The Pantao Fruit

Chapter 2

The open doorway, now only a frame, once held a fine door with brass hinges and a
golden dragons head, but time and plunder had left he temple an empty crumbling shell
devoid of the life it once knew. Still, the stone floor, cold and dusty, and broken walls
reached out to welcome Wu Chang as a mother welcomes home a wayward child.
Though he was no longer Wu Chang the Hunter, it was here he was reborn and here he
would return one day to die. Strange to know your own destiny, not so much that you
would die, but where you would die. Today, however, was not a day for death but rather
reflection, meditation, renewal and a new awakening would come today, in this place.
This he was sure of it, he heard it on the wind, in the stones and the water all along his
journey…home.

He could not remember when he was last here; countless seasons had passed as well as
countless friends. Memories of his youth seemed more like a dream that had ended
suddenly then a dimly recounted reality. Pieces remained but not the whole and the
feeling that he could almost remember; but as he tried, it slipped away.

“Master Zhou” he said aloud for no one to hear. “That’s it, I was the student and he was
the master. But I just can’t”... Slowly his mind drifted back further and further…

*****
“Wu, be careful in your hunt today. Even the great hunter Wu Chang can fall to the wild
beasts”

“Of course father”, replied Wu though at seventeen, he was the best hunter of the clan,
convinced he was invincible. The bow he retrieved was his favorite, but he selected his
arrows carefully from the quiver making sure each was straight and strong. Today he
would only take three: one for the game and the other two just in case there was trouble.
Some of the elders from the other clans had heard stories of strangers in the valley,
perhaps from across the sea of sand. It could have been just talk but he would be
prepared nonetheless.

Game would be across the valley in the field where the golden flowers bloomed in the
spring. Wu was not sure how he knew this, but he did. He always knew. It was as if it
was calling him. Walking through the tall grass, the grass seemed to say, “Take care a
viper lies in wait to strike near your feet”. Even as the approached the stream that
divided the valley from the field, the wind whispered “beware the beast that hunts but
does not eat.”

Those were from the song his mother sang;

“Take care little child as you run to play, the beast does not sleep by night or by day
Take care little child as you sleep at night, the beast it does come to tear and bite.
Take care man child as you shod your feet, beware the beast that hunts but does not eat
Beware the hunter, beware the day the beast shall come and take you away.”

As expected, just across the stream, a ram stood near a thicket of thorn bushes, unaware
of his presence. Carefully he drew his bow mindful not to make a sound focusing only
on the game that was to feed his clan for a month. “Indeed, he was Wu the Hunter…the
greatest of all hunt…”

Suddenly his arm went weak, hands became as cold as ice and his back burned as the
world around him began to fade. He went from hot to cold in an instant, the bow
dropping from his hand and the arrow flying wildly into the sky. Wu looked down and
saw a spear tip protruding out of his chest, bits of flesh and bone clinging to its iron tip,
blood dripping to the ground. His knees gave way dropping him to the ground still dazed
and confused. He saw a gold chain and a circle with the face of something…a dog…no a
wolf. Then darkness enveloped him like a blanket in winter; all was gone.

*****
To Wu, the darkness seemed warm. He could not tell how long he had been here or even
if there was a here. There was no pain, no thirst and no light, yet somehow that seemed
to be acceptable. Perhaps he was dead and this is what the elders spoke of after this life.
It was not as he had expected. Strange, somewhere in the darkness he thought he could
here water, perhaps a brook and the smell of jasmine. No, not the smell of jasmine,
rather the smells of burning jasmine…incense perhaps and bells. He could hear bells.
Then time slipped into the darkness again.

Once more, he became aware of the darkness, except it was different now, as though it
were farther away. He tasted something, it was hot…water…no it was tea. He could not
remember anything about the dead drinking tea. Now there was pain too, and a lot of it
seeming to come from every part of his body. His chest felt as though stones had been
stacked one on they other until it would crush him. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe

“I CAN’T BREATHE!!!” screamed Wu as his eyes flew open.

“Be calm young one, breathe slowly” said an obviously old man's voice.

“AAAAHHHHHH. Where am I? Who are you? AAAAHHHHHH!!!!” cried Wu

leaping up and spinning around the room. Everywhere he looked, there were old, bald
men. They were chanting and bowing and…and…it looked like one of them was floating
in the air.

“AAAAHHHHH!!!! I HAVE DIED AND GONE TO OLD MAN’S HEAVEN!!! AT

LEAST IN HELL I WOULD HAVE FRIENDS!!!”
“Shut up and be still,” demanded the voice. “You are not dead, at least not anymore nor
are you in heaven, however should you not become silent quickly I should be tempted to
send you there myself.”

Wu collapsed to the stone floor, his head spinning and arms flailing like a rag doll tossed
aside by an unruly child. As he lay trying to make sense of the situation he noticed there
was more wrong here than the pain in his chest and the lights that flashed like glow flies
in his head, he was different. Wu reached out his hand to touch his thigh, but his hand
was twice its size, his arm twice as thick as a sapling and his foot was enormous. As he
wiped his eyes trying to wake from this dream, his hands cascaded down rugged cheeks
only to find coarse hair growing on his face.

