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The True Cat Fist

A Ranma ½ Fan Fiction by Jeff Groves

Email at ScholarMage@hotmail.com
 
 

I do not own any of these characters, save Xian Mao who is © me. All other characters are copyright Takahashi Rumiko.

People I would like to thank for inspiration are numerous, and in some cases too far behind me, to recall the names. All of you, thank you.

I will, however, make some attempt:

Takahashi Rumiko-san, of course, for writing Ranma.

Madamhydra, for the idea that the Neko-ken would shred people’s auras (personal Ki).

Dylan Downing, for helping me work out some of the odder points in the plot line.

Please do not use Xian Mao without permission, or rip off my story.

And don’t sue me… it’ll cost you more than it’ll get you.

Go on, read… and, with any luck, enjoy.

Oh, and just so you know:

Text in "Quotes" is spoken, usually in Japanese (I'll say if otherwise)

Text in "<Quotes and Carrots>" is spoken, usually in Chinese (again, I’ll say if otherwise)

Text in {brackets} is an authors note... usually in {A.N. blahblah} format.
 
 

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Neko-ken. Cat-fu. Cat-Fist fighting.

A powerful—nay, undefeatable—form of martial combat, and one or Ranma’s greater tragedies… following, of course, his Jhusenkyo curse, his father, and his horrid case of "foot in mouth disease".

Ever since Genma’s (arguably second) most foolish training exercise, the sight or proximity of a cat has sent Ranma first into fits of terror, then fearful flight, then paralysis, then, finally, to the warped state of mind where he becomes both cat and master of cat-fist.

This is NOT the way things are meant to be. One who has received the -proper- training has no fear of cats… but, rather, often loves the small felines (and felines of all sorts, for that matter) and has an odd affinity for and kinship with them.

Very few are ever selected to be trained in the art of Neko-ken. Fewer still have the potential to actually learn it… fewer still can ever be called masters.

Consequently, it didn’t take very long for the single, solitary school which taught it—located even as remotely as it is—to catch word of Ranma, and the whole mess tangled therein…
 
 

"Xian Mao!" called one of the many, many monks who—logically enough—populated the Wang-Mao-Yue temple.

Xian Mao looked up from his meditations upon the idol of Mao-Yue, the feline goddess to whom he owed allegiance. Not yet eighteen, and the only non-monk in the temple, he was a marvel to the monks, yet those facts and his long black hair had nothing to do with why he was so unique.

"Yes, Elder?" he asked. Despite his calm, respectful tone, the rebelliousness of a youth interrupted still came through… even if only in his eyes and his aura.

"A way for you to repay your debt has come to our attention." The Elder paused, "That is, of course, assuming that you still want to leave?"

"With all due respect, Elder," the boy replied with a small smile, "I do still wish to leave. There is Someone out there for me, and many tasks before me. You have taught me much, and allowed me to see many things. Could I truly repay you by staying here?

"No, elder, I must go out into the world. The time is soon.

"What is this task you have for me?"

The Elder smiled at the irony of the situation: this boy, whom he had personally rescued from the streets and named, whom he had selected to be his successor and pupil, who had mastered everything he had learned here at the Wang-Mao-Yue temple, and reached a spiritual plane that even he—the Elder—had yet to achieve, who had done the unbelievable and become the first in Generations to master the Neko-ken… a mastery which was obvious in his every movement, the very lines of his body, and, most clearly, his silver-blue slit-pupil eyes.

"You are aware, I believe, that there are many who train in the Neko-ken and fail to achieve mastery, are you not?"

"Of course, Elder. They are invariably killed in the process."

"That is what we have always held to be true. There appears, however, to be an exception…"
 
 

Xian Mao tugged at his short goatee and adjusted his glasses. He couldn’t quite decide who he felt more sorry for: this Saotome Genma, for being so incredibly stupid, or his son Ranma, for being subjected to that idiocy… Ranma, he decided quickly: the Gods watched over fools, not their victims.

"Elder, you need not even have asked. To correct Saotome Ranma’s training is my duty, privilege, and honor."

"I suspected you might feel that way," answered the old monk, smiling. "You are a noble soul, Xian Mao. There is one more thing, before you go."

"Yes?"

"Don’t forget to write."
 
 

On the roof of the Tendo Dojo, at very nearly midnight, Ranma slowly worked his way through a complex series of Kata.

Today had been BAD, by any standards. First, even before school had started, Kodachi had decided to get a jump on things by catching him early… even before he’d woken up. Of course, when they’d found the two in "in bed together", everyone had overreacted… as if it had been HIS fault, or something. He couldn’t help the way Kodachi acted… any more that he could have stopped Shampoo from accosting him at lunch, demanding that he eat her ramen—a risk in and of itself, most likely laced with magical herbs or some such; but with the prospect of eating what Akane had made for him on the other hand…

Not, of course, that he’d been given the chance to chose one, the other, or neither: before he could recover from Shampoo’s bicycle landing on his face, Akane had stormed off.

He’d even tried apologizing after school, but Ukyo had interrupted THAT affair.

Then Kuno, seeing Akane scream at him and storm off, had decided to vanquish the Vile Sorcerer Saotome…

Then Ryoga at the dojo that evening…

A bad day indeed, and something told Ranma that it would get worse before it got better… assuming that it ever did.
 
