“Thank you, Governor,” Malao said. Fu nodded.
“You are most welcome. Do you know where you will go?”
“We were going to ask if someone from your village could show us the way to Shaolin Temple,” Malao said.
“Shaolin?” the Governor replied. “That is a fine idea. The monks there can protect you.”
“Yes,” Fu said. “Plus we can give them the scrolls. Or most of the scrolls, anyway. We managed to steal three back from Ying.”
“Good for you!” the Governor said. “I wish I could take you there myself, but I must remain here for now. Perhaps we can come up with a quick plan to have one of the villagers take you.”
“How far is Shaolin from here?” Malao asked.
“It's only about ten days’ travel by foot—”
“Ten days!” Malao said. “By the time we find it, Ying will catch up to us and—”
The barrel next to Malao shifted sideways. Malao looked up and found himself staring at Ying's carved face.
“When are you going to learn to keep your big mouth shut, Malao?” Ying said. “Get up!”
As Malao began to stand, he saw a large shadow pass over Ying from behind. Two beefy arms dropped over Ying's chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Malao heard the air slowly being squeezed out of Ying's lungs.
“RUN!” shouted a deep, gravelly voice from behind Ying's head. It was the Drunkard.
Malao turned to run, but Fu didn't budge.
The Drunkard's voice boomed again. “I said run, Fu!”
Fu stood frozen, his eyes locked on the Drunkard's.
Ying smirked. Hushed words drifted on the current of air pouring out of his mouth.
“Say goodbye to your new friend, Pussycat.”
Ying lifted one bare foot and raked his long, curved toenails across the bandage covering the Drunkard's calf. The Drunkard faltered as the bandage tore away and the wound opened wide. Malao stared openmouthed at a large plug of bloodmoss that popped out of the hole in the Drunkard's leg.
Fu took a step forward.
“I'll handle this!” the Drunkard grunted. “Now— ARRRGH!”
Ying dug a long-nailed eagle-claw fist into each of the Drunkard's thighs. At the same time he opened his mouth wide and clamped his sharp teeth down on one of the Drunkard's forearms.
The Drunkard roared and released Ying, swinging one arm mightily across his body. A huge tiger-claw fist met the side of Ying's head. Ying dropped to his knees.
“I'll be fine,” the Drunkard growled. “Now run, Fu! And don't look back!”
“But—”
“GO!”
Malao grabbed Fu's arm and pulled as hard as he could. To his surprise, Fu gave in. Together they raced around to the front of the bun vendor's shop. A line of soldiers stood between them and the trees.
“Angry Tiger Tosses Monkey!” Malao shouted.
Fu grunted and put his hands on his hips as he ran full force toward the soldiers. Malao leaped onto Fu's back and used Fu's hands as footholds. He took a step up and placed one foot on each of Fu's shoulders. Fu grabbed one of Malao's ankles with each hand. When they were three paces from the line of soldiers, Fu shouted, “Now!”
Malao bent his knees and pushed off with all his might as Fu thrust his arms up and released Malao's ankles. Malao soared high over one of the soldiers and the careless man looked up. Fu slammed into the man, knocking him flat on his back. Fu stomped hard on the man's groin and barreled into the underbrush. Malao caught a tree limb with one hand and swung himself up into the treetops. Both boys instantly disappeared. The white monkey raced into the forest after them.
“Fu, slow down,” Malao said several hours later. “I think we're safe now.”
Fu slowed to a fast walk and looked up at Malao and the white monkey high in the treetops. “Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked.
“No,” Malao replied. “You want me to climb higher and take a look around?”
Fu stopped and bent over, panting heavily. “Yeah. See if you can find some water, too. I'm dying of thirst.”
“Hang on,” Malao said. He climbed higher and broke through the canopy with the white monkey at his side. The warm evening sun hit his face and he paused, filling his lungs with clean, fresh air. He turned to the monkey and patted its head. “It's nice up here, huh?” The monkey seemed to smile and nod. Malao smiled back.
The white monkey scratched the scab on the side of its head and Malao glanced at the larger scab on the monkey's arm. He remembered that his new friend had been injured while trying to protect him. He would never forget that.
The white monkey stopped scratching and stared at something in the distance. Malao followed its gaze. Not too far away he saw a break in the trees. It snaked through the forest for many li. A river. Perfect.