Mao finished his exercise for the afternoon and went to his room. He discovered Keihan there wiping the desk with a dustsheet.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Keihan dropping the dustsheet and picking up his book. He marked his place and put it down again. “Did you want something?”

  “No. I’m just done for today. I’m glad I caught you, yes, I’ve been meaning to have it out with you.”

  “Yes?”

  Mao waved his hand around the room and towards the desk, and the chair – at the numerous untidy towers of books and pamphlets. “This is a bit much, don’t you think? You couldn’t swing a dead cat in here before, now you can’t swing a dead rat! Now, I’d be the last person to complain if you want to store stuff here, but this is too much.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll take them back. I just got a bit bored …”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. What are you reading?” Mao picked up the book Keihan had just marked. “Selected stories of immortal sages – what’s it about?”

  “Oh, you know, stories of this and that. The statues in this temple have each their own story – quite remarkable some of them. Some are unbelievable, some are just plain daft …”

  The two boys chatted a bit until it was time for Keihan to do more chores, and Mao went off to supper.

  Later in the evening, Keihan went to the temple library to return a pile of books and browse a little. He thought that since it was such a late hour it would be empty and balked when he turned a corner and saw Seiskein Monk at one of the desks writing by the light of the moon streaming through the open window.

  Keihan bowed and stuttered an honorific.

  Seiskein raised his head and appraised the little boy. “What are you doing here?” he said at length.

  “I’m … er, I was … Master Mao told me to return these books.”

  “Oh yes?” Seiskein got up and reached a hand out. Keihan put the books into his hand obediently. Seiskein glanced at them, reading the titles: A comprehensive introduction to karma and karmic prayers; Sum sutras; Meanings in mantra verses; Selected myths and fables vol VI …

  “It’s rather dark in here, master,” Keihan said.

  “Hmm, yes … I … lost track of time …”

  “Would you like me to get you a candle, master?”

  “No candles in this room, little one. You may get a light for the lamps, but there is no need. I am just about finished here.” Seiskein put the returned books onto the table. “Please inform Mao that in future the books here are not to be removed from this room. He should read them here, or make his own copy here if he wants it for reference. And he should always return them to where he found them otherwise no one else would be able to refer to them when they need to. I suppose these ones are fine to borrow for a short while, but only one at a time or it will be easy to forget where they should be returned … I really must work out some way to reference and order them properly … I shall return these to their proper places. You may go.”

  “Yes, master.” Keihan bowed, and was about to leave when –

  “Wait,” said Seiskein.

  Keihan turned back. “Yes, master?”

  Seiskein stroked his long white beard as he scrutinised the lad. At length he said, “Nothing. No matter. You may go.”