 
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 
 
 

Xian Mao casually boarded the airplane from Hong Kong to Tokyo. He looked foreword to a relatively easy trip (after having walked 1500 miles from the middle of nowhere to Beijing, and then (after hitchhiking his way to the cost) swimming from the mainland to Hong Kong, he felt entitled to a small cheat: hence, after a few days of skilled begging, a little gambling, and several well-done arena battles, he had enough money for some food, a couple changes of clothes, and a dirt-cheep plane ticket to Tokyo.

From there, he’d find the Nerima District, and from there, he’d locate the Tendo Dojo, School of Indiscriminate Grappling. From there, he’d hunt down this odd and infamous Saotome Ranma.
 
 

It was raining, in Nerima. Raining in that melodramatic way that sometimes made Ranma wonder.

Alone in the Neko-hanten, Cologne looked up, precisely as lightning crashed. "Something changes", she uttered in the way that she sometimes does.

Lightning crashed again, and the old ghoul went back to her meditations.
 
 

"Ranma, I’ve finally had it with you."

"You what?" Ranma asked, looking up from his lunch (packed by Kasumi, fortunately). Ryoga loomed over him, glaring.

"I’ve come to challenge you again. Man-to-man, here and now, once and for all." There was that dangerous glint in Ryoga’s eye. Ranma wasn’t up to this now… he’d not been getting much sleep lately, afraid that Kodachi would be there when he woke up again (and having nightmares about the incident where he and Kodachi actually -did- things). Pop and Mr. Tendo had been pushing at him -real hard- to choose or leave… leaving was running away, and choosing meant that no matter what he did, three people would be hurt, possibly homicidal; besides, the only thing he knew for certain was that the choice -wasn’t- Kodachi (bullshit, his mind whispered, you -do- know… shut up, he told it).

Then again… maybe he needed this. Ryoga was his only rival, truly told, and a good fight might just make him feel better.

"How ‘bout as soon as I finish my lunch?" Ranma agreed, perking up a bit.

Ryoga fumed. "Why won’t you ever take me seriously?" he raised his fist to strike, then stopped. "Why not? A last supper…"

Ranma deliberately avoided the line of contemplation that comment opened up.
 
 

Xian Mao smiled to himself, feeling his newly pierced ear. The lady had said six weeks until it healed. He’d laughed and said "Two." Not three days later, he had already replaced the piercing stud with a iridescent hoop, and had acquired two or three pairs of more formal earrings, as well.

Some wondered where the dirty Chinese boy acquired the money, and suspected the Yen coins to be stolen. In a way, he supposed they were… a fool and his money, after all. But, could he truly be blamed if they were willing to make loosing wagers like: "I bet you 1000 yen you can’t do that!"

A fool and his money…

… very, very swiftly parted.
 
 

Ranma and Ryoga squared off in the schoolyard. Principal Kuno was out of town, so the chances of being interrupted were minimal… unless, of course, Kuno or someone decided to join the fray.

"Any last words, Ranma?"

"Really think ya can kill me, P-chan?"

"When will you learn to take me seriously?" Ryoga demanded, striking out with his umbrella. Ranma was so surprised by the calm precision of the attack that he was almost hit by it.

"That the best you can do, bacon boy?"

Ryoga, for once, didn’t rise to the bait… twice now, he’d not responded to Ranma’s taunting. Had he found a cure? No, if he had, Ryoga would be bragging about it, or chasing after Akane like the incident with Shampoo’s special soap.

Distracted by his thoughts, Ranma was struck in the chest by several quick punches. The wind gushed out of his lungs. Ryoga struck again, a blow to the head with his umbrella. Ranma reeled, his vision spinning.

"Let your guard down, Ranma?" Ryoga taunted. "I warned you to take me seriously!"

Another attack, a kick. Ranma couldn’t remember the last time Ryoga had used a kick.

Exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, dizzy from lack of air and the blow to the head, caught off guard by the unexpected mode of attack, Ranma was unable to avoid the blow. Ryoga’s heavily booted foot struck him like a ton of bricks, landing on his temple, and throwing him face-first into the dirt.

Everyone, from various hiding places and areas that seemed likely to avoid damage, gasped collectively. Ranma had -LOST-.
 
 

The Tendos were worried, and justifiably so.

Ranma had been sent home from school for fighting. This was not especially remarkable in and of it self (he fought at school all the time, he just usually stayed there afterwards), but the fact of the matter was that he had LOST. Unaccountably, and indisputably, he had LOST, to Ryoga, no less.

Ranma and the Lost Boy had fought innumerable times, often to an inconclusive ending, but other than that Ranma ALWAYS WON… until now.

He’d locked himself in the dojo building, refusing to speak to anyone, leaving when anyone actually approached him.

Something was wrong, and everyone knew it. Even Shampoo and Kodachi seemed subdued—they’d stopped by shortly after having heard of Ranma’s defeat—by the young martial artist’s icy manner.

Worried, perhaps, is not strong enough a word. They were scared.

Soun was scared that the boy might do something rash.

Nabiki was scared of the money this could cost her in property damage and loss of profit.

Akane was scared… what of and why, how ever, were matters which she lived daily in denial of.

Kasumi was, as usual, oblivious.

And they all knew, deep down, that it could easily get worse, and most likely would.
 
 

Since arriving in Tokyo, it had taken Xian Mao nearly two weeks to locate Nerima. Once in Nerima, however, it had taken barely two days to find the Tendo Dojo… all of it footwork: seven out of ten people could give you perfect directions.

But something was up. People jumped at the mention of the name Saotome Ranma, or Tendo. They mumbled about "lost" and "lost boy" and signs of "something bad coming".

