After five leisurely weeks of travelling, Seiskein’s party arrived at Claymount. They found the city bustling with residents (distinguishable by their sufferance) and visitors (distinguishable by their swagger and excitement).

  Seiskein Monk lead the way to one of the larger hotels intending to take some rooms, but was told that there were none available. The clerk gave him a list of other hotels he could try, but he pointed out that they were most likely also full because of the event. Not only had the prince reserved most of the rooms, but also a great many people had come from other places to see the show and were forced to make do squashed into outbuildings.

  “It seems there is no help for it, but to make ourselves known to the event’s host,” said Seiskein to Cragon. So they called the boys to order and after impressing on them the need to behave, they made their way to the centre of the city, to the palace of the prince-governor.

  The palace was even busier than the streets. The forecourt had been turned into a gigantic arena for the event, due to start in three more days. Seiskein gave his name to the guards at the palace gates and was told that all reception was being conducted in the main hall –

  Rendalhart grumbled as he tackled yet another stack of administrative papers dealing with the last lot of tournament entrants. There’d better be a bonus payment for all this extra work, he thought, as he ticked off the people who had already made themselves known against the list Jutlin Po had given him, and made notes as to where they had been accommodated. There had been a few hiccups where certain sects had divided, and certain heroes of renown had changed their allegiance thence had to be accommodated differently. Rendalhart took a relatively quiet moment to look at the complicated lodgings plan and see if there was room for more adjustments should there be more unforeseen factors. He glanced up at the approach of an elderly man wearing red and gold, a short middle-aged man dressed in yellow, a handsome fresh-faced youth in a grey jacket, a rather plain-looking youth also in a grey jacket, and a – he couldn’t believe his eyes – a gaggle of small boys! Since when did this turn into a crèche? This was supposedly a hero gathering, although by the amount of squabbling he had been made to witness so far, you’d think it was a peasant cattle market! Most unbecoming! Nonetheless, he had to remain polite. It was his job, so as politely as he could, he asked the old man with the red and gold raiment, “Which clan are you from?”

  Seiskein opened his mouth, but was too stunned to speak. Taking wordlessness for senile idiocy, Rendalhart spoke more clearly, “What … is … the … name … of … your … gang?”

  Rendalhart was put off his stride when half the boys began sniggering, and the other half clapped hands to their mouths to keep from laughing out loud.

  Seiskein Monk (his long eyebrows depicting a possible hairline) looked at Cragon Monk, then back at the tournament clerk.

  Cragon cleared his throat, and said, “We are the Small Forest Clan.”

  Rendalhart began to flick through his book of invitations. “Sorry, there is no mention of any Small Forest Clans. Do you have an invitation card?”

  “Invitation card?” said Seiskein, rather weakly.

  “Yes … there is a number on it. I can then match it up and sort out the lodgings for you … if you were indeed invited.”

  “I didn’t get an invitation card. I received a letter …”

  “Well, show me the letter,” said Rendalhart curtly. The giggling boys were starting to get on his nerves.

  “I didn’t think that would be necessary,” Seiskein said, rather faintly. “I left it –”

  “Look, I have to know which gang you are affiliated with because only then can I make arrangements for lodgings. You won’t believe the trouble there will be if I put discordant groups of people together. It’s like a madhouse here! We’ve got more gangs than you can shake a stick at – There’s Wasan, Omei, Wudan, Daosan, Doaksan, Tai’lin – already that’s more vendettas than you can shake a stick at. We’ve got our hands full sorting out the lodgings I can tell you! We got Koban, god help us! we got Daymoon Sect – more dragon and phoenix sects than you can –”

  “Shake a stick at!” yelled one of the boys. This was the cue for a number of them to fall onto the floor laughing.

  “Behave!” Seiskein admonished the boys. Then turning back to the clerk, he said, “We are Shaolin Monks. We are expected.”

  “Shoal Inn Monks? No, I don’t think so,” said Rendalhart and looked at them crossly. He was especially disapproving of the boy rolling on the floor, kicking his feet, and beating the floor with his fists declaring that he couldn’t take it any more and that he was going to die laughing.

