Over the months, my friends and I always headed for the hills by the morning of each break-day. When our bodies grew taller, our muscles swelled, and our strength with it over the years, Wei would train us at the cresting hill after sunset of each working day as well. He had come to live in Lao’s tavern. Why he stayed in Giaju was a mystery; but we were not waiting to uncover his reasons, just his teachings.

We each kept our training a secret from our parents, an unspoken pact. Soon I was tall as Tadaki, Chitose the shortest among us, despite her fiery temperament. At fourteen years’ span I could heft up head-sized stones all the way up to Wei with calloused fingers, run down the snaking dirt trails of the hills to the beach and back again with a steady breath, and swim from the Coast to the deeper waters where the boats fished and back again.

The others were hard pressed to match me, so I usually slowed my pace to be with them. At the end of each run, when our bodies were already damp with sweat, we would meet Wei past the cresting hill to begin our true training.

We started with our forms. It was a dance, of sorts. Muscles stretching and twisting with our limbs in a flow of one movement to the next. Wei faced us, judging our forms, holding a stick from behind which he used to correct our posture with a light tap and murmur.

Over the years the monk had fashioned a crude wooden dummy with three smooth sanded pegs that sprouted level to the chin and at the stomach, and a wooden bar that bent as a sitting leg. The first dummy had been made from bamboo; this one was harder from the hardier trees that grew further inland. We stood in a line before the dummy what Wei called Muren, the wooden man post. We would each strike at the hard limbs of the Muren with our forearms, hitting its post with our open palms, knuckles, or backfists; angling out to kick the sole leg with our stomping heels in a rhythm of raps and crack of wood against toughened flesh. The monk would call for the next in line, and the next after a few moments.

Then, we would spar barehanded. That day I first sparred Tadaki. Though we were the same height now he was broader in frame, more than two stones heavier at seventeen years’ span. The victor was the one still standing or accepting defeat. In my past matches with Tadaki we had each been the winner and the loser. We all had come to know another’s movements and tactics. I knew Tadaki was stronger and tended to wrestle with his heavier weight. So I waited.

We circled each other, neither of us willing to move forward first, Natsu and Chitose berating each other while Wei watched in silence. I stepped forward with one foot, just far enough to tempt Tadaki to dive for my leg. I dodged aside, moving behind as I wrapped my arms around his waist to pull down him with his momentum. My arms scraped up to his oxen neck, but his scrabbling hands gripped one arm and would not let go. He staggered up to one knee. Realizing he was about to stand I positioned my legs to lock over one of his arms, twisting it downward while forcing his backside to the ground with all my body weight.

Tadaki winced and tapped his free hand over my leg, the signal that he had accepted his defeat. I released my hold over him. Meanwhile Chitose was busy strangling Natsu in a chokehold with her arms wrapped tight over his neck, her legs bundled over his hips as he stood, fell to his side and tapped her arm in defeat, his face flushed pink.

Wei would pair us with another until we had all faced each other. It was a rare day, for I had beaten all three of my friends. We sat on the ground, panting, very much exhausted, knowing that we would have to finally spar the still fresh, always tireless monk.

He would always pick me first, before I had time to recover. Wei stood in his usual sideways stance, beckoning me with one hand, the other behind his back. I stepped warily towards him. He would strike me down should I step within his range, as he did in times past. I swung one leg out to sweep air, Wei having stepped back, and caught my other leg that spun as a back kick. He pulled me stumbling forwards and tripped me facefirst to the ground.

“Do you submit?” he asked.

I stood up, setting back to my stance. I hesitated. There was a grimness to his otherwise calm demeanor, something dark in the shadows cast under his clenched brows. I feinted a jabbing fist. He caught it with sudden strength, bending my hand back so that I knelt and cried out in pain.

“Do you submit?” he asked again.

“Yes!” I yelled. He released my strained hand.

“What in the Gods is wrong with you?!” I shouted.

“I heard of your fight with Tezǔ,” the normally soft-spoken monk said tersely.

I scowled, flexing my sprained wrist. “What of it?”

“You broke his arm,” Wei stated.

“He was a bully. He deserved it.”

My friends were silent.

“Did he hurt you first?” Wei turned to the others. “What happened?”

They all looked down.

“I’ve trained you all for more than four years. Have you ever wondered what your martial education is for?” He stared at each of us. When we did not answer he sighed, gazing skyward. “With duty comes dignity. With dignity comes honor. With honor comes meaning. These are the virtues of the Shenshu. You use your strength to defend, not to harm.”

I jut my chin out, for I was a defiant, and foolish, boy. “If we weren’t stronger, Tezǔ and the others would have just done the same thing to us. Being strong is all that matters. We’re not monks, and you’re not our master!”

Wei’s face grew stern. He gave an imperious wave. “Training is over.”

I scoffed, stomping away. “When I’m of age I’ll enlist in Tsun Kheong’s army. They can teach me how to really fight, and I'll be done with this cursed village, and you.”

I was too angry to talk with the others, so I trundled alone back home. To be young and prideful is a dangerous thing. I understand now why Wei had done it, to humble me by learning defeat and perhaps learn humility. It only wounded my pride, making me seethe at how easily he had beaten me.

When I reached my home it was already dusk. I ate my supper in sullen silence despite my mother’s questioning and headed for my room. I soon heard murmuring outside my sliding door. There was a familiar voice that was not my father’s or mother’s. Slitting open my door, I peeked out to see Wei drinking tea with my parents.

“Drinn will stay in Giaju,” my father said firmly. “He will be barred inside if I have to, until he sees reason.”

“To enlist for the Tsun’s Jūngun?” my mother covered her mouth. “What gives you the right to teach our son your ways?”

“Your son is a martial prodigy, blessed by Mother Sheia,” Wei stated. “Have you ever wondered why he has such stamina? Such speed and strength? There are few with such potential, and with the proper teachings he may become a benevolent dragon… or a rabid wolf.”

“No,” my father said. “You shall not teach him anymore. You will not fill his head with any more notions of your order. Give me your word, Wei.”

I closed the door. My parents wanted to keep me here, in what I saw was a village where I would grow old and never find my true calling. I thought to myself, how dare they try to control what I wanted in life? For when I would grow to manhood I would grow beyond their influence. I did not know of the fate they were trying to save me from.

There was a shuttered window in my room, of which I opened and crept out through. It was a dark night, the moon covered in black clouds.

I think to myself now what would have happened if I stayed. Sometimes I wonder what I would have said, what words my parents would have spoken. A turn of fate can never be undone, only forward to the next turn, but sometimes we can look back to remember what we had and cherish those moments. I think of my parents every day, and thank them for what they did.