Tiger - Jeff Stone [17]
Captain Yue nodded and plucked at his spotless silk robe. Ying scowled and leaned forward, slowly turning within the circle of soldiers. His black eyes connected with every man in the group.
“Keep in mind that those of you who remain here will have no easy task,” Ying said, “for you must keep your eyes and ears open whether asleep or awake. I am confident at least one sentimental young monk will return. Now form your groups and get moving! You can find me here at this wretched place until further notice.”
Fu raced on. The earth felt the pounding of his feet as he leaped over boulders and darted between enormous, ancient trees. His eyes fed off the occasional moonbeam with feline proficiency, his bare feet cunningly avoiding the numerous snarled roots hiding in the deep shadows. Fu's heart pounded, forcing bursts of hot, sticky blood out of the slice in his cheek. He kept his head tilted to one side so that the blood would run down his neck and onto the collar of his robe instead of dripping onto the ground, leaving a telltale trail for Ying and his men to follow.
All alone, Fu's mind raced even faster than his feet. How could Ying do this?
Fu often grew angry over things that happened to him at Cangzhen. But he would never have retaliated by killing someone. That was crazy. He had never even dreamed of killing Ying, who had picked on him constantly. One of Fu's older brothers once suggested killing Ying as retaliation for Ying's publicly blaming the death of his only friend on Grandmaster—but the older brother was just joking. Everyone knew Ying's comments were made out of sadness and denial. Many of the monks even felt sorry for Ying because they were certain that if anyone was to blame for the death, it was Ying himself. So instead of punishing Ying for his comments, the senior monks had been satisfied when Ying announced he was leaving the temple forever to wander the surrounding forests. They knew how painfully alone he would be, and they agreed that perpetual loneliness was punishment enough for his actions.
Fu originally disagreed and thought that Ying should receive at least forty whacks with a bamboo rod. However, now that he was running solo into the unknown himself, Fu was beginning to think perhaps the monks had been right. Perhaps loneliness hit harder than bamboo.
Fu began to ache deep down. He realized that he had never really been alone before. He had always worked, practiced, studied, ate, and even slept with at least one of his four brothers around. He used to complain about never being alone, and Grandmaster had always told him that you should be careful about what you wish for. Fu began to think no truer words had ever been spoken. His brothers could be annoying, but at least he had always had someone to argue with.
Fu did realize that he and his brothers occasionally got along. One thing they had in common was their negative feelings about their daily schedules. They all followed the rigid plans Grandmaster laid out for them hour by hour, and they were never given any free time. Fu had felt the strongest about wanting time alone, which is why he was surprised to discover that now that he seemed to have all the time in the world, he wasn't sure what he should do with it.
Fu's mind continued to race further and further away from the task at hand—which was to run as fast as possible through the dark forest without getting injured—until a thick tree root reached up and grabbed his foot. He went down hard.
Fu lay on a bed of dead leaves, catching his breath. He scolded himself for thinking too much and lifted his head as a salty drop of water fell from his right eye, sinking deep into the slice across his cheek. He successfully fought off the urge to cry out and squeezed both eyes shut, cutting off the flow of liquid. Then he stood. None of his