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Fu approached the men. He had to say something.
The first man twitched, dropping his apple. It landed in a large cart overflowing with food. “Who …who …who are you?” he asked, staring at Fu's orange robe.
Fu glanced at the cart, then looked the man in the eye. “I am Fu.”
“F-F-Fu?” the man replied nervously. “That's Cantonese, right? Doesn't it mean ‘tiger'?”
“Yes,” Fu replied.
“You're a t-t-tiger?”
“Sometimes,” Fu said. “Other times I'm a regular person. A person who makes mistakes. I have made a mistake, and I've come to apologize. Don't be nervous.”
Fu's eyes wandered back to the cart, then he looked at the second man. The man shuffled his feet.
Fu cleared his throat. “I am the monk who attacked the boy, but I am not a vicious killer, and I'm not a friend of Ying's. I can prove it.”
“That's okay! That's okay!” said the second man, backing away.
“I'm not going to harm you,” Fu said. He raised his empty hands above his head. “Please listen. I attacked the boy and the hunters in the forest out of anger. I was angry that they killed a mother tiger. I made a big mistake by hitting the boy, and I've come to apologize. If you would be so kind as to take me to him, I would be very grateful. So grateful that I'll share a secret with you. Not only am I not a friend of Ying's, but I also want to stop him. And I have just thought of a plan to do it. You see, I have something that he wants very badly. We could use it as bait to set a trap. What do you think?”
The second man didn't respond. Fu turned to the first man.
“Aaah … people don't usually let me think around here,” the first man said. “The Governor, on the other hand—he is very good at thinking. Why don't my friend and I go get him? You can wait here. I've noticed you eyeing the food. Why don't you have some? Have it all, in fact. We were just going to dump it, anyway.”
Fu leaned toward the cart and his mouth watered. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Take your time. Enjoy. It will be a little while before we find the Governor and bring him here. Relax. I only wish I had some drink to offer you.”
“You are too kind,” Fu said in his most polite voice. “Please don't fret about the drink. You already do me too many favors. I will wait here for your return.”
“Good idea, good idea,” the second man said, nodding. “We'll be back, we'll be back.”
The two men turned and walked swiftly toward the village.
Fu strutted up to the cart, proud of himself. He'd handled himself like a perfect gentleman and look what it had gotten him! A fine meal and a meeting with the Governor. What luck! Who would have guessed the Governor lived in this very village? If he could win the favor of the Governor, the Gentleman and his son would be sure to forgive him. Plus, if the Governor felt the same way the two villagers did about Ying, he could ask the Governor to help him set a trap.
As Fu reveled in his good fortune, he began to think about the tiger cub. He wished it had stayed with him. They could be enjoying this food together right now.
Fu rummaged through the cart, and his heart leaped. It was filled with delicacies he rarely encountered: beef, pork, lamb, duck, goose, fish, and, best of all, chicken. Buddhist monks were normally not allowed to eat any type of meat, but the warrior monks of Cangzhen had been granted special permission by a powerful emperor hundreds of years earlier. Still, it was rare when any type of meat made its way onto the Cangzhen dining table. Fu dug in.
Quite some time passed, and Fu had finished nearly half the food in the cart when he heard a twig snap behind the pile. Could that be the cub? he wondered. It had to be! The villagers would have come from the other direction. Fu was so excited, he nearly dropped the whole roast chickens he held, one in each hand. Engorged, he waddled around the pile to share his good fortune. Fu kept one eye on the tree line looking for the cub and the other on the two slippery chickens. He should have kept both eyes on the tree line. By the time Fu saw the net, it was too late.
“What do they feed it?” the boy asked his mother.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Well, they put it in a cage built for a tiger, right? So maybe they feed it chickens. I heard all tigers love chicken.”
“He's a monk, dear. Monks don't eat meat.”
“He's a vegetarian? He's huge! What did they feed him at the temple, trees?”
Fu growled at the boy through the bars of the bamboo cage. The boy squealed and ran off. His mother shook her head and walked away after him. But another child stepped right up with a parent in tow. And so it continued as the sun sank in the distance, a seemingly endless parade of people walking past the large cage in the village square. The line was so long, it ran past the bun vendor's shop— the only building visible through the thick wall of bushes and trees that lined the perimeter of the square.