He grasped the sides of his head and shook it side to side. “NO, NO, NO! This cannot
be. I am Wu Chang…Wu Chang son of Wu. I am Wu Chang the Hunter. I AM…I
AM.” Tears began to stream uncontrollably down his cheeks and with clenched fists, he
fell on his face cursing the stones and hiding his shame from the face of the old man.

The old man handed Wu a simple earthen bowl full of a steaming liquid. “Lift your face
from the dirt for there is no shame in shedding tears. Drink this as it will calm your fears
and help you to understand all that I must tell you.”

“I am Zhou servant to Xiwangmu, the Golden Mother of the Shining Lake and keeper of
the tree of Pantao whose fruit grants life immortal. I alone may travel to Kunlun to
worship and serve the biding of the Mother of the East. As a younger man the Golden
Mother gave me one of the Pantao fruit, golden and beautiful as a perfect peach. She told
me…

‘The Pantao tree bears fruit but once every 3,000 years and it reserved for the gods and
the gods alone. The one who eats this fruit shall be as the gods with life eternal. For a
mortal, they shall not age as other men, but they shall feel pain and sorrow and one day I
shall require their life be given back to me freely for it is not meant for mortals to live
forever. I give this fruit to you for I have perceived the coming of a great evil that shall
devour the spirits of men. As the seven tailed fox tells me of your world I now reveal to
you this impending disaster. Look beyond Dongshan jing, the mountains of the east and
there, in time, you will find a lad to whom the winds speak and the earth communes. He
is chosen to fight the evil and you are to prepare him.’

Looking deeply into Wu’s eyes seemingly to see into the depths of his soul Zhou spoke
barely above a whisper, “You are that lad. You are the chosen.”

Wu sat cross-legged on the floor without speaking, dazed by all Zhou had said. Though
he understood the words and knew of the Golden Mother, he could not imagine that any
of this could be real, especially that he would be chosen by the goddess; after all who was
he but a lowly hunter. What is more, he had never crossed the Dongshan jing, for his
people were of the valley and the game lands and he believed that Kunlun was only an
old man’s story meant to scare foolish children into obeying their parents. He thought to
stand and push the old man aside, leaving this place to return to his family and tell them
of this strange dream, yet something made him stay and want to hear more of what Zhou
had to say.

Zhou continued; “I have watched for you for many years as have the others you see about
you. We had to be sure you were the one of which the Mother spoke; who could hear the
voice of the wind. As the seasons passed, you grew to be one with the spirits of wind,
water, earth and fire and a hunter as none had ever been before and shall never be again.
The lad, Wu Chang the Hunter is dead. He died at the hands of the evil ones army;
soulless men who hunted for the sake of killing and nothing more, stinking of the rotted
flesh of their victims and carrying the stench of death.”

Wu reached instinctively to his chest feeling the scar and sensing the memory of the pain
as the shaft with a head of iron had driven through his frame tearing sinews, ripping open
heart and lungs and flinging its essence through the front of his chest in great spews of
crimson. Nevertheless, if that were true, he would be dead and if he were dead, he would
not be hearing this now.

“Do not burden your thoughts, just listen,” Zhou lightly touched his hand to ensure he
was listening. “Wu Chang died at the edge of the field of the Golden Flowers, just
beyond the stream some nine springs past. The staff that fell you was wrenched from
your body casting you into the stream to be carried to the great water or fed upon by
those animals that crave the flesh of the dead. It is in that stream where we found you
and carried your body over the Dongshan jing to this temple and it is here that you were
given the Pantao fruit; where we have cared for your shell till you soul returned. You are
no more Wu Chang the hunter of your clan, for all of the people as far as a man can travel
in four days, including your family, are now dead at the hands of the ravenous horde sent
by the evil one. From this day forward, you are Gao Ming Huli, the wise and crafty fox.”

The inside of Wu’s head was pounding as though dragons were warring to take his soul
by stripping it from his insides as tanner scraped a hide with a flat knife, each stroke
making his reality thinner and thinner. Who was he really, Wu, Gao, dead, alive,
immortal, dreaming, awake…how can all this be? Suddenly he felt hot, his skin flushing
bright red, his hands began to sweat his joints ached.

Zhou took a deep breath and waved his hand in a small circle before Gao Ming Huli’s
eyes. “You must sleep now and all of these things will be clear when you wake.” The
weight of Gao’s eyelids was too much for him to hold open and as they closed the
shadow of sleep passed over.

In his dream, he saw his father and mother sitting by a lake watching his brother and
sister play along the waters edge chasing swans and skipping stones across the smooth
water. Although he could not hear their voices, he could feel them say that all was well
and they knew he had a great task he must fulfill. His father called him Master Huli and
then Master Fox who eschews evil and protects the meek. Then they were gone and a
great peace flowed as a cool river, cleansing his soul and restoring his flesh. Indeed Wu
Chang was dead and he was Master Huli, Master Fox.

*****
Across the valley, the sound of a temple prayer bell brought Master Huli back to the
present. For fifty springs, he had lived and worked at the temple advancing spiritually
and physically until he had mastered all of the marshal arts of the ancients and embraced
the full use of his mental power far beyond anything Master Zhou had ever even
imagined. Now Master Zhou and all the others were just dusty footprints blown clean by
the winds of time. More than a thousand springs had come in gone since Wu Chang had
died and the Master Huli had roamed the ever-changing landscape that is China, yet as it
continued to change; Huli appeared to be the same, ageless, ever listening to the voice of
the wind.