  Keihan bowed obeisance and left the dark library. He wondered at Seiskein’s lack of ease …

  ~~~

  It was nearly the end of a mild winter when Mao was again ordered to visit home. With some annoyance, he discovered that the clothes he had bought last time for himself and Keihan no longer fitted.

  “Oh well,” he said. “We’ll just have to buy another set.” And so the two boys set off. When they arrived within sight of the castle, Mao dismissed the soldier who had escorted them so they could browse the shops for new garments before going home.

  Grandfather Lao was overjoyed to see his Maoi and commented at length how much he had grown. This time, Duke Aramond was also at the castle gate to greet his son with a huge smile.

  “How have things been for you this past year?” he inquired.

  “Splendid, father,” said Mao.

  “Have you a great deal to show me?”

  “I have learnt a great deal!” Mao replied.

  “Excellent, excellent. You will show me later. Now, please introduce me to your little friend.”

  “Oh,” said Mao. Everyone looked at Keihan who could not help a frown at this undue attention. “Um, this is my good friend Keihan Lam. Er, we got to know each other on my first day at Shaolin.”

  “Oh yes.” Aramond nodded. He led the way back to the main building. “Where is he from?”

  “Er –”

  “I am from a village in Gnarlin originally, sir,” said Keihan. “That is in the east, just under the northern border, near the sea.”

  “I know where Gnarlin is. Did your family travel there from the Western Provinces? Are you from a notable family?”

  “Not very notable at all, sir,” said Keihan.

  “Are you mocking me with a show of humility?” Aramond raised his eyebrows slightly.

  “No, sir.”

  “Ah! Do you have any brothers?”

  “No, sir.”

  “An only son? Well, well. You must be your father’s heir. What does he do? What is his name?”

  “I don’t know my father. I never knew my mother either. My grandfather raised me. He is a merchant. His name is Iyan Lam.”

  “Indeed … are you sure he is a merchant?”

  What an odd question. “Why would I not be sure?” said Keihan. “That is what I know.”

  “Why did he send you to Shaolin? Is it just to learn martial art or is it to make up for some terrible misdeed?”

  Old Lao noted how uncomfortable the interrogation was for the little boy. “Don’t you have something you need to be getting on with, Dao Aramond?” he said. “Some devious plan you need to concoct?”

  “Am I not allowed to ask questions of my son’s friendships, now?” Aramond retorted.

  “If you used half as much of the energy thinking evil of others as you should to cultivate your inner self, you’d be halfway to nirvana by now.”

  “What makes you think I want nirvana?” Aramond spat. He turned on his heel and left without another word. The two boys relaxed visibly once he had gone.

  It was a few days later that Aramond once again turned his attention to the strange little boy. It was after supper, and knowing that the two boys sometimes spent this time in Mao’s room playing board games, he made his way there and after a perfunctory knock, he entered.

  “Father,” Mao acknowledged.

  Keihan got up. “Sir.”

  Aramond shut the door behind him and said, “I have questions for you Keihan. You may choose not to answer, but I would advise against that. And don’t even think to lie to me. I am very good at knowing when someone is lying.”

  “Dad, is this really necessary?” asked Mao.

  Aramond ignored his son. “Keihan. Is your grandfather really Iyan Lam?”

  Keihan frowned. “Why?”

  “He sounds like someone I should know of. Describe him.”

  “Er –”

  “Dad! You can’t possibly know a merchant from Gnarlin.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot know!” snarled Aramond. He went forward and grabbed Keihan by the scruff of his neck. “You look very much like an enemy of mine.”

  “Dad!” Mao jumped up amazed at this vicious paranoia. He tried to help his friend, but Aramond pushed him to one side easily. “Stop it! You’re strangling him!”

  Aramond released his grip on Keihan’s collar, and gripped his arm instead. “What are the names of your uncles?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Really? Not one?”

  “No.”

  “What about cousins? Do you know any?”

  “Dad! This is insane! Can you leave off this ridiculous interrogation!”

  “You find this disturbing, my boy?” said Aramond smoothly. “I am so sorry. Let me take this elsewhere.” He opened the door and dragged Keihan with him.

  “Stop! No! Don’t!” said Mao, horrified at the thought that Aramond was going to take Keihan to his dungeon for a spot of torture.

  But the dungeon was not Aramond’s intention. He dragged the little boy to his own quarters, and there, closed the door firmly after he had ordered the guard to keep Mao from disturbing him, outside.

  “Now then,” said Aramond, as he released Keihan. “Where were we? Oh yes – cousins?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “How would I know cousins if I don’t know any uncles?” Keihan said, massaging his arm.

  “So your sole family consists of you and your old grandfather?”

  “As far as I know, yes.”

  “And he is a merchant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Indeed,” said Aramond thoughtfully. He sat in his chair and appraised the lad for a full moment before asking another question. “So why did he decide to send you to Shaolin?”

  “He, er … didn’t.”

  “No? Then what are you doing there?”

  “I, er …”

  “Shall I go and ask Mao? Or maybe I should write to the monks and ask …”

  “No! That is, I decided to go there myself.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to learn martial art for myself.”

