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“It's okay, Son,” the Gentleman said. “I understand your reservations. Turn away, if you wish.”
The boy turned away from his father, and his eyes locked on Fu's. Staring coldly at the boy, Fu dropped the spear halves and picked up the whole, bloodstained spear that the first hunter had let fall to his side as he hit the ground. The boy cried out.
“Father!”
Fu quickly covered the distance between where he was and where he wanted to be. He swung the blunt end of the spear as hard as he could with both hands, into the boy's left ear. The boy fell to his knees, and his head slumped down. Blood began to trickle out of his ear. Seeing his son go down, the Gentleman lost all composure.
“Be gone, evil monk!” the Gentleman shouted. “I hope you've made yourself feel powerful, attacking an unarmed child!”
The man's words brought Fu back to his senses. In a daze, he watched as the tiger cub ran off.
“Look!” the Gentleman said. “You've accomplished your mission! The cub is free! Now leave me to tend to my son.”
Fu didn't know what to say.
“I'm putting down my weapon,” the Gentleman said as he laid down the decorated spear that he had taken from the boy. “Please, leave us be. I do not know where you learned such brutality, but where I come from, we care for one another. We do not beat one another. Now I wish to care for my son. Will you let me?”
The Gentleman's voice was strong, but his eyes were weak. Unsure of what he should say or do next, Fu resorted to doing what he always did when he was filled with uncertainty. He walked away.
Fu leaned over a pool of clear spring water, tilting his head to one side until he saw his reflection. He looked as horrible as he felt. He lowered both hands into the cool water and rubbed them together, scraping off as much dried blood and dirt as possible. Then he scooped up a double handful of clean water to quench his thirst. His throat was painfully dry, and Fu realized as he drank that he hadn't had a single sip of fluid since early the night before, yet he had exerted himself more than ever before. He felt light-headed, and that feeling had been with him for some time. That must be the reason he could only remember bits and pieces of what happened earlier with the hunters. He seemed to recall that the hunters deserved everything they got—and then some—but Fu wasn't so sure about the boy. After all, the boy had done nothing to either him or the tiger in the pit, and the boy only poked the cub a couple times after the adults pressured him. As a Cangzhen warrior monk, it was his duty to dispense Justice—but he must take great care to dispense the right amount of Justice. Too much would make him and all Cangzhen monks look bad. The boy's father seemed to think he had gone too far. Perhaps he had.
Fu lowered his hands into the water again and watched as ripples radiated out far and wide across the pool's surface. What had he done? More importantly, what was he going to do next?
Too tired to think, Fu took another long drink and inspected the slice in his cheek. It felt like most of the bloodmoss had fallen out, and a quick check of his reflection verified that. What little moss remained was stuck securely inside the wound, intermixed with dried blood. It didn't look infected, but you could never be sure with bloodmoss. There was only one way to find out. Fu reached down into the pool and scooped up a single handful of cool, clean water. He rested his wounded cheek in his wet hand to soften the congealed mass, and after a few moments it appeared sufficiently soft. He hated this part. Fu picked at a corner of the wound until a small flap of bloodmoss and scab came loose, then he ripped the mass out in one continuous motion. Fu shuddered, his eyes watering for a moment.
Fu checked his reflection again. The slice in his cheek bled slightly, but it was clean blood. It wasn't infected, and it looked like it would scab over again soon enough. It also looked like it was going to leave a nasty scar. The image of Ying's hideously scarred face suddenly popped into his mind. He knew how much his own cheek hurt, and he couldn't imagine what Ying had endured—intentionally, no less. What a fool, Fu thought.
It was at that very moment Fu's heart skipped a beat. Where were the scrolls?
Fu quickly checked the folds of his robe, which had loosened during the fighting. To his relief, all four scrolls were still there. Wiping the newly formed sweat from his brow, he stood, feeling a stinging sensation on his backside. He had just made sure that his face wasn't infected, but perhaps his other cheeks were. His butt really hurt. Tigers were notorious for having rotten flesh embedded in the undersides of their claws, and anything they scratched was highly susceptible to infection. Fu struggled as he had earlier to see around himself in order to assess the damage. Finally, he decided to use the reflective properties of the water to aid him. He waded out into the pool a little ways and squatted, trying to get a better look. In the midst of his efforts, he heard a rustling in the undergrowth near one edge of the pool. Taken by surprise, Fu slipped on a moss-covered stone and splashed down in the pool.