Again, the bell rang and Huli knew it was time to leave this place, his home and his rest.
The wind told him that there would soon be a journey greater than any he had ever taken
to a place where men rode iron dragons, flew in the air as great birds and lived in houses
so tall they reached into the clouds to the very faces of the gods. Huli had seen the death
of the last real dragon, the rise and fall of empires and even the crumbling of the greatest
single structure on earth that men had dreamed would preserve their homes from the wolf
at the door. Even the wall that rode across the face of his homeland like the spine of a
great dragon had fallen to rubble. It was time to go.

As Master Huli walked the well-worn path he considered how little much of the nation
and its people had changed in hundreds of years. The countryside was still dotted with
small villages without electricity or running water, common folk with no knowledge of
the outside world of cars, television, nations or travel beyond their own steps, retraced
day upon day just as their ancestors had done for hundreds of year. Huli knew, because
he had walked the paths with them.

*****
Distance in the modern world is measured by time; how long to the store, when will we
get there or why is traffic moving so slow. To someone who lives forever, time is an
insignificant function of travel and as such, distances mean nothing. Master Huli had
walked and ridden more than any terrestrially bound man in history. A path eventually
became a road and a road progressed from dirt to gravel and gravel to modern concrete.
Huli determined that you could measure the worth of a man by the wear on the soles of
his shoes. Shoes spoke of men who worked in the fields or mines, men who had time to
think, to ponder or the poor who had no shoes only rags. Shoes could be humble or
proud and sometimes even defiant. Huli’s shoes were simple sandals, well worn,
humble, covered in the dust of a thousand leagues travel, much the same as their master.

Huli had seen so many villages over his travels that many began to look the same; a few
simple wooden structures, broken fencing for livestock, bamboo strips torn to make ropes
for swings and children; always plenty of children. Huli was in his own right a mythical
creature to most villagers. Stories of his comings and goings had been passed from
grandfathers to sons and to grandsons. It seemed every village had a story grander than
the other with the size the scope of the tales becoming more exaggerated with each
generation.

Of course, the story told most often, other than those of Master Huli fighting hundreds of
warriors with only his staff and cloak, is the story of the Master and the tiger. As the
story goes, Master Huli was walking alone through the forest when a ferocious tiger as
large as an elephant springs from the undergrowth and swallows Master Huli in one gulp.
However, because the Master is the crafty and cunning fox, he calls to the tiger from
inside and says, “Tiger, it is good that you have eaten me for had you not surprised me
and swallowed me whole, I should have defeated you with my great strength.”

When the tiger hears this he sits down and rubs his stomach saying, “It is a foolish thing
for an already eaten meal to challenge the one who has done the eating. I have a mind to
spit you out and eat you again just to teach you a lesson.”

“But, you will not” said Huli, “because you fear what I say is true. That is what makes
you wise, knowing how weak you really are and not tempting fate.

The tiger roared in anger whipping his tail side to side and leaping into the clearing.
“Fool,” he roared, “I shall show you just how strong and wise and terrible I am. I will
spit you out, shred you like rice paper and grind your bones to dust.” With that, the tiger
spat Master Huli out into the low grass of the clearing and stood watching to see what he
would do.

Master Huli rose from the ground and stood before the tiger, bushing off the dust,
straitening his robe and retrieving his staff. “Tiger, before I humble you with my power I
should like to ask you a question.”

“Very well dinner,” replied the tiger, “ask what you will.”

“I can see by your very great size, and the great tales that I have heard about you, that all
men fear you,” said Huli.

“That is so,” replied the tiger, “I am the largest, most ferocious and feared being in all the
land. What is your question then?”

“And for this men hunt you day and night to kill you as you would be a great prize.”

“This is so,” replied the tiger, “none have defeated me though I show the scars of their
attempts. What is the question, for I grow weary of this chatter?”

“Very well then,” said Huli, turning his back to the tiger. “Is it better to be feared or
respected? For if, it is feared then fear returns fear as those you fear you seek to
overcome you. But, if it is respect then those who respect you will seek to gain your
respect.”

The tiger grew very near to Master Huli his breath blowing the Masters hair as a breeze
in the summer, hot and damp. “It is better to be respected,” said the tiger.

“Well said tiger. If you want the respect of men or beasts, you must not hunt them, but
rather act as their protector. As they see you honor them with your protection, they will
honor you with gifts of food, and friendship. In the day that you grow old and see the
end of days they will care for you and protect you as you have them.”

The tiger turned and walked away from Master Huli. After a short way the tiger turned
and spoke; “Surely, you are a great man of power and wisdom and you have this day
earned your life and the many that would have followed you as my meat. I shall consider
the thing you have said. For now, you are free and have no fear of me.” At that, the tiger
turned and slipped into the forest and was gone.

