Martial Art Fantasy Short Story
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
SWAN BEAUTY
CHAPTER 13
I enter the cave. It is well-lit with bright orange
lanterns. I immediately take out my fighting ribbon
and walk towards the door facing me. I push it
open. In front of me stands a wooden puppet, about
the same size as a well-built man. Remembering
what Master Swan has taught us, I stand in front of
the puppet and assume a combative stance,
anticipating and watching its first move. No sooner
have I declared myself ready than the puppet leaps
up and kicks at my chest with both legs. I am so
terrified, that all I can think of doing is to crouch
down and roll my body towards the puppet so as to
avoid the kicks. The puppet misses me and just
before it can regain its posture for aiming the next
kick, I flick out my ribbon with full force and whip
it around the puppet’s legs. I pull at the ribbon as I
rise quickly to my feet. Caught in the ribbon and
unable to free itself, the wooden puppet keels over.
Without waiting to recover my breath and
speculate over what could be coming next, I run as
fast as I can to the second door. I kick it open and
am stunned to find a giant wooden puppet standing
before me. While I am still staring at it, the puppet
extends its large right arm to grab my left one. I
swiftly straighten my ribbon, using all my might,
and convert it into a very powerful whip. I strike
the puppet’s right arm with the ribbon and hear a
crack. The puppet’s broken forearm detaches itself
and falls to the ground. I instinctively flick the
ribbon at the puppet’s head and succeed in
knocking it off. The puppet stomps around for a
while before collapsing on the ground, making a
loud roaring noise as it does so. But suddenly, a
deathly silence descends on the entire room.
I approach the third door cautiously, just in case
there are traps or secret devices that might harm
me. I push it open and see a big, empty room. There
is no sign of a wooden puppet. I stand there for a
while, holding my breath. I am alert to the most
minute of sounds. Just as I am about to make for
the exit, I realize I have been grabbed by the waist.
When I spin around, I see a broad, medium-built
wooden puppet standing behind me. It stretches out
its arms and seizes me, then picks me off the
ground and swings me from side to side.
I try to struggle free, but the harder I try, the
tighter the puppet’s grasp becomes. Suddenly, it
throws me up with such force that I sail helplessly
skywards. Then I plummet down and fall through a
dark hole. By this time, I have every reason to
suppose that my luck has deserted me. Fortunately,
I notice light coming from the mouth of the hole. A
few moments later, I hear a man shout, “Are you
all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” I reply, assuming the question is
addressed to me.
“Where am I?” “You are in a dry well. Although it
is very deep, you need not be afraid. We will drop
you food every day. We will also drop you a
wooden board so that when it rains and the well
starts filling up, you will be able to keep yourself
afloat with it. When the water level is about twenty
feet from the ground, we will be able to haul you
up.”
He enunciates every word clearly and speaks very
slowly with many pauses in between. This is
apparently to ensure that I can hear and
understand what he has to say.
“Well, isn’t it unfortunate,” I think, “that I am now
stuck here in a well?”
I have no alternative but to believe what the man
has just told me. I sit down at the bottom of the well
and lean my head sideways against the wall to get
some rest. That is when I feel a wetness on the left
side of my face. I wipe it with my palm and see
blood come off on my hand. I quickly tear off a
portion of my sleeve and press it hard against the
wound to stop the bleeding. I do not know when I
hurt my face. Nor do I know how deep the wound is.
I sit there and feel scared.
I tell myself that instead of moaning or praying for
the rain to come, I had better find something to do
to keep myself occupied while I am waiting to be
rescued. It could be days or even weeks before I am
lifted out of the well. The diameter of the well’s
base is about fifteen feet and although the well is
deep, the bright light pouring in through its wide
mouth ensures adequate visibility. As I stare at the
wall, I am very surprised to see that it bears
engravings of some kind.
