(Day 64)

The beginners had mostly taken well to riding.  The twins, Nanxi, Xiaotong.  The four of them were off on a small expedition in the surrounding area, following one of the herdsmen.  Shutian was having the most trouble.  He was sitting on a gelding now, being led around a small paddock by Pema’s father, Dorje.

Pengfei looked on from a distance, next to Pema.  They chuckled at Shutian’s difficulties.  He was being treated like a child by the Tibetan clan’s patriarch. 

“He is a bad choice for your group.”

Pengfei laughed, finding the point hard to deny, but shook his head.  “No, he’ll be fine.  Besides, look how happy he is?  I’ve never seen him smile so much.”

Pema squinted her eyes at Shutian then arched a quizzical eyebrow.  Intuiting the question, Pengfei explained.

“If he’s not actively scowling, I consider that a smile.”

“Ah.”

Horse nickered derisively beneath him, and Pengfei dug his heels inward in an attempt to silence the mare.

“So…do you want to go find the others?”  

A tense moment passed while he waited for Pema’s answer.  He had been trying to get her alone for the past several days but there had always been something else to do.  He seized this opportunity.

The young woman smiled and nodded. “Sure.  Let’s go.”

They rode slowly, out past the tents and wagons that made up her family’s encampment.  Through the pastures that held the goats and yaks that the clan had come to sell to the merchants of Hotan.  The numbers had been greatly reduced since last time Pengfei had visited.  The few dozen Kazakh horses that Kunlun had purchased grazed among the other animals.

Pengfei and Pema both knew that the other disciples had gone west, but she led them north at the river.   A light giddiness rose up in his belly.  Just to be doused a second later.

“You and your friends had a fight a few days ago.”  Pema said.  A statement, not a question.  Seeing Pengfei’s confusion, she explained.  “The monks came to visit us last night, after you left.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.  I could tell they were Tibetan.”

“Buddhists.  They will travel to Mongolia soon.  The tribesmen there respect our lamas.”

“They knew how to fight.”

She nodded.  “They teach such things in the temples.”

A few minutes passed in silence as they rode.  The topic still hung in the air, awkwardly.  In the days since the brawl, Pengfei had invented all manner of scenarios and motivations for his attackers.  But there was only one plausible explanation.  They had mentioned Pema’s name, come to find Pengfei.  Romantic rivals.  The only question was how Pema felt about them.  

The pair reached a little copse of trees and paused.  The weight of not knowing finally broke him down.

“One of them said your name.  It was the only thing I could understand.”

“Yes, we know them.”  Pema looked off into space for a time.  A lengthy pause but Pengfei knew it was still the girl’s time to speak.  He waited, and eventually she turned to fix him with a serious gaze.  She spoke frankly, evenly.

“When they return from Mongolia, their time as monks will be over.  They will leave their temple and we will marry.”

“Marry?”  A lead ball sank to the bottom of Pengfei’s gut.  “What –  who?  Which one?”

“The ones you fought.  The brothers.  Jigme and Chodak.”

Confusion and dread mixed inside him.  He focused on the unimportant details, pushing away the bigger picture for a time.  “But… which one will you marry?”

“Both.”

Pengfei gaped.  “That’s… no, that can’t…”

“Where you are from, don’t the men take many wives?”

“Some men.  But that’s… no.  It’s different.”  Pengfei struggled to reconcile the reality of his own upbringing to his current reality.  His own father had taken a second wife.  Pengfei’s mother had lived in even more secrecy and seclusion afterwards.  “Your father can’t make you do that.  We can –“

“Make me?”  Pema interrupted before Pengfei’s concerned words could take him any further down the potentially offensive path.  “My father does not make me do anything.  It’s a good match.  Their family have large herds to the south, ties to Lhasa.  And by marrying both of them, the entire inheritance will pass to my children.”

“You’re too young!”

“Older than you.  And old enough.”

The age gap between them was small, absolutely speaking, but where Pengfei was just coming into his manhood, Pema was well within the range of years when a young woman would find a match.  On the younger side, to be sure, but still within norms.  Especially for the nomadic tribes.  

Logistic details pushed to the side, the painful truth settled in on Pengfei.

–Willingly.  She’s willingly choosing someone else.  Two ‘someone else’-s in fact…  Shit.– 

The sting of rejection pricked at his eyes.  He blinked and looked away from the beautiful girl.  A gentle hand rested on his shoulder.  He expected some pitying consolation to be the final stab in his heart, but she took him by surprise again.

