(Day 60 Continued)

  Without waiting for further ado, Pengfei lunged in. The qinggong method, ‘Three Twists of the Dragon in the Clouds’, carried him quickly across the intervening ground. He still struggled with the ‘lightness’ in his ‘lightness techniques’. His understanding of his weight distribution was still wanting. But his muscles surged with power enough to carry him over the dirt to his opponent.

  When the two fighters clashed, Pengfei was pushed back. Not by much, but noticeably. Chodak followed with several of the palm strikes that Jingme had first displayed. The tip of each finger seemed to trail qi through the air. It was not visible, not really. But whatever sixth sense had developed with his neigong practice allowed Pengfei to perceive it on some level. Like heat haze that surrounded the orange licks of a fire, but still just outside the eye’s ability to see.

  The lama did not imbue every attack with qi. A hook caught Pengfei in the forehead as he tried to lean back out of range. It cut the skin, though shallow. On average, the Tibetan’s blows were much more dangerous those from Kunlun’s disciple.

  --Need to try something stronger.--

  There was only one possibility. One technique in Pengfei’s meager repertoire. The ‘Thundering Sky Strike’.

  Pengfei went back and forth with his opponent several times as he prepared himself.

  --Draw the qi out, guide it down the arm. Release it, send it outward at the moment of contact.--

  The meridians would have the best alignment with a straight punch from the right hand. Hard to find a clean opportunity for that strike on its own.

  --Need to set it up. Jab, same-side high kick. Throw the right as I land the foot in front…--

  The sequence decided, he waited for his opportunity. But Chodak was more skilled than his friend, Jigme. And not just in his liberal use of internal energy. His technique was fast and varied. Pengfei began his combination, but the Tibetan slipped around the jab and latched on to the attacking arm, sinking all his weight to the ground in an attempt at a joint lock.

  Pengfei preferred striking, but had still been attentive during Chen Ji’s instruction on the ‘Kunlun Wishful Hand’. He latched his hands together and bent his elbow against the pressure that Chodak was exerting on his arm. They both fell to the dirt and tussled for a few seconds before scrambling away from each other at the first break of contact.

  Chodak spit on the ground and cursed at Pengfei. It must have been a curse. It had all the venom and spite you would expect in one. But the Taoist disciple didn’t project the same animosity. There had been anger before the fight. Anger at the mention of Pema’s name. Who were they to mention her name? But those thoughts had gone with the first strike thrown. There was no rage now. Just the struggle. And maybe some lingering fear.

  Another hook. Pengfei tried to fade backwards again, but the result was the same as last time. Clipped. More of a hit than a miss. The impact reverberated in his head but he responded immediately.

  Jab. Kick.

  Thundering Sky Strike (lei tian ji – 雷天擊)

  The energy followed the path of least resistance. From the lower dantian in the abdomen, through the meridians of the arm, to the fist. All while Pengfei’s foot planted, torso turned, hand extended. His opponent was already bringing an arm over for a parry, but it would be too late. The way to the target was unobstructed. The distance narrowed in the dew drop of slowed time.

  Pengfei’s blow landed in the meat of Chodak’s chest. Well away from the heart. No matter how hot the emotions had run at the beginning of the encounter, he was still cool headed enough not to escalate the match into a life-and-death battle. It should be enough to end the fight but not enough to do any lasting harm.

  The fist spun and bit deep into the muscled flesh below the collar bone. Pengfei could feel the energy course down his arm and outward, like a gust of wind had taken him by surprise and tried to bowl him over from behind. There was a rush, a sound to match. It was the finest example of the technique that Pengfei had ever managed.

  All fell silent as Chodak stumbled back and brought his opposite hand to his chest. The lama kneaded the flesh beneath his robes, gritting his teeth and growling who-knows-what at Pengfei. A beat passed. Two. More snarled curses as Pengfei stood triumphantly waiting for the concession of defeat.

  Instead, Chodak raised his hands and advanced forward.

  The Tibetans cheered and the disciples of Kunlun gaped. Nanxi was the first to recover.

  “Hit him again!”

  But Chodak wasn’t going to let that happen. He attacked more ferociously than before. If there was a weakness on his right, where Pengfei had struck, it was not enough to detect. The Buddhist monk’s blows were just as swift. His palm strikes still ripped through the air with the same energy as before.

  “Don’t just back straight up! Laterally!”

  --One of the twins?--

  Pengfei was unsure which one, but took their advice as he was forced on to the defensive. He used his qinggong to evade, first parrying then skirting away in the shadow of the blows. But every time he turned to face his opponent again, Chodak was closing in on him, plodding doggedly forward.