On scrutinizing it more closely, I discover that the
entire wall is covered with such engravings up to a
height of eight feet. To kill time, I count the
engravings and discover that altogether, there are
seventy-two of them depicting creatures in
different postures and arranged in rows along the
wall. Now that my curiosity is aroused, I am driven
to satisfy it and examine the engravings in detail.
The first group of engravings follows the entire
trajectory of a rabbit hopping, from the ground to
the air and back again. The second displays the
different postures of a leaping tiger, from the
crouched position to the spring, through the
airborne position and back to landing on all fours.
I turn to look at the next series of images which
depicts a running bull. What intrigues me most is
the fact that there are six postures to represent the
movements of each animal, whether hopping,
leaping or running.
Once I have finished studying the twelve groups of
engravings, it dawns on me that the dozen animals
depicted are exactly the same as the ones in the
Chinese zodiac calendar.
“This is most interesting!” I murmur to myself,
“but why were such postures regarded so
important as to deserve being engraved on the
wall?”
In pursuit of the answer to my question, I examine
the engravings more minutely and try to follow the
movements depicted in them. In doing so, I find
myself following the order of the zodiac signs and
imitating the movements of the animals, with the
rat leading the pack, followed by the ox, the tiger,
the rabbit, the dragon, the snake, the horse, the
sheep, the monkey, the rooster, the dog and finally,
the pig.
I have been following these movements for only a
few moments, when suddenly, I experience this
wonderful feeling of warmth at the pressure point
inside my abdomen, about three inches below my
navel. Like lightning, the warmth radiates from
that point to every part of my body, right up to the
tips of my fingers and toes. It strikes me then that
this must be an exceptionally powerful set of
martial-arts skills. In seventh heaven over this
discovery, I cannot contain my joy. “I have found
what I want!” I shout at the top of my voice.Despite
my excitement and delight, however, I know I must
remain calm if I am to continue following the
movements and practise this set of martial-arts
skills effectively. I realize that the moment my
emotions get the better of me and I allow myself to
be distracted, the circulation of my inner energy
will be hampered, preventing me from mobilizing it
to control my arm and leg movements the way I
want to.
I am so absorbed in practice that I have no idea
how much time has elapsed until I hear a voice
shouting at me from above. “We have something
for you, young lad,” it announces.
I look up and see a dark object resembling a basket
being tossed in from the wide opening at the top.
To prevent it from landing on the ground, I leap up
to catch it. To my utter amazement, I find myself
soaring up more than thirty feet into the air, a
height I had never been able to reach before with
my leaps. It occurs to me that this particular skill
must be the effect of the new set of martial-arts
skills I have just acquired and practised. Again, I
try to contain my euphoria so as not to disturb the
equilibrium necessary for my inner energy to flow
untrammelled.
I examine the contents of the basket. Inside are a
thin blanket and some buns and noodles. By the
time I finish my meal, it is dark. After a hard day
spent fighting with the puppets, followed by the
practice of my new skills, I am utterly exhausted. I
cover myself with the blanket and go off to sleep.
Two days have passed, but there is still no sign of
rain. By this time, I have already practised the
movements depicted in the engravings several
times. With each round of practice, I notice an
appreciable spurt in my inner energy. When I use it
to manipulate my dancing ribbon, I find a new
power emanating from the ribbon, something I had
never observed before. In fact, the gust of wind
created at the bottom of the well by the movement
of my ribbon is so forceful, that a few stones in the
wall become dislodged and fall to the ground,
leaving a kind of gash in the wall.
When I examine this aperture, I discover a metal
box wedged inside. Without a moment’s hesitation,
I pull it out. It is rusty and measures about two feet
by two feet. The lid is jammed tight with rust and I
have great difficulty opening it. I dare not use
excessive force, fearing that the box might have
been fitted with some secret mechanism that is
liable to cause injury if it is forced open.
After much effort, I manage to prise it open gently,
trying not to disturb the contents, in case there are
any. Inside is a gleaming pair of daggers.