  Luckily for Rendalhart, his superior, Jutlin Po (wanting to know what the hullabaloo was) arrived to clout him on the head and say, “Honoured Masters of Shaolin, please forgive this ignorant clerk. He is new to the job, and to society –”

  “Tell him to go back to his farm and breed pigs!” yelled one of the boys.

  “All of you compose yourselves,” Seiskein ordered, after he failed to discover the culprit.

  “Please, come this way,” said Jutlin Po, bowing to the venerable Shaolin Master. “The Prince has set aside rooms in the East wing. I trust it will be adequate.”

  “Boys! This outing is a privilege not a right. I will not have you treat this like a circus!”

  “Fat chance of that – none of us has our juggling irons,” said Junho dryly. The boys who heard him covered their mouths hastily. Cragon shot him a look – and he lowered his head contritely.

  Jutlin Po led the two monks and their disciples to a suite of rooms and left them to get settled.

  The next morning, after breakfast, the two monks found a quiet spot outside the city where Seiskein could drill the junior boys, same as usual. Seiskein had, quite early on, ascertained that Mao’s control of the basic training was well beyond that required to go to the senior level, and wondered why he had not been put forward. Hing murmured it was because Mao was much too modest to advance himself, so the venerable master said he would look into the matter when they returned to Shaolin. In the meantime, all the juniors were to continue with the exercises led by Seiskein, and the two grey disciples were to practise what they knew overseen by Cragon.

  The quiet spot did not remain quiet for long. Towards noon, a group of kobans showed up. They made themselves comfortable: squatting on the dirt floor; reclining on the gnarled roots of trees; or, simply, leaning on their beggar staffs. They goggled at this spectacle of Shaolin disciples being put through their paces, with exaggerated amusement. This put Junho off and he left himself open to several strikes from Hing, who was normally unable to get through. After the twelfth tumble in half as many minutes (each time accompanied by roars of laughter, and shouts of ‘do it again!’ from the kobans), Junho yelled at them to ‘naff off’. At this opportunity, a foul-smelling koban unfurled himself from his seat in the tree roots, and stepped towards the dashing youth.

  “They say Shaolin kungfu is peerless,” said the koban, “but I don’t think we should believe what they say. Do you? This looks like a monkey show.”

  Junho bristled at the insult and was ready to throw down a challenge, but Seiskein stepped forwards and said, “We are not here to make trouble. We shall return to the city and have lunch.”

  The boys trooped away with the laughter of the kobans in their ears, as well as some quite vulgar phrasing. Junho consoled himself with the thought that it was far preferable to let it pass than to cross with the kobans and, most likely, absorb their stink. However, he forgot this consoling thought when the same unit of kobans happened to cross their path again as they were leaving the tavern where they had taken lunch. Their opinion that Shaolin kungfu was a sham rang in the air, and it was one step too far! Junho flew at the foremost Koban, whose voice was the loudest. Despite his foul-smelling garb, the koban was a kungfu master. A crowd gathered to see the fight between the Shaolin disciple and the koban mobster, and they yapped their wonder at the spectacular moves –

  – Wah! So flash! – That’s nothing! – Really? – Just wait until the tournament starts! This is just bum-fluff, you’ll see –

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  The battle was brief, and Junho lost. Cragon stepped forward to pick up his wounded disciple. The koban master sneered, “If this is Shaolin kungfu then they should get spades.”

  “Why’s that?” said a koban crony.

  “So they can bury their shame and pack it in,” said the koban, and laughed at his own wit. A few of the kobans behind him tittered to show they got the joke – even though they hadn’t.

  “You want to see Shaolin kungfu?” Cragon murmured. “Then let me oblige you.” And he hurtled towards the koban before Seiskein could stop him.

