"What do you call an event that happens unexpectedly without any obvious plan or purpose? Fate, of course, because as we all know, there are no accidents."
.
He teaches the first lesson early one day when they are taking a stroll around the grounds of the Jade Palace.
"Master! Master Oogway!" Shifu calls, running towards him with something nestled in his hands. The little red panda nearly trips over a tree root in his haste and he makes sure that whatever he is holding is safe before continuing.
"Why, Shifu. Whatever is the matter, little one?" Oogway extends his neck to peer into Shifu's cupped hands.
"It's a bird…I think it's hurt." He holds it up to let Oogway take a closer look. The sparrow's eyes are closed and the bird is not breathing; Oogway listens for a few seconds until he is sure that he can't hear a heartbeat.
"You can help it, can't you?" Shifu looks at him, eyes bright and innocent. Oogway smiles kindly, reassuringly, and covers Shifu's hands with his own.
"I cannot, little one. It is already dead."
"Dead? Not…hurt?" Shifu looks slightly confused, still unable to comprehend. Hopefulness returns to his face in an optimistic smile. "But I thought that Master is wise and knows lots of things. Surely you can-"
"Shifu," Oogway intones. "Everything that lives has its time here on Earth. When that time comes, we stop living and return to the earth from which we came." He uncovers his hands and takes the bird gently from him. "This creature's time has come, and I cannot give its life back to it."
Shifu's face falls. "I don't understand…why?"
"We cannot bring him back to life, but we can honour his memory. I can make a grave if you want, and you can help."
Shifu, crying by now, nods.
The grave they construct is simple – a shallow burial in the garden with a few rocks arranged neatly on top of the mound. Oogway picks some peach blossoms and lays them in front of the carved tombstone. Shifu kneels, fingers spread in the dirt, Oogway's hand against his back. The slumber of death, here with them in its fullest. He shouldn't have to learn this, Oogway thinks. Not now, at least. Not at his age.
"Master?" Shifu asks quietly.
"Yes, little one?"
"Will the time, your time, come someday?"
A simple, earnest question, yet well beyond his years. Oogway takes Shifu's hands in his, dusts the earth off his palms and embraces the young red panda. "Listen, Shifu. No matter what happens, just remember that I will always be with you. Always."
"Always?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
.
It is night, and the cicadas calling from the grass quieten.
The wind starts blowing, peach blossoms curling all around him. It's how he has always wanted to go – he knew that this was how he would go – but he wishes that Shifu didn't have to watch. He calls Oogway's name, almost begging him to stay.
For now, this is how it must be – his senescent face life's last, and death's first parable. Shifu remains, and in Oogway's place measureless silence graces the stars.
.
After the Five and Po have left the Jade Palace to evacuate the Valley, Shifu is able to place him to rest.
He stands on the edge of the Moon Pool, willing himself not to look over his shoulder at his departing students. With laconic goodbyes exchanged, the coldness of it would be his final lesson to them: staring determinedly ahead while aware of their despaired eyes burning into his shoulders, the shuffling of reluctant feet behind him on the cool marble floor, which eventually fades and then there is nothing but the quietude.
The handcrafted wooden staff is placed on the podium, right in front of Oogway's portrait. He lights the candles beneath it one at a time, deliberately holding on to the little time he has left. It is beautiful – just like a shrine but not quite, just like a memorial but not exactly. Just like a funeral, but without a body. Standing before what he has created, Shifu thinks that something should be said; he wants to offer a tribute of words for his old friend. He tries to compose a eulogy but can't seem to conjure it; what is he supposed to say to someone who always seemed to know exactly what Shifu meant?
"Mater Oogway," he tries, testing the sepulchral air that has settled over the hall. His voice reverberates sonorously around the room, coming back to remind him once again that he is, indeed, alone. Oogway's voice will never ring in the palace again, not after the peach blossoms scattered in the wind like ashes in the sea. The hall is too large, and there are far too many empty corners that remain far too silent for him. He bows as low as he can before the portrait.
"I'm sorry; so very, very sorry that I have let you down. I was unable to train the Dragon Warrior, even after I gave you my word." Shifu pauses, a small part of him expecting a clawed hand to pat him on his shoulder consolingly. When it doesn't come, he looks up and continues, gulping air. "I have failed you."
A sudden thought – the Dragon Scroll, tabula rasa; Po's panicked voice clear in his head ("So like, Oogway was just a crazy old turtle after all?"). He cannot prevent the thought from manifesting, the unsaid words hanging like a woven tapestry in the silence around him. You failed us. You failed me.
Shifu reels back, unable to continue standing, horrified for even thinking it, but it's too late to hold back the feelings that burst through what remains of his withered heart. Frenzied anger, ugly and accusing, takes hold of him. He shuts his eyes tightly, fighting back tears. He betrayed your trust; he left you in this alone; he didn't care what would become of you-
Then he hears a voice resonating through the hall, calm and reassuring. Shifu. Believe.
His eyes flying open, Shifu whips around, certain to see Oogway's form plodding around the nearest pillar, draped in his sash. Nothing is there. No one is there; he is still alone. All is quiet now. Quiet and empty.
The tears fall soon after: on the first one the weighted guilt of years past, on the rest of them a silent thank-you breathed upon the small candle flames framing the portrait with light.
If one listens closely, one hears the lost souls of the Tenshu Army whispering melodiously; it sounds almost like a requiem.
.
"I think," Po says slowly, chewing on dumplings beneath the peach tree, "I'm starting to understand what Master Oogway meant; that when something happens there's always a reason, and we just need to look hard enough to find it. Like meeting new people and finding new places. Do you think so too?"
Shifu doesn't respond and places a whole dumpling in his mouth with chopsticks arrowed to precision. Po shrugs and tries to copy Shifu's technique. He fiddles with his chopsticks and drops a dumpling; Shifu catches it adroitly between his fingertips and tips it back into Po's porcelain bowl. The wind calms and all is still around them. Leaves sprout from the branches of the peach tree, a promise to be fulfilled. They have the whole afternoon, and their entire lives ahead of them. Impossible not to smile.
.
("I do now," Shifu thinks; doesn't let Po hear. "You taught me that.")