Xian Mao began to become very nervous. Was he at all prepared for what he’d gotten himself into? He tugged at his earring, a nervous habit he’d picked up less than an hour after he’d gotten it. He thought about Summoning something… maybe old K’leth… to look around. No, he decided, he’d worked hard to earn the favors now owed him. Information was too costly to waste them on something this trivial.

So he was limited to what he could watch and see, listen and hear.

So watch and listen he’d have to do.

Xian Mao’s stomach growled. With an embarrassed grin, he looked around for someplace to eat… that Neko-hanten had looked good. The name was certainly his style. Xian Mao backtracked, and quickly found the ramen restaurant. He walked in and…

…wow.

There was no level on which he could -not- admire the waitress. She moved throughout the room with a speed, skill, and grace that screamed "martial artist". She balanced half a dozen orders with no difficulty at all. And it took all his self-control not to stare. Bouncing like that… _Time for a new train of thought!_ he told himself forcefully.

And the woman behind the counter, cooking. Incredible! Old and shriveled though she was, he could feel her Ki field from across the room. And she was fast! No, wait… Xian Mao watched her more closely. Amazing! She was using the "Chestnut Fist" to -cook-! One of the occasional outsiders who came to his temple had demonstrated it, and taught it to the Elder Monk as repayment for food and information. Xian Mao had tried it, but without using the Cat Fist he was nowhere near fast enough—counting the times he’d burnt himself trying, though, was a -very- humbling exercise—and whilst using the Neko-ken, such outside techniques were impossible… you just -didn’t think of them-.

He nodded to the second waiter, "Non."

The boy—about his age, actually—was dressed in Chinese robes similar to his own, and had a pair of massively thick-lensed glasses perched atop his head. As they walked to a small table by the window, even with Xian Mao’s incredibly acute hearing -almost- missed the quiet clink of metal. So, this boy carried weapons, did he? That would be useful to know.

The boy took his order, and told him that "Shampoo" would bring it out to him soon. Soon, indeed. It took more time for the order to be brought and served than it did to be made.

"Nihao!" she bubbled. The shock of someone speaking Chinese distracted him from her quite attractive body and bright—seemingly natural—purple hair.

"<Greetings, yourself. Not many of this nation seem to speak our ancient tongue. I am Xian Mao, how are you doing?>"

She blinked once. Twice. Then her smile became genuine.

"<Yes, few of these Japanese barbarians seem to speak even Mandarin. I am called Xian Pu.>"

"<Xian Pu!>" the crone behind the counter snapped. "<Stop flirting with this youngling! Ranma is yours, and only Ranma!>"

"<Yes, Great-grandmother.>" She smiled apologetically to Xian Mao and moved on.

Xian Mao ate slowly and, as business died down, signaled for Xian Pu (or was she called Shampoo here?).

"The honored matriarch mentioned a ‘Ranma’. Did she perhaps mean Saotome Ranma?"

"Aiiya! How you know?"

"I didn’t, that’s why I asked. If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you about him."

"Great-grandmother! Shampoo go on break now! Talk to this boy about Airan!"

"Okay, then. Don’t be too long!"

"<Husband?>" Xian Mao gulped. Quietly, he closed off the part of his mind that saw Xian Pu as an attractive young female. She was attached, married even, and to think of her in the terms he had been was sin.

"Yes! Airan defeat Shampoo in combat, husband now."

"…defeat in combat…" Xian Mao mumbled, trying to make the connection and distracted by the fact that he couldn’t -completely- block out certain thoughts. "Oh! I see! You’re an Amazon, aren’t you."

Shampoo nodded a proud affirmative.

"What sister tribe are you from?"

"Joketsuzoku. How you know of sister tribes?"

"<Oh, lovely…>" Xian Mao muttered, slipping back into Chinese. "<I am of the Wang-Mao-Yue temple. I extend my hand in truce.>"
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 
 
 

Shampoo looked at Xian Mao in shock..

"<…extend my hand in truce.>" echoed through her mind. She knew not what this boy or his people might have done to her and her own, but with the rash impulse of the young (especially those young who found their way to Nerima Tokyo) she decided she didn’t care. Besides, something about this boy’s slit-pupil eyes called to her.

"<In truce,>" she said formally, "<I accept your hand and extend my own.>"
 
 

Back at the Tendo Dojo, Saotome Ranma sat alone. He was in the practice hall, and though night had fallen, he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights.

Ranma shuddered as he heard an ally cat yowl… the fear that was the Neko-ken coursing through his mind and body.

As the first stars started to come out, Saotome Ranma began to cry.
 
 

Cologne looked up as she heard the formal words. Too late, though, for as she leapt over, Shampoo had already taken the newcomer’s hand.

"To whom have you sworn truce?" she demanded coldly. Xian Mao flinched, knowing immediately that he’d erred… not in declaring Truce, but in declaring it to Shampoo rather than the matriarch.

"To I, honored matriarch," Xian Mao interjected, hoping to bring as much wrath as possible from Xian Pu’s shoulders to his own… illogically, she was already wed, and the matriarch had the look of one who’d seen to much to fall for such a simple ploy. But Xian Pu was amazingly attractive, and he… he was hopeless…

"And who precisely ARE you," Cologne demanded, "to make truce?"

Xian Mao bowed low, humbling himself best as he could. "I am Xian Mao, of the Wang-Mao-Yue temple."

Cologne’s eyes narrowed.

