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"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung" INC
Oct. 3rd, 2023 10:23 pm"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung"
9/1987
I.
On a windy hill overlooking Kowloon, two rival schools sat facing each other across a fifty-foot-wide flat area covered with hard mats. Two dozen students of Winter Snow in their white canvas gis knelt in a row along one side, glaring murderously at their enemies. Sitting crosslegged across from them were an equal number of Black Mantis students in their loose black silk uniforms. None had moved in the slightest since taking their places. These schools had hated their rivals for generations. This was a bitter feud where grandsons of original students now hated grandsons of the other school's founding students.
Seated side by side in matching gilt chairs were the elderly masters of their schools, Sifu and Sensei, both attentive as they watched their best fighters step onto the mats. On poles behind the teachers, their respective white and black pennants snapped in the breeze. It was cool, almost chilly this high above the water.
Both fighters were young Asian men in their twenties, both fit and hard-muscled, wearing the uniforms of their schools. In the white gi of Winter Snow, Shimura Ikio stood only an inch over six feet in height, with thick brawny arms and heavily callused hands. His hair was cropped so short it might as well have been shaved. The broad face was kept deadpan, nearly without expression.
Facing him was Chen Wong-Lai. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, Chen had removed his shirt and wore only the loose baggy trousers and slippers. A few inches shorter than his opponent, ten pounds lighter, Chen's torso showed wiry sleek muscles with sharp definition. He seemed to have zero body fat. His coarse black hair was shaggy, even untidy, over a narrow face that was set in stern resolute lines.
Meeting in the center of the mats, the fighters turned and bowed, not to their own schools but to their opponents. Then they stood side by side and bowed more deeply to the Sensei and Sifu, who inclined their heads respectfully. Finally, Chen and Shimura moved back and bowed to each other as minimally as possible, then dropped into ready stances.
Winter Snow was a hard style. Shimura came in fast and direct with a front snap kick to the lower stomach but Chen swept it to the inner side with the heel of his palm, swinging Shimura half around. The Winter Snow fighter was now awkardly standing with his right side to his opponent. In the instant before Shimura regained his footing, Chen lunged in quick as any fencer and exploded a short straight jab that caught the Winter Snow fighter directly in the center of the face with a sharp cracking noise. Shimura fell hard onto his back, rolled and hopped back up onto his feet ten feet away.
Too well disciplined to cheer or even show the faintest smile, the Black Mantis warriors could not entirely keep approval from their eyes.
Instead of becoming more cautious, the Winter Snow karateka charged forward more aggressively, turning on his left heel to whip out a high side kick to the chest. He was just outmatched. Moving much quicker and with greater assurance, Chen Wong-Lai swiveled his body like a matador and crashed his elbow deep into Shimura's side just below the armpit level. That blow hurt and disoriented. Shimura's defenses went down completely.
Planting his feet, torquing up power from his hips and core, Chen looped a wide haymaker that connected perfectly to the side of Shimura's jaw with a crunching sound. The Japanese fighter sagged to his knees and then over on to his side. Chen stepped back discreetly.
From his gilt throne, the Sensei clapped his hands sharply and two of the Winter Snow students leaped up to carry Shimura away where a healer waited. The two leaders of the rival shools nodded to each other without discussion, and the Winter Snow master reached over to tug on the cord which lowered his white and red pennant to half mast. Remaining atop in triumph, the sinister flag of the Black Mantis snapped and unfurled in the wind.
The students of the two schools remained silent as they walked off in different slopes down the hill. The winter Snow fighters made their way down the winding tree-lined path to the road where their chartered bus awaited them. The battered Shimura was walking with some assistance, indicating some hope he would be okay.
In contrast, once the Black Mantis students were out of sight from the arena, they began to buzz with low enthusiastic discussion. Cantonese was officially the language used in their school but there were still many comments in English and Mandarin. They vanished with triumph into the dorm building.
Chen Wong-Lai remained behind, quietly picking up his black tunic and tugging it on as his Sifu watched. The stocky old man with a wispy white beard and sideburns rose and came over to watch him thoughtfully.
"The Winter Snow will not be eager to challenge our House again soon," said the old man.
"I am honored to represent Black Mantis," Chen answered with a proper bow.
"Your skills are all that can be asked, young Chen. And yet, in today's fight as several other times recently, I saw you draw on other resources beside what Black Mantis provides. We do not throw wild roundhouse punches like John Wayne, nor do we use the footwork of a fencer wielding an epee. I have hinted before that this mimgling is not your best interests."
"Your words are true, esteemed one," Chen replied with as much meekness as he could pretend. "When the opponent provides an opening, my body takes adavantage of it. This is my shortcoming and I do not know how to overcome it."
The Sifu raised a single reproving finger. "Let that pass for the moment. I am informed a visitor has come here to see you."
"I expect no such visitor, Teacher."
"Go to the gazebo at the front gates, young Chen. There you will find a man named Mikage Tatsuo awaiting...the Iron Ronin."
