The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) (26 page)

              “
Tomorrow you’ll do it for yourself
,” said Master Song.   Stepping back from Xiaoyu he pointed to the canvas bag and told Xiaoyu to repeat the same combination fifty times before switching legs and repeating for another fifty.  Xiaoyu approached the bag and kicked it with his front leg.  Realizing that somehow he wasn’t able to transfer his weight as smoothly as Master Song, he knew he was doing the combination wrong.

              “
Kick with the back leg.  And use your hips to produce more power
,” said Master Song.  Xiaoyu stood in a horseback stance similar to how he remembered Master Song’s stance.  Master Song came behind Xiaoyu and pushed down on his shoulders, forcing him to deepen his stance. 

              “
Now, kick using the back leg
,” said Master Song.  Xiaoyu used his back leg to roundhouse kick the bag and the same leg to kick it again.

              “
No, no, no
,” said Master Song, motioning for Xiaoyu to move over.  Master Song repeated the combination more slowly emphasizing each movement.  Xiaoyu witnessed how Master Song kicked the bag with his back leg then his front leg then transitioned back to the deep horseback stance.  As the bag came back toward him, he used his hips to propel his torso.  The bag came to rest on the face of his fist with a clap.  Master Song did not seem affected by the bag flailing his bare fist with the consistency of concrete.  He didn’t even break a sweat.

              “
Ok
?” asked Master Song, giving Xiaoyu a stern look.  Xiaoyu nodded his head and took his place in front of the bag.  Xiaoyu executed the combination in the correct order but slow.  His knuckles popped as the bag smashed his wrapped fist.  Xiaoyu winced but forced himself to muffle the sound.  He repeated the same combination as Master Song circumscribed his position making sure his knees stayed bent and arm stayed straight when he punched.  For the next hour Master Song uttered three words: 
good
;
no
;
again
.  After repeating the combination fifty times with his right leg and fifty times with his left, Master Song urged Xiaoyu to take a break.  Xiaoyu insisted he didn’t need one.  Master Song said watching Xiaoyu made him tire and he needed a break himself.  He told Xiaoyu he could run over to the water valve and get a drink.  As Xiaoyu walked toward the water valve, he realized his legs were stinging.  It felt like he had been injected with vinegar—not on top—in the tissue.  The backs of his legs hurt even when he wasn’t moving.  He bent down like a crippled man and turned on the water valve.  He reversed his head and let the water drown his tongue, half the water falling on the floor.  He took a moment to let the water wash away the vinegar, before returning to his post in front of the canvas bag.

              “
Drinking so much water means you’ll have to go pee
,” said Master Song, “
Which brings us to another question.  Your roommates are bags of rice.  They’ll be fine, but where do you pee
?”  Xiaoyu had honestly never considered the question until Master Song asked.  He looked at Master Song and read his eyes. 
Only one place to pee
.  Xiaoyu turned and pointed toward the drain.  Master Song nodded with a brief smile on his face. 

              “
This arrangement is to make you think less about effort and more about efficiency.  A candidate has always lived and trained in the same space since the earliest days.  You wash there and your toilet is there.  That is all you will need
,” said Master Song.

              “
Master
,” said Xiaoyu, “
What is efficiency
?”  Master Song remembered he had to explain the concept once before.

              “
Efficiency is for what’s required
,” said Master Song,
“
When there is something that must be done, you do it.  Then it’s done.  If you do too much, it’s a waste.  If you don’t do enough, you don’t get it done.  So you have to wash and you have to use the toilet. Why have two places for washing away unwanted things?  Two places to do essentially the same thing; it’s not needed.  It’s too much, a waste.  Against an opponent, it is not always the case to throw the most punches or most kicks wins.  In fact, it is most often the loser who throws so many punches and kicks because it’s too much.  He uses too much energy to do the same thing.  You punch, punch, punch, kick, kick, kick and how many of those kicks meant anything at all.  You throw so many kicks and your opponent knows just how fast and how hard you can kick.  After the first kick, the other kicks begin to become redundant—overused.  If the kick will harm your opponent then it is efficient, but you must be sure it will harm your opponent.  If you kick and miss, your kick is redundant—a repeat attempt.  You must never be redundant.  Like wind and water you must adapt, be always changing
.”

