Old One’s thin, bony hand placed a Wei Chi chess piece on the board in front of him. He was ancient, his luxuriant silver hair tied neatly behind him.

  Sitting on the other side of the chessboard was a man almost as old as him with shabby white hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore a dirty coat that had never been washed. “I’m going to win this time,” he said with a light chuckle. “Just wait and see.”

  Old One lifted another white piece. “Is it my turn, Old Huang?”

  “It certainly is.”

  They were in a small round pavilion, on the top of a steep hill with narrow steps extending to the very bottom. Only four red columns formed the pavilion, with an arched roof of broken tiles and a little stone table in the middle. Nothing shielded the two men from the wind.

  Dangling from a steel frame in the pavilion was an old metal pot, a glowing fire pit underneath it. Steam spewed from the mouth of the pot. The hot water was ready. Huang reached down to a pile of logs next to him and fed the fire while Old One opened his pouch of tea leaves. He chuckled. “My little student is just in time for tea.”

  Li Kung slowly, painfully reached the top of the hill. He paused to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow before bowing. “Shifu One. Mr. Huang.”

  “Your mentor is losing the game and I’m in a great mood,” Old Huang said.

  Old One laughed. “You know, Old Huang, I should’ve moved here sooner. We could’ve been playing together for the past sixty years.”

  “And Lady Wu was alive then—the three of us would play all night.”

  Old One poured hot water into a clay pot. Li Kung sat by the stone table and placed a cup in front of each person, opened the basket he brought with him and lifted two bowls of rice. Plates of vegetable and bean curd followed.

  “Excellent!” Old Huang said. “We have good tea, hot food.”

  “Can’t play chess without a full stomach,” Old One said. Li Kung placed chopsticks in front of them while they rubbed their hands in delight.

  “The tea should be ready,” Huang said. He stuffed his face with food.

  “Eat,” Old One said to Li Kung.

  “I already ate before I came.”

  “Pun cooked this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pun’s a good girl. You should marry her when you have time.”

  “I ...I’ll try,” Li Kung stuttered.

  Huang laughed. “Only young girls are shy when faced with the topic of marriage.”

  In a short time, every scrap of food was gone. Li Kung packed the dishes into the basket.

  Old One chewed on the last piece of bean curd, looking at Li Kung with interest. “From the frown on your face, I would think you didn’t have anything to eat.”

  Old Huang stood up. “I need to relieve myself.” He walked briskly down the hill.

  Old One turned to Li Kung. “You were gone for a few days.”

  “I went to see a patient with liver disease. It didn’t go well. The patient died.”

  Old One poured himself a cup of tea.

  “I met a Mongolian yesterday,” Li Kung said. “He’s been poisoned and I don’t think he’ll live more than a couple more months. Even Shifu Two thinks there’s no hope. There may be one more chance, but ...” Li Kung paused. “But I don’t know if I should help him anymore. He’s a violent man. I don’t know if saving him would be a good thing.”

  “Have I ever told you the three great philosophies in life?” Old One asked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Well, let me tell you now. One: you must eat well. Two: you must sleep well. Three: you must shit regularly.”

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  There was a long silence. Old One sipped his tea.

  “I ...I don’t understand.”

  Old One chuckled. “If you try too hard to figure this out, you’ll lose sleep. If you’re too busy helping people who didn’t ask for help, you won’t have time to fill your belly. And I know for sure, people who try to save the world will die of constipation.”

  ???

  Li Kung gazed into the horizon. Far away, in the dreary distance, the same elevation of the mountain he was standing on, was Redwood Cliff.

  At the foot of Redwood Cliff was the small cluster of houses, White Clay Village, where he had visited the Red Dragon salt fields just a day ago. Millions depended on the few salt suppliers in China. The Red Dragons had the capacity to distribute anything they wanted, and they could reach the far corners of the world.

  He settled his eyes on the top of the distant cliff again. The buildings on Redwood Cliff were large and encompassing, with scores of structures built to house the members of the Red Dragons. It was a city unto itself, almost half the size of He Ku, a self-contained society of warriors that formed the most powerful House in the land.

  Li Kung thought of Shifu Two’s face that morning, at the anxious and disappointed glint in the old eyes.

  “It’s not the same,” Old Two had said. “Not even close.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The Mongolian’s blood is toxic. But this new alchemy is far more destructive.” Old Two wiped his tense face. “It can spread!”