  Qinggong to dart in. The basic straight punches so characteristic of the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist.’ Fast, in short combinations, then back out of range again. But they were ineffectual against Chodak. There were small cuts sprouting across his face, but otherwise he was undaunted. And each mark left the Tibetan more aggressive than before.

  The monk adjusted to Pengfei’s evasions. A faster pace left the Kunlun disciple struggling to protect himself. A straight punch left him tasting blood. He ran his tongue across his top teeth to ensure they were all still there.

  “Protect your head!”

  --…What do they think I’m trying to do? The fucker just won’t stop coming… and I can’t defend against his palm strikes forever.--

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The thought triggered something in his mind. A memory, hammered in by countless repetitions.

  --… a style of righteousness and empathy, robust in defending the self, shielding the weak, compassionate even when subduing demons with a single perfect blow…--

  The Arhat Fist. The lines from the introduction of the Shaolin manual came back to him now.

  --Robust in defense. Single perfect blow.--

  Pengfei had used the ‘Arhat Fist’ in training matches. Against his peers that used the quick and darting style of Kunlun, it had been only marginally effective. The fist method had lost some of its initial mystique to the boy who had imagined Shaolin’s techniques to stand above all others. It hadn’t worked out that way so far.

  --But now?--

  He widened his stance and took in Chodak’s guard as the opponent approached. He gritted his teeth and prepared to take the next barrage head on.

  The long distance straight punches, and a snapping front kick bridged the gap. Instead of using his qinggong to dance away from the blows, Pengfei stayed rooted.

  Waiting.

  He blocked the punches and absorbed the impact of the kick straight-on, with a grunt. The steadfast resolve of the ‘Arhat Fist’. Many of the techniques were similar to those of Kunlun, different more in focus than in content. A few novel movements. Pengfei used one of the more exotic parries, coming from over the top and scooping another kick off-line.

  But it was that core philosophy that he relied on now. Defense above all, but not flight. Not retreat. The evasive movements were still there, but smaller. Stay close to the aggressor, wait for the opportunity to subdue with a single blow.

  Keeping eyes peeled for an opening.

  It wasn’t coming. The claustrophobia of the constant attacks closed in from the sides. But Pengfei still watched. He pivoted his whole body with another parry, turning into cat stance and flicking a front kick out. But Chodak was already coming back in.

  --Maybe when he…--

  And there it was. The lama swiped with his palm again. Energy dragging along with his feline fingertips. A terrifying attack, but wide.

  The difficulty was not in spotting the opening but capitalizing. The reaction speed was there. But the next part went against all normal instincts. Move toward the attack, not away. Into the inferno, not out. Another of the counterintuitive points of martial arts that battled with the body’s natural sense.

  Pengfei’s lead hand went straight out as he sank deep into the stance. Sitting into the punch. The bottom of Chodak’s palm strike passed just above his skull, fingers catching strands of short hair.

  The punch landed just beneath the border between chest and abdomen.

  --Fuck, it wasn’t deep enou…--

  But the fears evaporated when Chodak took two steps back and fell to his knees, sputtering

  Pengfei dropped his outstretched fist and stood straight. He looked to the groaning cluster of lamas. Back to his fellow disciples from Kunlun who were cheering boisterously.

  --It didn’t feel like I hit him that hard?--

  But the proof of it was kneeling right in front of him.

  A giddy chuckle was boiling up in Pengfei’s belly. It had to come out. He didn’t try to say anything complicated, afraid he’d find himself tongue tied again.

  “YYYYEEEEESSSS!”

  He turned back to his friends and raised his arms in victory to their screaming affirmations. He only had a moment to bathe in the glory before another lama tackled him from behind.

  The rest of the Tibetans charged. Kunlun’s disciples rushed forward to meet them. The ensuing brawl favored the Buddhists, at least in numbers. Until, a moment later, when Horse joined the fight. Biting, stomping at anything wearing a red robe.

  ******************************************************************************

  (Day 64)

  The beginners had mostly taken well to riding. The twins, Nanxi, Xiaotong. The four of them were off on a small expedition in the surrounding area, following one of the herdsmen. Shutian was having the most trouble. He was sitting on a gelding now, being led around a small paddock by Pema’s father, Dorje.

  Pengfei looked on from a distance, next to Pema. They chuckled at Shutian’s difficulties. He was being treated like a child by the Tibetan clan’s patriarch.

  “He is a bad choice for your group.”

  Pengfei laughed, finding the point hard to deny, but shook his head. “No, he’ll be fine. Besides, look how happy he is? I’ve never seen him smile so much.”

  Pema squinted her eyes at Shutian then arched a quizzical eyebrow. Intuiting the question, Pengfei explained.

  “If he’s not actively scowling, I consider that a smile.”

  “Ah.”

