Tiger

T
his is stupid,” Fu mumbled from the bottom of the terra-cotta barrel. “How long do we have to stay inside this thing? I feel like a pickled vegetable.”

“Shhh!” warned his brother Malao, lying directly on top of him. “Grandmaster told us to remain perfectly quiet, and perfectly still.”

“I
know
what Grandmaster said,” Fu replied. “But we can't stay crammed in here forever. I say we get out right now. I say we stop hiding and fight!”

“Calm yourself, Fu,” whispered his brother Seh from on top of Malao. “We are all just as cramped and uncomfortable as you are. But we must do as Grandmaster said and remain silent and hidden. The enemy within our walls is unlike any faced by
Cangzhen Temple in more than a thousand years.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fu said. “Stop being so dramatic. You guys are sounding more and more like Grandmaster every day. I don't care who's out there. We're all masters now. We've all passed the tests. We shouldn't be hiding like a bunch of girls. We should be—”

“Hush!” snapped Fu's brother Hok, who was lying on top of Seh. “That's enough, Fu! You're making even
me
angry now.”

“I don't care!” Fu replied. “If you think—”

“Quiet!” hissed Fu's oldest brother, Long, from the top of the pile. “Control your tongues, all of you! Brother Fu, empty the words from your mouth and then empty your mind. You must take control of your thoughts and your emotions, or they will control you.”

“You must take control of your thoughts and your emotions, or they will control you,”
Fu mocked. “Give me a break, Long. Right now we need action, not philosophy.”

Fu was quickly losing his patience. He could hear enemy horses racing up and down the brick pathways that crisscrossed the temple grounds. He also heard weapons clashing and men crying out—plus a terrible, new sound. It was almost like thunder, except every boom was followed by a pain-filled scream. Fu's keen ears recognized each and every scream. Warrior monks were falling.

A low growl resonated deep within Fu's chest. He didn't understand why his four brothers, stacked
above him in the barrel, were holding back. Like him, each had mastered a style of animal kung fu that reflected both his personality and his body type. In fact, their true natures were so perfectly matched with their kung fu styles that they were each named after the animal they mirrored. They were born to fight. But they wouldn't.

Fu, the tiger, growled again. His brothers didn't look like him, walk like him, talk like him, or even smell like him. And they certainly didn't think like him. He called them “brothers” because they all were Buddhist and lived in the temple together. In reality, he and his “brothers” were orphans. What Fu needed were real brothers. Brothers who would fight alongside him.

Fu grunted under the weight of the others. “I can't believe we are just going to—”

“Please!” Long interrupted. “No more talking! We
all
have to remain silent. Brother Fu, focus your breathing. Meditate like the rest of us have been doing. If you find that you cannot meditate, just lie still and relax.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Fu replied. “You're on top. Try lying down here at the bottom of the pile in a pool of water with Malao's nasty feet pressing up against your lips.”

Malao giggled softly and wiggled his toes.

“If you do that again, Malao, I'll bite them off one at a time,” Fu said. “I swear I will.”

Malao giggled again but kept his toes still.

How much longer am I going to be stuck in here?
Fu wondered. He hoped for his brothers' sake they would all get out of the barrel soon. He wasn't sure if he could control himself much longer.

T
welve-year-old Fu couldn't believe his bad luck. He wished he could set the water clock back one hour to the time when Grandmaster first woke him.

Like every night, Fu had been sleeping in the small room he shared with his four brothers at the back of the main sleeping quarters. They had long since retired for the night, and Fu was dreaming about an overflowing banquet table that stretched as far as the eye could see. He'd been about to fill his bowl with a piece of chicken when he was awakened by a smack on the head.

Had the strike come from anyone other than Grandmaster himself, Fu would surely have sprung from his bed and returned the greeting tenfold.
However, Fu instantly recognized Grandmaster's skinny, bald head and orange robe.

Grandmaster grabbed the collar of Fu's robe and yanked him to his feet.

“Rise, now!” Grandmaster whispered into Fu's ear. “We have very little time. Follow your brothers on cat's feet. Go!”

Fu scanned the room with a quick twist of his head. All the beds were empty. His eyes locked on the back door as a small figure scampered outside.

“GO!” Grandmaster urged. He shoved Fu toward the door.

In one great bound, Fu launched himself through the open door and landed silently in the moonlit courtyard. Filling his lungs with the damp night air, Fu raced after his little brother, Malao, who was scurrying around the back corner of the practice hall. By the time Fu reached the enormous wooden doors at the front of the hall, Grandmaster had already caught up with him. Fu's brothers Long, Hok, Seh, and Malao stood there, waiting.

Grandmaster glanced around, then pushed one of the giant doors open just enough to stick his wrinkled head inside. After a moment, he pulled his head back out and looked at Fu. Fu knew exactly what Grandmaster wanted. As Grandmaster opened the door wider, Fu rocked back on his heels and sprang through the doorway.

Fu hit the ancient brick floor without making a sound and rolled to one side. He crouched low and
pushed his back flat against the cold stone wall. Like a wary feline, Fu scanned the immense room with his low-light vision. It was empty.

Fu grunted and the others filed in. Grandmaster came last, closing the door behind him.

“Follow me,” Grandmaster whispered. “Do not open any shutters. Do not light any torches. If you concentrate, you can see well enough.”

“What's going on?” Seh whispered as they moved forward.