It was late afternoon when the pit of Seh's stomach began to tingle. Oddly enough, the snake around his arm shivered at exactly the same moment. They both sensed the presence of an intruder. Or, more precisely, two intruders. If Seh hadn't known better, he would have thought it was a monkey and a tiger. But he knew monkeys and tigers never traveled together. He listened closely and soon heard familiar voices arguing. It was Malao and Fu.
Seh cast his focus in every direction. He hoped to hear Hok's quiet voice or sense her smooth, calm presence, but didn't hear or feel anything remotely calm.
Seh sighed and slipped down the tree. At least Malao and Fu might have some information for him. And, as frustrating as they might be sometimes, it would be good to see them again.
As Seh approached, he heard Fu announce that he was going to the temple. Seh watched as Fu headed off and was about to follow, but something made him stop. He sensed a large amount of feline chi coming from Fu's direction. Even the snake sensed it and shivered.
If Fu was emitting that much chi, he was bound to be feisty. Seh decided to let him go.
Seh should have paid closer attention to his gut— and to the snake. If he had concentrated harder, he might have realized that the additional chi was actually coming from a second feline kung fu master on the prowl. He might even have sensed the dragon that was about to swoop in like an eagle or the praying mantis that was patiently watching everyone and everything.
Can you hear me, Major Ying?” Tonglong asked. “Are you all right?”
Ying could hardly make out Tonglong's words. Ying was barely conscious, flat on his back among the trees beside Shaolin's Pagoda Forest. The grooves in his face were caked with dirt and sweat, and his robe was peeled open across his chest. His green tattooed eyelids were half closed.
“Listen closely, if you can,” Tonglong said, kneeling over Ying. “General Tsung, the renegade leopard-style master from Shaolin, rendered you unconscious with an unorthodox choke hold. I have since subdued him. The boys now have the dragon scrolls and …”
Ying felt himself slipping away again. Trying to stay awake, he focused on the first thing he saw— Tonglong's straight sword. The long, flawless blade glimmered in the late-afternoon light, and Ying's mind began to wander. A forgotten chamber in the back of his mind opened. In it were secrets from his past. Secrets that centered on another sword—Grandmaster's dragon sword.
Grandmaster's straight sword was generations old and responsible for a thousand deaths. It was almost as famous as Grandmaster himself. Grandmaster was now dead, and he would eventually be forgotten. But the sword … it, too, must be destroyed, just like the five pampered children chosen to carry Cangzhen's torch.
His mind still adrift, Ying thought back to the first time he had seen Grandmaster—and the dragon sword.
A three-year-old boy was playing with a long rope in the center of a bustling mountain camp. It was almost lunchtime, and a woman called out, “Saulong, sic fan! Time to eat!”
Saulong responded to his mother's call immediately. He was hungry. He raced to his family's elaborate tent, making sure he removed his sandals before stepping onto the thick animal skins that blanketed the ground inside.
“Leave your whip outside, Saulong,” his mother said. “You know the rules—only your father can bring his weapon into our home.”
Saulong smiled. He knew his whip was only a piece of rope, but it pleased him that his mother saw it as equal to his father's metal chain whip.
As Saulong dropped his rope and stepped inside, he heard a pain-filled scream. He spun around and peered out the tent's entrance. A few steps from where he had been playing, Saulong saw a stranger. It was a man old enough to be his grandfather, carrying a straight sword. The blade was decorated with intertwining dragons. Bright red liquid dripped off the tip.
Saulong looked behind the stranger and saw Han, the blacksmith, flopping about on the ground. Han was trying desperately to push his insides back into a large slice across his midsection. Saulong shivered but continued to stare.
“Cholong—Loud Dragon!” the old stranger called out in Cantonese. “Come face your destiny!”
Saulong's eyes widened. Cholong was his father's name! What did this stranger want with his father?
“Saulong!” his mother whispered sharply. “Get away from the door!”
“No,” Saulong replied. “I want to watch.”
“Ugh!” his mother said. “There is no doubt you are your father's son. Watch, then, and learn the ways of your ancestors.”
Saulong's mother began to stuff things into a bag while Saulong kept his eyes glued to the stranger. Within moments, it seemed every man in camp had surrounded the old man. Twenty men armed with spears and swords attacked the stranger as one.