Considering their size, they are quite heavy.
Although the box has completely rusted, the
daggers are in mint condition. I gather they are
made from steel of excellent quality. I try them out,
swishing them this way and that, but I am not
comfortable wielding them. When I try out the
movements depicted in the engravings, however, I
feel their smooth flow and the power surging in my
swings. After I have completed one round of the
movements, I make an amazing discovery: I am
able to carry out two moves simultaneously. Armed
with the pair of daggers, I am not only able to
cover myself completely in defence, I am also able
to attack my opponent from eight different
directions!. I realize, then, that the daggers are
intended to complement the set of martial-arts
techniques depicted in the engravings on the wall.
I have no words to describe my exhilaration. I
know that with more practice, it is well within the
realms of possibility for me to become one of the
greatest martial-arts warriors in the land.
On the third day of my confinement in the well, I
feel drops of water on my skin. I look up to find it
is raining. Yes, it is, indeed, raining! I pray for a
heavy downpour that will never stop. It will ensure
that I am rescued by the members of the martial-
arts school. Meanwhile, I use the blanket to wrap
up the pair of daggers and fasten them to my back.
The shower is getting heavier by the minute, and
after an entire day of rainfall, the well starts
filling up with water. I am able to keep myself
afloat by hanging on to the wooden board.
When I am about twenty feet from the mouth of the
well, I can hear people talking and shouting.
“Little brother, are you there?” a man yells down
to me from above.
“Yes,” I shout back, “I am hanging on to the
wooden board and I am halfway up the well
already.”
“Be patient,” he advises me. “Wait just a little
while longer and you will soon float to the top.”
It is nearing nightfall when the level of water in the
well is about ten feet from the opening. Somebody
shouts down, “We are about to drop a rope down
into the well for you. Catch hold of it and we will
pull you out.”
I watch a rope being lowered into the well. I try to
reach for it, but it is too short. In the meantime, it
has been pouring continuously. The water level is
on the rise. I am surprised, indeed, that nobody in
this place has a longer length of rope than the one
dropped into the well. Meanwhile, the man who has
been communicating with me all this while tries to
console me and asks me to be patient. I suddenly
recall the engravings at the bottom of the well and
the ones depicting the postures and movements of a
monkey. With my improved inner energy that has,
in turn, enhanced the skill with which I use my light-
steps movements, I attempt to stand upright on the
wooden board and balance myself. To my surprise,
I am able to do so quite easily. I yell out to the man
up there who has been talking to me and with the
help of some of the people gathered around him, he
pulls me out.
I thank them all for rescuing me and for providing
me food during these past few days. I am then led
to a large building which I am told is the Yau Dong
Mountain School. I am given a new set of clothes to
change into and directed to a washroom. I notice
that the garments are intended for a man.
Having changed into my new clothes, I look around
for a mirror so I can brush my hair, now shortened
to give me a masculine appearance. I am also
anxious to find out how serious the wound on my
face is. I found a mirror near the exit of the
washroom, but when I look into it, I am quite
horrified. A big gash stretches all the way from my
left cheek to my jaw. Although I knew I had grazed
my face against the wall of the well as I fell in, I
had not realized that the gash was quite so
prominent. As I start fretting over the unsightly
scar it might leave on my face, I burst into tears.
I am brought to my senses by a voice outside the
washroom asking me to come out and have a meal.
It reminds me that I am disguised as a man and a
man should certainly not be seen in tears. I pull
myself together and leave the washroom.
I am led upstairs to a big room which looks like a
study. I notice that the walls are lined with books. A
variety of weapons is displayed on some shelves. A
couple of young men and an elderly man with a
long, white beard are waiting for me.
