Ryoga ½
by George Masologites
http://www.serve.com/guilds/ranma/
guilds@mail.serve.com [Hunter Kid]
© 07/31/1997  All Rights Reserved
10
Tsingtao

    The port town of Tsingtao, located on the Shantung Peninsula in a
province of the same name, was a bustling seaport, and, more often than
not, the docks were a mess of ships arriving and leaving, with the chaos of
trying to sort out cargo and the like.
    Such an atmosphere, of course, coupled with the reek of offal and fish
of the harbor, didn't make for pleasant working conditions, and, such as it
was, the overcast, leaden grey sky was contributing to the gloomy mood.
And the dock workers had more to grumble about than anyone, having to do
physcial labor in the unpleasant conditions, and grumble they did.
    In fact, they grumbled so much about it that their superiors often got
angry at them for slacking in their duties, but it never stopped the
grumbling.  It just kept it down to a reasonable level.
    Luo Takuang had never been a good-natured man.  He didn't look like a
good-natured man, either, with his sharp, slitted grey-brown eyes and bulky
frame that rippled with muscles acquired over a lifetime of physical labor.
 His heavy-browed face looked frozen in an emotionless state; dockhands
weren't given much to smile about, so Luo never did.  He rarely spoke,
preferring to keep his thoughts to himself and his superiors' anger off his
back.  Angering his boss was one thing he would never be fool enough to do.
    The day for Luo was always the same, consisting mostly of helping to
unload cargo, as Tsingtao didn't have much modern equipment, and preferred
to use what they did have for more important things than unloading cargo
freighters.  
    It all suited Luo just fine, after all, this was his life.  How he made
enough money to get by, if not enough to move from the dock area and live
comfortably.  Still, he had always lived by the sea, and would probably
continue to do so his entire life.  For his own part, Luo didn't
particularly care; he was married to an attractive woman, who stayed at the
home and tended to it in his absence, had a young son with a cheerful smile
on his face whenever he saw his father, and had never known better in his
life, anyway.
    All in all, he was content.  Content in a disgruntled sort of way - the
disgruntledness of those who live in the dregs of society - but content,
nonetheless.  
    He set down a crate near the edge of the docks where he had been
instructed to put it, wiping his hand against his forehead as he mentally
swore a bit at the early summer heat, and walked back out onto the wooden
pier, walking up to a large ship that had just weighed anchor.  This one
was a 'miscellaneous' freighter, meaning that it carried a great variety of
things which would be a pain to sort out.  Three other dockhands joined him
and they went aboard the ship.
    The first thing Luo saw was a crowd of  perhaps twenty sailors, most of
them teenage boys from fifteen to maybe twenty years of age, some of them
walking about with an air of competence around them, others milled about
aimlessly, and a few lounged about idily, chatting with each other
nonchalantly.
    "Japanese ship," one of the other dockhands grunted sourly, and Luo
nodded towards him, looking about for a sign of the captain of the ship,
who rather quickly made his appearance in front of the four dockhands.
    The captain just nodded to the four of them and pointed towards the
cargo hold, giving them a signal to start unloading.  
    Luo sighed and started below, rolling his shoulders slightly as he
prepared for what he was sure would be a menial task that wasn't going to
be a lot of fun.

    Rei, Kaneda, and the rest of the 'poker crowd' that they had met up
with that first day had become close friends with Makoto and Hiro, as
Makoto vaguely referred to him, mainly because the depressed boy didn't
respond to 'Hiroyuki' like he should, and definitely not fast enough to
suit Makoto, and he didn't want to arouse suspicion by calling him his real
name, Hiroshi.
    So he had settled on an even medium, Hiro.  He responded to it, and it
was the first part of both his names.  Makoto allowed himself a bit of
self-congratulations on coming up with such an easy solution.  Small
victory, he knew, but for a man in his position, he took what he could and
ran.
    Much to Makoto's surprise, they played poker every night.  And the
captain had never caught them once.  He considered that maybe the captain
didn't care for some reason, or was just plain dim witted.  Either way,
they all enjoyed the poker games, and after the first few games the second
night, Makoto had realized that Rei and Kaneda only cheated occasionally;
generally when they were losing a round.  So he had done the same, just
with a bit more cheating.  He and Hiro would need the money once they
docked and made a run west, for clothing, supplies, and the like,
considering that all they had to their names this moment was a single large
backpack, each of them wore a pair of soft black trousers tied with a black
bandbelt at the waist, and soft black shoes.
