“GO!” Grandmaster urged. He shoved Fu toward the door.
In one great bound, Fu launched himself through the open door and landed silently in the moonlit courtyard. Filling his lungs with the damp night air, Fu raced after his little brother, Malao, who was scurrying around the back corner of the practice hall. By the time Fu reached the enormous wooden doors at the front of the hall, Grandmaster had already caught up with him. Fu's brothers Long, Hok, Seh, and Malao stood there, waiting.
Grandmaster glanced around, then pushed one of the giant doors open just enough to stick his wrinkled head inside. After a moment, he pulled his head back out and looked at Fu. Fu knew exactly what Grandmaster wanted. As Grandmaster opened the door wider, Fu rocked back on his heels and sprang through the doorway.
Fu hit the ancient brick floor without making a sound and rolled to one side. He crouched low and pushed his back flat against the cold stone wall. Like a wary feline, Fu scanned the immense room with his low-light vision. It was empty.
Fu grunted and the others filed in. Grandmaster came last, closing the door behind him.
“Follow me,” Grandmaster whispered. “Do not open any shutters. Do not light any torches. If you concentrate, you can see well enough.”
“What's going on?” Seh whispered as they moved forward.
“Troops have gathered outside our walls,” Grandmaster said. “You are to remain hidden here until I return.”
“Troops?” Hok said. “You mean soldiers? Cangzhen is a secret temple. How do they know about us?”
“I fear they are led by your lost brother, Ying,” Grandmaster replied.
“Ying!” Fu growled. “He's no longer my brother! Where is he? I'll tear him to shreds!”
“No, you won't,” Malao said, giggling. “Ying's eagle kung fu is much too powerful for you. Remember the time he broke your arm because you woke him up?”
“Watch it, Malao,” Fu replied.
Malao skipped forward, still giggling. “And remember the time he tied you to that tree with his chain whip? Right beneath that big hornet's nest!”
“Stop it,” Fu said, pivoting toward Malao. “I'm warning you—”
Malao giggled louder. “Oh! And remember the time he—”
“That's enough, you two,” Long whispered as he positioned his muscular body between Fu and Malao. Malao stopped giggling.
“Us two?” Fu said, irritated. “I didn't even—”
“I said, enough!” Long hissed. Fu glared at Long but kept his mouth shut. Long turned toward Grandmaster. “Pardon me for asking, Grandmaster, but you think Ying is leading the troops? How can this be? He is only sixteen years old.”
“Never underestimate anyone,” Grandmaster said. “Especially Ying. He is very cunning. Now, of this matter I will say no more, and neither will any of you. You will remain silent.”
When they reached the far wall of the practice hall, Grandmaster motioned for them to stop while he continued off to one side. As soon as Grandmaster's footfalls grew too faint to hear, Fu whispered, “I wonder if Ying has come to steal the secret dragon scrolls. He swore he'd come back and—”
“Quiet!” whispered Long.
“Shhh!” whispered Seh.
“Fine,” whispered Fu, and he turned away from the group.
Across the room a sliver of moonlight was sneaking through a crack in one of the shutters. It shined against the far wall, illuminating the face of Fu's favorite character in his favorite mural. Of the hundreds of life-size instructional fighting scenes covering every wall inside the dark practice hall, this beam had chosen to shine on the heavyset monk striking an opponent with a devastating tiger-claw swipe.
It must be a sign, Fu thought. It reminded him that he and his brothers were full-fledged warrior monks—Cangzhen Temple's youngest ever. Each of them had mastered a different animal style by age eleven. It took most people twice that long.
Fu didn't know what made them so special, and he didn't really care. The only thing he wondered about occasionally was their peculiar names, which Grandmaster had given them as infants. Though they mainly spoke Mandarin Chinese—the same dialect everyone in the region used—for some reason Grandmaster had selected their names in a Chinese dialect called Cantonese. Whatever the reason, Grandmaster knew what he was doing. Fu meant “tiger” in Cantonese. And, like the monk in the mural, Fu was a tiger, through and through.
Fu had a large, round head, which was cleanshaven and accented by small ears and sharp, challenging eyes. His voice was deep and gravelly and, just like his animal counterpart, he was very aggressive and unusually short-tempered. Though Fu was the second youngest of the five and not exactly tall, he was by far the largest and strongest. His arms were as big as most of his brothers' legs, and his legs were as big as a man's. Fu was solid and thick from lifting stone weights and generous of width from lifting his rice bowl.