Huli loved that story, though it was not exactly true. In fact, he had perceived the
presence of a panther lurking in the tree above him and at the same time a cobra sleeping
in the grass near him. Huli carefully removed his cloak and covered the cobra, still coiled
from the cold morning dew. He stood quietly, without movement watching the panther.
For more than an hour, the two looked in each other’s eyes without as much as the twitch
of a muscle. Finally, Huli jumped backward and as he did, he quickly pulled the cloak
off the sleeping cobra. The panther, startled by his movement leapt to the ground to
capture his escaping prey. As the panther’s feet touched the ground, the cobra struck
driving both fang and venom deep into the charging cat. The poison acted quickly and
before the animal could reach the Master, it was fallen to the ground, feeling the bitter
taste of death.

This day’s travel was much less eventful, which was always welcome as it provided the
opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the world around and reflect on the most recent events.
As distance is a function of time, reflection on recent events is all relative to the span of
life. A fly may only live a day, so recent events are no more than a minute previous, but
for a man who was now over seventeen hundred years old, recent could well be within
the last fifty or one hundred years. Huli had taught hundreds the way of his master; from
princes to peasants, workers to warriors both free and slave had come to know the
knowledge of those who protected the Mother goddess. All but a handful were now
dead; some by disease as the great plague that swept the far reaches of the otherworld,
some by the hand of warrior enemies, and some by the cruelest enemy of all, old age. Of
that handful, only three became masters in their own right, and none was greater than San
Jip of Xian Jinn was.

Jip had traveled with Huli for several seasons after he completed his training, acting as
both servant and companion. Together they traveled from village to village helping the
poor, working and studying with the local monks, rebuilding temples and fending away
evil that sought to prey on the weaker.
It was San Jip who stood along with Huli against the Kun that had devoured one fishing
village after another consuming all; man and beast, women and children; leaving little
evidence that there had ever been any village at all save a few pieces of splintered wood.
The Kun are giant fish that swallow boats whole and shred even the most terrifying
creatures of the sea. When they lack food they change into a giant bird, Peng and fly
thousands of miles without touching ground. Their wings darken the sky as storm clouds
block out the sun and they may fly for six months without rest.

Master Huli and Jip were studying with their brothers in Fusang, the great island to the
east of China in the home of the sun; when the word of the evil done by the Kun reached
their ears. In former times, the people of Fusang knew nothing of the Buddhist religion,
but in the second year of the emperor Da Ming, five monks from Kipin traveled by ship
to that country. They propagated Buddhist doctrine, circulated scriptures and drawings,
and advised the people to relinquish worldly attachments. As a result, the wicked customs
of Fusang changed. The men of Fusang became great workers of metal and in particular
bronze and steel. It was said that in ages past Houyi, the great Archer had traveled to
Fusang to have their masters make special tips for his arrows and that he used them to
shoot down the nine suns. In exchange for their help Houyi had taught them the art of the
bow and arrow as well as the spear. San Jip studied the way of the archer to become a
master of the bow such that none could best him in a contest of target shooting.

As soon as they had heard of the destruction by the Kun, Huli and Jip boarded a ship for
the northern sea with the blessings of the priests of Fusang. As token they gave Jip a bow
and nine bronze arrows and to Huli a staff made of keyaki, a hardwood of the land,
having at one end a tip like a spear of iron and at the other a dragon’s head of brass. The
journey was difficult as the Kun had turned the sea into a raging storm lashing the waves
with their enormous tails and spitting giant spouts of water into the air.

The oldest and most feared of the Kun slashed the water with such force that the ship was
thrown into the air and smashed on the rocks that lie at the edge of the shore. All the
hands were killed or eaten except for Huli and Jip, who by their mastery of the ancient
arts were able to leap half a league to the shore while the ship was still in the air.

“Arm your bow Jip,” shouted Huli against the howling of the storm, “You will only have
one chance, if you even have that.”

Huli closed his eyes and stretched his arms outward, the staff pointing to the sky in his
right hand. Then as if a giant was holding him in his hand he raised slowly into the air
until he stood higher than an oak, the wind tearing at his robes as an angry dog shakes a
rat. “You are weak and old and that is why you pray on the defenseless,” Huli cried out
to the waters. “See if you have the strength to defeat me coward.”

The waters began to swirl in a great circle, spinning ever faster and faster pulling the
clouds from the sky down into its impenetrable depths. At the center, the spiral of water
began to glow blue, then red and then a bright flash of light like lightening shot straight
up into the heavens with a great Peng riding the light to the sky.

“How dare you challenge me you insignificant worm,” roared the Peng. “I shall break
you in pieces and scatter your remains across the world in one day.” The Peng’s great
wings blackened the sky and the force of their beating was like a whirlwind sending Huli
backward, pressed hard against the side of the cliff.

“You make me laugh because you only fight old women and children. You are as an old
man with a cane walking the steps of the great temple, getting slower and slower with
each step,” shouted Huli.

The Peng roared even louder and soared high into the clouds, out of sight of both Jip and
Huli.

“Master,” cried Jip, “it is gone out of sight and I don’t know where it will appear. How
can I kill what I cannot see? It is so large; my arrows are but pins to prick its hide.”

“Close your eyes Jip and raise your bow till the wind says stop and the rocks cry shoot.
Your heart will know when and where,” Huli cried from the cliff top on which he now
stood.

