Ying scanned the ground and spotted Sing's tiger hook swords. He grabbed them and waved them high over his head.
“Are these the hook swords the young monk used?”
“Yes,” Tonglong replied. “The very same.”
Ying snarled and ran straight at the outer wall of the bathhouse. His body remained perpendicular to the ground as he made two long strides right up the side of the brick building, his legs working like he was climbing a set of stairs. Warrior monks usually completed this maneuver by executing a backflip. Not Ying. The balls of his bare feet and his long toenails pushed off subtle irregularities in the brick, and he shot straight into the air. He stretched both arms up as high as he could with a hook sword extended in each hand and caught the outermost edge of the roof's lip with both hooks. Then he swung himself up onto the roof, taking the hook swords with him. He approached Tonglong atop the burning building, his leathery feet treading lightly on the hot roof tiles.
“Fool!” Ying screamed in Tonglong's face, spit flying off his forked tongue. “You hope you didn't interrupt anything?‘What's wrong with you? I had that same fat little monk in my grasp, and I let him go! Why? So that I could come over here and help you! I would have had the boy and the scrolls if not for you! ARRRRRGH!”
Ying lunged furiously at Tonglong, whirling both hook swords. Tonglong expertly avoided Ying's attack by dodging and weaving and scrambling up and down the slick curved tiles covering the steep pitch. Flames leaped skyward through growing holes in the roof, and Tonglong used the flames to his advantage. By using them as a shield, he managed to keep space between himself and the hook swords. He did not counterattack.
Ying stopped his assault for a moment, and Tonglong slid down to the very edge of the roof, directly in front of the soldiers. A flickering wall of flame separated him and Ying as he kneeled down on the blistering hot tiles. The tip of his long braid brushed the rooftop.
“Sir, I ask your forgiveness,” Tonglong said.
Breathing heavily, Ying let the hook swords drop to his sides. He shifted his weight from foot to foot to keep his bare feet from burning.
Tonglong lowered his eyes. “I am truly sorry, sir. The boy was incredibly skilled. Had I known he was no ordinary young monk, I would have reacted differently. My guard was down because—”
“Don't EVER let your guard down!” Ying shouted, raising the hook swords once more. “Not on my command!”
“I will never make this same mistake again, sir!” Tonglong said, looking up. “Please forgive my incompetence.”
“ARRRRRGH!”
Ying threw the tiger hook swords far across the compound and leaped down from the high roof in a perfectly executed double flip.
“Everyone, follow me!” Ying shouted. “Now!”
Tonglong waited for Ying and the others to travel some distance before he tucked his thick braid into his sash and leaped down in a perfect triple flip.
Ying led the group to the main gate and instructed them to form a circle around Grandmaster's limp body. He strode to the center of the moonlit ring of soldiers.
“Men, we set out to destroy Cangzhen Temple and all its monks,” Ying announced. “I am afraid we have only partially succeeded. At least one young monk has escaped, and there may be more. A group of you will collect every dead monk, and I will personally review each and every body. Another group will count all our fallen soldiers. I fear we have lost more than two thousand men to just one hundred monks. This is inexcusable, and my response will be additional intensive training for those of you who are still breathing. I refuse to continue with such incompetence.”
The soldiers cast their eyes to the ground and shuffled their feet.
“Look at me when I'm talking!” Ying commanded. “All of you!”
The men looked up at Ying's contorted, raging face.
“Tonglong, bring me your sword!”
Tonglong hesitated.
“Prove your loyalty to me, Tonglong,” Ying said. “Trust that I will do what is best for the group and for the Emperor. Bring me your sword.”
Tonglong hesitated for another moment, then slipped his sheathed sword from his sash. He formally handed the heirloom over, bowing low. Ying ripped the scabbard from the sword and cast it disrespectfully aside onto the dusty ground. He raised the sword high over his head with both hands.
In one long, sweeping motion, Ying brought the sword down in a powerful arc. The sword breezed over Tonglong's bowed head as Ying twisted around. When the arc was complete, the sword dug deep into the earth, and Grandmaster's head rolled away from his lifeless body.
Ying released the sword from the ground with a rough jerk and cast it aside irreverently. Then he grabbed Grandmaster's bald head by one ear and threw it at Tonglong. Tonglong caught the spinning object with outstretched arms, ignoring the blood that pelted him from head to toe. Tonglong respectfully placed his catch on the ground beside him and wiped his bloody hands across the front of his green silk robe.