“I'm sorry, sir.”
“You should be.”
“No, sir,” the soldier said. “You don't understand
I'm sorry because I can't answer any more questions
I'm going to sleep now. …”
With that, the man closed his eyes and began to snore.
Ying shook his head. For the first time ever, one of his men had done exactly what he said he was going to do.
Ying spat and walked over to Tonglong.
Tonglong appeared to be unconscious. He lay on his stomach, with no identifiable wounds on his back. Ying rolled Tonglong over. The only injury Ying could find was a large lump on Tonglong's forehead, over his left temple. Ying scowled. He knew firsthand that Fu and Malao both had foreheads like iron and could wield them like weapons.
As Ying stared at the lump, his frustration grew. To him, the lump was a symbol of his men's continued failure. The lump pulsed in time with Tonglong's heartbeat, a pink beacon reminding Ying that his future had just taken another step backward.
Ying bent one arm sharply and drove his elbow into the lump. Tonglong's entire body spasmed, then relaxed.
Ying grabbed Tonglong by his thick ponytail braid and dragged him toward the horse, ignoring the two remaining soldiers. He was determined to make it back to camp before sunset.
“Come on,” Malao said. “We need to keep moving while it's still daylight.”
“No,” Fu replied, sucking wind. He plopped down on the forest floor. “I need a break. I don't care if Ying and his men catch up. My legs are killing me.”
Malao rolled his eyes and walked over to Fu's side. He sat down and adjusted his singed robe. The decorated stick poked him in the ribs, but he didn't mind. He was just happy Captain Yue hadn't searched him before tying him up.
Malao scratched his head. “Where do you think we are?”
“Still pretty close to Ying's camp,” Fu replied. “I can smell them cooking dinner.”
“Dinner?” Malao said. “I'm starving. What are they cooking?”
Fu sighed. “Does it really matter? It's not like we're going to get any. I'd rather not talk about food right now.”
Malao began to fidget. “Okay, let's talk about something else, then. How about Hok? He didn't look so good back there.”
“Hok's fine. You know how tough he is. He's probably just exhausted. Who knows what he went through with Tonglong.”
“I guess you're right,” Malao said. He scratched his head again. “Do you think what Hok overheard about Grandmaster killing Ying's father is true?”
“I don't know what to think anymore,” Fu grumbled.
“What about the other things Hok said? Like Cangzhen being a base for secret activities and Grandmaster being some kind of powerful leader?”
“I said, I don't know what to think, Malao. Now will you please be quiet?”
“Fine,” Malao said. He stood and stretched. “You know, I can't believe Hok went to Shaolin Temple without us.”
Fu growled and stared at Malao. “Why are you still talking?”
Malao folded his arms and pouted.
“You could have gone with Hok, you know,” Fu said. “No one forced you to stay here.”
“But I felt bad for you, Pussycat. You looked so lonely back there. I didn't want you to start crying or anything.”
“Watch it,” Fu said.
Malao giggled. “So what are we going to do about the scrolls?”
“I don't know. I'll think of something. Now, would you mind keeping your rice hole closed? I need to think in peace.”
Malao turned away. “Have it your way,” he said with a huff. He walked over to the base of a large elm and sprang up onto the lowest branch. As he scanned the tree looking for a suitable resting spot, the scent of cooking drifted past his nose.
Mmmm, Malao thought. It smells like mushroom soup. His eyes suddenly widened and he leaped down from the tree, crashing into Fu.
“What the—” Fu began to say.
“Mushrooms! Mushrooms! Mushrooms!” Malao chanted. “Fu, do you think you can take me to the trail Tonglong's men cut through the forest?”
“Probably. Why?”
“I've got a plan, that's why! And it's a good one! Come on, Pussycat, we need to hurry. We've only got until sunset!”
“You look ridiculous,” Fu said.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Malao asked.
Fu didn't respond.
Malao smirked. “That's what I thought. Now keep quiet. Ying and his men may come along any moment.”
Malao adjusted the clumps of grass poking out of his sleeves and tightened the large bundle tied to his head. He walked over to a cluster of mushrooms and smiled. Just as he suspected—sleeping mushrooms. He'd recognized them when they'd passed by earlier with Tonglong and the soldiers. Malao picked two handfuls and tied them up in the lower corner of his robe. Now all he needed was Ying's pouch of powdered dragon bone to set his plan in motion.