The big man turned to the bandits and bellowed, “Gentlemen! Monkey Boy here says he's searching for his family. It looks to me like he found them. Don't you agree? I believe that is his sister stuck like a pig at the end of that spear!” The large man pointed to a spear held by one of the bandits. The spear-holder raised the spear high and shook it. The bandits roared with laughter.

Malao began to shiver again.

One of the bandits shouted, “Hey, I wonder if his father is the Monkey King? The kid really seems to enjoy hanging out on top of that gold cart!”

The bandits roared again.

Malao felt a powerful jolt behind his eyes as if he'd been blindsided by a roundhouse kick.

“Monkey King?” he mumbled. That name sounded familiar to him. Of course, he knew about the monkey king of legend—a magical creature that supposedly lived thousands of years ago. However, Malao was almost certain the bandit was referring to a real person. Someone who simply had the nickname Monkey King. Malao shook his head to clear his senses.

“Aw, stop teasing the boy,” another bandit yelled out. “You know there's no Monkey King. The monkeys only steal gold because it's shiny and they like to look at it. They don't deliver it to anyone. Leave the boy be and let's get on our way.”

“This boy isn't going anywhere,” the big man replied, suddenly serious. “He's robbed us of a feast. He belongs to me now. My stomach has been aching for days because I haven't had any fresh meat, but I know a cure. Liver soup. I've made it before with monkey livers, and it worked wonders every time. However, they say it works best with human liver!”

The huge man lunged at Malao. Malao leaped straight into the air. He touched down on top of the man's greasy head and bounded toward the trunk of the nearest tree. Malao latched on to the tree for the briefest of moments, then sprang in a completely different direction an instant before the big man slammed his shoulder into the tree. The tree shook violently and the entire group of bandits erupted with laughter. The large man winced.

Malao looked down from high atop a large maple. He saw the big man pull a small object from one of several pouches hanging from his sash. It was a throwing dart! The man's eyes seemed to drift apart and Malao focused on the one eye that remained on him, prepared to leap if the man launched the dart in his direction.

The large man's hand suddenly flashed outward in a blur, but not in Malao's direction. It followed the path of the drifting eye. High atop a neighboring tree, the white monkey cried out. It fell to the ground, clutching its head, and the big man pounced on it.

Malao howled and leaped down from the treetop, landing in the center of the large man's back. He grabbed the short, greasy hair on the back of the man's head with his left hand and yanked the decorated stick from his robe with his right. As Malao raised the stick, one of the man's enormous hands flew back and grabbed it. The man swung his huge arm powerfully down. Malao let go of the man's hair and grabbed on to the stick with both hands as his body was flung forward over the man's shoulder.

Still holding on to the stick, Malao landed flat on his back next to the white monkey. He groaned.

Upon seeing the stick, the monkey seemed to lose its mind. With one paw against its bleeding head, it unfurled its other claw and slashed viciously across the top of the large man's hand. The man cried out and let go of the stick. The monkey bared its long, razor-sharp fangs and launched its face at Malao's hands. Malao let go as the monkey clamped its jaws down onto the stick.

The white monkey sprang to its feet, the stick in its teeth, and darted off into the trees. Malao leaped after it but fell heavily to the earth as a large net was cast over him. Several men held the ends of the net down, out of Malao's reach. Malao wriggled and clawed and kicked, but it was no use. He stopped struggling and stared up at his captors through the tightly woven holes in the net.

The burly man walked away, only to return moments later carrying a huge pair of golden melon hammers. The large, round heads of the war hammers glistened at the end of metal handles, each as long as Malao's leg. The big man stared coldly at Malao as he raised his huge arms in preparation for a crushing blow.

“That's very brave of you, Hung—killing a child with the aid of several others and a net,” a voice called out from the crowd. “I speak a little Cantonese myself, you know, and I recognize your name as Cantonese, just like the boy's. How strange. Cantonese names are so rare in this region. Stranger still is the significance of your name. Hung means ‘bear’ in Cantonese, and you really do remind me of a bear. A big, lazy panda bear. If you were a real man, you would dismiss your helpers and fight the boy alone, hand to hand.”

Malao knew that voice. It belonged to his brother Seh!




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