              Master Song finished his sentenced with his back turned to Xiaoyu, walking toward the wood dummy.  He placed his right and left hands against the dummy’s arms as if he were about to embrace an old friend.  He quickly alternated his arms slapping against the body of the dummy with considerable force.  He continued effortlessly alternating his hands up and down, each time hitting the dummy’s hard exterior.  Master Song began to alternate his hands with such speed Xiaoyu could only see his movements because he could anticipate them.  Master Song alternated hands again and again as if he could not feel the impact of the dummy.  He stopped.  Without looking at Xiaoyu, he backed away from the dummy and made a sweeping motion with his left hand.  Xiaoyu understood.  He hoisted his acid legs one in front of the other trying to move at a natural pace.  As he stood in front of the dummy, Xiaoyu imagined his opponents—past and future.  He began slowly mimicking Master Song’s movements with decent accuracy.
Faster
.  Xiaoyu started to alternate strikes against the dummy more quickly and harder.  His range of mind and motion distracted him from the pain he would have otherwise felt.  The motion being repetitive allowed his mind to focus on other things.  He heeded Master Song’s words about not being redundant.  He landed hit after hit on the dummy but saw different faces.  He saw the boy who dropped the rock on his face and the boys who held him down.  He saw the boy who flicked his ears and the men who attacked his mother.  Baba’s face was there as well.  Other faces were there, but he couldn’t place them.  He knew he didn’t have to place the unknown faces.  His time for that would come later. 
Stop.

              At day’s end, Xiaoyu’s body felt like leather—processed and worn.   He had eaten a small meal tucked into a foam box by Master Song.  Master Song left him two plastic packets of dried fish for dinner, assuring him the protein would help his body rebuild.  Xiaoyu trusted Master Song only after one meeting but knew his body would not be rebuilt before the next day’s training.  Xiaoyu was imprisoned in the warehouse after Master Song left.  He spent his nights aching and thinking of his sister.  The first week lasted seven days before he was given a day off.  Xiaoyu’s body told him he needed the day off but his mind didn’t tell him what to do with it.  Xiaoyu knew Master Song wouldn’t come on the eighth day.  He also didn’t know what to do with himself.  Alone in the warehouse, he got bored and his mind wandered.  He slept half the day away.   His legs began to feel hollow and he felt pens stabbing his legs while the acid burned.  Although he had ignored Master Song’s advice not to sleep too long, the urge to walk came over him like the urge to survive.  Lying on the cot made him feel like dead weight, so he got on his feet to test his legs.  His mind gave him the task of disproving the idea that the warehouse was perfect.  Xiaoyu walked up and down the rows of the warehouse looking for lack of organization.  He proceeded for an hour before giving up.  Empty-handed, Xiaoyu returned to his cot with a newfound respect for the Moons.  His one victory was a moral one.   Walking around the warehouse, he realized how small it really was and how little it contained.  He told himself a high-level of organization could be easily achieved with such limited quantities.  He ate another pack of dried fish left by Master Song then slept till the early night.

  Xiaoyu woke up sometime in the late night.  The warehouse was only black.  Daylight could break the bay door seams but not during the night.  At night, the darkness had the place to itself.  Xiaoyu knew his way to the light switch but felt more comfortable lying open-minded on the cot.  The large lamps overhead were wasp nests, humming with the sounds of photons.  The same wasp-like creatures would sting his eyes and his mind if he turned the lamps on.  Light was loud.  Xiaoyu preferred the quiet, so it stayed dark.  It took time for him to get used to it but he felt cleaner bathing in darkness than under the water valve in the corner.  He began to see so much in the dark.  What he saw most was his sister.  He imagined her hair tied in a top-pinned ponytail.  He imagined her hard at work.  She had said their mother was a hard-worker and she had inherited it.  Xiaoyu could remember so much in the darkness.  His thoughts turned to himself.  He never thought of himself as a hard-worker.  His days with Master Song didn’t change his opinion of himself.  He had always done what was necessary.  No one was there to tell him but he was more like his mother than his sister.  Xiaofeng worked hard because she was her mother’s daughter and her mother worked hard because she had a daughter.  No one was prepared to help Qiu raise Xiaofeng, not even Xiaofeng’s father.  Xiaoyu had to work hard to defend himself because no one else would do it.  Xiaofeng was like her mother because she chose to be.  Xiaoyu was like his mother without having a choice.  Qiu was strong during her life for her daughter but gave her life and her strength to her son.  Master Song had instructed Xiaoyu to be adaptable and he was.  He could adapt like his mother.