“We still have some time.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll be in Mongolia for at least a year.  Another six months before a wedding.  We can still spend some time together.  I told them to mind their own business until the marriage.  They will not bother you again, if that is what you’re worried about.”

”Worried?  No… that’s… it’s not that.  But we can’t.  It wouldn’t be right.”

“According to who?”

Pengfei’s false ethics gave way to the truth soon enough under the girl’s scrutiny.  Not propriety.  Jealousy. 

“You’re marrying them.  Choosing them over me.  And you just want me to sit back and accept it?”

The horses munched at the grass below their hooves as the drama of their riders unfolded.  Pema fixed him with an eye that held a hint of scorn.

“It’s not about you.  I need to plan for my future, my family’s future.  Or were you planning to leave your sect when the rest of them return east?  Give up your friends and family, become a shepherd, marry me?” 

He had no defense to that rebuke.  He chose to lash out in his impotence.

“Do you even love them?”

“Oh, Pengfei.”  Pema spoke sadly.  She pulled her reins and turned her horse back the way they had come.  She leaned over in her saddle as she passed and kissed his cheek.  Pengfei could feel a tear running down his cheek transfer over to her lips.  “I guess you’re still just a boy.”

She rode back toward the Tibetan camp and left Pengfei alone on Horse, standing idly by that little copse of trees.

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(Day 103)

Pengfei searched for a new sparring partner among the crowd.  With Nanxi and the twins in the valley below, tending to the horses, he had fewer of his regular partners to choose from.  And Chen Rulan constantly urged the disciple to choose new and different opponents with each match.  The elder watched him from the side of the training ground even now.  

He caught the eye of Jin Andong, eldest and nominal head of the Jin disciples.  They both nodded their acknowledgement and without any further prompting, stood across from one another to wait for the next round.  

“Begin!”  Chen Rulan shouted.

Andong darted in lightly to deliver a few quick punches, then hopped back out of range of possible counters.  Pengfei defended successfully but did not throw any attacks of his own.  He used the deeper stances of the ‘Arhat Fist’, trying to confirm an insight that had grown within him during the days and weeks following his fight with the Tibetan lamas.

The head of the Jin disciples came at him again.  He moved with the speed of one who had reached a high level of skill in the sect’s qinggong.  But Pengfei could see each blow coming and parried accordingly.  Despite the skill of his defense, he could not find an opening to attack his opponent.  Or rather, could not move quickly enough to capitalize on the openings he saw.  

The match ended with an unsatisfying lack of contact but Pengfei had let that disappointment slide before he reached Chen Rulan.   

“So?” the elder asked.  

“It feels like what I said last night.  The ‘Arhat Fist’ is not a good match for Kunlun’s style.”

“More.”

Pengfei tried to vocalize what he was feeling on an instinctual level.  “The fight in Hotan… they were aggressive, constantly coming forward.  I didn’t have to pursue as much to land my own attacks.  Just wait for them to come to me.”

“And Kunlun’s style?”

“In and out too fast.  The low stances of the ‘Arhat Fist’ give more power… but I can’t actually land my strikes before my opponents are back out of range.”

Chen Rulan bobbed his head in agreement.  “Then, what’s your conclusion?”

“Different styles for different opponents?”

“Too complicated.  What about people who only learn a single style?  What do they do when they meet a difficult opponent?

Before Pengfei could find the answer, Chen Rulan shooed him away, back into the disciples searching about for their next partner.  Back into the fray.

–Too complicated?  Then what’s the simple version?–

As the others paired off around him, an opponent presented himself via the process of elimination.  The only other unpaired disciple left nearby.  Pengfei recognized the face but struggled to recall the name.

“Greetings, brother…”

“Jin Baizu.”, the other supplied.

“Greetings, Brother Baizu.  Please teach me.”

They made their salutes and began circling when Elder Rulan shouted again.  Baizu was shorter than Pengfei, but not by much.  And faster.  Not as quick on his feet as Shutian or Andong, but still capable of hopping in and out of range of the ‘Arhat Fist’.

Pengfei blocked each attack as it came, searching for his chance.  Each time, a beat too slow.  He yearned to change his approach, to use Kunlun’s ‘Heaven Shaking Fist’ and match his opponent’s speed and mobility.  

Instead, he searched for another way.  He considered Chen Rulan’s question.

