“We shape our children inexplicably in our own image, planting seeds from young to prevent them from becoming what we have become, protecting them from the disappointments we have faced.”
.
All is one, but one is nothing. Shifu, who had seen battles bloody and vicious, more than anyone could imagine, knew this axiom by heart.
He pulled closer to the small snow leopard sleeping in front of the punching bag, the dummy’s sad eyes and silly expression menacing in the dark, standing over the sleeping cub like a monolithic guardian. “So,” he whispered softly, smoothening over loose strands of Tai Lung’s fur with his mobile, slender fingers. “We are two,” Shifu said, and then he lay down next to the leopard to sleep, with the stars and the training dummy watching over their dreams.
.
The peach tree was in full bloom, but it wasn’t expected to bear fruit for at lest twenty-five more years. Oogway was sitting underneath it as per his daily routine, catching falling petals and leaves as the wind blew them off the tree. This time, Shifu was with him, talking animatedly about his student’s latest achievements.
“Tai Lung’s managed to master both the Mantis and Tiger style, and it only took him three months!” The pride in his voice was palpable. “At this rate, he could very well be on track to become the Dragon Warrior, don’t you think?”
Oogway remained silent; he had managed to catch an entire flower, its petals still intact. A drop of water fell onto one of its petals, producing a minuscule mirror on its convex, reflective surface. He blew gently at the flower, sending it flying on the breeze, spiralling off into the valley below.
“…and of course it wouldn’t take long for him to learn nerve-point attacks, especially with your guidance, Master. Why, even I…”
Shifu continued to extol his student with zeal, unaware of the fact that Oogway was crying.
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It was a night of grey clouds and lightning and the flash of leopard claws. The deed was as simple as he had thought it would be; the Valley of Peace was so fragile it was incredible that it had survived for so long without being pillaged. No one fought back, everyone ran from him – he laughed, maniacal and cold, overturning fruit stalls and kicking rabbits to the floor, forgetting that he was supposed to be the one fighting off anyone who dared to attack the Valley.
He bounded up the stairs to the Jade Palace a dozen steps at a time with blood on his paws and vengeance hot on his breath. With a solid punch, he burst through the thick wooden doors and lunged forward to where he knew the Dragon Scroll was kept.
The two masters stood in front of the pool, Oogway grim-faced, Shifu wearing an expression of fury. The red panda lunged forward, a blur of red and white, prompting Tai Lung to counterattack. As their blows drew closer to connecting, Shifu faltered, his expression melting from anger to helplessness. Blind to everything but the promise of power, Tai Lung swept him aside, never looking back at his master. All the while, Shifu couldn’t stop looking at Tai Lung – not when he lashed out with a paw and sent him flying across the room, not when Oogway leapt up to intercept him with his staff, not when his defeated student fell to the floor with rage in his eyes and unspoken accusations trembling on his lips.
.
The village was in shambles. There were houses set ablaze, destroyed vendor stands, nameless silhouettes shrouded by bloodstained sheets as the living moved about slowly to pick up whatever was left of their homes. The light of the grieving moon was obscured by a cloud, hiding part of the village. It was better that way. At the top of it all, Shifu fell to his knees as he looked over the carnage, far more willing to accept this reality than the one crumpled on the floor behind him.
(“I did this to you,” he wept. “I’m sorry,” he said, but then he realised that he was addressing no one in particular.)
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Years after the attack, Shifu finally gathers enough fortitude to enter Tai Lung’s old quarters in the Jade Palace. He places a hand on the door and slides it open noiselessly, stirring dust as he walks into the room. His former student had kept the place tidier than he thought; the bed was still made, the blanket folded into a perfect square and rested on the thin pillow. “This is where I raised a killer,” he thinks, before he can stop himself.
There is very little of Tai Lung’s that he needs to throw out; the snow leopard never acquired many possessions during his life in the Palace. The bandages and knee guards go first, bearing with it his identity imprinted in sweat. An unopened fan letter from a local girl, whose parents were killed by him, on top of the wilting bonsai tree he had nurtured, shaped into something gnarled and hideous. Then Shifu finds it; an old portrait of the cub squirming in his arms, yowling as Shifu attempted to pacify him for a good picture.
This is how he wants to remember Tai Lung, not the monster he turned him into.
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Everyone knew about Shifu and Tai Lung; Shifu would tell anyone who would listen about his son, his star pupil, whenever he came down to the village. The waste of it all - all the pride and hopes turned to grief and shame in a single day and night.
Time passed slowly, allowing him to count every single waking minute. It would take time to forgive and forget, both of which were processes of equal difficulty. It was two weeks and four days before villagers would acknowledge his presence. Three months and two weeks before they stopped pointing and murmuring behind his back. It took nearly half a year before they addressed him by his name, instead of simply the honorific “Master”.
Twenty-five years, two months and three weeks later to present date, he had still not forgiven himself, because in order to do so he would have to forget how much he had loved Tai Lung.
.
(And so he decided that it was and would always be for the remainder of his days; he was but one again, for all is one, one is nothing and he knew that he was nothing.)
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A Kung Fu Panda fanfic, because the holidays just started and I found a movie that I really, really like.