neverland

First Met

We were following Master Zhou as he slowly moved his hands like the motion of a calm breeze. He finally came to a salutation position and stopped.

Master Zhou said, "That’s all for today, children. Thank you for joining the Tai Chi practice."

Bingwen responded, "We should be thanking you, Master."

"Yes, thank you," I added with a smile. Master Zhou was very kind and a good person. He would tell us old Kung Fu stories and bring us snacks to eat while we listened. He helped with chores and got along with us like a friend. Although he was in his seventies, his spirit was youthful. Despite this, he had never married. Sometimes I would think about it and imagine that a painful love story had left him alone. I would create scenarios in my mind, writing a sad ending that forced him to part from the woman he loved. Perhaps he had simply chosen this path to focus on Kung Fu. In his free time, he practiced calligraphy, and sometimes he gifted us with some of his work. I even had a beautiful phrase written by him hanging in my room: "A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song."

After our daily training session ended, I went to one of the practice rooms. I didn’t have many friends here. There were people I talked to, of course, but I couldn’t call them friends, so I didn’t spend much time with them. I repeated and practiced the punches and kicks we had learned that day. Afterward, I took a hot shower and retreated to my room. The next morning, while I was brushing my teeth, someone knocked on the door. I spat out the toothpaste, quickly rinsed my mouth, and went to open the door.

Bing said, "We’re training in the back garden today."

"Alright, I’m coming."

When I got to the back garden, I noticed there was one more person than usual. Who could that be? He was standing with Master Zhou, and they were talking about something. At one point, the boy and I made eye contact. He is handsome. With his almost-black eyes and long black hair, dressed in a blue hanfu, he looked like he had stepped out of an ancient Chinese film. I leaned over to Bing.

"Who is he? A new student?"

Bing replied, "No, he’s not a student. That’s Lian, a Shaolin monk. He’s from a different temple. Sometimes he comes and takes one or a few students back to his temple. I’ve heard that they teach the advanced levels of Kung Fu there."

My eyes widened.

"Is that so... How do they decide who gets to go?"

Bing said, "We have a tournament."

Master Zhou and Lian walked toward us. Master Zhou explained things similar to what Bing had told me, and he announced that there would be a tournament tomorrow. We could train however we liked today. I found an empty practice room and started training. I wanted to go to that temple. I wanted to learn real Kung Fu, not the kind I had to pay to learn. I kept practicing until midnight.

The next morning, we all gathered in the front yard, waiting for the matches to begin. I was surprised to see Lian step onto the field. Were we going to fight him? As the matches began, I carefully observed Lian’s movements and fighting style. His style resembled Baguazhang. He wasn’t focused on attacking; he was merely gauging his opponent’s level. Despite that, his movements exuded experience and professionalism.

When my turn came, I stepped onto the field. In moments like these, I would think of the old me. Or rather, my old habits. I used to be afraid, shrink back, and hold myself back. But now, I no longer hesitate to do what I need to do. I don’t know exactly when or where this change happened; maybe it was a process. But here I am now.

I took a deep breath and assumed a fighting stance. Lian’s eyes were on me. He moved carefully, calmly, but with great strength, launching his attack. His punches were as fast as the wind, almost invisible. I was taken aback by this sudden assault—he hadn’t moved like this in any of the previous matches. What was this special treatment? I knew I couldn’t match his strength, but I wasn’t going to lose this fight. I had to seize this opportunity and succeed. With every attack, I stepped back, carefully observing his movements. His speed and power forced me into a defensive position, but then something caught my attention: after each strike, during his breathing, there was a brief pause. I needed to exploit that.

As the fight continued, a plan formed in my mind. When Lian came at me with a powerful punch, I skillfully dodged to the side. But this time, instead of retreating, I did something unexpected. I timed his breathing pause after his strike and, with a swift move, delivered a strong palm strike to his chest, sending him stumbling backward. Lian was momentarily stunned, clearly surprised, as his breath was knocked out of him. But he quickly recovered, using his hand to steady himself on the ground. This was a technique that required years of training, applying pressure to weak points. But I had done it based solely on my observations and quick analysis. I hoped it would be enough to get me into that temple.

Lian, still catching his breath, asked, "How did you... do that?"

I pointed to my eyes with my index and middle fingers, then gestured toward him.

"I observed. Plus, I read about this technique somewhere."

I smiled.

Lian said, "Well, congratulations then. You’re coming with me."