Chapter 22
This was — what, the fifth time this week? — that the same nagging urge had come over me: to test the structural integrity of a nearby wall with my forehead. I had lost count. And what held me back wasn't concern about looking foolish in someone else's eyes. It was the last pitiful scraps of self-respect. Yes. Those.
The reason for this latest impulse was simple — it was the information Oogway had just laid out for me.
Not that it was shocking, exactly. But it was deeply, thoroughly unpleasant. Without going into excessive detail: it had all begun about forty years ago, on the steps of the Jade Palace. That was where Shifu had found something that permanently overturned his life — specifically, an infant, who turned out to be a snow leopard.
Who had left the child there, and why, remained a mystery. Oogway and Shifu had guessed that the infant belonged to a snow leopard clan living somewhere near the Valley of Peace, and that a power struggle within the clan had led someone to smuggle the child to safety. Generally speaking, according to Oogway, it was rare for orphaned infants to be left at the Palace steps — at least in recent times. And not all of them were kept. More often they were placed in the local orphanage, for obvious reasons.
But this particular infant was extraordinarily fortunate. Or perhaps not — depending on how you looked at it. Because Shifu did not simply keep him with the intention of raising a student. He took him as a son. He poured into him every hope and every private aspiration he had ever carried. He passed on to him every skill and every fragment of knowledge he possessed.
In short, he trained Tai Lung as he had never trained anyone before and never would again — and the results were staggering. Tai Lung grew into not just a powerful fighter but a living embodiment of force. His talent could stand alongside the legendary geniuses of history, and had he been more patient and more self-aware, he would undoubtedly have surpassed them all.
Shifu's pride in his son knew no limits, and he had already marked him in his mind for the title of Dragon Warrior. But in this blind love and pride, he had missed one crucial thing: he had never shown his son that a life existed beyond kung fu. Never explained what all that power was actually for. What was the point of destroying yourself in daily training? What did Tai Lung actually want the title for?
And Tai Lung wanted that title more desperately than anyone. Perhaps to justify his father's hopes, or perhaps there was a deep-buried desire for dominance of his own. Who could say. But Oogway refused him, with the explanation that: "With darkness in your heart, you will not understand, nor master, what is in the scroll."
After the refusal, Tai Lung was — predictably — shattered, and left the Jade Palace without a word. No one moved to stop him. Not Shifu, who had sunk into his own reflections, and not Oogway, who had seen such things a hundred times before. Both of them, in their own ways, assumed the young man simply needed to let off steam and cool down. These things happen. And while Shifu methodically, like digging with a teaspoon, scraped answers out of Oogway, trying to understand in what way his son had been found unworthy — the "unworthy" one had already been making up for lost time.
Tai Lung did not think small. It wasn't a brawl in a roadside tavern. No — he had carried out what could only be described as a genuine massacre in the Valley of Peace. Not that he had become absolute evil in that moment, but several villages were destroyed, homes burned, and residents killed.
It all happened so swiftly that Oogway and Shifu only learned of the tragedy when the rage-maddened leopard came bursting through the gates of the Jade Palace. He swept through everything in his path, defeated Shifu without apparent difficulty — Shifu had neither the will nor the ability to raise his hand against his own son — but against Oogway, his fury proved insufficient.
The conclusion of the entire affair was a single cell in the prison of Chorh-Gom, where Tai Lung had been sitting for the past twenty years.
But Oogway had recently received a new vision: very soon the leopard would break free. And who, would you care to guess, was first on his list once he did? Correct. Me. And the Dragon Scroll.
If one wanted to be generous toward Shifu, one could point to his youth and — according to Oogway — a complete absence of any paternal experience. But Oogway's own inaction troubled me. Why hadn't he intervened sooner? Stopped Tai Lung before he completely unraveled? He had more than enough relevant experience, surely, and he could see the future. If there were another kind of transmigrator in my position, they'd already be jabbing a finger at Oogway and calling him a Dumbledore figure responsible for all the world's problems.
But I wasn't that person. And the fact that Oogway had told me the whole story without omission gave him a certain credit of trust. Even if a residue of dissatisfaction remained.
And while I could feel genuine sympathy for Tai Lung, that didn't mean I excused him. Because this idiot had chosen his own fate. He had everything: a father's love, a roof over his head, a healthy body — the potential to live for centuries. I had already talked to Mantis on that subject, and he had confirmed that strong kung fu masters lived for hundreds of years. The thought turned my stomach. I couldn't hold it in. My gaze moved on its own to Oogway, who after his account was simply waiting, silent and patient, for my reaction.