Suddenly there was a sound like the clap of thunder. The wind came strong from the east
slicing the water as it went and in front of it came Peng, eyes blazing, great fangs
reaching from a cavernous mouth to snatch the life from Huli. “Now you die worm,”
screamed the Peng.

From beneath Jip’s feet the ground began to rumble as if to say “NOW, NOW”. And so
he let go the arrow with all the might he could muster. The bronze tip cut through the
misty air ignoring the wind and water flying straight to the heart of the Peng. As it cut
flesh and scale the Peng roared with pain and burst into flames, blue and white hot,
turning the sand to glass where it fell. The force of the impact threw Jip into the water
which instantly became calm, as smooth as the ice on a pond in winter.

Huli ran down the side of the cliff as a man would run across flat ground while Jip
struggled to climb out of the water and onto the shore. “Master,” called Jip, spitting out
sea water and wiping his face of water and sand. “The Peng is dead, but I have lost both
the bow and the arrows with it.”

“It is a small thing to loose that which was not yours to begin with. It is enough that they
performed the task as necessary and that the other Kun have fled. Know this, we cannot
bring back that which was lost, but we can preserve that which remains,” said Huli
speaking not only of the bow, but of the many lives taken by the Kun. This would be the
last time the two would be together for some time. San Jip realized the responsibility he
had to care for the people of the villages and the monks who prayed and protected them.
He would watch over the villages and train others in the village of Xian Jinn to do so as
well.

*****

Huli stood on a high ridge looking to the east and south. Many small villages dotted the
sides of the hills and streams below, but at the far end of the eastern valley that lead to the
great sea; he could just make out the smoke from the cooking fires of Xian Jinn. He
could feel the spirit of San Jip and sensed that not all was in harmony. “The balance must
be restored,” he thought. Nevertheless, not today, the shadows had grown long and Huli
wearied from the journey. Tonight he would rest under the bough of the elm with
bamboo grass for a bed. Tomorrow could wait.

The evening breeze gently pushed the elm branches to and fro as Huli adjusted his cloak
for a blanket and a dried bird’s nest for a pillow. Dinner had been a fine selection of
berries plucked as he walked, some sweet greens washed in a stream and a handful of
nuts from his bag. Huli seldom sought food as most people readily gave him food and
shelter without asking, believing it would bring good luck and prosperity to their homes.
Huli smiled to himself because it was indeed true. A thicket of tall bamboo reeds
hindered any prying eyes who might want to take advantage of a weary traveler resting
on the side of the road. With his staff at his side and the voice of the wind reassuring him
all was safe, Huli quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Huli found himself walking through a thick fog, unable to see the ground below, the sky
above or any distance beyond the reach of his arms. He was certain he was asleep, but
just as certain that this was not a dream because…he could smell…honeysuckle and hear
a running brook. Without fanfare, the fog was suddenly gone and in its place was a
meadow along side a wooded area bisected diagonally by a stream less than two arm
lengths wide. Next to the stream on a large rock a man was sitting and fishing with a
cane pole similar to the kind his father had made him when he was a child. The man
looked familiar, but in dreams finding distinct features and even names is often elusive.

“Young Wu Chang, come to me and see the fish,” called man. Huli looked down at his
hands to see they were not those of a man, but of a young boy.

Instinctively he replied, “Coming Master Zhou.” But could this be Master Zhou? Surely
this was a dream.

As Huli approached the stream, he could see the reflection of a young man, barely more
than a child looking back at him from the water. It was his face, a young face, but still
his face.

“Master, how can this be? For I must be dreaming and yet it feels so real?”
“It is both, and it is neither. You see me as I was and now am, yet I am dead in your
world but live in this one. You on the other hand are alive in your world and a memory
to me in this one. Can you understand?” asked Zhou.

“Yes Master, but I do not understand why I am here.”

“There is a great imbalance in the chi of your world. The evil one has called demons
from hell to do his bidding, seeking holy men such as you so that he may consume them
and thus be as one of the gods,” explained Zhou.

“Master, this cannot be possible for Jing Mu and 'Mu Gong would not permit the
Yaoguai to escape from Di Yu,” replied Huli.

“But young one, this thing has happened and they are even now seeking one of your
students, San Jip that they may fall upon him and take all vengeance. It is for this reason
and another that I have called you. The loss of any to the evil one would cause a greater
imbalance in the chi than already exits but should the evil one capture you, the loss would
be so great as to end the world of men as it is now known. You will go to Xian Jinn to
see if San Jip can be saved, but more importantly you will find a wooden box with the
symbol of a tree on its cover. In it will be a message that only you will understand and it
will lead to a quest unlike any before,” said the Master.

“What shall this quest be? Will I save San Jip? Can I defeat the evil one?” demanded
Huli.

“These things are not now known. The future is like the fog in that you may only see a
few steps ahead. Each step you take and each path taken will determine what will be
revealed next. You will make the future. Go now, for the sun will soon rise and you
have a long journey before you rest again.” With that, Master Zhou stood quickly
laughing and waving his fishing pole. “Look I have one, I have one.” Then he was gone.