    And that was it.
    It made Makoto a little uneasy; after all, even though he had never
been particularly rich, he had never been this poor before, either.  He
sighed as he thought back to his previous life in Japan, a life that seemed
to be hanging just out of his reach, taunting him.  He glanced over at
Hiro's bedraggled, despondent face, and knew that he felt the same way.  
    Dark-skinned Makoto grimaced slightly, remembering the pleasant,
cheerful young man Hiro had been before that stupid 'job' on the Kunou
mansion.  Even when Hiro had been making fun of him, or Daisuke, or any of
their other old friends...Makoto knew he would prefer that to the gloomy
persona that Hiro had donned, probably to mask a horrible sense of
self-guilt that would otherwise have plagued him.
    Upon closer inspection of his friend, Makoto suspected that it did,
anyway.
    Rei nudged him, and he looked up, clearing his thoughts from his mind
with a quick shake of his head.  "Hm?"  He asked, blinking slightly.
    Rei grinned.  "Just asking if you and your friend Hiro there have got
your money.  They probably got some nice stuff we can purchase in town
here, you know."
    Makoto grinned back and rattled some coins in his pocket.  "Yup, all in
yuan.  A lot of it's from you," he added, poking Rei playfully in the ribs,
smirking.
    "I'll get it back on the return trip," Rei vowed, returning the smirk.
"So you two ready to go?"  He looked closer at Makoto.  "You -do- speak
Chinese, don't you, Makoto?"
    The dark skinned boy nodded absently.  "Of course," he responded,
thinking back to the various Chinese lessons he had taken after he had
developed an interest in China's western provinces, or, more specifically,
Tibet.  "Not too fluently, but I can get by, I think."  He allowed his gaze
to wander over to Hiro, and he hoped that he could also speak a little
Chinese.
    Makoto glanced over at Kaneda, who was speaking to the captain.  "We're
ready to go to port for a few hours, Captain," the bulky Kaneda was saying.  
    The captain of the ship nodded absently, mumbled his permission, and
stalked off in another direction, yelling orders to a dockhand that was
struggling under the weight of a particularly large box of cargo.
    "He's got permission," Rei said, rubbing his hands together in
anticipation.  "Let's go to town, guys."

    The shop was certainly an interesting one.  
    Makoto looked around with interest, and saw all sorts of miscellaneous
items lying around the store; ranging from bo staffs to headbands.  It
seemed to specialize in clothing and accessories, though there were a fair
amount of weapons about the shop, too, such as the staffs.  There was even
several kung fu outfits hanging on the wall behind the counter, two of them
long-sleeved, and a couple short sleeved ones.
    He had managed to get away from Rei and the others with the pretense of
wanting to check out this particular shop, saying he had a thing for
martial arts and the like.  After a second of irritated glaring, Hiro had
gotten the picture and followed him into the shop, and they both watched
inconspicously as Rei and the rest of the group disappeared from sight down
another street, talking loudly amongst themselves and cracking jokes.
    "This is a good a place as any," he mumbled, sighing as he looked about
for suitable traveling gear.  He wanted something that would let him blend
in with the rest of the folks until they left the city and fled west, but
he needed clothing warm enough to survive the mountains of western China,
as he planned to go there and probably stay there for a long time.  "Pick
out something suitable for traveling, Hiro," he told his friend, who nodded
dully and began to walk about the store, looking at the numerous sets of
clothing disinterestedly.
    The store owner walked out of the back room and smiled warmly at them.
"How can I help you today?"  He asked, speaking Mandarin.  He was a
slightly pudgy man of perhaps forty with a ruffled goatee that hung down to
his chest, and he spoke with a pleasant baritone.
    Makoto grimaced slightly, trying to bring the language into his mind.
"We...buy clothes," he managed, speaking broken Chinese.
    The shop owner nodded with a slight smile.  "Sure thing.  Tell me when
you're ready to make a purchase."  He glanced amusedly at the two young
men's bare chests.  "You two definitely need some clothing."
    Makoto looked embarassed.  "Yeah," he managed, grinning a little.
"Lose clothing...boat," he attempted to explain, wishing he had gotten a
better score in his Chinese class, and he turned away to hide the flush on
his face as he looked about at the clothing and hurriedly picked out an
inconspicous-looking outfit.