–How would a disciple of Shaolin handle this?  They would know more techniques, but the base would be the same. ‘To know the Arhat Fist is to know all the 72 martial arts of Shaolin’–

Another flurry.  Blocked, parried.  Another counterattack missed.

–Underneath the technique… how do you catch a faster opponent when you’re planted like this?–

Pengfei defended again, then attacked again.

–How…?  Ah!–

Something clicked in his mind.  

–Defend.  Attack.  Defend AND attack.–

It was a principle present throughout all the styles Pengfei had seen thus far.  To some extent or another.  He had even used it before, under different guises.  Attack and defense in the same moment.  

At the most basic level, a block executed at the same time as a counter.  One arm defends the other attacks.

You could even dispense with the block, using movement as defense.  Sliding beneath an opponent’s blow to strike at the opening it created.  As Pengfei had done against Chodak.  

But there was yet another level, where even that little extraneous movement was stripped away.  Sensing an opponent’s assault as it formed, throwing an attack of one’s own in anticipation, to stem that violent tide.  The interrupting blow prevented and inflicted damage at the same time.  Simultaneous attack and defense at its most elegant.  And its most difficult.

Pengfei knew intellectually he had stumbled upon the answer, but there was still a gap between that knowledge and its application.  He examined Baizu’s movements and watched for the moment the next strike would come.  The moment he could meet his incoming opponent with a strike of his own.  

The moment came and went.  Pengfei didn’t perceive any telltale signs, didn’t register any motion until Baizu was already upon him.  He managed to defend but not to respond.  

It took a few more passes for Pengfei to begin picking up on the subtle clues that preceded Baizu’s attacks.  A squeeze of the fist, a twitch in the shoulder.  When he saw the tensing in the legs that hinted at the use of qinggong, Pengfei struck. 

A single step forward with a straight punch.  Baizu’s eyes went wide in surprise as his target approached faster than expected, distance and timing thrown off.  

Pengfei’s attack missed in the end, but so did Baizu’s, as the disciple threw himself awkwardly to the side to avoid the unexpected blow.  Before the two could contest each other again, the match was over.

“They’re all yours, Elder Weidao!” Chen Rulan called, turning over command of the disciples to the swordsman.  When Pengfei approached, Rulan said more quietly, “Good.”

Pengfei accepted the elder’s acknowledgement of the match.  “So, that was the answer?  Attacking when the opponent comes in?”

“I suppose.”  The elder spoke vaguely and escorted Pengfei as the disciple made his way with the others to the weapon racks.  The students made room for the pair or glanced at them as they walked.  

“So, if I was a Shaolin disciple, confined to using their martial arts… I would aim for the simultaneous strike.”

“More general than that.  Not the specific tactic or technique.”

Pengfei stopped in place and thought as the others flowed around them, looking for the right words.  

“I was always half a beat behind … until I attacked on the same beat with… no, that’s it!  The timing!”

Chen Rulan smiled at the disciple.  “Timing, distance, tempo.  These are some of the bigger ideas in martial arts.  Behind the techniques.  They’re present in every style, in different proportions.”

“So, in Kunlun we use our qinggong to manage the distance and control the fight.  And in Shaolin they use their defense and timing, wait for the opportunity to land a blow…right?”

Pengfei tittered with self-satisfaction.  He felt he had discovered the ‘persepctive’ of Shaolin that Chen Rulan had mentioned months ago, when the disciple first began his transcription of the ‘Arhat Fist’.  The elder’s response deflated him.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes!?  What do you mean?”

The other disciples had grabbed the wooden swords off the racks and made their ways back to the training area.  Chen Rulan and Pengfei chatted in their own world as clacks and shouts filled the air.  

The old man chided his over-eager pupil.

“Did you think you had figured out all the hidden truths of martial arts?”

“Well – “ Pengfei began sheepishly, only to be silenced by a raised hand.

“What you said was more right than wrong.  But it’s never that simple.”

“Ughh.”  

Pengfei picked up the training weapon in front of him and turned to join the rest of the Jin generation, still turning over the small insight he had gained into the methods of the fist.  Just one of many that would inevitably spring up in a lifetime pursuing the martial arts.  He paused when another question worked its way to the forefront.

“But those are just the physical movements.  What about the differences between Kunlun and Shaolin’s qi?”

Elder Rulan was already walking away.  He waved over his shoulder.  “Later.  Go practice your sword!”