Life of Bāo - Chapter 13
May 16, 2023
Once again, Bāo is living under a new roof. Is it fate or luck that brings Bāo into the presence of a man who is more than a Kung Fu Master? Let’s join Dang Li and Sheng Yao as they continue to hunt for Bāo—Chapter 13. Enjoy.
Chapter 13
May 16, 2023
Dang Li glanced at his watch. 7:30 AM. He sat on a bus stop bench across the street from the north gate, directly across from the Exhibition Hall at the Jinsha Site Museum. It had been 48 hours since the Dragon Head, Ong Jin, had given him to find the boy. He now knew the boy's name, Bāo. I may still save myself if I find him this morning. Running now is futile since the Red Dragons will find me. I would have been out of the country if I possessed the gold bracelet. Now, my only hope is to recover it. They don’t know what I had planned. I could continue being the Straw Sandal.
Hands pressed down on Li’s shoulders, and firm pressure prevented him from rising. From the corner of his eye, he confirmed it was Sheng Yao.
Yao commanded, “Don't turn around. Be calm.”
Li pleaded, “I know where he is.”
“I do not care, Li. Your 48 hours are up. Our street soldiers reported that they saw you here.”
Li talked fast, “I know his name. It's Bāo, and he is across the street in the museum.”
“We already know his name is Bāo. What makes you believe that Bāo is in the museum?”
“I saw him last night. I searched for him as they were getting ready to close, but he must've been hiding. The museum guard forced me to leave. Here, let me show you a picture of the boy.” Li reached into his pocket, removed the photo, and held it up.
Yao took the photo and put it in his pocket. “And you didn't contact us?”
“I knew my time was up, and I wanted to bring him in.”
Yao reached into his pocket discreetly and took out an ice pick. Yao bent slightly to whisper in Li’s ear. “We will take it from here.” He placed a hand on Li’s forehead and pressed the ice pick directly into Li’s cervical spine.”
Li was immediately paralyzed and stared straight forward. His eyes remained open as he took his last breath. There was minimal blood from the wound. Yao closed Li’s eyes. Li sat and appeared to be napping while waiting for a bus. Yao crossed the street to the north gate entrance and walked in with the early museum visitors. A young woman handed him a map and said, “Welcome to the Jinsha Site Museum. You are in the Exhibition Hall.” Yao searched the museum for the rest of the morning, then had lunch in the cafeteria. There is no reason that Li would lie about the boy. He must have been here, but he isn’t now. Yao spoke to Jin on his cell phone but didn't share the whole story. “The boy was not found. The Straw Sandal is sleeping. The package will not be found in time. Can you plan the meeting to settle our debt with cash?”
Jin said, “This is disappointing to hear. I will schedule a meeting with the Amur Leopards to prevent a war. The gold bracelet is still ours. Once we have it, we can recover our money, maybe more. After we make the drop, find the boy, find what's ours, and make him suffer for all the trouble he caused.”
***
Deng Yan worked at Wu’s Teahouse, an exclusive establishment in Chengdu. Wu Lin was a prominent businessman in the community, and he knew that it was to his advantage to serve all who entered. On any given day, many high-ranking communist and civic officials frequent Wu’s Teahouse. Yan was fortunate to have a job there. The manager asked to see Yan’s identification. Her appearance differed greatly from the day she applied for the position. Yan sported a very short hairstyle now. She looked five years older than her real age of 16. The orphanage director advised her before starting the job. “Remember you are a young woman now, and your behavior will be reflected in your future. I understand you want to attend university and need a good reference from Wu Lin. You also need to do well on the Gaokao exam.”
Yan knew the need to do well on the Gaokao. How could she forget? A high Gaokao score was critical for determining admission into China's top universities. She was angered by the Director’s comments about Bāo. He is trouble, irresponsible, and a rebel. He may have had a different opinion if he had known the Bāo she knew: smart, funny, and caring. Bāo rarely studied, but he had a grade point average close to hers. That didn't matter to the Director. She remembered the Director’s words, “Bāo ran away for the last time. We will not take him back.” Yan said nothing in his defense. I should defend him, but I don’t want to lessen my chance of attending university. I have betrayed Bāo. If the director is right, then I may never see Bāo again. Is he more than just a classmate and friend? I care about him deeply, but I must look after myself. I must move on.
***
Master Zhao shouted from the kitchen. “Time to wake up student Bāo.” Disoriented, Bāo opened his eyes slowly. Where am I? He viewed the room and saw a simple pine desk next to a door that opened to the kitchen. A wooden bookcase filled with books was against the wall opposite the bed. Getting his bearings, he noticed shelves filled with artifacts similar to those displayed at the museum. Ah, he remembered the janitor, the museum, the walk-in refrigerator, the long walk in the rain, and the tea. His clothes were on hooks near the bed. With a fright, he reached for the moon pendant. It was still there. Sighing, he looked around the room and was relieved to see his backpack against the wall by the bed. He rose, walked over to a closed door, opened it, and was elated to discover a full bathroom.
He dressed and walked into the kitchen, where the heat from the stove warmed his face. Two bowls, two cups, and a kettle were on the table. Four wooden chairs circled the table. The same man from last night sat in one of the chairs. That is the janitor’s friend. The man stood from the table, and as he walked to the stove, he said, “Please sit down. You must be hungry.” He scooped oatmeal into each bowl.
The monk spoke, “My name is Venerable Zhao Sun Feng. You may call me Master Zhao. What is your name?”
Bāo, confused, asked, “You're a monk?”
“Yes, among other things.”
