Chapter 118: Origin of Kung Fu

Nothing happened in Tiananmen Square. Su Yao walked through the morning streets of Beijing. The air was cool, raising goosebumps on her arms and quickening her steps as she checked the time. People hurried past her on their way to work, shoulders brushing hers without apology.

The Forbidden City is ahead. She moved with the crowd, another person in the morning rush.

Su Yao reached the vast plaza before the Forbidden City’s main gate. The red walls and golden roofs stretched across the vast complex. Crowds of tourists moved through the courtyards, while guides called out to their groups.

A young boy tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Do emperors still live here?”

“No, the imperial family left after Japan occupied Beijing in 1937.” A nearby tour guide overheard and answered. “Even after the Japanese were pushed out the next year, they never came back. Now it’s just a museum.”

She bought a ticket from a kiosk and passed through the turnstile, joining the stream of visitors flowing into the first courtyard. The stones underfoot were worn smooth by countless footsteps. As Su Yao walked through a quieter courtyard of the Forbidden City away from the main tourist paths, a man in a headset rushed up to her.

“There you are! You’re late! Why aren’t you in costume?” he snapped, gesturing toward a tent set up near a replica of an imperial hall.

This could be amusing. Su Yao raised an eyebrow but decided to indulge. “My apologies. I was delayed.”

“Just get to makeup, now! Your scene is up next.” He thrust a folded script into her hands. “Read it quickly. You’re the Raven Consort.”

She allowed herself to be ushered toward the tent. Inside, she unfolded the script. Her character, the Raven Consort, was described as a special imperial consort who performed no nighttime duties. Her role was to accept any request presented to her instead, be it for blessings or exorcisms.

So, a spiritual problem-solver for the court. How fitting. She changed into the provided black and silver hanfu. The heavy silk settled on her shoulders.

A makeup artist dabbed pale powder on her face and darkened her eyebrows into severe arches. Su Yao studied her reflection. The costume and makeup were surprisingly accurate for a film.

The director waved her over to the set, a reconstructed section of the imperial gardens. “Alright, listen. The young prince is going to approach you. He’s been haunted. You need to look ancient. Like you hold secrets. Just stand there and look mysterious. We’ll do the dialogue in post.”

Su Yao took her mark on the stone path. The actor playing the prince walked toward her, doing his best to appear troubled.

As the cameras rolled, the director yelled, “Action!”

The prince stumbled. “Raven Consort! A spirit follows me! I beg your aid!”

She looked down at the boy. “The spirit isn’t following you,” she said. Her voice was low and clear, carrying in the sudden quiet. “You invited it in. It’s here to collect a promise you made in a moment of anger.”

The young actor froze.

Su Yao continued. “To break the contract, you must break the object you used to seal it. A jade pendant your mother gave you. You have until sunset.”

The actor’s hand flew to his neck, where a prop jade pendant hung. His face went pale. “H-how did you...”

“Cut!” the director shouted, grinning. “That was unnervingly good! Keep it! We’re keeping that!”

She smiled. This role is indeed fitting.

The director rushed over. “That instinct! That intensity! Where did you study method acting?”

Su Yao shrugged. They believe it’s acting. How convenient. “It seemed obvious,” she replied.

The young actor was still staring at her, clutching the prop jade pendant in his trembling hand. “The line about my mother wasn’t in the script. How could you know my mother gave me this?”

“The Raven Consort knows many things.” Su Yao held his gaze for a moment longer.

“Perfect! Don’t break character!” the director said to her before turning to the crew. “We’re moving to the next scene. The one in the Moonlit Pavilion!”

They seek to recreate a shadow of power they can’t comprehend, celebrating the performance while remaining blind to the real thing standing in their midst.

As the crew led Su Yao to a different set, a commotion by the entrance drew everyone’s attention. A young woman stumbled onto the set supported by a production assistant, her face pale and clothes stained with blood.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she gasped. “There was an accident, the car...”

The director stared from the bloodied actress to Su Yao. “Then, who are you?”

A crew member chuckled. “Maybe she’s the real thing, boss. A ghost from the Forbidden City come to audition.”

