Hing, whom Seiskein had ordered to help the new boy settle in, woke Mao up the next day: “Come on Mao, aren’t you up yet! Didn’t you hear the bell? Hurry, or we will be late for Morning Rites.”

“I’m up!” Mao yelled. “Stop banging on my door. Are you trying to break it down?” He got out of bed, noticing that Keihan had already left and his sleeping pallet was rolled up neatly and stowed away under the bed.

Hing hopped about impatiently as Mao washed and dressed in the clothes Hing had brought for him. The uniform for a junior disciple was a black jacket paired with black trousers. Then he ran off the way the others had gone. Hing was a full head taller than Mao, and he slowed down to be sure he was not losing the smaller boy as they rounded corners of the buildings. They finally arrived at the main chanting hall where the junior disciples were assembled, cross-legged, in rows. The last two arrivals seated themselves at the back.

They watched Seiskein Monk in his red and yellow, and two other monks dressed in yellow, burn incense, and listened to their droning prayers. Some of the more pious boys joined in the chant. Most of them sat with bowed heads and folded hands. Some, like Mao, sat trying to keep off the sleeping demons.

When the Morning Rites were finished, the monks departed silently and with grave dignity. This was the signal for the boys to break up and go in their scraggly groups to the breakfast hall. At the sound of the next bell, they assembled in the junior hall to be put through their paces by the junior sihfu. The older disciples went through warming exercises while the sihfu interrogated Mao on his level of skill. On learning that it was little, he told Mao to do some sit-ups, push-ups and stretches. That occupied him until noon when there was an hour of meditation before midday meal. Then back to the same yard to cover basic forms. Punch, block, lunge, kick, sweep. The sihfu would correct their posture and urge them, “Balance, balance, balance. Concentrate. Focus!” Then there were one or two hours of classroom lessons such as arithmetic, reading and composition. The bell rang for afternoon prayers and tea. Then for the rest of the day the boys could do as they wished. Some continued to practise, others went to the library, or to seek the monks for advice. Hing usually spent this time learning the different languages spoken by the different kingdoms. He wanted to travel the empire when he was older. Mao flipped through books of poetry. The bell rang for evening prayers and meditation, then supper.

Hing discoursed on himself and the habits of the temple to Mao as they ate.

“… And just so you know, the monks graduate disciples by ability, not by how long you’ve been here. I’ve been here for six years, and I’m still wearing this black jacket. There’s some only been here a couple of years and they get to wear the grey jacket, that’s senior. Grey disciples get to learn the Sixty Four Forms. How long do you think it will take you to get to that point?”

Mao chewed his food thoughtfully. “You know, I really can’t say.”

“Uh-huh. Well, only Masters of the Sixty Four can wear the white jacket, and get to learn the temple’s most guarded Form.”

“Do you have to shave your head and become a monk?”

“Oh no. Only if you want to take the vows of faith. But you don’t have to,” said Hing. “The secret Form is passed on to any one who masters all of the Sixty Four Forms regardless of whether they become a monk or not, although I think the monks will most likely expect it of you, so I’ve heard.”

~~~

Even though Keihan and Mao shared the same room, the two boys saw little of each other as the days progressed. Keihan had to start early and finish late.

When Keihan reported to the taskmaster on the first morning, Greson gave him to Lazuro who did not know what to do with him either. First there was chopping of the wood – Lazuro showed Keihan the servants’ gate at the back of the temple – there was fetching of the water – there was a little path in the wood down to the streams – Keihan went about the tasks with diligence and stoicism – there was the food preparation before lunch – after lunch, there was the sweeping of the yards and other areas. In the training yards, Keihan caught sight of Mao with the other boys listening to the sihfu.

“… There are exercises for each part of the body from the head down to the toes. Every muscle counts, and their reach and limits must be remembered and co-ordinated. And it is important to breathe correctly. You bring air to the muscles, to bring air to the internal fires, and to lift the body. Always along the flow of your movements, unless – well you will learn of that when the time comes. Remember, always with the flow, or damage to the internal gates will ensue. This will lead to ruin of your health. If the correct ways of marshalling the energies are not adhered to, you risk damage, which will shorten your life, or bring demon fires to your brain and confuse you. It is of the utmost importance that the correct flow is learned and maintained. You will later see that each Form has its own natural flow and it is essential that you discern it ...”

Mao did his exercises correctly, if without much enthusiasm. There was little to fault. There were other boys not so fortunate. In particular, a gawky chap named Lingmon who always had difficulty remembering the order of movements. The rap of a knuckle to his head by the sihfu did not help, and in fact incensed him to complain.

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“So when do we get to learn some real kungfu?”

“Idiot! You haven’t even learned the foundation – how do you expect to master the sky?”

The sihfu would, again, correct Lingmon’s posture and reiterate instructions.

“Don’t stiffen yourself. Balance and remain fluid in your motion and your thoughts. Find the natural flow of energy in your limbs. Be relaxed but ready to strike when you need to strike.”

He continued around the yard correcting postures and directing movements …

Once the vast junior and outer courtyards had been swept, the two servants had a little time to themselves before the evening meal – after which there was much tidying to do and preparation for the next day’s work before they were allowed to go to bed. Lazuro used the spare time to try to amuse the little chap and some of the other servants joined in, but the more the adults prodded and teased, the more the child withdrew. Greson came out before the affair got too messy and ordered them back to work.

The days passed and Keihan got used to the work. His favourite task was sweeping of the yards. He would spend hours doing it. The monks seldom noticed him, but the servants often joked that Keihan seemed to have dedicated himself to sweeping the yards spotless for his little master to train in.