"Do not ask, for I will not declare truce," she stated flatly.

Xian Mao gulped, hoping that he was not about to die.

"But," she continued after a brief pause, "as you have sworn truce with my great-granddaughter, I will choose not to remember our people’s feud… until such time as you cross my path."

"May we pray that it never comes to that," Xian Mao murmured.
 
 

Cologne closed the Neko-hanten early, and joined Shampoo and Xian Mao at one of the tables. Mousse was send off to the kitchen to clean.

After a few minutes of careful, probing questions, Cologne decided that Xian Mao could be trusted with part of the story.

Shampoo, he was told, had come to Japan to make Ranma and his father pay in blood for a grievous insult. Cologne wasn’t clear about exactly what that insult may have been, but Xian Mao did not feel secure in pressing her for information. So Shampoo had found Ranma, seeking vengeance.

But Ranma had defeated her in combat, and somehow won her heart (well, they had to wed anyway… Ranma being an outsider, and Amazon Law being what it was).

There were complications however… three of them: girls named Tendo Akane, Kuonji Ukyo, and Kuno Kodachi. Each claimed the position of Ranma’s bride.

This struck him as odd, but… Japan, after all, had different ways of doing things than they did back in China.

"Spatula-girl no good for Ranma, he no like her like that; violent-girl no good for Ranma, she no love him like Shampoo does, no can cook, and always hitting him; ribbon girl…" Shampoo seemed to struggle for words.

Cologne put it succinctly: "Miss Kuno is barely sane."

Xian Mao had taken his glasses off and was rubbing at his eyes.

"Ancestors!" he breathed, "What have I gotten myself into?"

"A good question," Cologne replied. "What -are- you doing here? Why is it that you are looking for the groom?"

Xian Mao thought for a little bit before answering with a question: "Do you know of a technique called the Neko-ken?"

"Yes, actually. Ranma is the first I’ve seen use it in…" Cologne grinned sheepishly. "Let us not think on how long it has been."

Xian Mao smiled at the matriarch, his defenses coming down some.

Then the old woman’s eyes narrowed.

"And it is taught only at the temple of Wang-Mao-Yue."

Xian Mao nodded.

"Yes, honored matriarch. That is why I have come… or, rather, been sent. We have heard of Ranma’s plight with the Cat Fist, and they have sent me to try to complete his training. It is our duty, as the guardians of the Yin Cat Goddess."

Cologne nodded.

"It is good if the groom becomes stronger. A true Amazon’s groom must be powerful."

Xian Mao nodded in agreement, wishing with every fiber of his being that he were somewhere else.
 
 

"Ranma?"

He didn’t look up. Akane sighed, and walked to the center of the dojo. Ranma didn’t even bother to move away.

"I brought you some food… It’s not mine, baka… Kasumi made it."

For several minutes, Ranma continued to ignore her. Patiently, Akane waited; she knew that soon enough, Ranma’s appetite would win out over this strange, black depression that had come over him.

She was right.

"Kawaiikunee," Ranma muttered as he snatched the food from Akane’s hands.

"Baka," she growled in response, but left without assaulting him.
 
 

In the morning, Xian Mao left the Neko-hanten. Cologne had offered him a place to sleep out of the rain, and a bath. Common sense had won out over his fears, and he had accepted.

Now, as the sun began to come up over the horizon, he could almost see how this nation had found the name "Land of the Rising Sun". In a word, beautiful.

Xian Mao ran his hands back through his hair, clean for the first time in weeks. He was dressed in what looked like a dark grey kung fu uniform, topped off by a dark blue sleeveless longvest, more Tibetan or Indian in style than Chinese. At the trim of all, fine Magickal characters were stitched in black. The symbols did nothing, save to look impressive. A few were minor wards of protection, but given the chaos that surrounded Nerima, he doubted that they were worth much.

Tugging on his earring, Xian Mao set off in hope of inspiration.

He was fairly sure he could trust the Amazons, but there was a part of him he could not ignore that screamed "other sources!" After a little thought, he had decided that the paranoid little voice had a point.

But where to get that information? Therein lied the problem.

Perhaps at the school? The Amazons had hinted a couple times that Ranma attended the local high school… Furinken. Maybe he’d stop there, try asking around.

Finding the school wasn’t -too- difficult… although it took him an hour or so. By the time he found it, people had already begun loitering on the grounds, waiting for the first bell.

Given Ranma’s infamy, Xian Mao felt that the direct approach would be best. So, walking up to the first person he came across—a young man with long (-LONG-) brown hair and a spatula strapped to his back. Maybe okonomiyaki chef martial arts were common in this region?

"Excuse me," he said, tapping the young man on the shoulder, "do you know anyone who could tell me of Saotome Ranma?"

Then it struck him… this wasn’t a boy. His sharp nose—another "benefit" of the Neko-ken… animal senses—picked up the faintest of scents… a scent the animal part of his mind told him meant "fertile". He gulped, realizing he’d probably just found the "spatula girl" Ukyo…
 
 

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," they said. Strange, the few who bothered talking to her were rarely so polite. "Do you know anyone who could tell me about Saotome Ranma?"

It was a man, of course. Taking in the Kung Fu suit and the strange, sleeveless longvest, and his slight accent, Ukyo came to the conclusion that this was another Amazon, most likely here to investigate or slay Ranma, hoping to either see him wed to Shampoo or take that position himself.

At least this one was better looking, and seemed to be smarter, than Mousse.