She met the director’s gaze. Let them wonder. The truth is often more entertaining than any script.

The bloodied actress pointed a shaking finger at Su Yao. “That’s my costume! What is she doing in it?”

The director rubbed his temples. “Security! Someone get security!”

Su Yao smiled. “The Raven Consort’s duties are never done, but it seems my scene here is over.” She turned and walked away. The black and silver hanfu flowed around her as she disappeared into the maze of courtyards, leaving the film crew behind.

They have no idea I was an actual actress once. Su Yao walked away from the film set. The heavy hanfu already began to feel like a costume again. I starred as the male lead’s righteous sidekick in Modern Exorcist.

She discarded the ornate outer robe near a replica palanquin, leaving it in a heap of black and silver silk.

That film crew is something else. Their lead actress is covered in blood and their first concern is resuming filming? They chase a fiction while ignoring the reality bleeding in front of them. They wanted a Raven Consort who performs exorcisms. But when a real one stands before them, they call security.

Su Yao merged back into the stream of tourists, once again just Xiao Ling in simple clothes and jeans. Her brief foray into performance art was over. The Forbidden City stretched around her, its ancient halls reduced to exhibits. Perhaps other old places in China had more to show her.

Beyond Beijing lay Luoyang.

As she walked away from the Forbidden City grounds, Su Yao pulled out her phone and dialed Zhang Wei.

“I’m going to Luoyang,” she said. “Is there anything there that requires my attention?”

Zhang Wei sighed. “Luoyang? It’s quiet. There are no reports of spiritual disturbances. Nothing the local agents can’t handle at least.” He paused. “Just don’t kidnap the empress or start a fight with her or her bodyguards. We don’t need that kind of incident.”

Su Yao raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? I just fought a governor of Gehenna.”

“You what? Tell me more. What happened?”

Su Yao ended the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Zhang Wei could wait for his debriefing. She flagged down a taxi and headed for the train station.

At Beijing West Railway Station, Su Yao stood before the towering departure board, scanning the listings for trains bound for Luoyang. She was pulling out her phone to confirm her ticket when a thought surfaced. I feel like I forgot something. But if I forgot, it probably wasn’t important.

She selected a high-speed train leaving in forty minutes and headed toward the security check. As she shuffled forward in line, the thought returned. I didn’t check out from the hotel. She had left her key card in the room and walked out without a word to the front desk.

The Joy Inn has my payment information on file. They’ll charge me for another night if I don’t notify them. She considered phoning the hotel but the line was moving, and she was already at the scanner. It’s just money. Zhang Wei can deal with the fallout if they overcharge the government account.

She walked through the metal detector. If it becomes a problem, I’ll have him send someone to collect my things. But I travel light. There’s nothing there I need.

As Su Yao stepped off the train at Luoyang Station, the humid air contrasted with Beijing’s dryness. She bypassed the taxi queue and boarded a public bus headed toward Songshan Mountain. Let’s visit the Shaolin Temple. The supposed birthplace of kung fu. We’ll see if the reality matches the legend.

The bus rattled through the countryside, passing fields and small villages. She got off at the base of the mountain and joined the stream of tourists heading up the path. The temple complex sprawled before her, its gates weathered but imposing. So this is where it all started. Or so they claim.

After paying the entrance fee, she entered the main courtyard. Dozens of visitors watched a Shaolin monk demonstration. The synchronized forms were practiced with a certainty that suggested the monks were following old rules.

Beneath a large tree nearby, elderly locals moved through a sequence of morning exercises, their posture relaxed but precise.

Watching them, the same question surfaced unbidden. Why does everyone in China seem to know some form of kung fu? Is it cultural osmosis or something more?

A young monk noticed her watching and came over. “Are you interested in kung fu?”

“I’m,” Su Yao replied. “I’ve always wondered how it became so widespread. Is it taught in schools?”

The monk smiled. “It’s part of our heritage. Many children learn basics in PE class, and there are clubs everywhere. But the true essence comes from here.” He gestured to the temple.

She nodded and moved on, heading toward the hall where the famous wall paintings depicted monks training.

As she entered the hall, she overheard two tour guides arguing. “The government pushed kung fu in the 1950s to promote national unity and health,” one said.

