Chapter 13
*Po's perspective.*
The night passed in high spirits. Adrenaline was still tearing through my blood, keeping sleep at bay, driving my heart into a rapid rhythm somewhere in my throat, while a strange, energizing warmth spread through my body.
I spent the whole night training with one of the fallen trees. It was fairly light by my standards — only about four hundred kilograms — but the trick with a log as a training implement lay in the leverage point. The moment you grabbed one end and tried to lift it off the ground, the effective weight became considerably more meaningful.
Honestly, I never expected that ridiculous plan of ours to work as well as it did. Although, thinking it through, there was a certain iron logic to it. In this world, consuming the flesh of one's own kind was the most monstrous taboo imaginable — likely forgotten for thousands of years.
For the locals, cannibalism had become something out of ancient legend, the nightmare product of folk horror, existing on the same plane as ghosts and demons.
So what we had done was resurrect one of those old horror stories — specifically the legend of the jiangshi, creatures that lured travelers with pitiful crying by pretending to be lost children, then devoured them. And, to our considerable surprise, it had worked.
The hardest part had been faking that unnatural, wrong-sounding childlike voice — something that was only distantly reminiscent of an actual child. I had to remember the feeling of taking a blow to my most vulnerable point recently, and layer that with something plaintive and pleading. Fortunately, it turned out both Mantis and I had a talent for it.
*Right, I need to wash this off,* I thought, noticing my fur still caked in dried cherry and cranberry juice. *But it was absolutely worth it.*
So I passed the time until morning with improvised training and occasional exchanges with Mantis. It was worth noting that after the previous night's events, our rapport had improved noticeably.
At dawn we decided to head back toward the village. Viper, Monkey, and Crane walked ahead, leading the animated and thoroughly awake children. Crane periodically took to the air to verify we were heading in the right direction.
Tigress, Mantis, and I escorted the captive bandits. Some of them trudged along with sullen grunts. Others carried their companions on improvised stretchers — those who couldn't walk on their own due to injuries received during the night.
We won't go pointing fingers as to who was responsible for their condition.
After roughly three hours, we finally reached the outskirts of the village. As it turned out, Mantis and I had been extremely lucky to stumble upon the bandit camp when we did — it was situated deep enough in the forest that finding it deliberately would have been close to impossible.
The parents of the children, presumably not having slept a moment through the night, were already gathered at the village entrance.
And when they saw their children — unharmed, walking freely — the morning quiet gave way to cries of relief, shouts of joy, and tearful sobbing. The sight of it put a lump in my throat. Even hardened Tigress turned away and began studying the leaves on the nearest tree with pointed interest.
After accepting the thanks of the grateful parents, we marched the whole contingent of bandits to the custody of the guard, hoping he had somewhere to lock them up.
When we reached the garrison building at the edge of the village, the door opened with a creak, and the same guard appeared on the threshold. He looked considerably better than at our morning meeting — bandaged, but standing steadily, though his eyes still carried the weight of fatigue and the bitter sting of his earlier defeat.
His gaze moved across our group, recognition flickering through it. Then it settled on the long procession of bound croc bandits — some being carried by their own companions — and his face transformed.
First his eyes went wide with astonishment. Then his brow drew down and his jaw tightened. He walked silently along the line of prisoners, and the cold fury in his eyes made the criminals look away and shrink from him one by one.
"All of them?" he finally growled — directing the question, for some reason, at me specifically. His voice was low and vibrating with contained feeling.
"Almost all," I nodded. "One unfortunately got away."
The guard gave a slow nod, and his hand closed on the hilt of his sword without seeming to realize it. He walked up to the former gang leader, who was attempting to maintain an air of indifference, and stopped within a few centimeters of his face.
"I remember you. You gave us quite a bit of trouble that day."
The leader muttered something poisonous under his breath. The guard turned sharply away from him, presenting his back with the deliberate air of a man dismissing something unworthy of further attention.
Then he did something unexpected. Slowly, with dignity, he turned to face us and lowered himself into a deep, respectful bow. His head remained inclined longer than ordinary courtesy required.
"Dragon Warrior. Masters." His voice, powerful before, was now quiet but full of unfeigned respect. "You saved those I failed to protect. I am in your debt — a debt I cannot repay."
The way he said my title while looking directly at me, taking me in with that particular expression, gave me a chill. *I hope he doesn't have any unusual interests in that direction.*
Straightening up, he swept the trussed column of bandits with an icy look.
"I have a place for them," he said firmly, addressing us again. "The cellar under the archive. Stone walls, iron bars. Made for exactly this kind of refuse. Will you follow me?"
