Chapter 2
*Somewhere in the forest near the village.*
Deep in a dense forest, among tall trees and tangled vines, sat a small camp. Any observer who laid eyes on its inhabitants would have understood immediately that it belonged to bandits. Every last one of them was an upright-walking crocodile, and they spent their time mostly wandering aimlessly or sitting around the fire.
There weren't many tents. It was clear the crocodiles used them less for sleeping and more for other purposes, preferring to spend the nights outside under the trees beneath handmade lean-tos.
The tents were used mainly to store food and stolen goods. Tonight, however, one of them was serving its intended purpose. Inside lay the hero of the previous day. His clothes were torn, his body covered in scrapes and bruises. His maw, wrapped in clumsy bandaging, appeared to have been knocked visibly out of alignment.
At first the crocodile showed no signs of life, but then he began to stir, groaning in pain as consciousness slowly crept back in.
***
*From the perspective of the bandit who confused the tannery with the noodle shop.*
Chan woke up with no idea where he was. His vision swam in every direction, his entire body ached mercilessly — especially his maw and teeth, which, when he ran his tongue across them, he discovered were partly missing.
He had to work hard to piece together what had happened. He'd been given an assignment by the boss: take a couple of dimwits and go rob the village. When Chan had raised the reasonable concern that this might be dangerous, the boss had told him there were fewer guards in the village this time and everything would go smoothly.
So they had quickly gathered themselves and slipped into the village without any trouble, starting with some noodle shop. There, he, Chan, had put the owner in front of a simple choice: hand over the day's earnings, or take a mace to the head — either way, Chan would be walking out with what was owed to him. He had been working up to a few more choice words to make the owner move faster when someone placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed so hard that the pain made him drop his mace. A voice had spoken from behind him — a voice that was deeply, deeply unsettling, edged with something like cold steel. That voice had told him and his boys to get out.
Chan remembered that at some point, seized by anger and fear, he had spun around to strike whoever was talking to him. Depending on how things went, he had planned to either fight back or run.
But his fist had connected with a monster in the shape of a panda. In that moment it felt as if he had punched a steel plate — the panda hadn't so much as flinched, merely raising one eyebrow with a mocking air.
For Chan, time had seemed to slow to a crawl. He had felt himself shrink to nothing while the panda appeared to grow enormous. And then the panda had drawn back its fist. In that moment its face was half-swallowed by shadow, its maw seemed to bristle with sharp fangs, and its eyes glowed red. In pure terror, Chan had watched a fist the size of his own head closing in on his face, powerless to do anything. After that, the only thing he remembered was emptiness and the sensation of weightlessness.
Having reconstructed the events of the previous day, Chan's consciousness blurred and he passed out again. For a long time after that, his sleep was haunted by nightmares featuring one very muscular panda.
***
*From Po's perspective.*
When I woke up in my old, battered apartment and felt my old-young yet completely falling-apart body, I was struck with grief as I realized that my entire life in the new world had been nothing but a dream.
I felt as though my soul was being torn to pieces. In that dream I had found everything I lacked in reality — a real family, a healthy body. The world had taken something important from me again. First I had lost hope of ever beating the genetic disease, then I had lost hope of a long life altogether. And now it had interrupted my dream and stripped away the illusion of a normal life — though the very concept of "normal life" in a world full of intelligent animals and insects was relative to begin with.
*It's fine. We'll get through it. Sitting here feeling sorry for myself won't make things any better,* I hissed to myself.
To shake off the mood I decided to make coffee. Coffee always brought me around. But while I was brewing it, I kept feeling that something was off — I just couldn't put my finger on what. The apartment itself put me on edge and made me uneasy.
*No, this can't be right. Have I developed some new psychological problem, like claustrophobia? Is this what happens when you never leave the house?* I thought, irritated.
Then the doorbell rang insistently, cutting through my thoughts. I set down my freshly made cup of coffee with annoyance and headed for the front door.
"Coming, coming. Who on earth…" I muttered to myself as I approached. But before opening it, I looked through the peephole — and immediately lurched back. Standing outside was an enormous, half-naked man with muscles of an absolutely insane magnitude. There was no way he was real. One of his fingers was practically the size of my entire arm.
"Who's there and what do you want?" I called out loudly, trying to figure out what this type could possibly want with me.
"Got you, you furry fan!" came a distorted, rumbling voice from the other side of the door.
"There are no furry fans here," I said, doing my best to distance myself from the accusation.