  Aramond nodded. “And how did you meet my son? Be aware that I shall ask him the same questions in a moment.”

  “We met on the road going up to Shaolin.”

  “Are you in the same class?”

  “Yes … that is, no.”

  “No, as in, not the same class?”

  Keihan shook his head. “No. I, er, am a … er … worker.”

  Aramond raised his eyebrows.

  Keihan continued, “I knew it would be hard – getting accepted as a disciple, so I went in as a servant. Well, that wasn’t what I intended originally, but, well, Mao thought I’d be accepted if I were his peer companion, but –”

  “Excuse me, you mean you are masquerading as a servant in Shaolin?”

  “I guess you could say that –”

  “– And got my son to help you in this?”

  “Well, he offered, he thought he’d be helping me out –”

  Aramond held up a hand. “Let me get this perfectly straight. The monks think you are my son’s servant boy and you’ve stolen into Shaolin solely for the purpose of their martial art?”

  “Er, yes, that’s the long and short of it,” Keihan admitted.

  “And does your grandfather know you are at Shaolin?”

  “No.”

  “Would he approve, if he did know?”

  “No,” said Keihan. “He would not.”

  “Is he not a pious man?”

  “That isn’t it, sir,” said Keihan.

  “Oh? Please explain.”

  “He is, well, he abhors violence and the fighting arts.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? I don’t know! All my life it’s been, learn this book, learn that book, keep head down, out of trouble, and there was one time I asked to learn martial art – he threw a fit!”

  “Books, huh? Did you not like them?”

  “Well …”

  “Did you not find them useful?”

  “Not then, I didn’t. But … well, there are different types of books.”

  “Yes, indeed there are,” Aramond said, and smiled. “Let me get this clear … As a child you were made to book learn and you hated it so much that – all of a sudden –” he chuckled, “– you left home to go to Shaolin and there, to learn what you really wanted?”

  Keihan nodded and narrowed his eyes at Aramond’s obvious merriment.

  Aramond snorted, “You wanted it so badly you threw all caution to the winds and trekked all that way –” he could not speak, overcome with laughter –

  “What’s so funny?”

  Aramond recovered himself. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.” He squeezed the tears from his eyes and said, “Tell me – how much have you learned, little boy?”

  “Er –”

  “Oh, don’t worry that I shall disclose your little secret. I have no interest in writing to Shaolin and informing them of your masquerade, even though you have my boy in complicity. That serves me no purpose. How much of their martial art have you learned?”

  Keihan was reluctant to answer.

  Aramond waited … then cracked his knuckles. “Shaolin kungfu is of the highest accolade. I’ve always wanted to test it myself, but never found the time …”

  Mao burst into his grandfather’s room. Lao was in his pyjamas resting on his couch. On the side table was an abandoned game of geotropolis.

  “Granddad! You’ve got to help me. Dad’s gone crazy! He’s –”

  “What has he done now?” said Lao. He got to his feet with a weary sigh.

  “He’s marched my friend off for interrogation! Hurry!” Mao grabbed hold of his grandfather and tugged his gnarled hand.

  “Steady, steady, lad,” said Lao.

  They made their way to Aramond’s rooms with as much haste as Lao’s bones allowed.

  There, Lao told the guard that Aramond’s order to keep people out could not possibly extend to him. The guard disagreed. The thick wood of the door did not completely muffle the sounds of thumping and crashing and furniture breaking –

  Mao kicked the guard on the leg in his agitation and Lao managed to push the door open just in time to see Keihan fly across the room and break another priceless floor-standing vase by landing on it backwards.

  “What the devil are you doing!” cried Lao.

  “Nothing that need concern you, father,” said Aramond evenly, and leaned casually on his map-strewn table. He waved aside the apologetic guard who was attempting to prise Lao away from the threshold enough to close the door.

  “What are you trying to prove?” said Lao, throwing his hands up in the air.

  Mao rushed in and tried to help his friend up. He was bruised and cut in several places.

  “Can you move?” Mao asked.

  “Take him to the doctor,” said Lao.

  “Do no such thing!” said Aramond. “Stay right there! I’m not done with you.”

  “What is it with you?” yelled Lao. “What has this boy done to you?”

  “Done? Nothing yet – and nothing it will remain if I have anything to do with it,” said Aramond. “I am perfectly within my rights to know everything that passes in my castle.”

  “Have you completely lost your mind? This is totally out of order and you know it!”

  “Oh? You think I should, instead, be a complete fool and let some cunning peddler trick me out of my property?”

  “What? Is that what you think he is? He is just a boy! How could you beat him up like that! Have you no shame?”

  “Shame! Don’t talk to me about shame! You don’t know this boy! You don’t know what he is capable of!”

  “I know what I see with my eyes! This boy is no threat to you! You should be ashamed of y–”

  “Shame!” Aramond bared a crocodile smile. “Shame is for the foolish! And the weak! People who lose their lands, their wealth, their wives and sons, all they should hold dear – all because they can’t deal with matters. Cowards who stand aside – pushed aside – while stronger men take everything that was once theirs.”

  “Standing aside is not weakness,” said Lao.

  “Oh,” Aramond folded his arms, “so you think we should all adopt an unworldly stance? That we should all just pack up and go back to living in caves?”