“But the skills are real! My grandfather learned it from a monk who survived the first war,” the other countered.

I was hoping for a hidden cult or a spiritual awakening.

Su Yao left the main temple complex and followed a narrow path into the surrounding forests. The air grew cooler beneath the canopy of trees. There, the noise of tourists faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves and distant bird calls. She walked deeper, extending her senses.

The monks meditate here for solitude.

After a few minutes, she reached a small clearing. An old monk sat in lotus position on a flat rock, his eyes closed. His breathing was so slow and deep it was almost imperceptible. Su Yao paused, observing him. His energy is calm, but still mortal.

The monk opened his eyes. They were clear despite his age. “You seek the truth of kung fu?”

Su Yao nodded. “I’ve seen the demonstrations. It’s impressive, but I wonder why it’s so common now.”

The monk smiled. “It became a tool. After the war, the government promoted it to strengthen the people’s bodies and spirits. They even standardized the forms for schools. What was once a secret art is now a national exercise.”

“I see,” Su Yao said. “Then the real kung fu is lost?”

“The essence remains in a few, but most learn only the shell.” He stood up. “You, however, carry a different energy. You aren’t here for kung fu.”

Su Yao met his gaze. “I’m a tourist.”

The monk looked at her. “If that is what you wish to call yourself.” He brushed a fallen leaf from his sleeve. “But tourists hurry to take photos. They don’t walk or listen for things most people can no longer hear as you do.”

His eyes drifted northward, toward the city beyond the mountains. “There are very few in Luoyang who still feel such things,” he continued. “And those who do… are watched.”

He returned his gaze to her. “Be careful in Luoyang. The empress values her privacy, and her guards aren’t as forgiving as I am.”

Another warning about the empress. Interesting. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Su Yao said. She then turned and walked back toward the path.

Once she reached the bottom of the path, she flagged down a taxi. “Take me to the White Horse Temple,” she told the driver.

Luoyang felt older than Beijing, with more history pressed into its stones. She watched people going about their day. Some argued with pigeons in the parks, others chased runaway grocery bags down the sidewalk.

The taxi rolled to a stop outside the White Horse Temple. She paid the driver and stepped out into the hush of the grounds. Ancient walls enclosed quiet courtyards, their symmetry almost too pristine. As Su Yao passed through the main gate, she let her senses stretch outward.

Like the Shaolin Temple, the place felt like a relic.

A guide was explaining the temple’s history to a group of tourists. “This is where Buddhism first entered China,” he said. “But much of the original power has faded over the centuries.”

Heading toward a quieter section, Su Yao moved past them. If Luoyang has any secrets, they’re well hidden. She noticed a small door off to the side. It led to a garden that wasn’t on the main map. She stepped inside.

The garden was small and meticulously kept. A narrow stone path wound between carefully pruned bushes and a small, ornamental pond. The air was still. At the far end, an elderly monk in simple grey robes was watering a patch of herbs. His movements were economical, his breathing even.

Just a man tending plants. Su Yao walked along the path until she stood near him.

The monk finished his task and set down the watering can. He looked at her. “This garden is off-limits for tourists.”

“I’m looking for what others can’t see.” Su Yao replied.

“Everyone who comes here says that.” He knelt and brushed soil from his hands. “Most of them expect the stones to whisper, or the statues to wake up. They never do.”

“So there’s nothing left?” she asked.

The monk glanced around the garden, at the trimmed hedges and the repaired tiles. “There are maintenance schedules, donation boxes, and tour routes,” he said. “There’s history, written down and rehearsed. Whatever you think once lived here,” he shook his head. “It didn’t stay behind to haunt the place.”

He straightened, lifting a basket and beginning to gather fallen leaves. “Things like that don’t cling to old walls. They go where orders are given and obeyed.”

Su Yao followed his meaning. “The palace district.”

“The new one,” the monk said. “This is a shrine people visit on their days off. Power doesn’t take days off.”

It seems I can’t avoid it after all. She gave a slight nod and turned to leave the secluded garden. The modern seat of power in Luoyang would have to be her next stop.