When the last bandit disappeared behind the heavy dungeon door, we were preparing to leave. At that point the guard, who had maintained his formal bearing throughout, suddenly glanced around nervously to confirm we were alone. He pressed a small but tightly sealed scroll into my paw — stamped with red wax.
"Give this to Master Shifu or Grand Master Oogway," he said quietly, leaning close, his voice carrying genuine alarm. "It is a message from General Li Yun. No one else. For everything that is sacred — show it to no one else."
I nodded, not knowing who General Li Yun was but understanding clearly enough that he was someone significant, and carefully passed the scroll to Tigress.
When we left the garrison building, I turned to the Five:
"Well — business done. Now, if no one objects, can we stop by my father's place on the way back to the Palace? I need at least one extra set of clothes. You don't want me walking around with nothing on while my things dry after washing, do you?"
I paused, then added, letting my gaze move slowly across each of them with exaggerated suspicion:
"Or do you?"
The question hung in the air. A brief but eloquent silence followed.
They exchanged glances. Viper went slightly red. But to my genuine surprise, no direct objection was raised. Even Tigress, arms crossed over her chest, gave an expressive shake of her head — but didn't actually say no.
*I hope she's against the idea of me stopping by for clothes,* I thought as we headed toward the noodle shop. *And not against the idea of me temporarily going without them.*
The walk to Father's place didn't take long. The village was buzzing like a disturbed hive, the news of the children's rescue already having spread to every corner. Residents watched us pass with looks that blended gratitude, intense curiosity, and something approaching awe.
The sight of the blood-smeared Dragon Warrior in the company of his famous companions — the legendary Furious Five — was clearly stirring considerable excitement among the ordinary population.
The moment we crossed the threshold of the noodle shop's courtyard, Father's eyes locked onto us immediately. They widened to an extraordinary size, and his beak dropped open, threatening to reach the floor.
"Father, it's not real blood!" I said preemptively, seeing him on the verge of fainting.
He exhaled with visible relief, though his feathers were still ruffled with residual alarm.
"Po! Son! And these are your… friends?" he suddenly exclaimed with delight, gripping his faithful ladle. "Come in, come in, please, make yourselves at home! I just made a fresh batch of noodles with the secret ingredient!"
He paused and his expression shifted to something unexpectedly shrewd.
"You do have money, don't you?"
*Money's tight but hang in there,* crossed my mind.
I looked at my companions and noticed the entire Five had gone still. Clearly uncomfortable.
"Father, these are the masters of the Jade Palace. And they are our guests," I said as diplomatically as I could, hinting that offering them a complimentary meal might be appropriate.
"Guests!" he repeated warmly, and his beak spread into his most welcoming smile.
"In that case — all the more reason! For such honored guests I have special portions! With a double serving of the secret ingredient! And—" He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We can discuss a discount."
"They don't have money, Father. They're practically monks," I sighed, stepping closer to him.
Father immediately pulled me into a firm hug — the kind that communicated both parental worry and unambiguous pride — and then gave me a meaningful wink.
I had no doubt whatsoever about what he was thinking. Before the day was out, a new advertisement would be making the rounds of the entire village: *Noodles endorsed by the Furious Five themselves and the Dragon Warrior! Only at Mr. Ping's!*
Leaving the Five to settle in at the courtyard tables under Father's attentive watch and generous portions of noodles, I went quickly up to my room, gathered two changes of loose clothing and my toiletries, and was back downstairs within a couple of minutes.
I returned to a highly entertaining scene. The entire Furious Five was seated at the table and eating Father's noodles at a speed that suggested fierce competition. It was as though they were racing to see who could empty their bowl first. Even Tigress, who was normally restrained to a fault, was eating with the intensity of someone having their last meal.
Father was circling the table, talking without pause.
"—and when Po was little, he refused to let me put a diaper on him—" he was recounting with deep fondness. "He'd be running around the whole kitchen knocking everything over! I'd chase him with the diaper, and he'd grab the flour pot and tip it straight at me! I spent the whole evening scrubbing myself off! And he sat in the corner making very satisfied little sounds!"
Suppressed laughter came from the Five. Only Tigress sat with a thoughtful expression, gaze drifting somewhere to the side.
"D-a-a-ad," I muttered before I could stop myself. "Maybe that's enough?"
"What do you mean, enough?" he said with genuine offense. "These are our finest years! Do you remember what you used to say as a child when you were absolutely sure of something? 'That's it, that's the one'? Well — this is exactly that."
Then his gaze dropped to my stomach, and the realization lit up his eyes — there was another foundation, far more important, that needed addressing. Parental instinct snapped immediately to a new objective.
"But what am I saying? You must still be starving after that heroic deed!" He scooped up a large pot of steaming noodles and set it directly in front of me.
