Chương 28: Definitely Not Star Wars

It felt a little strange, certainly inconsiderate, to leave Wu lying in the grass outside by his unconscious self, but Mr. Cheng insisted he would be alright. The light wasn't strong enough to give him a sunburn and if there happened to be a little rain, well, he needed to cool off anyway.

"So about those names?" I asked, stepping through the doorway. Laushu sighed as he closed the door behind us.

"Zhu-tou means stubborn pig." That's what he'd called Wu. Totally appropriate.

"Ben niao xian fei means something like 'the early bird gets the worm'." That's what he'd called me.

"So I'm the early bird?" Mr. Cheng scratched the back of his head and looked to the side.

"Yes… you are the bird who needs to wake up early." My walk became a little more jaunty. Not bad, not bad at all. Obviously, he recognized how hardworking and diligent I was, so a very fitting name for me, indeed. We reached a small enclosure at the end of the hall. Inside was a narrow chair/bed with a hole on one end which I hoped was to lay your head in. A dummy lay face up on top of the surface.

Nearby a red reed curtain stood in the corner for changing next to a side table laid with incense sticks and long needles on a tray.

"I bet Wu isn't happy about his nickname." Laushu opened the cupboard doors, reaching his hand inside.

"He also won't be happy when he wakes up to find I knocked him unconscious, but he has only himself to blame for that. If he wants me to be his teacher, he will have to learn to control his temper. Just like you needed to show me that you could actually listen." He pulled something off a shelf that appeared to be a single chopstick, black lacquered and with a pointy end like a pencil. Delicate pink painted flowers flowed along the length of it. He placed it into his pocket.

"By the way, I am very impressed with your knowledge of Chinese culture." I frowned at him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. My knowledge of Chinese culture was limited to take-out fried rice and Kurt Russell's Big Trouble In Little China.

"Excuse me?"

"You call Tianyu by his family name, not by his first. Exactly right for two acquaintances in China. Not many Americans would know that." Dang it. I hadn't watched Big Trouble closely enough to pick up on Asian social dynamics in the movie. Still, I folded my arms in front of my chest, nodding my head.

"Thank you. I am quite fluent in international practices, despite having never left Chicago." He looked at me with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew I was making it all up.

"Now, for your lesson." Mr. Cheng turned to the bed and hefted the dummy over his shoulder, placing it on a stand against the back wall.

"You will need to practice against a standing opponent, not one that's already defeated on the ground." Walking up to the dummy, I squeezed its arm with my fingers. The skin was rubbery and soft, with lines stretching like veins down every limb and Chinese symbols spread over it from its toes to its fingertips. I turned to Mr. Cheng.

"Were you trying to make him look like a real thug with all of these tattoos? We should add a broken beer bottle and track marks." Laushu stepped up beside me, slapping the back of my head again.

"Ai ya! The lines map the twelve meridians of the human body and the writing indicates the different chi points along those paths." I poked at the dummy's eye and looked up at him blankly.

"Meridians?" Mr. Cheng took a deep breath.

"Ben Niao, you truly are an empty cup." Often he used my nickname when criticizing me, which seemed strange since it was supposed to be a compliment. But maybe it was another aspect to Chinese culture that I just didn't understand.

"Take a seat on the treatment table and I will explain chi and meridians."

"Can't you just show me where to poke them really hard to knock them out?" I looked up at him with my best puppy dog eyes.

"Like with Wu and the roid freak from last night." His hand slapped the dummy.

"There are no shortcuts in life and there certainly won't be any in my training. You must learn the why before you can learn the how." It was worth a shot. I hopped up on the treatment table –which was totally a little bed– and looked at him, hands folded on my lap, like a good student. Mr. Cheng took a deep breath.

"First, you need to understand chi. It is an energy that flows through us and around us at all times. In Mandarin, chi means vapor. It connects all things." Worried I might get smacked in the back of the head again, I raised my hand this time.

"Yes, Ben Niao?"

"So, it's like the Force?" If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Mr. Cheng threw his hands in the air.

"Wangba dan! George Lucas rips off ancient Chinese philosophy and uses it for space magic. Chi is not the force." I looked up, hand raised under my chin, pondering.

"But if you're in tune with it, does it guide your actions or something like that?" Mr. Cheng paused.

"That is called the Dao. When you become one with the Dao, every action and movement you make will be correct." There was a moment of silence as I let him connect the dots.

"Sounds like Star-""It's not Star Wars!" I held up my hands.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He walked in a circle, muttering agitatedly to himself, then finally turned to me.

"Where was I?"

"You were saying that chi is an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, penetrates us… binds the galaxy together." Allows us to destroy the Death Star. Mr. Cheng nodded his head slowly.

