Master Lau guffawed, and in the process something yellowish-brown
ejected itself from his mouth and hit the stone floor. You think
that learning a certain set of movements will prepare you for anything?
he said. Every condition is different. How can I tell you about
what we don't know? Don't forget to bow. He indicated the rows
of generals and gods, all aligned in seated sandstone, waiting. Many
times before the would-be warrior had heard the stories: this general's
mistress committed suicide so she would never desert him, this goddess
was murdered by her father, but was reincarnated by the Buddha to
bestow compassion on those in need.
The would-be warrior bowed to each in turn, but paused before
the fresh tapestry the monks
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had hung on the walls that morning - scenes of abundant marshes, birds
in easy flight, a lone sail of a fisherman's boat in the distance,
almost insubstantial like smoke. What legend does this tell?
he asked Master Lau.
Nothing, the old man scowled. The monks just like this scene.
Now he stands before the tavern. He knows the hideaway is in the basement,
accessible only by a trap door in a certain corner. He has seen ten
men enter, and none leave. All the establish-
ments on this street have closed for the night, but no one has bothered
to collect the spilled bits of wine and cracked plates on the ground.
Stray dogs pad around and whimper like half-humans. At the intersection
ahead, a street
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