  “What?” Lao was flabbergasted by this sudden change in tack.

  “You think I should lay down and let people walk all over me?” Aramond unfolded one arm to wave it for emphasis.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s what you did. If I hadn’t returned when I did all those years ago, you think we’d still have our ancestral seat? We’d be living in some heathen cave while you recite this poet-sage, that sage-poet.”

  “It would do you good to read their works once in a while!”

  “Pah!” Aramond said.

  “And I would never say you should lay down and let people walk all over you! Stop twisting my words. I only say that war is never the answer!”

  “Not the answer? Tell me … what is?”

  “Calm and peace and diplomacy and talk –”

  “Talk! What’s that ever going to achieve? Words! Pah! Just because someone knows a lot of words doesn’t make him great! Just because someone talks a lot or writes a lot doesn’t mean he is smart! If your sage-poet is so flipping clever let him achieve something through action! Then I should applaud him.”

  “What good is all your striving? Look around you! Look at yourself! This room for instance! What is more important, Dao! Transient wealth? Deluded grandeur? Or your son?” Lao pointed at Mao for emphasis.

  “I do everything for him!”

  “Do you?” said Lao. He sat down wearily on one of the unbroken chairs.

  Silence descended. Keihan coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood.

  “Maoi, help him to his room,” said Lao.

  Aramond folded his arms and glared, but did not object and so the two boys departed. Lao lectured quietly for about ten minutes, during which time Aramond did not move a muscle. When his father prepared to leave, he vented his shocking temper by coldly telling him to inform the steward that there was furniture needing to be replaced and broken crockery to be cleared up. Then he proceeded to smash up the rest of the antiques in his room. Lao ignored him – and a short time afterwards – Aramond was forced to instruct the steward himself.

  Over the next few days, things were somewhat strained between them all.

  On the last evening before the two boys were to return to Shaolin, Aramond knocked on Keihan’s door, pushed it open, but did not enter –

  “Mao, there you are … I must say I am very pleased at your advancement in the martial arts. If I’d known the monks would do such a good job of teaching you, I’d have sent you there sooner and wasted less time … no matter … I shall certainly expect you to fulfil your promise that you will be starting on the senior level by the end of another year. Well then, your mother wants a word with you, attend to her immediately,” said Aramond.

  Mao frowned and glanced at Keihan with his bandaged torso and splinted left arm.

  “Don’t worry – I shan’t raise a finger against your little friend, but I do wish to give him a warning – in private.”

  Mao had no choice but to leave.

  “Well, well, well,” said Aramond stalking into the room and shutting the door. “I am very impressed.”

  Keihan did not know how to reply.

  “I am curious … what is the name of your father?”

  “I don’t know. Grandfather never told me.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “Why? It can’t be that your mother –”

  “My mother died a few days after I was born.”

  “I’m sorry.” Aramond did not look sorry. “Was your mother your grandfather’s daughter?”

  “I don’t think so. I really don’t know anything about my father. Every time I ask grandpa, he’d mutter that I don’t have one.”

  “Calm yourself. Tell me – What was that style you used in defence? – Pointless against me of course, but I can see the power it would have in a stronger opponent.”

  “Er, it is – The Moving Bamboo Forest Standing Still.”

  “Ah, an excellent name for such a fluid – such an unexpected style. Excellent indeed!” Aramond chuckled. “Well, well, well. Shaolin kungfu certainly deserves its reputation. With perfect Qh’i it would be an almost flawless defence. Well, little boy, let me tell you something … since you have set your heart on stealing their kungfu … know that as you gain mastery of the Shaolin Forms it will become very apparent to anyone else with mastery – should they care to look.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  Aramond smiled cryptically. “Oh, it will become all too apparent soon enough,” he said, opening the door. “You’ll see.” He exited chuckling, and shut the door quietly behind him.

  The two boys were rather sober on the journey back to Shaolin. And when they arrived, Greson Monk exclaimed to Keihan, “Amitofu! What the heck happened to you!”

  “Riding accident,” said Keihan – “Hunting accident,” said Mao at the same time.

  “Riding accident whilst they were hunting,” said Keihan.

  “Hmmph,” said Greson, but decided not to make an issue of it on this occasion.

  When the other boys heard of it, they discussed that it rather looked like someone had given the servant boy a sound thrashing. Junho took up the theme with Mao when their paths crossed outside the assembly hall: “Did you do something to piss off the old folk?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Mao.

  “I’ve heard that in noble families, the precious prince never gets beaten,” said Junho snidely. “If he does wrong, it is always the poor scapegoat companion that is taken to the beating stick.”

  “That is not the case!”

  “Oh,” said Junho, “you could have fooled me!” He laughed and stepped into the quietening hall.

  Mao seethed in silence until he regained his calm and trooped in with the other boys.