Chương 29: Criminally Inept

Over the next two weeks, I went to Mr. Cheng's every day after school. The dummy and I were becoming real good friends even with all of the times that I had stabbed him with a chopstick. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about me and Tianyu. I mean that it was unfortunate that I hadn't been able to stab him with a chopstick yet. Sleeping Ugly had woken from his hour long coma dewy from the grass and red from his outrage. He cussed Laushu out, some in English, some in Mandarin, mostly a mixture of both. Mr.

Cheng just stood there and when Wu's breath had finally run out, he ordered him to leave. I watched him stalk off, slinging my backpack on, ready to head back home myself. Looked like I was an only student again. But the next day he was back and he'd brought some friends with him this time: a black eye and a red cheek. This time he didn't have any meltdowns, but he didn't speak a lot either. He did his exercises, corrected himself when Mr.

Cheng told him to do it differently, and mainly just told us with his eyes how much he hated us. I asked Laushu about it after he'd left, why he would take him on again and Mr. Cheng frowned and shook his head.

"I accepted him as my student because I knew his grandfather when I was younger, but that is not why I let him stay. I let him stay because he is a young man that needs guidance. His path is a hard one and he needs help, even if he can't see it." After that, I would watch him and Mr. Cheng practice together between my exercises.

I was either sitting on the floor, meditating my way through the numb tingle of my butt, delicately moving my imaginary bubble around me, and, once a day, trying out their true form of blocking oncoming strikes. Tianyu seemed really intent on giving me the fullest fighting experience with his hardest blows. Out of the goodness of his miniscule heart.

The top of my arms became black and blue from trying to push away his slicing down hands, and the muscles of my biceps constantly screamed their rage at finally being used. Mainly, it resulted in my shoulders, neck, and head getting thwacked. Finally, after a week and a half, I was able to keep his strikes from hitting me. As for my private practice sessions, maybe it was just luck that first time because I could count the number of yellow lights I'd gotten since on one hand.

Often it depended on if I had done all of the proper pre-rituals first: even breathing, yin movement, connecting to my weapon, and then finally precise striking. But even then, it didn't always work. Sometimes my body was just tired. Sometimes I had something else on my mind. Sometimes you can only take so many failures before you don't even want to try anymore. One night I blew up, kicking the dummy in the leg after my chopstick missed the target by a half inch.

"Ben Niao, there is no reason to get so angry. You are improving little by little each day. Your strikes are becoming more smooth, more sure. It is a very complex move that needs time to perfect it. You are thinking only of victory, and that is not how you win a war." I let out a long breath, running my hands through my hair. My brain and body felt drained.

"I'm not a soldier, Mr. Cheng," I huffed out.

"And the only war I have is with people who don't wash their hands every time after using the bathroom." He walked forward to put a hand on my shoulder.

"Enough for tonight. You have done well. Remember, if you do not rest, you will not have strength. How many times do you need to learn to have more yin in your life? Go to a bath house, get a massage, or take a walk through nature." I stared at him, eyebrows raised.

"This is Chicago, Laushu. The only nature we have is the black mold growing on the sides of buildings." His eyes narrowed, but a small smile grew on his lips.

"You should know by now that your mind is the only tool you need. Now go home." I walked slowly to the subway station that night. It had rained that afternoon so everything had a mirror-like shine to it, reflecting the glow of the city lights on every wet surface, every puddle. Clean, damp air blew between the skyscrapers, bringing with them the scent of mist and grass. This was as natural as it could get around here. So with Mr.

Cheng's words in mind, I turned the buildings into trees and the concrete a dirt path, even as my foot stepped into the crumpled remnants of a Happy Meal. Obviously, there was still litter in my forest because I was a realist. Things were getting better. I was learning pretty quickly and with something that not a lot of people could do. That was something to be proud of. Still, it nagged at me.

A handful of times, I was getting it right with a dummy that just stood there unmoving in a quiet safe place while I had an unlimited amount of time to ready myself. A far cry from what it would be like in real life. It was like the baby version of what it would eventually need to be. The adult version was going to be in a dark alleyway, with someone who outweighed me by a hundred pounds, had a knife or a gun or just a big ol' fist, and very much wanted to kill me with it.

With all of that going on, I was going to have to go zen, find inner peace, achieve the final Buddha stage all while the guy was swinging his knife at my chest, a bullet barreling towards my head, or his clenched knuckles rocketing for my nasal cavity. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Granted, yes I could pause time so he would be completely still, but only for about four seconds. What if that wasn't enough for me to get it right?

I'd already experienced what it was like to use my power multiple times in a row. Each time, my headache grew stronger, my stomach more nauseous, and after only four tries, I had passed out. That was with even a five minute break in between. In a fight, between the guy's leg coming down to crack my jaw or a heavy fist swinging for my face, I'd only have seconds between each attempt. How was that not going to ratchet up the pain for each try? Maybe I'd just end up killing myself before he could.

That was the silver lining. The big 'game over' sign would light up over my head after some thug had crushed it into the ground. And, unless reincarnation theories were correct, there was no starting over. Did that mean I shouldn't do anything until I was totally secure in my hand combat? Wait for six months, a year, before I tried it out? I could always ask Mr. Cheng to make it more realistic, more dangerous, and he would no doubt expect me to do exactly that.

