Fu's head was unexpectedly pinned to the bottom of the barrel by Malao's foot. Fu couldn't believe the little monkey would be so bold! He opened his mouth to give Malao a piece of his mind, but instead of sound coming out, a flood of water rushed in.
“Major Ying, be careful!” shouted an armor-clad soldier. He sprinted toward Cangzhen Temple's practice hall, leaping over lifeless bodies and fallen horses.
Ying stopped short of the practice hall's huge wooden doors and turned toward the running soldier. A flurry of flaming arrows suddenly filled the night sky and rained down onto the green tiles covering the stone building's elaborate wooden roof. The soldier dove behind a dead horse as arrows bounced off the tiles and went careening into the surrounding courtyard. They sliced into anything—alive or dead—that wasn't wearing armor.
Ying, who never wore armor, didn't budge.
“Please step away from the hall, sir!” the soldier pleaded from behind the horse. “Arrows will continue to fly from the compound's perimeter, and you're unprotected.”
Ying stood firm, his blood-streaked silk robe clinging to tight, sinewy muscles as he folded his arms. A burning arrow flashed overhead and took root above him in one of the roof's ornate, up-curved corners. The flickering flames illuminated his face.
The soldier shuddered.
“Come over here,” Ying said in a steady voice. “Now!”
The soldier hesitated, then ran up to Ying and dropped to his knees. He removed his helmet and kowtowed three times to show his respect, knocking his forehead against the dusty ground with each bow.
“Rise,” said Ying, glaring at the man. “I see this building is the last to be burned. Has it been fully searched?”
“It has, sir,” the soldier said as he stood. His eyes remained glued to the ground. “I searched it myself. The only thing inside is an empty water barrel.”
“How do you know the barrel is empty?” Ying asked.
“Because I saw water on the floor, sir.”
“Was the barrel laying on its side?”
“No, sir. But…” The soldier's voice trailed off.
“But what?” asked Ying in a low voice.
The soldier squeezed his eyes shut and began to tremble.
“I think I see your point, sir,” the soldier replied. “There could be someone hiding inside the barrel.”
“That's right,” said Ying, popping his knuckles one at a time. “In fact, there could be several someones hiding inside it. Warrior monks are quite flexible, you know.”
“A—a thousand pardons, Major Ying,” the soldier stammered, his eyes still clamped shut. “I have failed you. I will not fail you again. Please be generous and give me one more chance to prove myself worthy of your esteemed command.”
“What do you suggest?” Ying asked.
The soldier turned away from Ying and opened his eyes. He stared at the practice hall as a second wave of flaming arrows arched overhead. Two of the arrows sank into the upper reaches of one of the giant doors, setting it aflame. The soldier swallowed hard and cast his eyes down once more.
“I will reenter this practice hall and investigate, sir,” the soldier said. “Though I am certain there is no one left to flush out.”
Ying leaned in close to the soldier, popping his last knuckle. “What makes you so certain?”
“Because the reports indicate that all one hundred monks have been killed, sir.”
“Must I also include mathematics in our military training programs, you half-wit!” Ying shrieked. Like an angry beast, he bared his teeth and his face contorted. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!”
With lightning speed, Ying snapped his hand back and formed a perfect eagle claw by bringing his extended fingers together and curling them down while rotating his thumb down and curling it up. He thrust the open claw into the soldier's lowered face, latching on forcefully with four fingertips above the soldier's eyebrows and his thumb below the soldier's chin. Ying flicked his wrist powerfully upward, forcing the soldier's face up as well. His long fingernails pierced the soldier's skin, and he ripped his hand away with a brutal, flesh-stripping twist.
“Now think!” Ying said, leaning into the soldier's face. “I've informed everyone in our camp several times that one hundred monks call this their home— along with their Grandmaster and five boys.”
“I see, sir,” squeaked the soldier, blinking furiously as four streams of blood ran down his forehead, into his eyes. “There should be one hundred six bodies. Thank you very much for the lesson, Major Ying. I've heard no reports of a Grandmaster or boys, so perhaps this is their hiding place. I will take my qiang with me into that hall. I think I have a plan.”