Hok nodded but didn't reply.
“What was Ying's mother's name?”
“WanSow,” Hok said. “It means ‘Cloud Hand.’ Ying said that she was a Tai Chi master.”
“What is Tai Chi ?“ Charles asked.
“It is a Chinese martial art that combines moving meditation with specialized breathing techniques.”
“What is so special about breathing?”
Hok stopped rummaging and pulled out a section of evergreen branch. She looked deeply into Charles’ eyes. “If you stop breathing, you stop living.”
Charles didn't know how to respond to that.
Hok continued. “But imagine if you could control your breathing to the point where you almost stop but don't.”
“I don't understand,” Charles said. “Is there a difference between almost stopping and actually stopping? I mean, how do you almost stop breathing?”
“For most people like you and me,” Hok said, “no, there is no difference. For WanSow, however, there may be. Come watch.”
Hok led Charles to a small room, where they found Ying kneeling beside his mother. Fu and Malao had started a fire nearby, and they were already beginning to warm themselves near it. Hok kneeled next to Ying, beside WanSow.
“This is a branch from the xiang mu tree,” Hok said, showing it to Ying in the flickering firelight. “No living person can inhale the odor of its sap without stirring.”
“Let me do it,” Ying said.
Charles watched as Hok handed the small branch to Ying. Ying bent it several times, back and forth, then twisted it around and around upon itself. Charles could just make out a tiny bubble of liquid that had risen where Ying had bent and twisted the branch. Ying waved the bubble slowly beneath his mother's nose, and to Charles’ surprise, she stirred.
Ying pulled the branch away, and WanSow weakly opened her eyes. She blinked twice at Ying, slowly, and Charles thought that he saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face before her eyelids drifted closed once more.
“I don't believe it,” Charles said. “Ying, I give you joy!”
Ying nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
Malao squealed with delight. “Is she going to be okay?”
“We'll have to wait and see,” Hok said. “It could be days before we know for sure. Maybe weeks.”
Charles’ blond eyebrows shot up his freckled forehead. “Weeks? Can we move her before then?”
“It depends,” Hok said. “We shouldn't move her until we know the extent of her internal damage. There is no telling how long that will be.”
“But we can't stay here,” Charles said, looking up at the holes in the roof.
“Sure we can,” Malao replied. “Fu and I once helped rebuild an entire village after Tonglong and his men burned it. We can fix this place up in no time.”
“What about the sniper?” Charles said. “Won't somebody miss him?”
“That is a concern, to be sure,” Hok said. “But I'm even more concerned about WanSow.”
“I'll take care of any more snipers,” Fu growled.
Ying stood. “We all appreciate your concern, Charles. However, you are highly skilled with your pistols, and I've handled my fair share of muskets. Thanks to the sniper, we have three, fully loaded. Besides, I know something of the posting of snipers, and they nearly always work individually and on one-week rotations. Sometimes they'll stay posted for an entire month. Chances are very good that no one will miss him for a while.”
“I can't leave my sloop out there for an entire month,” Charles said. “Or even a week. Someone will steal it. Just leaving it empty overnight makes me nervous.”
“Then go to it,” Hok said. “Pull up your anchor, too, if you wish. However, please don't go far. I know a safe place we can take WanSow once she's stabilized, but we will need your help to get her there.”
Charles frowned. What he wanted to do was take them to visit his sailor friends on the nearby island. Ever since they'd turned away from Tonglong's ship, he'd been thinking about meeting up with his mates. He longed for a good old-fashioned Dutch meal and the chance to speak his native tongue again. What's more, there was a good chance they would meet up with someone Hok would certainly want to see as much as he did—her father, Captain Henrik. Hok hadn't seen him since she was very young, but the last Charles had heard, Captain Henrik was on his way to the island. However, Charles dared not mention the possibility of her seeing her father for fear of giving her false hope. Captain Henrik was always on the move.
Frustrated and confused, Charles headed for the burned-out doorway. “When you are ready, meet me at the creek mouth. I will be aboard my sloop, waiting.”