"Why don’t you just talk to Cologne? You’re from their village, aren’t you?"

Having, from Shampoo’s manner whenever the "spatula girl" came up, a fairly good idea of how little the two liked one another, and an idea what the probable reaction to any relation to her might be, Xian Mao took the safest way out that he could see: he evaded.

"Who?"

"Cologne, Shampoo’s great-grandmother. The old ghoul, y’know?"

"Who? I do not know these people. I am new-come here, looking for Ranma… but I wish to know the situation, first."

Ukyo snorted. "That’s a first."

Xian Mao wasn’t quiet sure where to go from here. He had a feeling that Ukyo’s side of the story might be interesting, but with a good portion of his mind distracted by a little voice that kept whispering "she’s fertile, mate with her! She’s fertile, mate with her!" and the effort in keeping that voice in check… he was not able to fully concentrate upon the matter at hand.

"Do you know Ranma?" he hazarded, trying to find a way to "figure out" that this "boy" was Ukyo, and ask the questions that he really wanted to.

"Yeah, I know the jackass. Why are you looking for him?"

"I have some… information he might… be interested in.

"A cure?" she hazarded.

"Say what? Cure for what?"

"For his curse, jackass!"

"Ranma has a curse? I don’t know anything about… what is its nature?"

"Don’t know about that, hunh? Well, then it ain’t my place to tell you."

Xian Mao shrugged. "Very well. I can… respect that."

Ukyo looked at him strangely. "What’s the matter? You seem distracted."

Xian Mao blushed. "It’s just, um… er… that you’re, um…" he motioned her closer, and whispered in her ear. "… You are… um… fertile. I can… er… smell it."

Ukyo’s eyes got wide, then narrowed. The spatula came down off her back, and toward Xian Mao in one fell swoop. Putting to use his near-inhuman agility, Xian Mao slid under the gigantic cooking tool and struck Ukyo across the face with a back-handed swipe, then placed his other had solidly in her breastbone. He was strong, and the breath *whooshed* out of Ukyo’s lungs. Ukyo staggered a few steps back, catching her breath quickly. She then switched from "swat the source of embarrassment" mode, to "full power" mode.

Xian Mao, who had no way of knowing Ukyo’s caliber as a martial artist made an error: he failed to back down, or to use any of his most advanced techniques.

The young monk/priest got his butt handed to him.
 
 

Ukyo stared in shock as the strange new boy began to pick himself back up. It had been pathetic how easily she’d beaten him… he’d barely been able to retaliate. But even after the ungodly whooping she’d just given him—and she had to at least give him credit there: he soaked damage almost as well as Ryoga—he was already getting back up.

Clearly, though, he was in pain.

"Are you okay? I thought… I shouldn’t have gone all-out on you…"

The boy groaned. "It’s okay… I really asked for it…"

He pulled himself into a sitting position.

"I guess you must be the Kuonji Ukyo I heard mentioned…"
 
 

He had decided that he might as well just confront her. Hopefully, she’d be distracted enough that she wouldn’t press him for -where- exactly he’d heard of her.

"Yeah," she admitted, "that’s me."

"I am called Xian Mao. Nice to meet you."

Ukyo raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe it -would- have been, under different circumstances," somehow his mind finally kicked into gear… maybe the pain was forcing down his run-away sex drive. "How ‘bout you pay me back for the overkill by telling me what the scoop with Ranma is?"
 
 

"Okay," Xian Mao said incredulously, "let me get this straight: you came here, disguised as a boy, to kill Ranma’s father and get even with them both. Then, Ranma found out you were a girl… decided you were the "cute" fiancée, and you began falling in love with him."

Ukyo nodded in agreement, sitting across from him by the wall.

"But, he was already engaged to this Tendo Akane by their fathers… just as he had been, oh… who knows how many times. Then there’s Shampoo, to whom he’s married by Amazon law. And this Kodachi person who’s just attached herself to him out of nowhere. That about right?"

Ukyo nodded again.

"But you’re the one he should marry because you love him, and you’re the best friend he’s ever had; Akane doesn’t even like him, can’t cook, and is incredibly violent; Shampoo’s wrong because he doesn’t love her; and Kodachi… Kodachi’s just crazy. That it?"

Ukyo nodded.

"Wow. What a mess."

Ukyo nodded.
 
 

"Baka, why couldn’t he just come to school? It’s not -that- bad… everybody looses, sometime."

Akane stormed in the gate, more than half-expecting something to go horribly wrong. It would be fitting with the way things were going lately.

"Akane!" yelled Ukyo, dashing up from the tree in the middle of the courtyard. She took Akane’s shoulders. "How’s Ranma?"

"He’s…" Akane began, then saw a boy walking over in clothing similar to Ranma’s, save that it was dark grey, and he wore a strange longvest with no sleeves. His hair was thick and came down to his shoulders and he had a short goatee. He wore small circle wire frame glasses, and a rackish earring.

And he looked hike he’d just had his ass kicked.

"Who’s that?" she asked the okonomiyaki chef.

"That, that’s Xian Mao. He’s here looking for Ran-chan."

"What’s he want with that baka? The last thing we need right now is someone -new- trying to kill him…"

"Yeah…"

The Chinese boy had hobbled himself over to them by now.

"What’s this about people trying to kill Ranma?"

The two girls twitched, wondering how he’d heard them, he’d been several feet away, and they’d been whispering.

"So is this Akane?" The boy asked. The two girls nodded.