    It consisted of a simple long-sleeved reddish-brown wool tunic that
opened down the front, loose-fitting trousers of the same soft, warm wool
of a midnight black color, and soft black fur-lined shoes not unlike the
ones that Makoto was currently wearing, save they looked sturdier and were
lined with warm-looking fur.  He took a pair of fur-lined gloves from the
wall and experientally put his hands in them.  A perfect fit.  He nodded
and pulled out some yuan coins to pay the owner, looking around for Hiro.
    Hiro had picked out a similar outfit, except it was all a somber black.
 Fits his mood, Makoto thought irritatedly.  Hiro took out several coins
and placed them on the counter, and the shop owner nodded and took the
money, pocketing it with a grin.  
    "Would you two young men like to change your clothes?"  The owner
inquired, pointing to two small rooms off to the side.  
    "Y-yes, thank you," Makoto replied in his broken way of speaking the
language, slapping together the words and making sure they sounded right
together, and more often than not, they didn't.
    The owner smiled.  "The least I can do."
    
    "We need to land, Kira."
    Kira slapped him upside the head.  "Speak Chinese, dolt!"  He stated in
Mandarin, glaring slightly.  "And my name is Li, not Kira."
    Kenji nodded, not really trusting himself to speak.  He wanted to kick
Kira for hitting him, but that probably wasn't a good idea while he was
flying the plane.  He sighed to himself, and folded his arms across his
chest in irritation, but didn't say anything.
    "And yes," Kira said testily, "I know we need to land.  I'm just
looking for a good spot."
    The plane had been able to go much farther than they thought it would
be able to, thanks to Kenji's discovery of several large backup tanks of
jet fuel in the back of the plane, in a large compartment of sorts.  Rather
than landing on the edge of the Shantung Peninsula, as they had originally
planned, they had been able to fly much farther west, and were now flying
near what Kira had called the Sanmen Gorge, on the Huang He, about sixty or
seventy miles from the capital of the Shensi province, Sian.
    Kenji looked up, startled, as the plane came to a landing with a soft
bump.  "Land...good," he mumbled, trying to speak Chinese without a whole
lot of success.  
    "Don't mention it," Kira responded in flawless Mandarin, smirking
slightly as he shut off the engine of the plane and hopped easily out of
the plane, landing with a soft thump on the grassy earth below.
    Kenji wondered what Kira was planning to do next, then shrugged and
climbed out of his side of the plane, walking over to where his friend
stood.  "What we do now?"  He asked in his broken Chinese.  "With plane,"
he amended.
    "Don't you remember what I told you when while we were flying over
Japan?"  Kira asked, pulling a small pack of matches from his pockets and
grinning.  "We blow it up.  That way if anyone investigates, they think we
died in the crash.  Good plan, you think?"
    Kenji nodded.  "Yeah, guess so," he grunted, rolling his shoulders to
get rid of the stiffness from the long cramped plane ride.  The two of them
were both still dressed in their ninja robbery outfits, minus the masks and
hoods, which they had put in their packs, strapped to their backs.
    Kira grinned again and lit the match, tossing it nonchalantly into the
plane, where it landed on the seat and the flame began to grow in size.
    Kira glanced at his friend.  "How're your legs feeling?"  He asked, his
unreadable gaze going back to the now fiery seat of the plane.
    "Legs is fine," Kenji managed, stumbling through the words.
    "Good."  Kira nodded, still looking at the plane, then grabbed Kenji's
arm.  "Because we need to make tracks!"  He bolted towards a grove of trees
in the distance, and, after a moments hesitation, Kenji followed.
    Kenji could hear the plane burning behind, and tried to run even
faster, when suddenly a wave of heat washed over him and a brilliant
explosion rocked the landscape.  Shielding his face from the blast, he
looked up and saw the plane was gone, exploded into pieces.
    Kira grinned.  "The gas tank," he stated, by way of explanation.

    It fit perfectly.  
    Makoto glanced down at himself dressed in his new brown tunic and black
trousers, and nodded affirmatively, then walked out of the door back into
the main shop, looking around for Hiro, wondering if he was done yet.
    "Here, Makoto," a voice came out from the shadows, speaking Japanese.
Makoto looked carefully, and saw that Hiro was leaning against the wall in
the back, his black clothing blending him into the background.  Kind of
spooky, Makoto thought with a slight shudder.
    "Anything else you two need?"  The shop owner asked politely, sitting
in a small chair behind the counter, sucking on a near-empty pipe.
    Hiro started to say no, but Makoto interrupted.  "Yes.  Those weapons
-" he pointed to a weapon rack behind the counter, which held all sorts of
weaponry, from katanas to quarterstaffs to knives, "-they...sell to us?"  