"Master Oogway," my voice came out sharper than intended, "no offense intended, but how did you manage to drop the ball so comp— ahem — so thoroughly? According to legend, you're a prophet capable of seeing centuries ahead! Even without any prophetic ability—" I waved a hand "—you should have had simply enormous life experience, unlike Shifu!"
Oogway didn't answer at once. In his eyes there was no trace of irritation — only boundless, quiet sorrow, accumulated over what had probably been centuries.
"The legends… do not lie," he said, and his voice was very quiet and faintly ragged. "To one who knows how to see and listen, the Universe reveals both future and past. But the future, unlike the past… is fluid. Inconstant." He drew a slow paw through the air, tracing an invisible, winding arc. "Too often, choosing a road to escape fate, we meet it there instead."
He fell quiet again. In the silence of the garden there was only the distant rustle of leaves.
"In my long life I have tried many times to guide its course," he said after a moment, pausing to remember something, and continued with quiet sadness. "And too often that has led to consequences I did not foresee. I saw Tai Lung's fate — but it was not carved in stone. Even now it remains changeable." He made a pause, letting his attentive gaze rest on me. "My refusal could with equal likelihood have plunged him into darkness… or driven him to find a new purpose, to become better, and ultimately to find himself. I could equally have given him the Dragon Warrior title and the scroll. But that would have led to the same outcome. Possibly worse." Bitter certainty sounded in his voice. "Every choice I could have made was simultaneously right and wrong."
I found myself reflecting, unbidden, on whether the ability to know the future was a blessing or a curse. Films and books came to mind — heroes attempting to escape fate, only to hasten it through their very attempts to avoid it. What was that called? A self-fulfilling prophecy. Though this case was different. But when I turned Oogway's words over, it seemed he was saying that the same events could lead to diametrically opposite outcomes.
And even he — a legend, with more than a millennium behind him — had never found an answer to the most fundamental question: how does one distinguish a correct decision from a mistaken one, when either of them might carry both salvation and ruin?
"Fine," I muttered with irritation. "Since the problem is already upon us, we need to deal with it somehow. Why not simply kill Tai Lung while he's still caged?" Inwardly I was already bracing for another portion of philosophy along the lines of 'that is not our way' or lofty speeches about the dishonor of killing a helpless prisoner.
"Killing Tai Lung—" Oogway said, and his voice carried no judgment, only a heavy, inescapable certainty — "would resolve nothing. It would not extinguish the fire of his fury. Even sent into the spirit world, he would find no peace. His obsession is powerful enough that it would not stop even before death. And—" his voice softened to something close to a whisper — "it would leave Shifu with a wound beyond healing. The knowledge that his son was killed by his own master's will — that bitterness would consume Shifu's soul from within."
"You're saying death isn't an ending? That someone can come back?" I said, shaken, though I was living proof of the concept myself.
"For a will that knows no rest, death is not an ending — only a new beginning," Oogway answered with unshakeable certainty.
"So the only chance of him settling down… is if he loses in a fair fight?" I said, feeling my jaw tighten.
Oogway nodded slowly, and in that simple gesture was a bitter, inescapable truth. The confirmation made my face contort involuntarily, and the urge to put my forehead through the nearest wall became almost unbearable.
"All right, I understand — I understand why Tai Lung can't just be disposed of," I said, feeling irritation rising in a fresh wave.
I looked at him directly. "But why don't you intervene yourself? Subdue him the way you did last time, and lock him away for another twenty years?"
Oogway slowly lowered his head. He was quiet for a time, as though deciding whether to say the next words aloud.
"I could not defeat him," he finally said, and the exhaustion in his voice was genuine. "I am old. Very old. Were I fifty years younger… oh, then I still might have. I am like an ancient tree that holds on only by the strength of old roots. The winds of time have carried away the strength this battle would require. And so… so this burden must fall on other shoulders."
The last words came not as a hint but as a direct statement, and he meant a very specific set of shoulders — mine. Which made something flare inside me quite vividly.
I spread my paws with irritation, drawing his attention to my own person. "Look at me! What do you see? An untrained panda, that's what. Possibly — no, certainly! You chose me for this post using your prophetic ability. But where is the certainty that this isn't another of your mistakes? This morning I nearly met my end from some passing psychopath. What chance do I stand against Tai Lung?"
Oogway met my small fit of panic with the composure of a constrictor and said: "It is not because I saw that you would be able to defeat him — quite the opposite. When I saw you, I did not perceive the future — only its echoes. What I saw instead was a long-forgotten past." He closed his eyes, as though listening to something. "And now… now I see and hear nothing. I cannot tell you whether you will overcome Tai Lung. Perhaps in that very silence lies your chance. When the future is not predetermined, everything depends only on you."
Brilliant. Although — perhaps that's even better. Even if he did know my future, I wouldn't want to hear it.
