A few moments later, Seh saw the old woman appear from behind the curtain with an equally frail old man at her side. The woman held a gigantic cleaver. The old man held a large meat hook in one hand and two coils of rope in the other.
The old man looked at Fu and whistled. “Get a load of that mountain of flesh! The heavens are smiling on us today. He'll stuff enough dumplings to feed an army. Not much meat on the other one, though.”
“Free meat is free meat,” the old woman said. “I'll take whatever I can get. You should be able to salvage at least a couple of fillets from the skinny one.”
“What about their friends?” the old man asked.
“They said their friends don't even know they're in here. If the others are as scruffy as these two, they'll never think to look inside an establishment as fine as ours. And if they do show up, we'll add them to the menu, too.” The old woman cackled. “Let's get to work.”
Ying stood before the gates of the Emperor's summer palace, preparing for the accolades that were sure to be the reason behind his special invitation. He had destroyed Cangzhen and taken the bandits’ stronghold. It was time to celebrate.
This was, after all, a place for relaxation. Business was for the main palace in the Forbidden City, hundreds of li to the north. Ying was ready for a party— in his honor.
Ten thousand things ran through Ying's mind. First and foremost was, What's taking this fool guard so long to open the gates?
When the gates eventually opened, Ying rushed in, eager to greet the Emperor. However, after two steps, he stopped, frozen in his tracks. Ying found himself at the far end of what had to be the most magnificent courtyard in all of China.
Thousand-year-old cypress trees stood alongside ankle-high flowers only hours old. Elaborately designed pagodas wrapped themselves seamlessly around natural rock formations that were shaped like Chinese characters. Peacocks roamed freely along the footpaths, and songbirds filled the trees. The centerpiece was a massive man-made lake in the shape of a lotus flower.
Ying had heard rumors that the Emperor had squandered untold fortunes to create this sanctuary for himself and his closest advisors and that it was the most beautiful place beneath the heavens. Until that moment, Ying had dismissed the rumors. However, he now believed every word. He was standing at the edge of it, and he had been invited.
Ying closed his eyes and took a deep breath, soaking it all in. Instead of feeling peaceful, though, he sensed someone focusing on him from the lake. Ying opened his eyes and squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine reflecting off the lake's surface. He saw the silhouette of a lean man in an orange robe.
“What are you waiting for?” the man by the lake purred. “I don't have all day.”
Ying scowled. It was General Tsung, the leopard-style kung fu master and former Shaolin monk who had successfully destroyed Shaolin Temple—and almost choked Ying to death.
“What are you doing here, Spot?” Ying asked as he walked along the path beside the lake toward Tsung. Tsung's orange monk's robe flapped in the breeze.
“I suggest you reconsider the manner in which you address me,” Tsung said. “I outrank you, and we both know I'm the superior fighter. One more comment like that and I'll have your head.” He turned and began walking toward an enormous building on the far side of the lake. “Follow me.”
Ying bit his lip. There was no point in making a scene in front of the Emperor. At least, Ying assumed the Emperor was nearby. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
“There are soldiers stationed at regular intervals along the compound walls,” Tsung replied. “You can't see the men or the walls because the Emperor went to great expense to ensure everything was hidden from view with evergreen foliage.”
“I mean, the Emperor and his other guests,” Ying said.
Tsung raised one bushy eyebrow. “There is only one guest. A judge. He and the Emperor are waiting inside the palace for you. There is a special chamber designed specifically for situations like yours.”
Ying grinned. A special chamber, he thought. And a judge. This must be something significant.
They reached the palace, and Ying followed Tsung through a maze of elaborately furnished halls. When they reached a door at the end of a long hall, Tsung turned to Ying. “Give me your weapons.”
Ying hesitated.
“You will not be allowed inside otherwise.” Tsung's jaw muscles rippled.
Ying shook his right wrist, and his chain whip slipped out of a special pocket in his oversized sleeve. He frowned and reluctantly handed it over. The grooves in his face deepened.
“This way,” Tsung said, opening the door.
Ying entered and glanced around as Tsung bolted the door behind them. The room was surprisingly large. It was two levels high, the higher one being a balcony. That's where the Emperor stood in his brilliant yellow silk robe and large yellow silk hat. A second man stood on ground level wearing a black robe and small black judge's hat. Around the perimeter of the first floor were close to a hundred soldiers, each armed with a qiang.