Bāo answered his request, “My first name is Bāo, and my last name is Loong, but I –.” Bāo was going to tell him that it wasn't his real last name, but Master Zhao cut him off.
“We will have plenty of time for discussion. I would normally refer to you as Mr. Loong, but I like the name Bāo. I will refer to you as student Bāo.”
Bāo questioned, “Student?”
“Yes, you have much to learn, student Bāo. Consider this your first lesson. After we eat, you will take two bowls to the stove and fill them with oatmeal, fill that bucket with water, and then take the food and the water out to the two gentlemen outside. He gestured to the table and said, “Bring any used bowls back inside and wash them in the sink, along with these. You will shower, dress, and meet me in the training hall for your second lesson. There are clean clothes on the chair in the bathroom. Say, “Yes, Master Zhao, it will make things easier.”
Bāo had eaten a few spoonfuls of oatmeal while Master Zhao spoke. With his mouth slightly opened, the spoon filled with oatmeal hung in the air, ready to eat, but he stopped to listen. He replied, “Yes, Master Zhao.” I suspect this will be very different from the orphanage, where I wouldn’t serve breakfast to homeless people. I get to be in the training hall. That should be fun. I always loved watching Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris on Saturdays at the orphanage.
After they finished eating, Master Zhao stood and went into his room, which was directly opposite Bāo’s room on the other side of the kitchen.
Bāo finished eating and then followed Master Zhao’s instructions. Outside, he set down the bucket of water and then gave the bowls of oatmeal to the two homeless men. One laughed and said, “The crazy man has a housekeeper now.” Bāo collected the used bowls and empty bucket and took them back inside. He washed the dishes and then showered.
He studied the photos on the wall above the desk in his room. There was a black-and-white picture of an elderly man in a tan uniform holding a book. Under the picture was the caption Lou Song Jian’ Guo. I wonder who this is. He looks old. In another photo, a man in a gee was holding a sword. The caption below the photo read, “Zhao Qianfan, 1949, Kung Fu Grand Master.” Could this be Master Zhao’s father? To the right of that was a group photo with the caption “2000 class, Kung Fu Black Belt recipients, Shaolin Monastery.” Bāo studied the photo. There he is. A young Zhao Sun Feng stared back at him from the last row.
As instructed, he walked into the training hall and surveyed the room. Look at all of these weapons. He walked over to the wall, extended his hand, and ran his fingers over the swords mounted on the wall. He was distracted by a shelf with metal star objects, like tin soldiers standing at attention, neatly positioned in a line. These are throwing stars. To the right were what appeared to be walking sticks. There were four of them, neatly hung on wooden brackets. What are these for? There were two tables and two chairs in the middle of the floor. Master Zhao stood at the door, bowed to the Chinese National Flag and Shaolin Temple Flag, and asked, “Student Bāo, did you bow to the flags before entering?”
“No, Master Zhao.”
Master Zhao waited and calmly said, “Since you have not moved, you have not understood. This will be a long day if you cannot interpret what I have said. Do you understand? Go.”
“Yes, Master Zhao.” Bāo walked quickly to the doorway, turned, and bowed.”
“It isn’t a race, student Bāo. Bow slowly and respectfully. Try again.”
After two more tries, Bāo finally got it right.
Master Zhao sat in one of the empty chairs. “Please stand beside me, student Bāo, as I demonstrate.” A clean sheet of rice paper was on the table, a bottle filled with black ink, a small indigo-blue ceramic bowl, and a wooden brush. The other table was arranged in the same manner. The brush was an equal distance from the ink bottle and ceramic bowl, and both were the exact distance from the bottom edge of the table. There was also a small rectangular ceramic object that looked like an inverted moon bridge, which sat on the center-right edge of the table, not touching the paper. What is that for? Master Zhao sat silently for five minutes. His open hands, right over left, rested gently in his lap.
Bāo watched Master Zhao pick up the brush, gently dip it in the black ink held by the ceramic bowl, and brush a perfect circle on the rice paper's upper right-hand corner with one continuous smooth motion. Once finished, he rested the brush on the ceramic rectangular object at the side of the rice paper. That’s what that is for. It supports the used brush. Master Zhao explained, “The circle symbolizes birth, death, and rebirth.” Pointing to the other table and chair, he instructed, “Student Bāo, you sit at that table and practice.”
Bāo was confused. What? He looked at the weapons on the wall, the free-standing bags on the floor used for punching and kicking, the swords, and various wooden objects and said, “I thought you were going to train me in the martial art of Kung Fu.”
“You are not ready. Student Bāo, you are here to learn. A clear mind brings clear choices. Your mind is as cloudy as a muddy river, and you cannot see good choices in cloudy water. As your mind clears, you will begin to understand the true meaning of Kung Fu. What you need to do now is practice.”
Bāo asked, “Why do those homeless men call you a crazy man?”
“People who live near a temple do not respect monks.”
Master Zhao left the training hall and directed Bāo, “Practice, student Bāo, practice. I will return at noon. If you need more paper, it's on the other table.” He walked toward the kitchen and turned to observe Bāo’s body language and obvious swearing, which revealed his internal struggle. Then he saw something curious. Student Bāo picked up the brush with his left hand. Bāo had picked up his spoon with his right hand at breakfast this morning.
I can’t believe this. I met a Kung Fu master, and all I am learning is washing dishes, feeding homeless men, and practicing calligraphy. Why did I trust that janitor? Look at this mess I am in. He picked up the brush, dipped it in the ink, calmed himself as much as possible, and attempted to draw a circle as instructed. It looks more like an incomplete square than a circle. More tries were followed by more failures. I can’t do this.