~~~

The months went by. Mao felt some guilt at the neglect of the friend he had brought into the temple. He had made friends amongst the junior disciples, but he felt somewhat responsible for Keihan whom he hardly saw, much less exchanged words with since the first evening.

One afternoon, he decided to seek Keihan out, and maybe help him with the chores he had to do for the sake of the masquerade. Outside the kitchen, he questioned one of the brown-clad servants, and was told he’d gone to get water for the well.

So Mao went out through the back gates, and found Keihan returning with two pails of water.

“Let me help you, Keihan.”

“No, it is alright, Mao. I am used to it by now. It isn’t so hard once you are used to it.”

Keihan poured one pail into the well, and took the other round to the stoves. “Well, that is that. Now I have to get these baskets of vegetables done. You had better not help; this is the place of servants. If you aren’t one, you would only get in the way.”

Lazuro, overhearing the conversation, offered to do Keihan’s share of the work, so he could spend some time with his master, but Keihan refused the offer. Mao decided to get out of his friend’s way, promising to catch him at a better time. Lazuro found it odd that Keihan refused. If he thought about it, he would have realised that Keihan did not treat Mao like a master, eager to obey his word, and be near him at the slightest excuse. And Mao did not treat Keihan like a servant whose sensitivities counted for nothing in relation to those of the one he served.

The next day, Mao saw Keihan sweeping the training courtyard flagstones. As soon as the lesson ended, he was at his side, ignoring the calls of some boys to him.

“Hey, Keihan, did you see the way sihfu marshalled his Qh’i and chopped through five tiles with his bare hand?”

Keihan nodded.

“I bet you wish you could do that.”

Keihan shrugged.

Hing reached the pair of them. “Hey Mao, I want to show you something.”

“Not right now, Hing.”

“Why?”

“Er, I thought, I’d, er …” Mao wanted to say that he wanted to catch up with Keihan, but with his servant status it did not sound justifiable. “Nothing, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“It’s really cool, you’ll never believe it!” said Hing excitedly, leading the way out of the yard.

Mao went off with Hing, leaving Keihan to sweep and contemplate.

Mao thought that if he wanted to speak to Keihan, it was best to catch him just as he goes off with his buckets to fetch the water. The time coincided with the afternoon rest, so finally he could walk with his friend without being disturbed by either servants or disciples. But, having this perfect opportunity to talk, he was at some loss to find a subject. He felt it might be insensitive to talk about his training since that was sure to make Keihan feel bad. Left out, barred from the very thing he had come so far to obtain. And Keihan was silent. So they walked to the streams in silence. Mao helped Keihan fill one of the buckets. He was clumsy, and splashed the whole front of himself. He would have fallen into the stream if Keihan hadn’t reached out at the last minute and steadied him.

“Here, you better give me that bucket. It is easier to carry two, rather than one, because it is balanced,” said Keihan. He shouldered the frame, and then noticed the state Mao was in and burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he collapsed onto the mossy bank and knocked over the buckets of water. Mao joined in the laughter.

When they finally sobered, Keihan said it was best if Mao went back to change. Mao shrugged, saying that a little wetness never hurt. It would soon dry. He picked up one of the empty pails to fill it. He was more dextrous the second time round.

Then they made their way back up to the temple, taking it in turns to carry the water. They chatted and discovered a shared love for stories and favourite classics.

Keihan stopped minding his friend so much, and the fact that his presence made it impossible for him to practise the kungfu exercises he had observed. Over the past few months he had learned to ground himself. How to unite controlled breath with controlled motion until it was a natural part of himself. With increasing strength came increasing perception. By the stream, he had become aware of his senses, and held his balance, looking into the changes of the stream. Stilling his mind he had observed, and swiftly, he had struck into the water and caught silvery fish with his hands. He felt the dormant powers of his growing knowledge.