"Hi," he smiled. "I’d bow, but Ukyo here gave me a pretty good whomping, and I’m a little too sore."

"You should visit Dr. Tofu, he’ll help you. C’mon Ukyo! We need to get to class!"

Xian Mao stared at the two retreating figures.

They had, of course, failed to tell him where this Dr. Tofu’s clinic was. Guess I’ll just have to ask, he decided. After a few minutes of searching, however, he couldn’t find anyone at all, much less anyone to give him directions.

Cupping his hands as if around a small ball, he began muttering the words to a Scrying spell. It took a good deal of effort, since he neither knew Tofu or the clinic, or even their approximate location, but he succeeded after a bit. Exhausted, but exhilarated by the use of his magick. Confidently, he began straight toward Dr. Tofu’s clinic.
 
 

"Are you a friend of Ranma’s?" the doctor asked as he began putting Xian Mao’s joints back together, and patching up the bruises.

"Say what?"

"No? Well, I thought you might be, since you dress similar to him. The Kung Fu suit, I mean."

Xian Mao shrugged.

"I don’t actually know him, personally."

"Mmm. He’s really a good boy, if he can keep from blurting things out. There ya go!"

"Domo." Xian Mao began digging in his pockets, looking for money with which to repay the good doctor. "Um, sir?"

"Yes?"

"I seem to have run out of money. Is there any other way I can repay you?"

"No need," the doctor said, smiling. "But tell me, what happened to you?"

"I found myself on the wrong end of Kuonji Ukyo’s battle spatula."

"Really? Ukyo’s usually such a sweet girl."

"Yeah… except that… well…"

The doctor laughed. "Flirting were you?"

"No. You know she poses as a guy, right? At school?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"I cold tell she was female by smell… she’s fertile right now."

Dr. Tofu blinked. "You can tell?"

"Yeah… it’s part of my Nature."

"Interesting. Are you new in town?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don’t know. You just seemed that way, for some reason."

Xian Mao nodded.

"You haven’t come after Ranma, have you?"

"You know," he said, exasperated, "you’re the third person today to ask me that?"

"Really?" the doctor asked, intrigued. "Who else?"

"First Ukyo, then Akane. And the matriarch Cologne, yesterday. Is there any particular reason that that’s the first question everyone asks me?"

Dr. Tofu Ono thought about it for a few moments before answering, "Anytime someone shows up looking for Ranma, they seem to either want to marry him or kill him. Ryoga showed up one day demanding that Ranma pay for not finishing a duel. Then Shampoo showed up, and she was after his blood, too. Of course, then he defeated her as a male, and now she thinks they’re married…"

"They are. By Amazon Law, they -are- married. But what’s this about ‘as a male’?"

"If you don’t know," the doctor said, shaking his head, "it’s not my place to tell you. Odds are, you’ll find out soon enough."

"I’m not sure I want to," Xian Mao muttered. "But is that it? Two people…"

"It’s not. Then, there was Ukyo—"

"I know about Ukyo. I met her this morning, remember?"

The good doctor laughed. "Yes, I do recall. Good thing it wasn’t Akane! You wouldn’t have been able to make it here."

Xian Mao blanched.

"I’m beginning to be very glad I’m not after Ranma’s head… if everyone here is of that caliber or above… I’d be dead meat! Anyone else?"

Dr. Tofu shrugged. "Several, but none of them stayed. I guess it’s not so much that there are a lot of them, as it is that the people who come for Ranma end up doing a good deal of damage… both to him and to the surrounding area."

"May my Goddess and the Ancestors protect me…"

"You may need it. So, tell me. What do you want with Ranma?"

"The Neko-ken. My temple is the only place on the face of the Earth that teaches it, properly at least. Saotome Ranma is the only person we are aware of whom has survived improper training with both mind and body intact. Consequently, it didn’t take long for us to get word of him… relatively speaking, at least, given that the temple is about… three days ride by horse to the nearest telephone. So, around two months ago, I set out from my temple… that being about two weeks after we’d gotten the information. I don’t know how long ago Jake sighted Ranma, though. He really doesn’t notice time, so he didn’t date the letter, nor when it was that he heard of the fight on the beach, nor when that fight may have been. You got any idea, doc?"

Dr. Tofu shook his head.

"Ah, well. Say, do you know where I might be able to stay? Or get a job? I need a home and some money, and I’d really rather not ask the Amazons…"

Tofu quirked an eyebrow at him.

"That’s where I stayed last night. Cologne and I have our… disagreements."

"I see." Dr. Tofu drawled. "Well, I haven’t had a nurse since Cologne showed up… Shampoo used to hold that job. You know anything about first aid or nursing?"

"Good doctor," Xian Mao said with a smile, "I was raised in a monastery. Of -course- I do!"

"I’ve got a spare room. When do you want to start?"

"How about tomorrow?"
 
 
 
 

It took Nabiki less than ten minutes to hear about the new boy: about Ranma’s height, closer to Ryoga’s build, dressed in Chinese clothes and a strange sleeveless coat that hung to his ankles; not -incredibly- handsome, but hardly painful to look upon. Thick black hair that hung to his shoulders, a short pointed goatee, small circular glasses, eerie, silver-blue, slit-pupil eyes, and a strange, fluid, powerful grace of movement that made no few of her compatriots hungry for Chinese. No, no one was thinking takeout… well; maybe you could call it that.
 
