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The circumcision period lasted one more month.
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During that time, the shipwrecked crew and the Watchers shared more than food and shelter. They shared knowledge. Chinese knowledge met with African Coastal knowledge, they interchanged , merged and even discovered flaws in their technology that would push them forward.
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Every morning at low tide, when the sea pulled back from the beach, the Watchers taught the Chinese their wrestling technique. It was a style built on speed and power – quick steps, sudden grabs, throws that slammed an enemy to the sand before he could anchor his feet. The general watched closely. He saw how the tall men used their long limbs to hook and trip, how they shifted their weight at the last moment. Deep down he knew if he was to get such a tackle from a man that huge he wasn’t surviving it in any way.
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The Chinese taught in return. Martial arts forms. Breathing techniques. The Watchers learned quickly. Their large, powerful bodies delivered strikes that cracked the air. The general was impressed. He imagined invading China with that army, he felt unstoppable, then he felt stupid, the he ditched that crazy idea. No amount of martial arts would stop a cannon ball, well unless you were Liang Wei
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They also taught softer skills. How to make shoes with fur soles for quiet walking, unlike the hard leather sandals the Watchers had worn for generations. The Watchers showed them how to weave palm fronds into waterproof baskets. How to smoke fish so it would last for months.
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They did not go into the sea. Not once. The ban held.
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But on the beach, above the high tide line, they trained and talked and grew comfortable with each other. The general had learned a few words in arabic and in swahili and didn’t have to rely on sign language and master Chen’s translation every now and then.
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***
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The morning the circumcision period ended, General Feng Jian woke before dawn.
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His heart pounded. His hands trembled. He dressed quickly, strapped on his sword, and walked toward the door of his hut.
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Two guards were posted outside. They saw the look on his face and stepped forward to slow him.
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"General, the elder said—"
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He slipped past them. Fast. Too fast for them to catch. He was on his heels.
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He walked through the village, past the sleeping huts, past the cold cooking fires, to the elder's dwelling.
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The elder's hut was the largest in the village – a great round structure reinforced with one hundred and twenty‑two long poles. Each pole had been added by a previous elder, a tradition stretching back generations.
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The general knocked softly on the wooden frame.
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"Elder Mwamba."
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No answer. He knocked again.
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"Elder. It is I, General Feng."
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A rustle inside. Then the elder's voice, thick with sleep. "Ah. The impatient one."
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The general smiled. He didn’t understand what the elder said entirely but he knew it was something out of humorous distress.
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The elder opened the door. He wore a wrap around his waist and a tired smile on his face. Behind him, the general could see three women rising from sleeping mats – the elder's wives.
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"Come in," the elder said. "Eat first. Then we go."
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The general sat on a woven mat. The first wife placed a bowl of porridge before him. The second wife brought flatbread – chapatti, as the Watchers called it. The third wife, a young woman in her twenties, poured tea thick milk tea that he wondered how it arrived to the country and was much similar to Chinese tea, but this was not the time for questions, he had a master to rescue. His first real search and rescue mission at sea.
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The general ate quickly. Too quickly.
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The third wife frowned. "Master General, if you chew that fast, the flatbread will choke you."
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The first wife nodded. "She is right. Slow down."
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The elder waved a hand. "Let him be. He has waited a month. Let him have his joy."
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The second wife smiled. "Just be careful not to choke on such a happy day, it would be a shame because women gossip alot and this scene will spread through the village in mere hours, you will be laughed at." She laughed uproariously.
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The general slowed down. Slightly. He finished his breakfast, thanked the wives, and stood. They did not like how a grow man bowed to them, in their culture only women and children bowed and not just to anyone, they only bowed to authority such as their husbands, fathers, warriors and the Elder. Nevertheless they said nothing, he was fair skinned and the fair skinned man was a strange concept to them, a concept they hadn’t quite conceptualized yet.
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"Ready," he said.
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The elder laughed. "I can see that."
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***
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They gathered at the water's edge.
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Two Chinese guards. Seven Watchers, including Jabari, the young warrior who spoke Arabic. And the elder himself, who insisted on coming. He wanted to see this immortal able to drift at sea for a month. The immortal who fought a storm.
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The canoes were already in the water – three of them, long and narrow, carved from single trees. The general helped carry the last canoe from the storage hut. He loaded supplies: dried fish, water gourds, ropes, a torch wrapped in oiled cloth.
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No one spoke much. The morning was quiet. The sea was calm.
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The elder stepped into the first canoe. The general followed. The others spread between the three boats.
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"Beyond the reef," the elder said. "That is where we go."
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The general picked up a paddle.
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"Beyond the reef," he echoed.
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They pushed off from the sand.
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The canoes glided over the shallows. The sun rose behind them, turning the water gold. The reef lay ahead – a dark line of coral, then deeper blue beyond.
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No one looked back.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRGTian6dnG
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