  – Wah! Incomparable, now we can really witness something! – Yeah, I’ll give you that! The monk sure can move! I bet that koban must be feeling sorry he has bitten off more than he can chew – Hey did you see that? – No, what happened? – So powerful, one strike and that’s all it takes – Of course, that monk is a supreme fighter – Not just showing off then? – Well, they all show off. If they don’t show off, how will they carry themselves in gongwu? Who would give them face? Even Koban–the Beggar Clan–must swagger! – Yeah, but you can only swagger if you have the substance to back it up – True, true, look! I don’t think the koban guy can take it anymore – Yeah, the monk should let up – You see! that’s the danger of swaggering too much, you might cross more than you can handle – Gor! That monk sure has a bad temper – Aiya! I sure wouldn’t want to jump him in a dark alleyway – Blimey, enough already! The koban is already beaten, why rub his face in the dirt? – Gad! it’s not like it needs more make-up! –

  Seiskein placed his hand on Cragon’s shoulder, and pulled him away murmuring, “Amitofu.”

  Just then, a man who had previously been silent spat and voiced his opinion. “Shaolin Monks! They make out they are so much holier than thou, but at heart they are beasts just like us. At least we are honest about it!”

  – Who is that man? – I don’t know, but by his dress I’d say he’s Red Dragon Sect, or some such – No, that’s Goki Bakyu, he’s a branch leader of the Daymoon Sect – Oh yeah. I see the sun-moon-flame emblazoned on his headband, definitely Daymoon – Oh wow! A supreme master no less! –

  “Put aside your hatred and embrace the world with benevolence,” said Seiskein, avoiding Goki Bakyu’s headlong strike.

  “Hah! Empty words! You will taste the power of my epitome strike, The Glaring Sun.”

  But no matter how many epitome strikes Goki Bakyu sent at the old monk, he was unable to gain the upper hand. Seiskein kept turning away with astonishing ease.

  At last, even Seiskein lost his patience and manifested a powerful block of Qh’i, which sent Goki Bakyu spinning backwards, crashing into a cushion of his Daymoon subordinates. “We did not seek trouble, but trouble came seeking. Very well, it seems these old bones must be prevailed upon to show you what Shaolin kungfu is about,” said Seiskein.

  “Hah! I shall increase the power of The Glaring Sun with the help of a Mirror of Ages formation,” Goki Bakyu said. His Daymoon subordinates arrayed themselves around him.

  “Wait,” said Seiskein. “Let’s discuss this. I am sure your formation will be powerful, but really I have no interest in jousting. Does it really matter whose kungfu is better?”

  “Hah! Are you quaking?” sneered Goki Bakyu. “Are your old knees unable to support you? It is too late for that! I will render your bones into fine dust!”

  Seiskein sighed and shook his head. “I am not quaking. Why should I fear when I have only these old bones to lose? Very well! But before you proceed, will you swear that this is the last strike, and if it fails you will quit?”

  “Hah! If The Twelve Suns doesn’t break through your shields and finish you off then I shall not claim to be a martial master!”

  “Well, there is no need to go that far!” Seiskein admonished. He stood in readiness with his right palm outstretched like a wall. A light breeze ruffled his robes and the road dust. There was a ripple of excitement through the crowd as they sensed they were about to witness something truly awesome.

  The Twelve Suns was a martial formation unique to Daymoon. It was made by first manifesting the strong flame Qh’i energies of The Glaring Sun, which was then thrown out to a second master who contained and increased this energy with a strange wave pattern of Qh’i called The Mirror of Ages. The power was then reflected back. Each time, the power of The Glaring Sun was increased one fold. The maximum number of times Qh’i could be channelled this way without collapse was twelve, hence the most powerful formation possible was The Twelve Suns. This complicated undertaking took rather a long time, and some of the spectators – after they had explained the procedure to their ignorant neighbour – were even so rude as to start yawning and tapping their feet, but Seiskein waited courteously.

  Yet, even this fearsome gathering of power was nothing –

  Seiskein was a Master of Shaolin’s Secret Scroll, and with a flick of his long sleeve, channelled the destructive energies through his body without harm, then with another flick of his long sleeve, grasped hold of the Daymoon Master, and earthed the flames back into him.

  Goki Bakyu crumpled to the floor gasping as he struggled to calm his Qh’i. His subordinates gathered to help.