  “Like disease?”

  “I don’t really know.” For once, Old Two appeared solemn. “We need to find out.”

  Li Kung had never seen Shifu Two so serious before. The moment he took Sochai’s blood, the old man disappeared into a back room that only he used. When he finally re-emerged, his face covered in filth and sweat, the old man was different.

  “We need to find out,” Old Two repeated, but this time, his face relaxed with a casual smile. “And besides,” he continued in a saucy tone, “I’ve run out of things to do, but I have some more years to live. Where am I going to find my next pastime? Since I’m going to have fun, I might as well do a good deed on the side.”

  Much later, Li Kung stood by himself and stared at Redwood Cliff in the distance. It was bustling with activity, radiating with arrogance while reaching high into the clouds. Those on its surface looked down upon the world.

  Shifu Two needed a small sample of the alchemy—something for him to work with. Then, perhaps the old man could find a counteragent. It must be on Redwood Cliff, hidden with the legendary poison-user. No other poison-user in the world could create something so powerful, so deadly, so evil. He would go home to fetch Pun, and maybe Sochai, and they would find their way to the surface of the cliff.

  With a deep sigh, Li Kung turned away to descend the mountain, and maybe to find an antidote for Sochai.

  ???

  By the time Li Kung returned, Sochai was already awake and armed, standing tall in front of the main door. His skin was ghastly pale, his face occasionally twitching, perhaps in pain, and the layer of cold perspiration on his forehead made him appear feverish. Li Kung approached with caution, the bruise on his left cheekbone still stinging.

  Sochai’s eyes widened. “How did you bruise your face? Did someone hit you?”

  “What do you mean?” Li Kung asked.

  Sochai lifted the heavy saber in his hand and pointed the butt of the handle to the side of Li Kung’s face. “The bruise,” he said, his eyes sparking with rage. “Who did that to you? I will kill him.”

  “No one,” Li Kung replied, looking away. Sochai didn’t remember what he did. Perhaps the poison was destroying his mind as well. “No one hurt me,” Li Kung said again. He pointed toward the door. “Come inside. I have something to discuss with you.”

  Sochai shook his head. “I am about to leave. I was waiting for you, to bid farewell.”

  “Farewell?”

  “I will never repay you for helping me. I am going to die soon. I want to say thank you before I leave.”

  Li Kung took a step forward. “Where are you going?”

  “Your mentor could not cure me. My only chance is to find an antidote myself. I will go after the poison-user on Redwood Cliff.”

  “Good,” Li Kung said. “I’ll go with you—let’s discuss how we’ll disguise ourselves. Come inside.”

  ???

  “The Old Grandmother died,” Li Kung said, once inside. “I heard she’ll be buried next to her husband the day after tomorrow. So many people from the Martial Society will be there. And Wei Xi will be there.”

  “Green Dragons?”

  “Thousands of them. But we can infiltrate. We’ll disguise ourselves as Taoist holy men. There must be hundreds of them hired to pray and chant at the funeral.”

  A smile briefly appeared on Sochai’s tortured face.

  “We’ll leave at dawn,” Li Kung said. He handed another small porcelain bottle to the Mongolian. “Some more pills, for the journey. You’ll need them.”

  The door creaked open. Pun peeked in, glanced at Li Kung, then at Sochai, and stepped in with a smile. They seemed to be on good terms. She jumped onto Li Kung and threw her arms around him with a cry of joy. “I know! I heard. We’re going on a trip!”

  “You heard? You were outside all along?”

  She gave him a sly look and a wink, then turned to Sochai. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  The Mongolian nodded.

  “Is it true?” Pun began, holding her nose. “Is it true that you Mongolians only bathe three times per ...lifetime?”

  Sochai nodded again.

  “What?” Li Kung grabbed for Pun’s wrist, but she slipped away.

  “Three times,” Pun said again. “Once when you’re born, once before your wedding night, and the last time after you’re dead.”

  Sochai nodded again. Pun covered her mouth and couldn’t contain her giggles.

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  Sochai shook his head.

  “So it means you don’t know what it’s like to bathe?”

  “You Chinese are strange,” the Mongolian finally said. “How many people could drink the water you waste cleaning yourselves? I will be ready first thing in the morning.”

  Pun ran to the door and then turned to Li Kung with a big smile. “I bet you I can get him to take a bath before we leave.” She ran off and left him shaking his head.

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