Huli woke to find the sun just rising in the east, dew still on his cloak. He sat up,
stretched and scratched his head in bewilderment about the dream. “Perhaps some
spoiled fruit, or too much sun. Yes, these things can cause the mind to play tricks and the
next day you play the fool. Ha, ha, ha,” he slapped his leg hard. “So today, great master,
you are now the fool. Ha ha ha…” Suddenly he stopped laughing. There next to him in
the grass was a bamboo fishing pole, with a fish still flapping side to side. Huli rose
quickly, grabbed the pole with fish and headed in all haste to Xian Jin.

The village of Xian Jinn had not changed in a hundred years, so any change since Huli
was last here would be readily noticed like the broken gate at Gin Du’s garden, or the
new sign at the herbalist. What was different was the condition of the earthen dam above
the town. The spring rains had been particularly severe this year and the water was
nearly over the top in some places. Evidence of the villagers work could be seen in the
generations old farm implements and buckets all across the face of the dam, waiting for
their owners to take up the reinforcing task again today.
Huli could see San Jip coming from the temple, with the monks to continue work on the
dam. He was telling them that the village is safe for now, but should there be more rain
the water may overpower the dam and destroy much of the village and the entire crop for
the coming season. Huli turns and sees some of the younger monks had already reached
the dam and were fast at work shoring up the weak areas. The master is proud to see San
Jip engaged in the work of a master in his own right, caring for the people and honoring
the temple.

For no particular reason Huli turned to his right only to be met by his fish hanging from
the pole on his shoulder. Before he could curse the wretched dead thing for treating him
with such dishonor, he spied a young woman hiding her face in laughter, because she had
seen the fish assault and the startled look on Huli’s face.

“Stop there young woman,” chided Huli in a half-hearted joking manner. “Have you no
respect for your elders? Do you know who I am?”

“Yes Master Huli,” the young woman said as she fell to her face on the ground. “You are
the mighty Huli who has slain dragons, the wild beasts and felled a thousand men in one
day. You are the ageless one to whom the gods speak. You are the only…..”

“Stop, stop,” Huli was holding his sides in laughter. “If you lift me any higher my nose
will bleed. I am but a humble servant of all; seeking some kind woman to prepare this
fish sent by the gods for my dinner. Tell me young woman what is your name?”

“I am Mi Ling, Master, humble servant to the mighty and holy…”

“Stop, please and get up out of the dirt,” Huli insisted. He rushed over and brushed the
dirt from her knees, helping her to sit on a low bench nearby. As he handed her the fish
he saw here eyes were a kind of blue gray, not black like the rest of the Chinese. “Young
woman, you must regard me as a simple monk, kind and loyal to serving all I meet. Do
not suppose all the tales given by old men and women to scare children are true. As you
can see I am not a giant, nor do I have teeth like a tiger or a tongue like a snake.” Huli
laughed as he talked.

Mi Ling took the fish noticing that it appeared as though it had just come from the water,
still fresh, no smell and it felt so very tender as though it had no bones at all. “Master, I
am not deceived by the tales of old and foolish men, but his much I know. When my
grandmother was a child, a monk named Huli saved her from a bunch of drunken sailors
sent here to steal our food. When my father was but a youth, he fell from the top of that
tree that hangs above the rocks below. But instead of hitting the rocks, a mighty wind
carried him back toward the meadow and he landed in large pile of wild grass the village
had harvested for the animals feed.” She pointed to the tree that was greater than the
height of ten men each standing upon the others shoulders.
“I have often said the truth becomes harder to find, the older the tale becomes.” Huli
turned to view the activity at the dam, and turn from the piercing stare of the young
woman. “Shall I return to eat as the sun stands at its height?” he inquired.

“It shall be ready master, and drink with bread enough for you and a companion if you so
desire,” she suggested with a spark to her voice that just perhaps she would be that
companion.

Huli began to walk across the dusty path, dodging rocks and holes, and passing along the
front of the ancient temple that dominated the center of the village. A carefully hewed
wall once ringed the temple, but its height became less that waist high as it curved about
to meet the water gate, the eastern most exit of the temple. Stepping on a particularly
smooth stone, Huli stopped and listened. He could feel the voice of the stone speaking to
him, warning him. Huli smiled, reached into his cloak and removed a small bag of
twenty gold coins. Carefully, so no one could see, he removed seventeen of the coins
leaving three in the pouch and casually hung the pouch from his waist sash. The
remainder of the coins, he slipped into a carefully hidden pocket on the inside of his shirt,
just under his arm. Turning he stretched his arms and gazed upward at the sky. He gave
a long and very pronounce yawn. “OOOHHHHH my,” he groaned as the placed his
hands behind the small of his back and sat on the wall. “I am so weary from this travel I
must surely rest for I can not take another step.”

Just to his left, Huli saw the small shadow of a child lurking behind the temple wall. He
has seen this same shadow darting about all day, from behind the stock fences, from
under the lilac bushes and next to the rhododendron, ready to bloom.

Mulki, the owner of the shadow, had done his best to observe the monk as stealthily as
possible. Though he could not see it, he had heard that the monk had the tail of a dragon
and eyes that could turn you to stone. The other boys had dared Mulki to touch the cloak
of the monk because they said to touch it would make you invisible. These were the
same boys that said if you could put a grain of sand on the head of a hawk; it would grant
you a wish. The only wish that Mulki ever had granted was how much he wished to get
away from that hawk. It bit his cheek, sank long talons into his arm and shoulders, and
beat him fiercely with its wings. The other boys laughed at him, calling him a fool for
believing such tails. Yet, here he was again. This time though, the monk was real and
even his father said the monk was magical. He would move carefully, even though the
monk looked asleep one must always move with care.