Going off of my own previous experience, however, it would never be the same. Like going to a gory horror film and getting scared in the theater compared to waking up chained to a basement, looking up the stairs to see the dark outline of your future killer. There was nothing like the fear of being in real danger. It wasn't something that could be fabricated. A homeless guy sat on the ground up ahead, singing in a scratchy voice that would make a cat yowling sound like operatic arias in comparison.

He held a green bottle in his hands and his head tipped precariously on his shoulders, but tonight I was glad this guy had something to sing about.

"Hey, missy," he wheezed more than said.

"What are you doin' out here?" Normally, I'd just walk by without saying anything, but tonight I paused.

"Just making my way home." I shrugged.

"I like your singing." He smiled, teeth looking like a bowling ball had knocked out quite a few pins and splashed the remaining ones with brown paint. A wobbling finger raised to point at me.

"Don't stay out too late… there's bad people out here." I sighed.

"Yeah, I know." Bad people I couldn't fight still.

"I'd better get going. Have a good night." My legs began walking forward. He scratched his neck while looking up at me.

"Got any of that Joy everybody keeps talking about? That would make my night real good." My feet stopped and then slowly turned back, gravel crunching under them.

"No. What's everybody saying about it?" His eyes lit up, and his head fell back against the wall behind him, staring at the sky.

"It's in the name, ain't it? The only way to feel real happiness, like power flowing through all of ya." His face crumpled.

"But Ben back there won't give me any. He usually shares some, but now he's in trouble." I stepped closer to the alleyway. Muffled voices echoed down the empty narrow space. They had to be further down, behind the building. Just then there was a loud smack and a strangled yell.

"Uh oh, time to go." He grabbed his shopping cart and began pushing it down the street. A voice echoed from the alley.

"I swear, I swear just give me one more day and I can get you the money." The guy sounded young, high-pitched and gasping out the words.

"Ben, you don't have the money today and you won't have it tomorrow." This one was lower-pitched, but not by a lot.

"Besides, it's more about sending a message now." The homeless man looked back at me.

"Come on, Missy. You don't want to be here for what's about to happen. My feet felt stuck to the ground. All I had to do was just turn around and walk away. The subway was a block down from me. Within five minutes- three if I ran- my butt could be sitting in its safe warm confines, heading home. I had a new sock mask in my back pocket, but no wig and no weapons except a chopstick and the rudimentary acupuncture skills I had been developing for two weeks. I could run to go get Mr. Cheng.

A scream pierced the air, quickly followed by the sound of choking, then a man rolled into view on the ground. He had the lanky build of someone whose only exercise was pushing papers and looked to be in his twenties, with a button up shirt and a tie loose around his neck. His head jerked to see me standing there.

"Help! Call the police!" Another figure stepped into view at the end of the alley, standing over the begging man. Tall with thick arms and defined muscles, but the triple Ds popping off the chest paired with purple lined lips and thick cat eyeliner indicated that this was one tough woman. Her head snapped over to look at me, hand dipping into her coat. Slowly, it drew out a small silver revolver and pointed it right at me.

"Come here, kid." She flicked the gun towards herself. Homeless Guy's jangling shopping cart echoed from across the street, far away from here. The gun's metallic casing glinted in the soft light as it glared at me. A single use of my power and I could slip away. One second she'd be pointing her gun at me, the next it would be aiming at air. I'd lost my chance to escape with Cart Guy, this was my last one. The guy on the ground's eyes were wide, tears running out of them, staring at me.

"Go, go, get out," poured from his mouth in a steady stream. Red stained his chin and his body shook like he was having a seizure. Exactly the way my insides felt, only I wasn't letting it show. My hands raised into the air and I took slow, careful steps toward her.

"You don't need to use that, I won't run." My voice was calm, my breath even. Laushu would be proud. The woman's face shifted from a scowl to a smile.

"You won't run, huh? I like that. You're pretty ballsy for a runt. Not afraid of a little violence?" Her arm relaxed and she lowered the gun to point at the ground. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Desensitized by television and all that, you know what they say. But I feel like you're planning a bit more than a little violence with this guy." She glanced down at the office worker turned junkie and shrugged.

"He's going to lose a kneecap or two, but he'll live, and then he'll learn his lesson about paying what he owes. Won't you, Ben?" Ben was currently curled up in the fetal position. I took another soft step towards her.

"You don't have to hurt him. You could let him go. I'm sure he understands how serious you are." She shook her head.

"Nah, degenerates like him never learn their lesson, but he'll make a good example to others. You came for a show, so just stand there and watch." When her head turned, I dipped my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and tied the sock mask around my head.

"I can't let you do that." Cat Eyeliner Woman started laughing at my eye covering, the sound ringing out against the alley walls. She laughed even harder when I pulled the chopstick from my other pocket. She looked like she was going to laugh until she peed her pants, until she lifted the gun and aimed it straight at me again.

"Alright, you wanna play a game? Let's see if your little stick can shield you from my bullet."