Dié. I didn’t hear her.
I looked back toward the new-growth area and found myself staring at the tip of a wicked-looking spear blade looming an inch from my forehead. I reacted without thinking. I dropped the bike and shifted all of my weightto my left foot—the one on the ground—and instinctively rotated the heel of my other foot to release it from the pedal clip. Unfortunately, I wasn’t using clip-in pedals on this ride. I was using pedal cages.
I fell down. I remembered the pedal cage and jerked my foot free, silently cursing myself. I rolled onto my back, trying to put some distance between myself and whoever was holding that spear, but it was no use. The spear tip flashed downward, stopping half an inch above my thumping heart.
“Stand,” a deep voice commanded in Mandarin.
As I stood, the spear tip followed me the whole way up.
“Who are you?” the voice asked in Mandarin.
I understood this, too, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I focused beyond the spear tip for the first time. I saw an impossibly old man with the physique of an NFL linebacker.
The man was well over six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a doorway. He wore a tattered orange robe, beneath which I could see a thick chest. The skin on his bald head sagged with age, and his face was covered with liver spots the size of silver dollars. His eyes were as bright as PawPaw’s, and he stared at me. Unlike PawPaw, though, who appeared to search for kindness, this man sought weakness. I knew better than to look away. I locked eyes with him, my irises flashing green fire.
The old man nodded as if I had passed some kind of test, and he lowered his spear. The breeze picked up, and I caught a familiar scent in the air. The man was sweating,and he smelled just like Grandfather and PawPaw. This had to be the guy I was supposed to find.
The old monk spoke again in Mandarin. “Answer my question, young man. Who are you?”
I bowed and replied in English. “My name is Phoenix Collins. I’ve come in search of Cangzhen Temple. Do you speak English? I am sorry, but my Chinese is very poor.”
The man glowered and answered in English. “I speak your language. You are American?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does an American know about Cangzhen?”
“Not very much. My grandfather sent me to find it, and a monk who may live within its ruins. Are you the man I am looking for?”
“Who is your grandfather?”
“His name is Chénjí Long—Silent Dragon. We live in the state of Indiana, but he spent his life in China until thirteen years ago, when he moved to the United States to take care of me. He said he lived at Cangzhen Temple when he was a boy.”
The old man slowly shook his head, as though he were unhappy. He seemed to drift into deep thought, and I turned my attention to the spear’s metal tip. It was almost a foot long and cut into a wavy pattern. It was nasty. I had seen one like it many times. It was a snake-head spear, and it was Grandfather’s favorite weapon.
The old man’s mind appeared to return to the moment, and he said, “I know who you are, and I can probably guess why you have come. I never expected to meetyou, Phoenix. Something must be very wrong for you to be here. The Cangzhen Temple ruins are near. If you can prove yourself, I will show them to you.”
I flinched. “What do you want me to do?”
The old man nodded at his spear.
A chill ran down my spine. I knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted me to show him that I knew how to fight by doing a kata, or form, with him—a series of practice moves. We weren’t going to fight for real, but I needed to choose wisely nonetheless.
I dropped into a deep Horse Stance and thought quickly. I needed a kung fu form in which one person with a spear attacks another person who is empty-handed.
Say Sow Seh
came to mind—“Four-Hand Snake.” This form was representative of snake-style kung fu, which happened to be my favorite and the one I did best. Timing and precision
I looked back toward the new-growth area and found myself staring at the tip of a wicked-looking spear blade looming an inch from my forehead. I reacted without thinking. I dropped the bike and shifted all of my weightto my left foot—the one on the ground—and instinctively rotated the heel of my other foot to release it from the pedal clip. Unfortunately, I wasn’t using clip-in pedals on this ride. I was using pedal cages.
I fell down. I remembered the pedal cage and jerked my foot free, silently cursing myself. I rolled onto my back, trying to put some distance between myself and whoever was holding that spear, but it was no use. The spear tip flashed downward, stopping half an inch above my thumping heart.
“Stand,” a deep voice commanded in Mandarin.
As I stood, the spear tip followed me the whole way up.
“Who are you?” the voice asked in Mandarin.
I understood this, too, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I focused beyond the spear tip for the first time. I saw an impossibly old man with the physique of an NFL linebacker.
The man was well over six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a doorway. He wore a tattered orange robe, beneath which I could see a thick chest. The skin on his bald head sagged with age, and his face was covered with liver spots the size of silver dollars. His eyes were as bright as PawPaw’s, and he stared at me. Unlike PawPaw, though, who appeared to search for kindness, this man sought weakness. I knew better than to look away. I locked eyes with him, my irises flashing green fire.
The old man nodded as if I had passed some kind of test, and he lowered his spear. The breeze picked up, and I caught a familiar scent in the air. The man was sweating,and he smelled just like Grandfather and PawPaw. This had to be the guy I was supposed to find.
The old monk spoke again in Mandarin. “Answer my question, young man. Who are you?”
I bowed and replied in English. “My name is Phoenix Collins. I’ve come in search of Cangzhen Temple. Do you speak English? I am sorry, but my Chinese is very poor.”
The man glowered and answered in English. “I speak your language. You are American?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does an American know about Cangzhen?”
“Not very much. My grandfather sent me to find it, and a monk who may live within its ruins. Are you the man I am looking for?”
“Who is your grandfather?”
“His name is Chénjí Long—Silent Dragon. We live in the state of Indiana, but he spent his life in China until thirteen years ago, when he moved to the United States to take care of me. He said he lived at Cangzhen Temple when he was a boy.”
The old man slowly shook his head, as though he were unhappy. He seemed to drift into deep thought, and I turned my attention to the spear’s metal tip. It was almost a foot long and cut into a wavy pattern. It was nasty. I had seen one like it many times. It was a snake-head spear, and it was Grandfather’s favorite weapon.
The old man’s mind appeared to return to the moment, and he said, “I know who you are, and I can probably guess why you have come. I never expected to meetyou, Phoenix. Something must be very wrong for you to be here. The Cangzhen Temple ruins are near. If you can prove yourself, I will show them to you.”
I flinched. “What do you want me to do?”
The old man nodded at his spear.
A chill ran down my spine. I knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted me to show him that I knew how to fight by doing a kata, or form, with him—a series of practice moves. We weren’t going to fight for real, but I needed to choose wisely nonetheless.
I dropped into a deep Horse Stance and thought quickly. I needed a kung fu form in which one person with a spear attacks another person who is empty-handed.
Say Sow Seh
came to mind—“Four-Hand Snake.” This form was representative of snake-style kung fu, which happened to be my favorite and the one I did best. Timing and precision
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