Mulki crept around the side of the temple wall to get a clear view of Huli. Each footstep
was carefully measured to make sure no rock or twig was disturbed that might make even
the slightest sound. Slowly, one foot then the next now Mulki could clearly see the monk,
it was now or never. Mulki dashed forward with the speed of a cheetah, unfortunately, he
also had the grace of an elephant and promptly tripped over one of the ceremonial
markers just in front of the shrine. Mulki flew several feet through the air only to come
to rest face down in the dust with a hollow thud, inches from the magical monk.
Mulki froze; he dare not move a muscle else he could wind up looking like one of the
stone lions in front of the temple steps. Slowly he lifted his head, swallowing hard, but
keeping his eyes low so as not to look into the monk’s eyes.

“Child,” called the monk in a voice that sounded more like wind and water than that of a
man, “are you all right? Take my hand that I might help you.”

One of the farmers in the village had been watching the exchange and called out to the
monk; “Take care monk. Watch your goods. That one is well known for picking pockets
and purses. He would steal the shoes off the dead.”

“Liar,” cried Mulki, “I have never takes shoes from the dead or living either.” At the
same time, Mulki spied the monk’s purse, deftly slipped it from his sash, and ran for the
grove of mango trees near by.

Huli returned to sit on the wall as the farmer laughs and waves his hand as if to say I told
you so. Huli smiled and gave a deep bow. Then he sat back on the wall and briefly
touched the area in his shirt where the other coins still reside. No need to chase the child,
the village is small and the theft occurred in the open. The coins will go far to help his
family, though Huli expected that a cane would be crossing the boys backside more than
once when his father found the money was stolen from a monk, let alone from Master
Huli.

*****
Huli rose from his temporary resting place, satisfied that he had heeded both the warnings
of the earth and the pleasure of the gods. “All in balance,” he thought. “Given by one,
taken by another…the great circle continues.”

Rounding the corner of the temple the dam was easily seen above, the village below.
Several men could be seen working, shoring up a weak spot here, raising the level there
each one about his task. San Jip was near the upper most portion of the dam directing the
placement of stone and buckets of earth where they would prove to be the most effective.

The wind began to shift from south to due east, rustling the trees and sending bits of
debris rolling down the dusty path as a child skipping in play. “Huullliii,” it whispered.
“I am coming for you and these that stand in my path.” The air began to cool and
moisture rose into the sky. “Huulliiiiii, as surely as I have taken those you have loved,
so now I will take you, “the wind moaned and tore at his coat.

Huli could see the clouds grow thick in the eastern sky as he called to San Jip “Jip, get all
of the villagers, man and boy to the dam. Tell them to bring wood, all that they can find.
Pull down the fences and uproot the small trees. We must hurry.”
“Why master? “called Jip, though the wind was now stealing his words and casting them
far and wide.

“A storm raises Jip, the likes of which has not been seen in the lifetime of anyone here.”

“But master, the rains do not come for another month, when the face of the moon shall be
hidden by the dark brother.” Jip was speaking of the eclipse to come.

“This is not the rain of promise, but the rain of destruction and death. It is sent to destroy
the village and all who inhabit it, for the monks here have great power with the gods and
the evil one would take them and their power to him. Now do as I say and call all to the
work.”

As San Jip sprinted to the temple to ring the massive prayer bell, Huli considered the
small child that had taken his purse and the young woman Mi Ling. He could sense that
there was a greater issue at hand than the dam, the life of San Jip or his own. Huli turned
his back to the wind and closed his eyes. With his staff in his left hand, he plunged the
pointed tip into the ground and turned the face of the drag such that he stared eye to eye.
Reaching out his arms fully to the left and the right, his cloak began to grow and spread,
much like a tent reaching out and grabbing handholds into the earth all about it until Huli
was completely encased in the cloth. Huli clasped his hands together, opened his eyes.
“Guan Yu, god of war, god of the ancient arts and protector of the brotherhood, speak to
me your servant.”

The golden head of the dragon began to glow, faintly at first and then brighter until it
seemed white hot. From somewhere in the light a voice spoke, “Gao Ming Huli, master
agile fox, mortal who has been given immortality, what would you ask of me.”

“Master,” began Huli, “A great evil is coming to this place and I fear I have brought it to
this people. I know not who or what this evil is, but it seeks the destruction of all and I
fear most for the young woman and the child.”

“The evil does not come for you for it knows you cannot be taken. It does seek the
woman and the child as captives and to destroy San Jip and with it, to take his power,”
replied Guan Yu.

“Why the woman and the child?” questioned Huli. “Of what use could they be?”

“Know this that the woman is of your mortal seed. Though she is not immortal, she has
gifts of which she knows not, to aid you in the quest to come. The boy is the son of
Houyi, the archer and shall one day lead his people to freedom. You must protect them,
“the voice of Guan Yu seeming to come from everywhere and yet nowhere.

