Han discuss are inspired* by Nymph of the Luo River and The Night Revels of Han Xizai. While the timeline of Kung Fu Panda is indefinite and resembles a generic amalgamation of dynasties more than any one time, I don't think it aligns with the varying timelines of these pieces. Ignore this inconsistency, please.

*Some context given to these paintings in this chapter is entirely fictional; however, if any readers knowledgeable on art history would like to add their two cents on any facts about these paintings, I'd love to hear about it! My own research only took me so far.

If you have any thoughts you'd like to share, good and bad, please tell me them in the comments/reviews! Comments/reviews make my day no matter what.

I hope to deliver a new chapter soon—this one was supposed to be super long but I decided to divide it into two chapters for a few reasons. It kind of became a filler chapter in the process, but I think Chapter 7 will make up for it. It should be out very, very soon and will be a lot longer—and it'll have some pretty cool stuff to offer, too.

Until next time! :)