"What if we simply call for help from other masters? From different schools?" I tried, reaching for what seemed like the last sensible idea. "Let them overwhelm him together. The Jade Palace isn't the only force in the world, surely?"
"That… is possible," Oogway said slowly, with visible reluctance. "And many of my former students would not refuse, I have no doubt. But such a 'victory' would become a defeat. It would announce to the entire world that the Jade Palace can no longer protect its knowledge and its artifacts." He paused, letting those words hang in the silence. "And when I pass into the spirit world, war will begin. A war comparable in scale only to the greed of those who unleash it. A battle over what is hidden within these walls… and in the very earth of the Valley of Peace." The last words carried a particular, ominous weight.
"You… saw that in a vision too?" I said grimly, registering that Oogway had just spoken plainly about his own imminent death, and about the fact that with him would disappear the authority that kept the powerful of this world in check.
"No, young one. That knowledge does not come from visions. It comes from years lived," he said, and for a moment a joyless smile touched his lips.
Of course. What a foolish question. How many wars has he witnessed in his endless life? Dozens? Hundreds?
So what did we actually have? A guaranteed way to defeat Tai Lung existed — but that victory would mark the beginning of the end. They would come not only for the artifacts and scrolls — the very earth of the Valley, if Oogway's hint was to be taken seriously, concealed something worth starting a massacre over. And a slaughter would begin, claiming countless lives. From there the fire would spread to all the surrounding lands, and a new age of warring clans would begin.
The understanding of all this made my blood boil. A low snarl tore out of me, rough and involuntary.
"Why—" I pressed a paw to my own chest — "why did I agree to any of this?! Fine. Say I believe you. But I have no interest in being smeared across a wall by this maniac's first blow! You say everything depends on me. Wonderful. Then how? Specifically! How do I become strong enough that he can't tear me apart? How do I become worthy of the Dragon Scroll?"
"How?" Oogway's calm voice repeated the question, and the gentle, understanding smile on his face — carrying not the slightest trace of reproach — let some of the tension inside me ease. "The answer has already been given. What remains is to accept it — to believe in yourself with your whole heart, and simply want it. Why search for strength outside, when it sleeps within you? All the stances, all the techniques — they are only tools in a master's hands. Don't master technique — become it. Don't use strength… let it flow through you."
What complete nonsense, my mind shot back. Deep breath. Easy. Fine. If he is repeating this business about 'believing in yourself' for the second time — practically quoting the same philosophy Shifu had touched on — then there must genuinely be something to it.
I forced my brain into overdrive, trying to press something with practical meaning out of these cryptic words of Oogway's. All these high principles were not my natural territory. I needed something tangible. Something I could understand through facts and observation.
So I simply looked at kung fu as a whole. I began frantically sorting through everything I had seen and heard. Before my inner eye moved the refined movements of the Five; I strained to recall images from the Hall of Warriors, the unusual weapons and equipment of long-gone masters.
And the picture assembled itself, crystal clear and undeniable: all of them were different. Absolutely individual. Each had a unique style, their own techniques. I had serious doubts that the dolphin whose armor was stored in the Palace could have employed Mantis's techniques and style.
And in that moment of clarity, a demanding, uncompromising question cut through my consciousness: Who are you? What is your essential nature?
The answer came instantly, clear and irrefutable: Right now I am someone who lifts. And that is not a weakness. It is my nature. My strength. And I must follow it. Which means that when I encounter a locked door, I simply knock it off its hinges — even if it wasn't locked, and just opened the other way.
Catching that insight, I didn't stop there — I only gathered more momentum. My mind's eye immediately fixed on an imagined image of my future opponent.
Well then, Tai Lung. He isn't the one waiting to meet me — I'm the one waiting to meet him. While he sits in his cage eating prison food, I will be tearing through every limit I have. Every day. Until my muscles shake, until my bones creak, until I've sweated through every drop and there's nothing left but the ringing in my ears. I will turn every heavy object in the Jade Palace into a training implement.
I will become the kind of immovable creature against which any claws break, any blades go dull, and even ancient artifacts bounce off without leaving a scratch.
I will take any blow Tai Lung throws at me and not so much as flinch afterward. I will meet his rage-twisted face, lift an eyebrow slowly, with effort, put on the most profoundly bored expression I can manage, and say — coarsely, unhurriedly: "Is that… everything you've got, kid?"
And after the victory — I won't kill him. No. Killing is too merciful. I will teach him the hardest lesson of his life. I doubt he'll be ready to learn it.
Of course, on the way to the Jade Palace I had sworn to myself not to repeat what I had done to the Wolverine — but for a heretic who raises a hand against family, an exception can be made. In the end, he has violated Dominic Toretto's most fundamental law. Family is sacred.
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