Fragrant steam enveloped my face. The Five, already full, were watching with fresh interest to see whether I would rise to this particular challenge. I breathed in the smell, and my hand was already reaching for the chopsticks on its own.
Some foundations you simply don't argue with.
***
After thanking Father for the hearty breakfast and saying warm farewells, the Furious Five and I made our way to the Jade Palace, climbing the main staircase.
The ascent didn't take long, and by a pleasant coincidence, near the top where work had begun on the new gates, we ran into my blacksmithing teacher. He was making notes on a scroll — estimating dimensions for the hinge fittings, by the look of it.
After a brief warm greeting, I showed him the blade confiscated from the bandits. He examined it carefully, made several thoughtful sounds, and told me it bore a strong resemblance to the work of one of the great smiths of the royal Wolf Clan. He asked with interest how I had come across it, and when I told him the bandits had found it among silk bales, he was visibly surprised.
After that we went directly to Shifu, whom we found waiting before the entrance to the Hall of Warriors.
"Well?" he said the moment we were within speaking distance, setting aside any formal greeting. "Report."
Tigress stepped forward and, with a short, respectful bow, spoke plainly:
"We rescued the children, Master. The bandits have been neutralized and turned over to the guard."
She paused to mark the significance of what came next.
"The guard also gave us a message. He asked that it be delivered personally to you and Master Oogway." With these words Tigress extended the neatly rolled scroll, sealed with wax.
Shifu took it, and a flash of surprise crossed his face when he saw the seal impression. Without a word, he broke it and unrolled the parchment. His eyes moved quickly through the lines, and with each word his brow drew closer together and his expression darkened further.
By the time he reached the end, his fingers had closed around the scroll with enough force that his knuckles had gone white, and a fine tremor ran through his hands — the outward sign of fury being held tightly in check.
"Master, is something wrong?" Viper asked quietly, with caution.
The entire Five had gone still, breath held.
Shifu lowered the scroll and raised his eyes slowly to look at us. A storm moved through them — anger, anxiety, and something heavy and deliberate. He seemed to be weighing how much truth to tell us. Finally he exhaled, and the decision was made.
"General Li Yun—" Shifu's voice was strained to an unusual degree. "He is not an ordinary person. He is one of the heirs of the great Imperial Rhinoceros Clan."
Shifu let that settle. I turned over what I knew about the Imperial Rhinoceros Clan. My knowledge reduced to a simple truth: the prefix "Imperial" in their name was not decorative. It meant the clan was one of the pillars of the empire — a vassal that held not merely land, but an entire province.
Titles like "imperial" or "royal" were what separated genuine nobility, who governed entire regions, from minor clans whose holdings were a city or a village at best, or sometimes nothing at all. They were not merely a symbol of power — they were a weight of responsibility.
That was essentially the entirety of my knowledge on the subject. The political landscape and balance of power in the country had never interested me particularly.
"And he is an old friend of mine," Shifu added, with equal measures of pride and grief. He continued:
"He writes that a storm is coming. That the roads to the Valley of Peace are swarming with wolf and gorilla gangs. They are burning and looting neighboring provinces, spreading chaos."
*Something tells me this is going to be a problem of the large and lasting variety,* I thought uneasily. I had heard about ordinary caravan raids before. Not about anything resembling an actual war.
Shifu went quiet, his gaze drifting somewhere distant, as though he could see the glow of fires beyond the mountains. "But there is one detail that gives Li Yun no peace. The Valley of Peace — they appear not to notice it. They go around it."
He paused meaningfully before continuing. "And the Emperor's Council, blinded by what looks to them like the safety of this place, has decided to withdraw all the guards from here. From the villages. From the cities. From every garrison. To throw them where the real fire appears to be burning."
"But that's absurd!" Crane said. "Leave the Valley without protection? That's the same as handing the local bandits free rein. They'll fall on our villages, on the towns, on the trade routes!"
My own thoughts were running the same direction. Crane was right — it seemed deeply, obviously foolish. And what if all those wolves and gorillas who were supposedly going around the Valley were simply waiting for the guards to leave?
"I don't understand it either," Shifu said quietly.
After a moment's silence, he added: "I need to speak with Master Oogway. You're dismissed — prepare for afternoon training."
It was plain Shifu was holding something back. I decided not to press it. What was already clear was that the near future held a substantial headache involving crime in the Valley of Peace.
Then his eyes settled on me, and he added dryly:
"And you, Panda — go wash. And don't imagine I don't know about the columns at the base of the staircase."
"You weren't there!" I said, genuinely startled that he already knew.
"I guessed," he said, with a short sound. His expression carried the message plainly: *I didn't see it, but I knew. I tend to know about most things.*
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