    The shopkeeper shook his head.  "If you want to buy the weapons, you're
out of luck, I'm afraid.  I'm not allowed to sell people weapons without a
permit, and I'm definitely not allowed to sell any weapons to foreigners."
He looked apologetic.
    Makoto racked his mind for something to say.  "We
don't...use...weapons," he stated, "Need staff.  Travel."  He made a few
gestures with his hands, hoping the owner would catch on.
    The shopkeeper nodded.  "I see," he said, stretching slightly.  "Well,
I suppose it's okay if you're just looking for a walking stick.  They're
made of good wood, you know.  You say you two are going traveling?"
    Makoto grimaced inwardly.  He didn't want to explain anything to this
guy, but they needed weapons of some sort to defend themselves.  He glanced
at the pack that Hiro was wearing and remembered the hunting daggers in it
that had been 'neccessary,' Kira had said, for their ninja disguises.  He
clenched his fist when he thought of Kira - this had all been his idea.  If
not for him, I'd still be back home, he thought angrily, probably getting...
    His stomach growled.
    ...something to eat, he finished off his silent sentence.  Dammit, he
was hungry.  Damn Kira and his idiot ideas.  Damn Hiro for taking him to
that damn apartment.  Damn himself for agreeing to go along.  Damn
everything that had to do with that stupid, idiotic robbery in the first
place.  And damn Hiro for murdering that policemen and setting them on the
run.
    He sighed slightly and looked at the despondent Hiro, so different than
the cheerful, outgoing person he had been only a few days previous, and
couldn't bring himself to be angry at him.  Especially since the murder had
been done, in part, to save him from many years in prison.  That thought
didn't fill him with good humor, being partially responsible for something
like that, but it was nice to know that he had a friend that would kill for
him.
    Or had Hiro simply been helping himself, and Makoto getting a chance to
get out of there had just happened to be a fortunate side effect?  He
doubted it.  He looked at Hiro again, and remembered his bitter, anguished
words during their panicked flight to Yokohama...
    "...the knife was just -there-, man.  I had to do it..."
    Makoto let out an inward sigh.  Hiro's actions probably weren't even
conscious thought.  Facing a prison sentence and seeing one of your friends
with a gun to his head probably would have provoked me, too, he noted,
somewhat ruefully.  Rash actions have consequences, but they were getting
so close to the clear.  So damned close.  Now all they needed was to get
out of this stupid town and flee west.
    Don't worry, man, he vowed silently.  We're getting close to safety.
If we can just get out of this bloody town without being seen by the people
from the ship, we're clear.  
    Daggers wouldn't be adequate, though, and he doubted a wooden staff
would be better.  What he really wanted was one of the swords from behind
the desk, or, better yet, a gun.  He knew he wasn't going to find the
latter, though, however much he might wish it.  
    Staffs weren't going to protect them from bandits, but they were better
than nothing, he supposed, looking at the sturdy seven-foot oaken staffs on
the wall.  Better than daggers, at any rate.
    "Travel west," he attempted to explain, making some vague-looking
gestures with his right hand.  "Visit old friend."  The words rang false in
his own ears, and he hoped that his pathetic command of the Chinese
language didn't let the shopkeeper know he was lying.
    The owner nodded with a satisfied look on his face, and Makoto grinned
to himself, though he kept his face impassive.  Makoto had always been
something of a good liar.  "Sorry," he said apologetically, making Makoto
wonder whether his lie had been convincing or not.  "I won't pry into your
affairs any more."  He picked out two of the longer staffs and threw one to
each of them.  "Since you've paid quite a bit for the clothing, I'll throw
in the sticks free.  Good day to you both."  Makoto ran a hand over the
long fighting staff experimentally, and nodded inwardly.  It was solid, at
least, but he couldn't help looking at the katanas on the wall with a bit
of longing. 
    Makoto said a quick word of thanks, then hurriedly exited the shop,
Hiro following him quietly.  He let out a long breath of relief on not
seeing Rei or anyone else from the ship.  If any of the others had been
there, it would have gotten complicated - more complicated than Makoto
wanted to deal with.  
    You've already fled your home country, his mind told him, and he could
only nod inwardly in agreement.  Yes, it was already too complicated.  But
there was a way out, now, and he was going to take it.  I'm not going to
blow this one, he promised himself.  Not when it's this important.