"Oh yeah?! Then why do you have panda ears on your head, kid?!" the man roared aggressively, his voice rattling the metal door on its hinges.
I reflexively ran a hand across my head and felt two fuzzy protrusions — but I didn't even have time to process what in the world that was about. At that exact moment the door took a hit and flew clean off its frame. I threw myself out of its path toward the bathroom and hid inside the shower stall.
"Kid! Wherever you're hiding, come out — I'm going to deal with you one way or another!" the voice of this creature from hell echoed through the apartment, and heavy footsteps began approaching the bathroom. Something told me he did not mean a beating.
***
I crashed off the bed with a bang, drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering. It took a moment, but I realized it had only been a bad dream. I never would have thought I could have a nightmare like that. I wasn't sure what had frightened me more — the strange, impossibly jacked man, or the fact that my new life had turned out to be a dream. I was running my paws over my body instinctively, as if I couldn't quite believe it was really mine.
In an attempt to convince myself I wasn't still dreaming, I looked carefully around my room but found nothing out of the ordinary. There was my bed with the metal frame I had built last year, after every wooden bed inexplicably kept breaking. There were the cabinets filled with porcelain dishes bought in bulk as backup. There was the painting of my father and me. There were the scrolls covered in recipes that he and I had come up with but hadn't gotten around to making yet.
Calmed, I looked out the window and saw that the sun had already risen. I had slept through my morning training. Exhaling in irritation, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where my father was already deep in the middle of cooking.
"Good morning, son. What were you doing up there? The noise was much worse than usual," he asked with interest.
"Good morning. I just fell out of bed because of a bad dream," I answered.
"What kind of dream? What was it about?" he asked with curiosity, and I froze, not knowing what to say.
"Um… just a jumble of images. I can't even remember them. Just nonsense. Oh — what's that wonderful smell? Are you making your noodles with the 'super-secret ingredient' again?" I attempted to steer away from the uncomfortable topic.
"Listen, Po, dreams are not nonsense. Your dream might be telling you that you need some rest and a change of scenery. They're choosing the Dragon Warrior at the Jade Palace today. I think you should go and enjoy yourself," Father said with warm concern.
"You know I'm not interested in kung fu — to me it's just people waving their arms and legs around. Sure, choosing the Dragon Warrior might be a big deal to some people, but I don't care either way. Besides, the noodles won't make and serve themselves," I replied, trying to wriggle out of the suggestion, as large crowds had never appealed to me.
"Your help isn't needed today, son. Most of the villagers are already heading up the mountain to the Jade Palace. I'm planning to go myself once I've finished everything here," Father said firmly, though he could plainly see I wasn't warming to the idea.
"You could also help me by selling the noodles and buns I've cooked. And carrying a large cart all the way up the mountain ought to make for a good workout," he continued, knowing exactly which levers to pull.
"By the time I got all the way up there, the noodles would probably be cold," I replied, which was frankly a weak excuse. We actually had a new cart that was built to keep food warm for extended periods.
"And besides, you can't spend your entire life as a hermit. I think the time has come for us to have a talk about where children come from," he pressed, and this time he gave me no opening at all.
In my head something like an alarm went off — labeled "Awkward Talk with Dad" — and for some reason the voice from my dream popped back into my mind, the one that had accused me of being a furry fan and promised to punish me for it. The urge to argue with my father evaporated instantly.
"Fine, you're right, you've convinced me. I'll go out, get some mountain air, look at the architecture. But I need breakfast first," I surrendered quickly — and honestly, I had to admit that lately I had been getting very deeply buried in routine. A comfortable routine, but a routine all the same.
Father smiled encouragingly and, as always, was generous — he ladled out a large portion of noodles for me and added dumplings on the side. It's worth noting that all food in this world is strictly vegetarian. When I first learned that, I was genuinely surprised. Perhaps in the distant past, before achieving sapience, even the predatory species of this world had eaten meat — but that was no longer the case. As they say, the ways of evolution are beyond understanding.