 

At lunch, Nabiki learned a little more from Akane. The boy’s name was Xian Mao, and he had incredibly acute hearing. There were a few more details that a few sharp-eared and sharp-eyed friends of her own had picked up a few more tidbits from that morning as well.

The new boy had approached Ukyo, talked briefly with her. He’d whispered something in her ear, something that had annoyed or embarrassed Ukyo, to judge the look on her face and the idle way she’d swiped at the boy—this Xian Mao—with her battle spatula. He’d taken it seriously, and struck back. Twice, once across the face, one in the ribs. Then Ukyo had kicked his ass into the ground.

He’d staggered to his feet, then walked to the wall to talk more.

He’d then identified Akane, as if by reputation.

This involved her. Nabiki knew it as surely as she knew that there was profit to be gained from the newcomer. There was just something in her that said so.

Over the past two years, and especially since Ranma had arrived, she’d learned to trust that something.
 
 

Xian Mao found his way back to the Neko-hanten just as the lunch rush ended. He hadn’t actually been doing much, just trying to get a feel for the lay of the land.

"Greetings, honored matriarch," he said, bowing respectfully. Customers looked askance at him, but ate without comment. People living in Nerima seemed to be good at ignoring that which went on around them.

Cologne merely nodded to him. ‘Honored matriarch’ was a title she had missed since coming to Japan. Hearing it again was gratifying to her ego.

"<I have come to tell you that I have found another place to stay, and that I will no longer be disturbing you with my humble presence.>" he spoke in Chinese, deciding on the spur of the moment that it would be better.

"<Truly?>" Cologne asked, raising an eyebrow. "<Where have you found to stay?>"

"<As assistant to the honorable Dr. Tofu. I have only one last thing to beg of your hospitality.>"

"<Oh?>"

"<I wished to know if you perhaps had a knife or two, of the throwing variety, that I might borrow until I acquire some of my own.>"

Cologne merely nodded. Like lightning, a pair of throwing knives appeared in her hand, and were sent arcing toward him. He had three choices: let them hit, and die; dodge, and loose face; or catch them, and perhaps tip his hand.

He chose the third.

He slid two ‘steps’ into the Neko-ken: from his normal, heightened state of existence, through and past the Claw that had earned the mysterious art its name, and into the First Phase. Movement. With reflexes beyond what were considered fantastic by all save the greatest martial artists, Xian Mao shifted to the side, and seemed to bat at the suddenly slow-seeming blades, catching them by the tips and flipping them as he brought his hand back up so that he held them between his fingers like claws. He slid back a ‘step’, into the cat-like mind and movements of the Claw. His other hand hit the floor, and the battle stance that had earned the Cat Fist its name.

Xian Mao growled low in his throat, before resuming a human stance.

"I am impressed," the matriarch conceded.

Xian Mao nodded, and walked up to the spare room where he had stowed his small pack of belongings.
 
 

By the end of the day, Nabiki and her associates had managed to squeeze all the information possible out of Akane and Ukyo, subtly probing for anything useful or profitable.

This Xian Mao had -known- ,somehow, that Ukyo was a girl. Despite her revealed gender and identity, the okonomiyaki chef still bound her breasts and ‘faked’ masculinity at school… very well, Nabiki had to admit, for such an attractive girl.

He was also looking for Ranma. Something about information to pass on.

Nabiki didn’t believe it for a second.

Like Ukyo, she had her suspicions about the boy and possible relations/alliances with the Amazons. And that was the last thing anyone needed.
 
 

Having stowed his things back at Dr. Tofu’s clinic, in the spare room, Xian Mao meandered back to Furinken.

He had gathered from the good doctor that Ranma and Akane usually walked to school together. That, combined with the things he’d heard this morning, painted an ugly image of what might be going on with Ranma at the moment. Something had happened to him, probably life threatening.

But he had no way of knowing.

Xian Mao watched the students file out of the gates, all clearly grateful that school was out for the day. Mind distracted and wandering, he almost didn’t notice the two figures that came up behind him. One grabbed each arm. They were female, he could smell it, but fortunately not fertile… he had had more than enough of that distraction this morning with Ukyo.

He didn’t bother trying to escape. He assumed they wanted something, and if it was something he didn’t care to give… very little could hold him in, should he choose to invoke the Neko-ken.

"Boss wants to see you," one of the girls whispered in his ear. "Are you coming nicely, or do we have to go back for Biff and Tiny?"

"Might as well come quietly," he murmured back. "Where?"

"Follow."

The two girls led Xian Mao to a secluded area near the back of the school property. Waiting for them was a young woman with jaw-length brown hair and piercing eyes. Brilliant intelligence gleamed behind those eyes, beautiful black set in a lovely face, with a figure to match.

Shit, he thought, why does she have to be so damned -distracting-?

The same, of course, could be said of the two girls who had attached themselves to his arms. Their auras against his was almost as distracting as their soft bodies against his.

Struggling, Xian Mao found his Center, Balancing and trying to fight down the animal urges that were one of the disadvantages of his calling… the Cat Fist.

"Your name is Xian Mao," the girl informed him. "You talked with Kuonji Ukyo this morning, revealed her as a girl, fought briefly against her, then got your ass kicked. You seemed to know her—or of her—from somewhere. You asked about a boy named Saotome Ranma. Despite what -should- have been a lethal, or at least grievous, battle, you face me as if you’d never been touched.

"Why? Who are you? Why are you here? How do you know of Ranma, Ukyo, and Akane?"