    "Let's get out of here," Hiro hissed urgently to him, and Makoto
nodded.  "I got this while you were changing," he stated, tapping a
plain-looking compass he was holding in his left hand.  "Wasn't too
expensive."  Makoto cocked an eyebrow slightly at this, but Hiro paid him
no attention.  "We go west, right?"
    Makoto sighed.  "We go west, and we stay there," he grunted,
emphasizing the last part noticibly, and a bit bitterly.  "Now c'mon," he
said in a low, fierce tone, stirring up some energy inside himself, and, he
hoped, in Hiro, too, "let's hurry!"
    They took a quick look at Hiro's compass.  Makoto's face turned into a
mask of determination as they took off running in a westward direction,
fixed in their minds never to stop running until they had fled the seaport
of Tsingtao and well on their way into western China.

    Khu Lon sat against the back wall of her shop, lost in thought.  It was
mid-afternoon, and there wasn't many customers in the Nekohanten
resturaunt; not so many that her great-granddaughter Xian Pu couldn't
handle, anyway.  And Mu Tsu.  She glanced over at the bespectacled young
man and shook her head sadly.  Such a fool.  Why couldn't he just accept
that Xian Pu would not ever be his?
    Cologne.  That's what some folk called her around here, such as
Happousai.  It was a rather rough sounding translation, but she didn't
really mind.  Other names she had been called in these parts were not so
pleasant, such as 'old ghoul,' Ranma's title for her.
    Not that she really blamed him, of course.  She knew what she looked
like - a dried up old husk, and was no afraid to admit it to herself.  She
had gotten to the point that it didn't really matter to her anymore,
actually - with age comes power, and she had both.  
    Khu Lon had been alive for over three centuries, and only the powerful
force of her will kept her withered shell of a body together when nature
was insisting that it should have turned to dust hundreds of years
previous.  It gave her a brilliant sense of pride to be able to hold
herself together and in good health for this long, and with that pride came
a feeling of indifference towards her physical appearance.  
    That was how it had been for about one hundred and seventy years, and
she was content to let it stay as such.
    And then Happousai arrived one day with her long lost Nanban Mirror.
She sighed in rememberance, shaking her head sadly.  The fool old man had
accidentally worked it's magic - if a teardrop was to fall upon the magical
mirror, everyone within a small circular radius was transported to whatever
time and place was in the person's mind who had cried the tear.
    Happousai had been thinking of the days of his youth, which were also
the days of Khu Lon's youth.
    Eighteen years old.  She could only sigh remorsefully with the
recollections of the day that she and the others had returned to the years
of her youth.  She remembered walking amongst the streets of her younger
days again, and at length, she had met with her younger self.  
    Eighteen years old.
    She had been a beautiful young girl, as she had seen that day.  She had
looked much like her great granddaughter, Xian Pu, if not quite
so...exotic, perhaps?  She had never had the bursting energy of Xian Pu,
and for that she was grateful.  Such energy led to ill concentration, and
ill concentration wouldn't let a person become truly focused and powerful.
    And now, she -was- truly focused and powerful.  Over three hundred
years of age, and she had attained an unbelievable level of mastery of
martial arts and a variety of special techniques, some of which she had
managed to pass on the various students of the art that resided in the
Nerima district.  
    Khu Lon had always been surprised at how many aspiring martial artists
lived in the local area.  She was also surprised at how unskilled some of
them were, and how clumsy.  There was a nearby school - Furinkan High, she
believed it was called - that she visited on occasion, just out of
curiousity, and had discovered a young man standing outside the school
gates in an armorless kendo outfit carrying a bouken, which he wielded with
a great deal of pomp.
    Yes, a great deal of pomp, but not much skill.
    She remembered the first day she had visited, using a specialized
invisibility technique to remain unseen, and had watched her son-in-law,
Ranma, walk up to the pompous young man and knock him out within a
timeframe of three seconds.  Of course, Ranma was an excellent fighter, but
considering that the other young man was armed with a sword, albeit a
wooden one, he should have been able to put up more of a right.
    Ranma.
    She sighed, a thoughtful expression on her face.  Ranma was a very odd
young man, besides the fact that half the time, he was a young woman.  He
was skilled in martial arts far beyond his years; not up to her level, but
immensely skilled nonetheless.  He was one of a very select number that it
was possible to learn the hiryuu shouten ha technique at such a young age.
She had done it at close to his age, herself.  
    What was I?  She asked herself, her brow furrowing in thought.
