Chapter 442

They stationed the kid at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Yao Jing, warned not to hit the big man at pain of getting hit back, and then led Arthur and the highly amused Jan up. She kept glancing at the pair who had rushed down, taking in the simple white shirts and black pants they were for exercise with an amused smile, even as the pair peppered Arthur with so many questions he had no time to answer them. 

Eventually, they made it upstairs to the second floor of the building. Some things hadn't changed, the freight elevator on the right of the staircase and the main doors to the training hall wide open to showcase the school. It wasn't much to look at, of course, the front area of the school a set of chairs, cubbyholes and hooks for bags and coats and umbrellas with the majority of the space the actual training hall. Sprung, wooden flooring and then additional crash mats on the ground made up the majority of the space, with clear areas further in for melee weapon fights.

Across the top of the last half of the high-ceilinged warehouse space was a second floor, a mezzanine that contained their sifu’s office and also, the accommodations for the students who sought to stay and train. Technically, of course, not legal but no one cared. The floors were covered with Japanese tatami mats that could be refolded after each evening, little futons used to provide extra padding and comfort. With the air conditioning running and mosquito coils left at the bottom of the warehouse floor during nights that were cool enough to prop open the few windows along the top of the ceiling, it was comfortable enough.

No elaborate kitchen of course, but there were enough food stalls around that finding food was never an issue – and there was a small, portable stove top that could make ramen and a fridge filled with eggs, beansprouts and green onions for a midnight snack.

Memories of such events rushed through Arthur, recollection of better times as he stepped into the school. The clack-clack-clack of staves striking one another in a drill echoed down from the furthest end of the floor, while the buzz of conversation and muted cheers and exclamations of watchers as a nearby sparring match was fought washed over him from nearby.

The smell was, probably, the most common. Not too bad, since showers were strictly enforced and thankfully, the majority of those who trained here lacked the necessary olfactory genes to create the stink so prevalent amongst the less fortunate. The constant whine of air conditioning and extractor fans, along with washable filters and the continued use of disinfectant – a vinegary, citrusy concoction bought by the barrel loads – mixed with old sweat, metal and old wood.

There were fewer students than before, maybe a full score or so. Not that the school itself was ever packed during the day, but having thirty to forty students during the day was not uncommon, with the early mornings and evenings easily doubling or tripling the number. Sometimes, it could get very packed, with senior students taking beginner classes through the basics.

Most of the new students, the evening and morning class takers were never going to be anything more than casuals, though they were the bread and butter of the school itself. Their presence meant that the lights stayed on, and the classes – both for kids and adults – kept individuals trained, healthy and offered a small peace of mind that if they ever ran into a bad situation, they might be able to do something.

In truth, Arthur figured his tsifu would have preferred to keep to such students alone – casual students who wanted to use their skills in the real world. People who studied for self-defense and martial arts, or the quieter and more serious ‘practical’ classes for law enforcement, bouncers and bodyguards that were run on the weekends and late evenings.

Still, he was a practical man and he understood why so many people were coming to him, even if their hopes at running the Tower might be dashed later. Which was why the sheer volume of practice weapons – and a even sharps, carefully locked away – were present.

“Tsifu! Look who’s here!” Luke cried out, waving to the shorter old Chinese man who was in the midst of watching over a fight. The old man waited until the pair had finished their exchange, a matter of a few seconds before he turned.

The first thing that struck Arthur was how old his tsifu looked. Whether he had always been that old or had aged in the year or so since he had left, he could not tell. But the man had less hair on his head, the shock of grey hair had grown even whiter what little there was of it and the lines had grown deeper. He might even be a bit smaller, in his frame.

On the other hand, he still moved with that unconscious grace of a master martial artist, even if there was a slight hitch in his footsteps from a knee that had never fully healed properly. He might be old and hurting, but it rarely showed in his movements; and even if it did, his tsifu had always been able to make up for it with his skill.

“Kao Tsifu!” Arthur bowed again – once at the door, and now, for his Master – as he approached.

“Arthur.” Master Kao replied, returning the bow. “You’re looking good. Hungry?”

“I-” his stomach rumbled and he made a face as his tsifu laughed.

The old man turned and made a few quick orders, sending the silent Quinn off with a handful of Ringgit. Arthur muttered softly to Jan who laughed, following after the boy too, intent on paying. That would be a fight, he knew, later on who got to pay but that was a problem for later.

“So, you survived.” His master looked him up and down. “And also have a Clan?”

“Yeah, that was…” he sighed. “A long story.” Then, he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Why’s the door locked?”

“Long story – but some people are rather excited by you coming from us.” Kao Tsifu said.

“Shit. Sorry-”

“Don’t apologise for what’s not your fault. You didn’t choose to come here to get beaten.”

“You beat them?”

“What? You think I can’t?”

“I just…” Arthur recalled more than one conversation and lecture about dealing with others, gangsters and the like. Most of which involved not getting violent with them, what with it being an escalation. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“Come then.” A gesture down to the couches, which were quickly vacated by resting students. Luke came along, trailing behind while the youngster was sent back onto the floor to train. Yao Jing hovered, uncertain of what to do, casting longing glances towards the floor and the weight rack not far away before he was shooed away by Arthur.

“Go on. I’m safe here, more than anywhere else.”

“Okay, boss.”

Arthur watched Yao Jing bounce off before he turned back to his tsifu, taking the 100 Plus can of soda from Luke without a word and sighed.

“So, who goes first?”