“I am the Headmaster of the Yau Dong Mountain
Martial Arts School,” declares the old man. “We
deeply regret the accident you met with when a
puppet inadvertently threw you into the well during
your entrance test. To compensate for the trauma
you have endured, I have decided to enrol you as a
pupil in our school. Meals and accommodation will
be provided. During the first six months of the
course, you will not be allowed to go home. This is
to ensure that your concentration during your
studies and practice sessions is unhindered by any
distractions. You will stay in the dormitory with
your fellow pupils and interact with them as though
they were your brothers.”
After I hear what the Headmaster has to say, I am
extremely nervous. I fear that by sharing the same
bedroom with the other men and using the
communal washroom, my real identity will be out
in the open in no time at all. I decide that it might
be better for me to reveal the truth right now.
“Thank you, Headmaster, for your kind offer,” I
tell him. “While I am very keen to learn martial-
arts skills from your school, I have to confess that
my eagerness to join your school has led me to take
leave of my senses. I am, in fact, not a man at all,
but a woman. I hope you will forgive me for
disguising myself as a man to be eligible for the
entrance test.”
“What!” exclaims the Headmaster. His face is
suffused with anger.
Judging by the expressions of the rest of the people
in the room, they are not only shocked by my
words, but quite displeased at the trick I have
played on them in my eagerness to join the school.
“I am sorry, Sir,” I say, averting my eyes from the
Headmaster’s face to avoid noticing his reaction.
“Well,” he announces sternly, “I am afraid you
have to leave this place at once. I cannot allow a
women to stay in our school.”
Once I have collected my precious parcel in which
the twin daggers are concealed, I am led to the
door.
No sooner have I left the Yau Dong Martial Arts
School than I begin feeling despondent all over
again. I really have no clue as to where I should
go. What troubles me particularly is the gash on
my face. I have no idea whether it will heal and if,
indeed, it does, whether it will leave a disfiguring
scar. However, when I touch the parcel on my
back, I suddenly become very cheerful and
exuberant again. Quite by chance, I have not only
stumbled upon a really powerful form of martial-
arts skills, but also acquired a pair of wonderful
weapons. I tell myself that I should be content with
my good fortune and stop expecting more.
I go down the hill and put up for the night in an inn.
CHAPTER 13
I enter the cave. It is well-lit with bright orange
lanterns. I immediately take out my fighting ribbon
and walk towards the door facing me. I push it
open. In front of me stands a wooden puppet, about
the same size as a well-built man. Remembering
what Master Swan has taught us, I stand in front of
the puppet and assume a combative stance,
anticipating and watching its first move. No sooner
have I declared myself ready than the puppet leaps
up and kicks at my chest with both legs. I am so
terrified, that all I can think of doing is to crouch
down and roll my body towards the puppet so as to
avoid the kicks. The puppet misses me and just
before it can regain its posture for aiming the next
kick, I flick out my ribbon with full force and whip
it around the puppet’s legs. I pull at the ribbon as I
rise quickly to my feet. Caught in the ribbon and
unable to free itself, the wooden puppet keels over.
Without waiting to recover my breath and
speculate over what could be coming next, I run as
fast as I can to the second door. I kick it open and
am stunned to find a giant wooden puppet standing
before me. While I am still staring at it, the puppet
extends its large right arm to grab my left one. I
swiftly straighten my ribbon, using all my might,
and convert it into a very powerful whip. I strike
the puppet’s right arm with the ribbon and hear a
crack. The puppet’s broken forearm detaches itself
and falls to the ground. I instinctively flick the
ribbon at the puppet’s head and succeed in
knocking it off. The puppet stomps around for a
while before collapsing on the ground, making a
loud roaring noise as it does so. But suddenly, a
deathly silence descends on the entire room.
I approach the third door cautiously, just in case
there are traps or secret devices that might harm
me. I push it open and see a big, empty room. There
is no sign of a wooden puppet. I stand there for a
while, holding my breath. I am alert to the most
minute of sounds. Just as I am about to make for
the exit, I realize I have been grabbed by the waist.
When I spin around, I see a broad, medium-built
wooden puppet standing behind me. It stretches out
its arms and seizes me, then picks me off the
ground and swings me from side to side.