Seventeen or eighteen?
    Nerima had several other skilled fighters, though none of them were as
good as Ranma.  After close observation on her part, she decided that the
only other person in the district that could give Ranma a good fight was
another young man named Ryoga.
    Ryoga Hibiki wasn't overly skilled, and Khu Lon knew it.  Yet, she had
sided with him that one time in the belief that he could defeat Ranma.  It
had been a gamble, though, and one that she had lost.  Ryoga's savage
strength and unbelievable endurance were defeated in the end by Ranma's
persistent attacks, using the chestnut fist technique to batter down
Ryoga's defense.
    She beamed inwardly at this.  After all, she -had- been the one to
teach him the kachuu tenshin amaguriken, or the 'chestnuts roasting on an
open fire' technique, and he had learned it with surprising ease.  It had
only taken him little over a week to master it, and that made her proud.
True enough, the training was...rigorous, to say the least, but it had worked.
    Ranma's father...what was his name?  Genma.  She settled on it with a
nod.  He was skilled, too - he had to be.  He had taught Ranma most of what
he knew, with the exception of the specialized techniques that she herself
had shown the boy.  She wasn't particularly fond of Genma, though.  He was
dishonorable at times, and had a tendency to lie his way out of things.
    She inhaled on her pipe thoughtfully, then let out the breath again.
    Sungchuan.  The word echoed through her mind, and she cursed slightly
inside her head.  She had searched twenty-seven years on end for the
Blessed Spring and had never come into contact with it, and she still, in
the back of her mind, had always wanted to find it.
    Her original intention, back when she had searched for it two hundred
and fifty years previous, was to wish for a mastery over all martial arts.
But she had that now, or something close to it.  She now wanted to wish for
her youth returned, and when Kai had informed her that Jeikar had found the
spring, her desire to find the spring blazed anew.  Her thoughts went back
to the wishes.  Youth returned, definitely.  Perhaps even eternal youth;
that would be pleasant.
    Living forever as a beautiful girl?  She smiled.  Definitely pleasant.
Now all she had to do was get that Jeikar boy to tell her of it's location,
and Kai should be taking care of that right now.
    She found Kai to be quite a friendly young fellow, actually.  He hadn't
reacted rashly to her sudden presence in the room like most others would
have, he just had blinked once or twice and had told her everything he
knew, without an reservations at all in his tone of voice, except perhaps a
tinge of embarassment at having not noticed her hiding in the shadows.
Perhaps his reaction - or rather, lack of it - came from the same thing
that gave him a general lack of reaction to everything else.  The boy had
seemed...distant.  She had observed him closely, and it was as if he had no
personality at all.  His eyes seemed to radiate calm, but, at the same
time, they glinted of steel.
    Protective steel.
    Something had obvious happened to Kai in the past, and that something
was probably not good.  Whatever it had been, it had the effect of making
the young man hide his true nature and put up an emotional barrier, as if
he was trying to shut out the world from around him.  
    But there was something else, and Khu Lon wasn't fool enough to miss
it.  He had shown a rather marked reaction towards her great granddaughter,
Xian Pu.  His eyes had lost their steel, and he had started fumbling around
for words to say, and had actually looked embarrased.  But when the girl
left, the barriers came back up, and he had talked to Mu Tsu, if not
unkindly, at least in a very guarded fashion.
    Perhaps I can help the poor boy, she noted to herself.  She didn't know
what had happened to Kai, though, and dealing with the unknown had always
been one of her weak points.  
    I just need him to speak to Xian Pu about it, I suppose, she thought,
sighing.
    She shook her head, clearing it of that line of thought.  What did she
care for the boy, anyway?  He meant nothing to her, nothing to Xian Pu.  He
was just a tool as a means to an end, and a willing one at that.  Always
better to have a willing one, she mused.  Always.
    But Kai hadn't known anything of use.  All he had been able to tell her
was what he knew from Jeikar, and that basically amounted to that the
spring moved, and that you didn't find it; it found you.  And Khu Lon knew
all this already.  She had briefly entertained the idea of using a mind
control herb on him so he would get Jeikar to her without any delays, but
he had simply shrugged when she asked him and had told her that he would
bring Jeikar tomorrow, if possible.
    She smiled again.  Now all she had to do was wait.
----------------------------------
Well, they finally made it to China.  You can kick me for having a slow
moving story now. ;)  

Chapter 11 will be along as soon as...soon as I get it done. :)  Zai jian!