***
*Well then — eyes may fear, but legs will carry you,* I told myself, hoisting the substantial noodle cart onto my shoulder. It was built from solid wood, with a thick metal pot at its center surrounded by insulation to keep the noodles warm longer. Together with the dishes it weighed around three hundred kilograms. I held it steady with one hand and used the other to help keep my balance. Ahead of me stretched a thousand steps, and I decided to make things harder on myself by alternating walking lunges on the way up. This made my ascent extremely slow, but I was in no hurry, humming a lightly modified song under my breath:
*Once I lifted five hundred kilos, didn't care,*
*A warrior born, who'll never fall or fail.*
*Like Father's old car — runs without repair.*
*Sure, threw my back out, but I don't mind at all.*
Slowly but steadily I climbed the mountain, occasionally catching surprised looks from people I knew along the way. Most of them were used to seeing me as a big, soft-looking heavyset fellow. It was apparently news to them that I could carry a loaded cart on my shoulder. Why hadn't I shed the extra fat? The answer was simple: back in my previous world I had learned that building muscle required not just protein but a caloric surplus. Trying to lose fat and build muscle at the same time is far from optimal. Yes, I could cut down quickly if I chose to, but I saw no reason to yet — I didn't feel I had reached my peak physical condition.
"Ah, youth… Po, you never change — you turn everything into a workout," came a familiar voice from behind, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I paused my slow endurance climb, turned toward the speaker, and dipped my head in a slight bow. It was an elderly rhino, his horn tinged faintly yellow with age. Though his best years were behind him, his body still carried impressive, knotted muscle.
He was the local blacksmith — and, without exaggeration, my teacher. He had sharp, perceptive eyes that seemed to look straight through you. His forge stood in the center of the village, and he rarely left it.
"Good morning, Master Tianjiang. As I always say, everything you do should serve a purpose. I see you've also decided to watch them choose the Dragon Warrior?"
"Po, you are a hopeless case. If you put half the effort into blacksmithing that you put into training, you'd already be the finest smith in China. But yes, I decided to stop by the festival and see this Dragon Warrior for myself — the guards have been talking my ear off about it. They're already placing bets on which of the Furious Five will be chosen," said Tianjiang.
"Master, you know my father would be jealous if I spent too much time at the forge. By the way, do you happen to know why the bandits have gotten so bold that they're sneaking into the village?" I tried to change the subject while also getting an answer about yesterday's events. The blacksmith was in constant contact with the guards who were stationed in our village to protect the trade routes passing through it.
"Don't try to shift the blame onto your father. I worked out long ago that your calling lies far from the forge — and far from selling noodles, too. As for the guards — the situation is serious. One of the larger bandit gangs, which had kept a low profile until recently, has been growing in strength. They recently pulled off a significant raid and looted several merchant caravans near the Valley of Peace," Tianjiang said plainly, without softening it.
"Thank you for telling me. We can only hope the future mythical Dragon Warrior will be able to deal with them." I finished with a snort that made my feelings on the matter perfectly clear.
"Who's to say. Who's to say. It was good talking with you, student. Take care of yourself. And I'd suggest picking up the pace — you don't want to miss the ceremony," the master replied warmly and continued on his way.
"And all the best to you, Master. Though I won't be rushing — I'm sure they'll manage to pick the Dragon Warrior without me." I said my farewell just as warmly and continued my own climb upward.
***
By my internal sense of time, roughly three hours had passed since I started up the mountain. I was nearly at the top of the staircase, and it had not been particularly difficult. My legs buzzed pleasantly, telling me the effort had been good for them. The air up here was almost dizzyingly cool and fresh and clean, filling the lungs and carrying some sensation of pure freedom. I could literally feel each breath filling me with energy.
When I finally reached the top of the stairs, I passed the stone lions guarding the entrance and saw that the gates were beginning to close. They shut what seemed like directly in front of my face. At that moment music started playing, and an unfamiliar voice announced the beginning of the ceremony and began introducing the masters.
I walked up to the gates, set my cart down from my shoulder, and knocked on them firmly enough to make them shudder, then spoke simply and loudly:
"Open up!"
To my displeasure, no one opened the gates. Either they hadn't heard me, or opening them once the ceremony had begun was simply not permitted.
"They never open them," I grumbled to myself, and turned to look the gates and surrounding walls over.
The massive gates stood between two sheer rock faces. Above them rose a two-tiered roof in the style of a pagoda, its tiles a deep blue. A wall, similarly topped with a blue-tiled roof, extended out from the rocks on either side.
After a moment's thought, I decided that since I had come all this way, I was going to watch the show. And where were the best seats? Up on top, obviously. I left the cart in a convenient and visible spot, but not before pulling out the rice wine I had tucked away in a flask and grabbing a few buns as something to eat. With a moderate jump I caught the edge of the wall, hauled myself up, and climbed onto the roof. There I settled into a comfortable and fairly inconspicuous position and watched the proceedings below with great interest.
The roof was making odd creaking sounds, but I didn't pay it much attention.