I try to struggle free, but the harder I try, the
tighter the puppet’s grasp becomes. Suddenly, it
throws me up with such force that I sail helplessly
skywards. Then I plummet down and fall through a
dark hole. By this time, I have every reason to
suppose that my luck has deserted me. Fortunately,
I notice light coming from the mouth of the hole. A
few moments later, I hear a man shout, “Are you
all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” I reply, assuming the question is
addressed to me.
“Where am I?” “You are in a dry well. Although it
is very deep, you need not be afraid. We will drop
you food every day. We will also drop you a
wooden board so that when it rains and the well
starts filling up, you will be able to keep yourself
afloat with it. When the water level is about twenty
feet from the ground, we will be able to haul you
up.”
He enunciates every word clearly and speaks very
slowly with many pauses in between. This is
apparently to ensure that I can hear and
understand what he has to say.
“Well, isn’t it unfortunate,” I think, “that I am now
stuck here in a well?”
I have no alternative but to believe what the man
has just told me. I sit down at the bottom of the well
and lean my head sideways against the wall to get
some rest. That is when I feel a wetness on the left
side of my face. I wipe it with my palm and see
blood come off on my hand. I quickly tear off a
portion of my sleeve and press it hard against the
wound to stop the bleeding. I do not know when I
hurt my face. Nor do I know how deep the wound is.
I sit there and feel scared.
I tell myself that instead of moaning or praying for
the rain to come, I had better find something to do
to keep myself occupied while I am waiting to be
rescued. It could be days or even weeks before I am
lifted out of the well. The diameter of the well’s
base is about fifteen feet and although the well is
deep, the bright light pouring in through its wide
mouth ensures adequate visibility. As I stare at the
wall, I am very surprised to see that it bears
engravings of some kind.
On scrutinizing it more closely, I discover that the
entire wall is covered with such engravings up to a
height of eight feet. To kill time, I count the
engravings and discover that altogether, there are
seventy-two of them depicting creatures in
different postures and arranged in rows along the
wall. Now that my curiosity is aroused, I am driven
to satisfy it and examine the engravings in detail.
The first group of engravings follows the entire
trajectory of a rabbit hopping, from the ground to
the air and back again. The second displays the
different postures of a leaping tiger, from the
crouched position to the spring, through the
airborne position and back to landing on all fours.
I turn to look at the next series of images which
depicts a running bull. What intrigues me most is
the fact that there are six postures to represent the
movements of each animal, whether hopping,
leaping or running.
Once I have finished studying the twelve groups of
engravings, it dawns on me that the dozen animals
depicted are exactly the same as the ones in the
Chinese zodiac calendar.
“This is most interesting!” I murmur to myself,
“but why were such postures regarded so
important as to deserve being engraved on the
wall?”
In pursuit of the answer to my question, I examine
the engravings more minutely and try to follow the
movements depicted in them. In doing so, I find
myself following the order of the zodiac signs and
imitating the movements of the animals, with the
rat leading the pack, followed by the ox, the tiger,
the rabbit, the dragon, the snake, the horse, the
sheep, the monkey, the rooster, the dog and finally,
the pig.
I have been following these movements for only a
few moments, when suddenly, I experience this
wonderful feeling of warmth at the pressure point
inside my abdomen, about three inches below my
navel. Like lightning, the warmth radiates from
that point to every part of my body, right up to the
tips of my fingers and toes. It strikes me then that
this must be an exceptionally powerful set of
martial-arts skills. In seventh heaven over this
discovery, I cannot contain my joy. “I have found
what I want!” I shout at the top of my voice.Despite
my excitement and delight, however, I know I must
remain calm if I am to continue following the
movements and practise this set of martial-arts
skills effectively. I realize that the moment my
emotions get the better of me and I allow myself to
be distracted, the circulation of my inner energy
will be hampered, preventing me from mobilizing it
to control my arm and leg movements the way I
want to.