              The months chased and surrounded Xiaoyu.  The routines began to change drastically.  Master Song was a creative tutor.  He would make Xiaoyu do punches then push-ups.  When the boy’s arms were spent Master Song would lunge at his head with a wooden staff, forcing him to block with shiftless arms.  Master Song’s skill allowed him to toy with Xiaoyu and taunt him.  Xiaoyu’s body was so tired and unmanageable he had a hard time detecting and deflecting the jabs from the wooden staff.  Although the boy’s body could be worn down, Master Song quickly realized the same wasn’t true for the boy’s mind.  Xiaoyu could come up with increasingly imaginative ways to overcome physical exhaustion.  His favorite tactics included turning the surroundings against Master Song and turning Master Song against himself.  Xiaoyu understood what most his age wouldn’t:  Master Song was never intent on hurting him even when it seemed like he was.  Xiaoyu learned to fake injuries to toy with Master Song.  He became expert at pretending to be more exhausted than he really was.  Xiaoyu’s diet was always the same—rice with vegetables and dried sometimes-salted fish.  In the beginning, it left Xiaoyu wanting more but after some months he was used to it.  His body adjusted to the right amount of sleep it needed to recover and made efficient use of nutrients in his food rations.  Xiaoyu decided it was best for him to hide his increased recovery speed from Master Song.

              After seven months, Master Song and Xiaoyu began shadow boxing twice daily.  The first round took place in the mornings after stretching.  The second round was later in the afternoon.  Their training sessions took on a different flavor—less drills, more sparring and more feedback.  Master Song used different techniques to show his pupil some of the different styles he might see.  He employed different strategies as well.  Sometimes Master Song was the aggressor, to show his pupil how some opponents would try to overwhelm him psychologically and physically.  Sometimes Master Song would take a more passive role and Xiaoyu would launch an assault.  Master Song pointed out how quickly Xiaoyu was burning up his energy, something Xiaoyu had noticed but been unwilling to admit to himself.  Master Song told Xiaoyu that no style or strategy was absolute.  Fighting was a mental exercise of matching strengths with weaknesses.  No fighter had an absolute advantage.  Master Song pointed out that just because he was stronger than Xiaoyu didn’t mean his advantage was automatic.  Strength was not efficient.  A show of force was expensive in terms of energy.  Master Song reminded Xiaoyu they trained together but in the evenings Master Song would leave Xiaoyu alone.  Xiaoyu realized for the first time that he had no knowledge of Master Song’s recovery from day-to-day.  Master Song admitted at the end of the day
I’m definitely more tired than you are
.

              Master Song elaborated the whole point of Xiaoyu’s training in the warehouse was to make him see things a certain way.  For eight months he never left the warehouse.  Trucks and workers came to drop and retrieve boxes.  The boxes came and went but Xiaoyu stayed.  His knowledge of the outside world was stunted so that his knowledge of would-be opponents would grow.  Master Song told Xiaoyu he should be imagining his opponents constantly.  He assured Xiaoyu imagining his opponents gave him a ubiquitous advantage because he would always imagine them as more than they actually were. 
Imagine a monster before you meet the man.
  In the middle of the seventh month, Master Song told Xiaoyu he had an opponent in three weeks.  The Flying Dragons and the Moons shared similar mild-mannered characteristics, which made them favorite cousins in the Triad family.  The counterparts on both sides were on friendly terms.  Master Song’s Flying Dragons’ counterpart was a former
Sanda
boxer from Shenzhen.  Master Song had told him about Xiaoyu and said he was talented, without mentioning he was a Jade Soldier candidate.  Xiaoyu’s eight-month training was ending in late October of 1990.  He was four months shy of his tenth birthday.  Master Song told the Flyers they should match him against a boy who was between ten and twelve years-old.