“I promised to take that to the Emperor,” Ying said to Tonglong. “You will take it to him for me at once. You will also give him the unfortunate news that my mission is not yet complete, and I would not dream of accepting the title of General until I have fulfilled my end of our agreement. Understood?”
“Completely, sir,” Tonglong said.
“Good.”
Ying turned to his number-two-in-command, Commander Woo. The powerful, stocky man stood at attention. He adjusted his armor.
“Commander Woo, you and half the men will remain here to sort and count bodies. Then you will strip the armor from our fallen comrades. You will work through the night.”
“Yes, sir!” Commander Woo replied.
Ying turned to Captain Yue, his number-three-in-command. Captain Yue sighed and fidgeted with his large silk hat.
“Captain Yue!” Ying said. “Pay attention! You will break the remaining men into groups and spread out to inform every village within one hundred li that I am searching for anyone resembling a young monk. Five monks between the ages of eleven and thirteen may be out there, and one of them has a set of scrolls that I want back. You are to inform one and all that it will mean instant death for them, their entire family, and all their neighbors if they are found to be harboring one or more of these monks or the scrolls. Anyone coming in contact with one of these monks or the scrolls is to notify me without delay. Tell everyone along the way the name and location of this ‘secret' temple, as I will be waiting here for updates. Is that clear?”
Captain Yue nodded and plucked at his spotless silk robe. Ying scowled and leaned forward, slowly turning within the circle of soldiers. His black eyes connected with every man in the group.
“Keep in mind that those of you who remain here will have no easy task,” Ying said, “for you must keep your eyes and ears open whether asleep or awake. I am confident at least one sentimental young monk will return. Now form your groups and get moving! You can find me here at this wretched place until further notice.”
Fu raced on. The earth felt the pounding of his feet as he leaped over boulders and darted between enormous, ancient trees. His eyes fed off the occasional moonbeam with feline proficiency, his bare feet cunningly avoiding the numerous snarled roots hiding in the deep shadows. Fu's heart pounded, forcing bursts of hot, sticky blood out of the slice in his cheek. He kept his head tilted to one side so that the blood would run down his neck and onto the collar of his robe instead of dripping onto the ground, leaving a telltale trail for Ying and his men to follow.
All alone, Fu's mind raced even faster than his feet. How could Ying do this?
Fu often grew angry over things that happened to him at Cangzhen. But he would never have retaliated by killing someone. That was crazy. He had never even dreamed of killing Ying, who had picked on him constantly. One of Fu's older brothers once suggested killing Ying as retaliation for Ying's publicly blaming the death of his only friend on Grandmaster—but the older brother was just joking. Everyone knew Ying's comments were made out of sadness and denial. Many of the monks even felt sorry for Ying because they were certain that if anyone was to blame for the death, it was Ying himself. So instead of punishing Ying for his comments, the senior monks had been satisfied when Ying announced he was leaving the temple forever to wander the surrounding forests. They knew how painfully alone he would be, and they agreed that perpetual loneliness was punishment enough for his actions.
Fu originally disagreed and thought that Ying should receive at least forty whacks with a bamboo rod. However, now that he was running solo into the unknown himself, Fu was beginning to think perhaps the monks had been right. Perhaps loneliness hit harder than bamboo.
Fu began to ache deep down. He realized that he had never really been alone before. He had always worked, practiced, studied, ate, and even slept with at least one of his four brothers around. He used to complain about never being alone, and Grandmaster had always told him that you should be careful about what you wish for. Fu began to think no truer words had ever been spoken. His brothers could be annoying, but at least he had always had someone to argue with.
Fu did realize that he and his brothers occasionally got along. One thing they had in common was their negative feelings about their daily schedules. They all followed the rigid plans Grandmaster laid out for them hour by hour, and they were never given any free time. Fu had felt the strongest about wanting time alone, which is why he was surprised to discover that now that he seemed to have all the time in the world, he wasn't sure what he should do with it.
Fu's mind continued to race further and further away from the task at hand—which was to run as fast as possible through the dark forest without getting injured—until a thick tree root reached up and grabbed his foot. He went down hard.