delighted. By all evidence, he had fallen on a secret school. After all these months, he had never thought that a restaurant employee could practice kung fu. It was a big art, he had to admit. He had been mystified and they had kept the secret absolutely the whole time, he who had practiced kung-fu for several years.
“I know that you practiced martial arts for years, but don’t deceive yourself: this school isn’t neither traditional nor orthodox. I teach Pak Mei, also called the Boxing of the White Eyebrow. Our style is secret… like our school. You are in a school of the shadows of a sort, the dark side of Chinese martial arts! It’s not a philosophy for everyone and our style is complex. Only some people have the capacity to master this art. Our style has a bad reputation, I could say. It had long since been forbidden and banned in China. Today it’s passed down in secret by adepts like us. It has a reputation for being an efficient and ruthless art. For that which has the possibility of learning this system and mastering it, no doubt that his person will be the most dreadful. “Who is that?” Danny asked, pointing to the photo on the wall.
“The monk Pak Mei himself. They say he was traitor to the Shaolin temple for having killed several other monks in perfecting his style. Maybe it’s the reason for the bad reputation…”
“In what is your style unique?” he asked, a little perplexed.
“The answer is simple: it attacks the vital organs. First you must learn to hit with the Phoenix fist.”
Sammy demonstrated. He closed his fist, letting the principal joint of his index finger jut out.
“Interesting,” said Danny.
“You hit with the joint. The impact of your hit must be contained in the bulk of the joint. This will have a piercing effect on your enemy and of causing him internal damage, in short, at the level of his organs and vital points. The attacks could scratch like a tiger, with a normal fist or the Panther fist. The attacks could also be ferocious and violent like that of a tiger. The movements, as agile and supple as those of a leopard.
Sammy showed him the sacks of rice installed for hitting.
“We train ourselves to have iron palms. Hitting the sack with your joints, your fingers and palms, the hands become as hard as steel after a time. The impact of a sole hit on your enemies will devastate them. We salute with the left closed, the right palm over the fist. The greatest secret of our style is that which we call the ging , the scared force. It defines itself as an explosive force generated by rapid contraction of the muscles the same type of contraction as when a person is suddenly frightened. And it’s with that same jolt that your enemy is hit. See for yourself!”
The practitioners began their exercises again. Danny watched them and realized the ferocity and power of the style. The movements were rapid, powerful, aggressive. The practitioners moved together and he felt the walls and the floor vibrate. He couldn’t do anything but agree with Sammy. The experience that he had in martial arts was so that from the naked eye, he had deflected the force of the blows given by those in front of him. A single hit was sufficient to cause death.
“ How can I put it, it’s something like… magic,” said Danny.
Sammy winked at him, followed by a salute in exhaling with force as a means of welcoming Danny. It was then that he began his training in the obscure, secret and mystical world of Pak Mei.
* * *
The jet of hot water of the shower was like a massage to Danny. He stayed under the jet with Chandra enlaced with him. He breathed deeply the humid, hot air that pressed into him in the shower. He felt Chandra’s hot body, her breasts pushing against him. He would stay like that eternally if he could. She looked at him with her brown eyes and said with a smile:
“I forgot to bring towels.”
He kissed her slowly while the water continued to pour over them in
“I know that you practiced martial arts for years, but don’t deceive yourself: this school isn’t neither traditional nor orthodox. I teach Pak Mei, also called the Boxing of the White Eyebrow. Our style is secret… like our school. You are in a school of the shadows of a sort, the dark side of Chinese martial arts! It’s not a philosophy for everyone and our style is complex. Only some people have the capacity to master this art. Our style has a bad reputation, I could say. It had long since been forbidden and banned in China. Today it’s passed down in secret by adepts like us. It has a reputation for being an efficient and ruthless art. For that which has the possibility of learning this system and mastering it, no doubt that his person will be the most dreadful. “Who is that?” Danny asked, pointing to the photo on the wall.
“The monk Pak Mei himself. They say he was traitor to the Shaolin temple for having killed several other monks in perfecting his style. Maybe it’s the reason for the bad reputation…”
“In what is your style unique?” he asked, a little perplexed.
“The answer is simple: it attacks the vital organs. First you must learn to hit with the Phoenix fist.”
Sammy demonstrated. He closed his fist, letting the principal joint of his index finger jut out.
“Interesting,” said Danny.
“You hit with the joint. The impact of your hit must be contained in the bulk of the joint. This will have a piercing effect on your enemy and of causing him internal damage, in short, at the level of his organs and vital points. The attacks could scratch like a tiger, with a normal fist or the Panther fist. The attacks could also be ferocious and violent like that of a tiger. The movements, as agile and supple as those of a leopard.
Sammy showed him the sacks of rice installed for hitting.
“We train ourselves to have iron palms. Hitting the sack with your joints, your fingers and palms, the hands become as hard as steel after a time. The impact of a sole hit on your enemies will devastate them. We salute with the left closed, the right palm over the fist. The greatest secret of our style is that which we call the ging , the scared force. It defines itself as an explosive force generated by rapid contraction of the muscles the same type of contraction as when a person is suddenly frightened. And it’s with that same jolt that your enemy is hit. See for yourself!”
The practitioners began their exercises again. Danny watched them and realized the ferocity and power of the style. The movements were rapid, powerful, aggressive. The practitioners moved together and he felt the walls and the floor vibrate. He couldn’t do anything but agree with Sammy. The experience that he had in martial arts was so that from the naked eye, he had deflected the force of the blows given by those in front of him. A single hit was sufficient to cause death.
“ How can I put it, it’s something like… magic,” said Danny.
Sammy winked at him, followed by a salute in exhaling with force as a means of welcoming Danny. It was then that he began his training in the obscure, secret and mystical world of Pak Mei.
* * *
The jet of hot water of the shower was like a massage to Danny. He stayed under the jet with Chandra enlaced with him. He breathed deeply the humid, hot air that pressed into him in the shower. He felt Chandra’s hot body, her breasts pushing against him. He would stay like that eternally if he could. She looked at him with her brown eyes and said with a smile:
“I forgot to bring towels.”
He kissed her slowly while the water continued to pour over them in
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