"That is a very good summary. For now, though, you just need to understand the flow of chi in your opponent." He placed a hand on the upright dummy, fingers smoothing along its limbs, pausing over the spots with the painted Chinese symbols on them.

"Humans are born with twelve meridians. These are the pathways in your body that the chi flows through. By striking locations where it runs close to the surface, you can disrupt the flow of chi and disable your opponent. Now look closely at this point on the shoulder." I hopped off the mini bed and looked at where he was pointing. On the front of the shoulder just below the collarbone was a tiny dot with some writing in Mandarin next to it.

"So I just poke this spot with my finger really hard?" Mr. Cheng laughed.

"You would break your finger before you disrupted someone's chi."

"So what do I do?"

"You will use this." From his pocket he produced the black pointy chopstick from before.

"Watch closely." He jabbed the dummy with the little piece of wood directly on the painted dot he had shown me. A light embedded in the top of the head lit up yellow. I stood on my tiptoes to see the light better.

"So yellow is good?"

"The light turns green if you hit the right spot, but not too hard. That is right for acupuncture training, not chi striking. Yellow shows that you have struck too hard and bruised the chi point, which would disable the arm." He handed the stick to me.

"So now it is your turn, Ben Niao." I took the chopstick in my hand, staring at the needle-sized dot below the dummy's collarbone. Precision was what mattered here and the right amount of force. If it wasn't hard enough, it was just acupuncture. My arm raised the chopstick high, my eyes honing in on the tiny circle I was aiming for, then I went for a jab like I was stabbing someone at the Bates Motel.

My chopstick landed on the dummy's throat, right on the trachea, about three inches from the dot I was supposed to hit. Guess the Psycho analogy went a little too far. Mr. Cheng shook his head, tsking.

"You have much enthusiasm, but your accuracy is pitiful. By stabbing down, you have more power, but are too unpredictable and aim badly. Change your grip, hold it straight and slowly bring it to the target." I pulled my hand back, rearranging the chopstick from grasping it with my fist to holding it like a switchblade. Slowly, I moved it forward, trying to hold my hand steady, until it finally came to rest precisely on the tiny black dot. The light turned green.

"Much better. In other martial arts, strength and power matter more than accuracy, but it is just the opposite with this. First practice slow, so that you can get the direction and landing right, then we will work on speed." My arm crawled back and forth from the dummy's chest, docking against the small point and then recoiling, over and over again. Each time, green lights flared. By the end of this, I could probably be an Olympic chopstick poker.

Sometimes my arm would pick up speed and the pointy stick would hit a shoulder, a nipple, even the poor dummy's sternum once.

"Remember, the same principles apply for everything I have taught you so far. You must have balance. You cannot expect to strike accurately with yang without building up with yin first. And you cannot disrupt another person's chi if yours is not in balance." Another attempt at going faster sent my chopstick skidding across the dummy's chest, so I finally grumbled, "How do I tap into chi? Is there a phone number I can call?" Mr. Cheng sighed.

"The breathing exercises, the taichi– look, it's even in the name! These will help you to clear your mind so you can focus and connect to your chi." After all of the frustration of the last ten minutes, I could use some meditation to get rid of the tension running through my body. I let my arm drop and stood still. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, then slowly expelled the air out from my mouth. Mr. Cheng's voice came out slow and gentle, the same as he used before in the courtyard.

"Good, now remember what you thought of during the taichi lesson– whatever helped your actions to become more yin." My bubble felt smooth and round between my hands, my fingers gently squeezing its perimeter. Colors swam on its surface peacefully as I rolled it around, gliding across my skin.

"Yes. Now transfer that energy to your instrument." The bubble morphed into the chopstick and my hands continued circling around with it. It was light as a feather and smooth to the touch, it slid through the air like a knife cutting through soft butter.

"Focus on your target." My eyes opened to latch onto the dot on the dummy. I stared at it, trying not to blink as much as possible.

"Keep your hands in motion, light and easy." It was a lot to focus on: maintaining the slow, soft circles of my hands, fueling my energy into the small stick held by them, and convincing my eyes that the only thing that existed in the world was a pinprick-sized mark on a fake human's chest. But, it kind of felt like I was doing it.

"Now strike!" Laushu yelled and my hand thrust forward, clutching the chopstick tight, vision filled with the sight of the ink mark above the collarbone as it rushed up closer and closer. It hit dead on. I stared at it, frozen in place, holding my breath. Then the light on the dummy's head turned yellow.

"YES!!!" I shouted, spinning around, arms out, chopstick of victory held high.

"Did you see that? Did you see that!" Mr. Cheng stood unmoving, watching me with the corners of his lips turned up and his eyes crinkled like half moons. When I finally calmed after my gold medal celebrations, he spoke.

"That was luck." My smile grew wider. Someday, I would make him watch it with me.

"In my experience, there's no such thing as luck."