I am so absorbed in practice that I have no idea
how much time has elapsed until I hear a voice
shouting at me from above. “We have something
for you, young lad,” it announces.
I look up and see a dark object resembling a basket
being tossed in from the wide opening at the top.
To prevent it from landing on the ground, I leap up
to catch it. To my utter amazement, I find myself
soaring up more than thirty feet into the air, a
height I had never been able to reach before with
my leaps. It occurs to me that this particular skill
must be the effect of the new set of martial-arts
skills I have just acquired and practised. Again, I
try to contain my euphoria so as not to disturb the
equilibrium necessary for my inner energy to flow
untrammelled.
I examine the contents of the basket. Inside are a
thin blanket and some buns and noodles. By the
time I finish my meal, it is dark. After a hard day
spent fighting with the puppets, followed by the
practice of my new skills, I am utterly exhausted. I
cover myself with the blanket and go off to sleep.
Two days have passed, but there is still no sign of
rain. By this time, I have already practised the
movements depicted in the engravings several
times. With each round of practice, I notice an
appreciable spurt in my inner energy. When I use it
to manipulate my dancing ribbon, I find a new
power emanating from the ribbon, something I had
never observed before. In fact, the gust of wind
created at the bottom of the well by the movement
of my ribbon is so forceful, that a few stones in the
wall become dislodged and fall to the ground,
leaving a kind of gash in the wall.
When I examine this aperture, I discover a metal
box wedged inside. Without a moment’s hesitation,
I pull it out. It is rusty and measures about two feet
by two feet. The lid is jammed tight with rust and I
have great difficulty opening it. I dare not use
excessive force, fearing that the box might have
been fitted with some secret mechanism that is
liable to cause injury if it is forced open.
After much effort, I manage to prise it open gently,
trying not to disturb the contents, in case there are
any. Inside is a gleaming pair of daggers.
Considering their size, they are quite heavy.
Although the box has completely rusted, the
daggers are in mint condition. I gather they are
made from steel of excellent quality. I try them out,
swishing them this way and that, but I am not
comfortable wielding them. When I try out the
movements depicted in the engravings, however, I
feel their smooth flow and the power surging in my
swings. After I have completed one round of the
movements, I make an amazing discovery: I am
able to carry out two moves simultaneously. Armed
with the pair of daggers, I am not only able to
cover myself completely in defence, I am also able
to attack my opponent from eight different
directions!. I realize, then, that the daggers are
intended to complement the set of martial-arts
techniques depicted in the engravings on the wall.
I have no words to describe my exhilaration. I
know that with more practice, it is well within the
realms of possibility for me to become one of the
greatest martial-arts warriors in the land.
On the third day of my confinement in the well, I
feel drops of water on my skin. I look up to find it
is raining. Yes, it is, indeed, raining! I pray for a
heavy downpour that will never stop. It will ensure
that I am rescued by the members of the martial-
arts school. Meanwhile, I use the blanket to wrap
up the pair of daggers and fasten them to my back.
The shower is getting heavier by the minute, and
after an entire day of rainfall, the well starts
filling up with water. I am able to keep myself
afloat by hanging on to the wooden board.
When I am about twenty feet from the mouth of the
well, I can hear people talking and shouting.
“Little brother, are you there?” a man yells down
to me from above.
“Yes,” I shout back, “I am hanging on to the
wooden board and I am halfway up the well
already.”
“Be patient,” he advises me. “Wait just a little
while longer and you will soon float to the top.”
It is nearing nightfall when the level of water in the
well is about ten feet from the opening. Somebody
shouts down, “We are about to drop a rope down
into the well for you. Catch hold of it and we will
pull you out.”