  – Wow! Amazing! – What hope is there for us now? We’ll never win the prize if we have to go up against that old monk! – Oh, don’t you know? The monks are only here as spectators. They aren’t going to be in the tournament – Really? – Of course! What would a monk want with a demon blade? – Of course! Now that you mention it –

  Seiskein shook his head regretfully as he stepped away. He turned to address his followers, “Let us return to the palace.”

  After some consideration, Seiskein decided that it was too much trouble to continue with the boys’ exercises while they were at Claymount, and so, he told them they could do as they like, after he had impressed on them the need to keep safe by not wandering about alone, and to bear in mind the dignity of Shaolin and conduct themselves accordingly.

  After the boys had gone, Seiskein expressed his disappointment in Cragon –

  Cragon was sorry for having lost his temper back then.

  “You still do not understand,” Seiskein murmured. “Perhaps that is why you have not yet mastered our secret scroll. You should not equate force with strength, strength with power. A master of changes is still in his heart. The world moves, but he does not. Go and reflect on this and the turmoil that is in your heart.”

  And so Cragon did, but didn’t get very far in his meditations because Junho wanted to ask him, “What was that amazing Form Master Seiskein used to defeat the Demon Sect fighter?”

  Cragon explained that it didn’t really have a name.

  “But what is it? Is it a new style that I haven’t come across yet? Can you teach me?”

  “No, not yet. It is our highest teaching and you will learn it when you have mastered the Sixty Four. I’ve told you that before.”

  “It was amazing. I didn’t even see Master Seiskein’s Qh’i. Yet it completely overwhelmed the Demon’s Qh’i. His Qh’i blazed and flashed, but was ultimately insubstantial.”

  “It wasn’t insubstantial. It is just that sihfu’s was much stronger.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t see it!”

  “It is perfectly possible to have enormous Qh’i energies and keep it within oneself until the moment it is needed. That is one of the things you will learn about in the secret scroll,” said Cragon.

  “Oh,” said Junho, noticing that Cragon wasn’t his usual beaming self. “Right. So, how does one keep Qh’i energy within oneself? All I know is how to stoke it and marshal it, according to the Forms.”

  “It is the same method.”

  “Oh? I don’t understand …”

  “Well, if it was so easy to understand it wouldn’t be a puzzle would it?” said Cragon. “If it was so easy, we’d all be grandmasters!”

  Junho fell silent.

  Eventually, Cragon felt sorry that he had affected his disciple with his bad mood. “It all becomes clear in time, and with practice. You will no doubt be a great kungfu master one day, but in the meantime it is also important that there are certain principles that we of Shaolin must adhere to –” Cragon listed these to Junho, and this took some time.

  Cragon was well versed in all that Shaolin stood for and had every intention of upholding them to the best of his abilities while there remained a single breath in his body; nevertheless, he did have one (apart from his temper when provoked) weakness –

  His love of (and pride in) Shaolin martial art was such that he esteemed only those who surpassed expectations. This made him an excellent teacher for a bright student, but very impatient otherwise. Luckily for Junho, he was bright enough, and after Cragon finished detailing the Shaolin creed, he began to inform him about further peculiarities of Qh’i and its use. He finished by telling Junho how it could even be disabled in a fighter –

  “You know how the Qh’i is marshalled through the internal gates and these are approximate to the pressure nodes. It is entirely possible, that by applying pressure to certain points in a certain way, one can put the internal gates out of focus such that they can never be used to marshal Qh’i energies. This is one method by which you can destroy a man’s kungfu without needing to kill him. In fact, this happened to a certain Shaolin Master who was there before I came to the temple. For some reason or other he was going to sell his services to a warlord – or maybe he was already in league with the warlord before coming to Shaolin – anyway to prevent this the abbot trashed his kungfu. Oh, he still had his knowledge and his Qh’i, but he could never use it.”

  “Gosh, how awful,” said Junho.

  “Indeed,” said Cragon. “But much preferable to him going off and using what he had learnt from us to spill the blood of innocents in service to a warlord.”

  “But to think – to have knowledge of kungfu and not be able to use it, it must feel like a cage –”

  “I know. The abbot said he could have a group of disciples to teach, but I heard that in the end he jumped off the mountain.”

  “He killed himself?”

  “Presumably. He was never seen again.”