  Horse nickered derisively beneath him, and Pengfei dug his heels inward in an attempt to silence the mare.

  “So...do you want to go find the others?”

  A tense moment passed while he waited for Pema’s answer. He had been trying to get her alone for the past several days but there had always been something else to do. He seized this opportunity.

  The young woman smiled and nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  They rode slowly, out past the tents and wagons that made up her family’s encampment. Through the pastures that held the goats and yaks that the clan had come to sell to the merchants of Hotan. The numbers had been greatly reduced since last time Pengfei had visited. The few dozen Kazakh horses that Kunlun had purchased grazed among the other animals.

  Pengfei and Pema both knew that the other disciples had gone west, but she led them north at the river. A light giddiness rose up in his belly. Just to be doused a second later.

  “You and your friends had a fight a few days ago.” Pema said. A statement, not a question. Seeing Pengfei’s confusion, she explained. “The monks came to visit us last night, after you left.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I could tell they were Tibetan.”

  “Buddhists. They will travel to Mongolia soon. The tribesmen there respect our lamas.”

  “They knew how to fight.”

  She nodded. “They teach such things in the temples.”

  A few minutes passed in silence as they rode. The topic still hung in the air, awkwardly. In the days since the brawl, Pengfei had invented all manner of scenarios and motivations for his attackers. But there was only one plausible explanation. They had mentioned Pema’s name, come to find Pengfei. Romantic rivals. The only question was how Pema felt about them.

  The pair reached a little copse of trees and paused. The weight of not knowing finally broke him down.

  “One of them said your name. It was the only thing I could understand.”

  “Yes, we know them.” Pema looked off into space for a time. A lengthy pause but Pengfei knew it was still the girl’s time to speak. He waited, and eventually she turned to fix him with a serious gaze. She spoke frankly, evenly.

  “When they return from Mongolia, their time as monks will be over. They will leave their temple and we will marry.”

  “Marry?” A lead ball sank to the bottom of Pengfei’s gut. “What - who? Which one?”

  “The ones you fought. The brothers. Jigme and Chodak.”

  Confusion and dread mixed inside him. He focused on the unimportant details, pushing away the bigger picture for a time. “But… which one will you marry?”

  “Both.”

  Pengfei gaped. “That’s… no, that can’t…”

  “Where you are from, don’t the men take many wives?”

  “Some men. But that’s... no. It’s different.” Pengfei struggled to reconcile the reality of his own upbringing to his current reality. His own father had taken a second wife. Pengfei’s mother had lived in even more secrecy and seclusion afterwards. “Your father can’t make you do that. We can –“

  “Make me?” Pema interrupted before Pengfei’s concerned words could take him any further down the potentially offensive path. “My father does not make me do anything. It’s a good match. Their family has large herds to the south, ties to Lhasa. And by marrying both of them, the entire inheritance will pass to my children.”

  “You’re too young!”

  “Older than you. And old enough.”

  The age gap between them was small, absolutely speaking, but where Pengfei was just coming into his manhood, Pema was well within the range of years when a young woman would find a match. On the younger side, to be sure, but still within norms. Especially for the nomadic tribes.

  Logistic details pushed to the side, the painful truth settled in on Pengfei.

  --Willingly. She’s willingly choosing someone else. Two ‘someone else’-s in fact… Shit.--

  The sting of rejection pricked at his eyes. He blinked and looked away from the beautiful girl. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He expected some pitying consolation to be the final stab in his heart, but she took him by surprise again.

  “We still have some time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ll be in Mongolia for at least a year. Another six months before a wedding. We can still spend time together. I told them to mind their own business until the marriage. They will not bother you again, if that is what you’re worried about.”

  ”Worried? No… that’s… it’s not that. But we can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “According to who?”

  Pengfei’s false ethics gave way to the truth soon enough under the girl’s scrutiny. Not propriety. Jealousy.

  “You’re marrying them. Choosing them over me. And you just want me to sit back and accept it?”

  The horses munched at the grass below their hooves as the drama of their riders unfolded. Pema fixed him with an eye that held a hint of scorn.

  “It’s not about you. I need to plan for my future, my family’s future. Or were you planning to leave your sect when the rest of them return east? Give up your friends and family, become a shepherd, marry me?”

  He had no defense to that rebuke. He chose to lash out in his impotence.

  “Do you even love them?”

  “Oh, Pengfei.” Pema spoke sadly. She pulled her reins and turned her horse back the way they had come. She leaned over in her saddle as she passed and kissed his cheek. He could feel a tear running down his cheek transfer over to her lips. “I guess you’re still just a boy.”

  She rode back toward the Tibetan camp and left Pengfei alone on Horse, standing idly by that little copse of trees.