( the rest of the story )
9/1987
I.
On a windy hill overlooking Kowloon, two rival schools sat facing each other across a fifty-foot-wide flat area covered with hard mats. Two dozen students of Winter Snow in their white canvas gis knelt in a row along one side, glaring murderously at their enemies. Sitting crosslegged across from them were an equal number of Black Mantis students in their loose black silk uniforms. None had moved in the slightest since taking their places. These schools had hated their rivals for generations. This was a bitter feud where grandsons of original students now hated grandsons of the other school's founding students.
Seated side by side in matching gilt chairs were the elderly masters of their schools, Sifu and Sensei, both attentive as they watched their best fighters step onto the mats. On poles behind the teachers, their respective white and black pennants snapped in the breeze. It was cool, almost chilly this high above the water.
Both fighters were young Asian men in their twenties, both fit and hard-muscled, wearing the uniforms of their schools. In the white gi of Winter Snow, Shimura Ikio stood only an inch over six feet in height, with thick brawny arms and heavily callused hands. His hair was cropped so short it might as well have been shaved. The broad face was kept deadpan, nearly without expression.
Facing him was Chen Wong-Lai. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, Chen had removed his shirt and wore only the loose baggy trousers and slippers. A few inches shorter than his opponent, ten pounds lighter, Chen's torso showed wiry sleek muscles with sharp definition. He seemed to have zero body fat. His coarse black hair was shaggy, even untidy, over a narrow face that was set in stern resolute lines.
Meeting in the center of the mats, the fighters turned and bowed, not to their own schools but to their opponents. Then they stood side by side and bowed more deeply to the Sensei and Sifu, who inclined their heads respectfully. Finally, Chen and Shimura moved back and bowed to each other as minimally as possible, then dropped into ready stances.
Winter Snow was a hard style. Shimura came in fast and direct with a front snap kick to the lower stomach but Chen swept it to the inner side with the heel of his palm, swinging Shimura half around. The Winter Snow fighter was now awkardly standing with his right side to his opponent. In the instant before Shimura regained his footing, Chen lunged in quick as any fencer and exploded a short straight jab that caught the Winter Snow fighter directly in the center of the face with a sharp cracking noise. Shimura fell hard onto his back, rolled and hopped back up onto his feet ten feet away.
Too well disciplined to cheer or even show the faintest smile, the Black Mantis warriors could not entirely keep approval from their eyes.
Instead of becoming more cautious, the Winter Snow karateka charged forward more aggressively, turning on his left heel to whip out a high side kick to the chest. He was just outmatched. Moving much quicker and with greater assurance, Chen Wong-Lai swiveled his body like a matador and crashed his elbow deep into Shimura's side just below the armpit level. That blow hurt and disoriented. Shimura's defenses went down completely.
Planting his feet, torquing up power from his hips and core, Chen looped a wide haymaker that connected perfectly to the side of Shimura's jaw with a crunching sound. The Japanese fighter sagged to his knees and then over on to his side. Chen stepped back discreetly.
From his gilt throne, the Sensei clapped his hands sharply and two of the Winter Snow students leaped up to carry Shimura away where a healer waited. The two leaders of the rival shools nodded to each other without discussion, and the Winter Snow master reached over to tug on the cord which lowered his white and red pennant to half mast. Remaining atop in triumph, the sinister flag of the Black Mantis snapped and unfurled in the wind.
The students of the two schools remained silent as they walked off in different slopes down the hill. The winter Snow fighters made their way down the winding tree-lined path to the road where their chartered bus awaited them. The battered Shimura was walking with some assistance, indicating some hope he would be okay.
In contrast, once the Black Mantis students were out of sight from the arena, they began to buzz with low enthusiastic discussion. Cantonese was officially the language used in their school but there were still many comments in English and Mandarin. They vanished with triumph into the dorm building.
Chen Wong-Lai remained behind, quietly picking up his black tunic and tugging it on as his Sifu watched. The stocky old man with a wispy white beard and sideburns rose and came over to watch him thoughtfully.
"The Winter Snow will not be eager to challenge our House again soon," said the old man.
"I am honored to represent Black Mantis," Chen answered with a proper bow.
"Your skills are all that can be asked, young Chen. And yet, in today's fight as several other times recently, I saw you draw on other resources beside what Black Mantis provides. We do not throw wild roundhouse punches like John Wayne, nor do we use the footwork of a fencer wielding an epee. I have hinted before that this mimgling is not your best interests."
"Your words are true, esteemed one," Chen replied with as much meekness as he could pretend. "When the opponent provides an opening, my body takes adavantage of it. This is my shortcoming and I do not know how to overcome it."
The Sifu raised a single reproving finger. "Let that pass for the moment. I am informed a visitor has come here to see you."
"I expect no such visitor, Teacher."
"Go to the gazebo at the front gates, young Chen. There you will find a man named Mikage Tatsuo awaiting...the Iron Ronin."
( the rest of the story )