“Guan Yu, truly I have been given much in power and knowledge, yet I cannot stop this
evil alone and protect the woman and the child,” pleaded Huli. “Send the gods to help.”
“The gods will not help Huli, for they are jealous of your immortality while you yet have
the freedom to live with mortals. I will send you Chi You, who controls the rain and the
mist. Do not fear him though he is a giant with the head of a great bull and is covered
with iron from the furnace of Di Yu. I can do no more,” the dragon’s head suddenly
dimmed and the voice was gone, Huli’s cloak returned to it’s previous form.

San Jip began to ring the great bell of the temple, its low phonic tone echoed off the
hillsides and back again to the temple as it sounded. “Brothers, men, boys come quickly
to the temple. We must stop our tasks and prepare for the storm. Bring wood, bring
tools, all must come for the master does command it to save the village.”

And come they did, every man and boy with wood, tools and buckets to reinforce the
bulwark to the storm; all but Mulki, who was nowhere to be seen. For now, the child
would have to wait. Huli knew he would need to join the others if the village was to
remain.

Men, monks, boys and even some women worked furiously to drive the piece of wood
into the ground using stones and ax head to press them in as deeply as possible. Others
with buckets of soil and rock filled the gaps and tamped down the surface to make it
dense. Suddenly the rain began to fall and the wind drove the water till white caps dotted
the surface and the first waves lapped over the face of the dam. “It is too late,” cried San
Jip, “the dam will not hold. Everyone but the monks get back.”

Each did as they were commanded, men, women jumping to the dry ground, lifting the
children by their arms as they scampered up the bank. San Jip and the monks positioned
them selves in the water stance, hands outstretched, three by three pressing back against
the faltering dam with all their might and will using only the power of their combined
chi. Still the water and wind pressed on, searching for any weakness it could find, a
small rock here, a bit of dirt there, a splintering piece of wood. All strained as the
elements continued to hammer the earthen dike.

“HHHuuuuullliiii,” the wind howled, “I am coming for you. Your puny monks cannot
withstand my power. First I will destroy the pitiful holy men, and then I shall consume
San Jip while you watch unable to stop me. Then….then…I will break you Master Fox
and all shall know my power.”

Huli stood below the bank, behind the monks and San Jip. He cast his cloak aside on the
already rain soaked ground. Removing his sash, he tied it around the head of the dragon
on the end of his staff. “Bitch, though you may mock me,” shouted Huli as he began to
spin the staff above his head at the end of the sash, “I do not fear you for your words are
empty, meant only to scare little children and old men. I am Gao Ming Huli, Master of
the ancient arts, guardian of truth, and defender of the weak, immortal though mortal.”

Now the staff was no longer visible as it whirled faster and faster over Huli’s head such
that it looking like a small tornado. Lightening began to flash within the whirlwind while
outside the whirlwind the water above the dam was standing as a great wall held by the
San Jip and the monks.

“Master!” cried San Jip, “we cannot hold much longer.”

From inside the whirlwind, two fiery eyes began to appear, then great horns and a giant
iron head. The water rose higher as the giant stepped from the vortex and stood between
the monks and the wall of water.

“STOP!” came the voice of the beast as though a thousand thunderclaps broke at once, “I
am Chi You, god of the rain, god of war and god of the brotherhood. Who dares to stand
before me?”

“AAAEEEIII, Stand aside beast,” cried the wind from inside a great black cloud sending
bursts of lightening and balls of fire in all directions. “I have claimed this place and these
mortals for my own, you cannot stop me.”

“Your words are as weak as the breeze you blow,” shouted Chi You. “I am CHI YOU,”
his voice boomed. Chi You raised his hands into two giant fists. On each forearm were
two great iron bracelets with the names of the gods inscribed on the whole of the
surfaces. Chi You crashed one against the other and they became a golden light, turning
the black of the storm pale in their light.

“Stand aside demon,” Chi You commanded and as he did so he clapped his hands. The
force of his giant hands coming together shook the earth such that the monks fell to the
ground and only San Jip, who was now floating two feet above the ground and Huli
remained standing. The sky began to tear, as some would shred a cloth between their
hands.

“NNOOOOOO,” screamed the wind but the clouds were already beginning to dissolve
and the lightening was gone. “You will pay Huli. I will have San Jip and the child. Wait
and see….wait…and….” The winds voice faded with the final parting of the clouds and
the rain halted.

Chi You leaned back with his hands on both hips and roared so loud and long that the bell
in the temple fell from its mount and some of the trees in the grove were toppled. Then
he smiled, reached out his arms and faded from sight.

Huli had already begun his walk back to the village, his stomach growling at the thought
of eating the fish he had given to Mi Ling for preparation. He smiled to himself thinking
that she was his daughter, or granddaughter, or maybe great granddaughter; who knew.
But, if she was anything like the others, she would be a fine cook and for now that was
more than enough.

San Jip stood staring at the dam and the still waters behind it as the monks ordered, single
file back to the temple to re-hang the bell. Never had he see anything like this. He stood
both hands on his hips with his feet spread wide. “I am much more powerful than I have
dreamed,” he said in awe of the events. “I called up a god to save the village and I didn’t
even know it. What great thing shall I do next?”