I watch a rope being lowered into the well. I try to
reach for it, but it is too short. In the meantime, it
has been pouring continuously. The water level is
on the rise. I am surprised, indeed, that nobody in
this place has a longer length of rope than the one
dropped into the well. Meanwhile, the man who has
been communicating with me all this while tries to
console me and asks me to be patient. I suddenly
recall the engravings at the bottom of the well and
the ones depicting the postures and movements of a
monkey. With my improved inner energy that has,
in turn, enhanced the skill with which I use my light-
steps movements, I attempt to stand upright on the
wooden board and balance myself. To my surprise,
I am able to do so quite easily. I yell out to the man
up there who has been talking to me and with the
help of some of the people gathered around him, he
pulls me out.
I thank them all for rescuing me and for providing
me food during these past few days. I am then led
to a large building which I am told is the Yau Dong
Mountain School. I am given a new set of clothes to
change into and directed to a washroom. I notice
that the garments are intended for a man.
Having changed into my new clothes, I look around
for a mirror so I can brush my hair, now shortened
to give me a masculine appearance. I am also
anxious to find out how serious the wound on my
face is. I found a mirror near the exit of the
washroom, but when I look into it, I am quite
horrified. A big gash stretches all the way from my
left cheek to my jaw. Although I knew I had grazed
my face against the wall of the well as I fell in, I
had not realized that the gash was quite so
prominent. As I start fretting over the unsightly
scar it might leave on my face, I burst into tears.
I am brought to my senses by a voice outside the
washroom asking me to come out and have a meal.
It reminds me that I am disguised as a man and a
man should certainly not be seen in tears. I pull
myself together and leave the washroom.
I am led upstairs to a big room which looks like a
study. I notice that the walls are lined with books. A
variety of weapons is displayed on some shelves. A
couple of young men and an elderly man with a
long, white beard are waiting for me.
“I am the Headmaster of the Yau Dong Mountain
Martial Arts School,” declares the old man. “We
deeply regret the accident you met with when a
puppet inadvertently threw you into the well during
your entrance test. To compensate for the trauma
you have endured, I have decided to enrol you as a
pupil in our school. Meals and accommodation will
be provided. During the first six months of the
course, you will not be allowed to go home. This is
to ensure that your concentration during your
studies and practice sessions is unhindered by any
distractions. You will stay in the dormitory with
your fellow pupils and interact with them as though
they were your brothers.”
After I hear what the Headmaster has to say, I am
extremely nervous. I fear that by sharing the same
bedroom with the other men and using the
communal washroom, my real identity will be out
in the open in no time at all. I decide that it might
be better for me to reveal the truth right now.
“Thank you, Headmaster, for your kind offer,” I
tell him. “While I am very keen to learn martial-
arts skills from your school, I have to confess that
my eagerness to join your school has led me to take
leave of my senses. I am, in fact, not a man at all,
but a woman. I hope you will forgive me for
disguising myself as a man to be eligible for the
entrance test.”
“What!” exclaims the Headmaster. His face is
suffused with anger.
Judging by the expressions of the rest of the people
in the room, they are not only shocked by my
words, but quite displeased at the trick I have
played on them in my eagerness to join the school.
“I am sorry, Sir,” I say, averting my eyes from the
Headmaster’s face to avoid noticing his reaction.
“Well,” he announces sternly, “I am afraid you
have to leave this place at once. I cannot allow a
women to stay in our school.”
Once I have collected my precious parcel in which
the twin daggers are concealed, I am led to the
door.
No sooner have I left the Yau Dong Martial Arts
School than I begin feeling despondent all over
again. I really have no clue as to where I should
go. What troubles me particularly is the gash on
my face. I have no idea whether it will heal and if,
indeed, it does, whether it will leave a disfiguring
scar. However, when I touch the parcel on my
back, I suddenly become very cheerful and
exuberant again. Quite by chance, I have not only
stumbled upon a really powerful form of martial-
arts skills, but also acquired a pair of wonderful
weapons. I tell myself that I should be content with
my good fortune and stop expecting more.
I go down the hill and put up for the night in an inn.
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