Xian Mao stared at her, incredulous. What? What was going on here? Maybe his Japanese was slipping? Surely this girl’s body was not -that- distracting! Surely he should be able to make some sense of this!

"Na-nani?"

"Answer or I’ll scream rape."

That was it. The Shadow within him began pushing toward the surface.

Xian Mao shrugged, and the girls latched to his arms fell off. Before they could reach the ground, he tapped a pressure point at the base of each of their necks, sending them into unconsciousness.

The remaining girl raised an eyebrow.

"I’ve got a different idea," he said, snarling enough to reveal his short fangs. "Why don’t we trade."
 
 

Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. She’d seen Ranma—hell, Ryoga, for that matter—move faster. But the liquid, boneless grace impressed her. Not even Ranma could move like that.

"Trade?" she asked sardonically.

"Yes," he answered, "trade. Information. Fact for fact, question for question."

Nabiki’s eyes gleamed evilly. "Deal. I ask first."

"Agreed."

"Who are you?"

"I am Xian Mao of the Wang-Mao-Yue temple, in China. And you are?"

"Tendo Nabiki, of the Tendo household."

Xian Mao nodded. Nabiki asked again:

"Why are you here?"

"I have come to find Ranma." As the Shadow has risen, so had his male urges fallen. The Shadow was genderless, and perfectly Centered. That suited Xian Mao just fine, so long as he could keep the Shadow under control… as difficult, though not as distracting. "Where can I find him?"

"Lot’s of places. He’s here a lot, usually."

Technically, she had answered. Okay, so that was the game.

"What do you want with Ranma?" she asked, calm, calculating.

"I have information to impart. Why do you care?"

"Because I it pertains to me."

This shit was getting old. Xian Mao began to level his Will against her, trying to eke more revealing answers from her… and slammed against an expertly constructed, if unconsciously so, wall. Not even with the Shadow welling within him, could his code allow him to break down that wall.

"How do you know of Ranma?" she asked next.

"By reputation." Two could play that game. "What is Ranma to you?"

"Profit." Nabiki said, smiling coldly. "How did you recognize Ukyo?"

"By smell," he told her, deciding that the absolute truth was unbelievable enough that telling didn’t hurt anything. "She’s fertile at the moment. That, obviously, meant she was female. That plus the spatula identified her as Kuonji Ukyo."

"How did you know of her, and Akane?"

Xian Mao just -looked- at her. "It’s my turn to ask. What do you know of Ranma’s situation?"

"Everything."
 
 

Nabiki smiled as this Xian Mao stormed off.

"You are useless," he’d told her.

"Maybe to you, baby," she mumbled. "But you seem pretty damn useful to me."

Kneeling down, Nabiki checked on her cohorts. Good, they were still alive. She’d have been truly upset had he damaged them. Ah, good. It looked like they were coming to.

He’d been smart, she had to grant him that, but she’d still learned much. Women distracted him, though he was good at hiding it. He had a temper, but could focus it to useful purpose. He was willing to take calculated risks, giving information in hopes of getting more, but never anything truly useful. And there was no way she could see to interpret "information to impart" to mean that he was after Ranma’s hide. That was the important part… because right now, someone trying to kill Ranma was the last thing they needed.
 
 

Xian Mao was, needless to say, upset. He’d just wasted a nice chunk of the afternoon giving up information and getting none in return. He wished he could blame his failure on the fact that Nabiki was a beautiful young woman, but the truth of the matter was that she’d outdone him. She was a shrewd bargainer, and didn’t follow any of the rules of informational barter that he knew. He’d tricked and wheedled a few Imps in his time, and was incredibly proud of the one Demon he’d outsmarted in his experimentation with Summoning, before the Elder had caught him. But he suspected that this Nabiki was on par with, if not above, that Demon… and he had clearly lost. That upset him.

Xian Mao did not like being upset. So he worked it off, running back to Dr. Tofu’s clinic, jumping into and through any trees he encountered on the way, and dashing along fences.

When he arrived, he felt much better, if just slightly winded.

"Doctor, I think there’s something wrong with Ranma." He could hear a girl’s worried voice on the other side of the door to Tofu’s workroom. Xian Mao focused, listening carefully.

"What’s the matter, Akane?" Ah, so that’s where he’d heard that voice before: this morning.

"I don’t know, Doctor! Everything was getting even crazier than usual this past week, and then yesterday he lost a duel with Ryoga... now he won’t talk to anyone, he doesn’t want to eat, and…" Akane began choking up.

"All he dose is just -sit there-," she wailed at last. "He won’t come out of the dojo, and he won’t talk to anyone… he won’t even fight with his father!"

It didn’t take an empath to tell that Akane cared for this Ranma. What took an empath was to tell that not only did she care for him, she loved him with every fiber of her being and denied it just as passionately. Xian Mao, being a telepath (to a limited degree, at least) and a general sensitive in addition to an empath, was nearly bowled over physically as well as psychically by the incredible ‘volume’ and strength of her thoughts and emotions. Desperately, he closed off -everything-, trying to block out the painfully loud mind and aura of Tendo Akane.

Tofu and Akane talked for a little bit more, but Xian Mao didn’t listen in. He’d learned what he needed to know.

Tendo Akane didn’t look up as the doctor led her to the door. When Tofu came back in he saw Xian Mao.

"How long have you been here?"

"Since ‘Doctor, I think there’s something wrong with Ranma’."

Tofu nodded. "Do you usually eavesdrop?"

"No. But I have sharp ears, and after hearing that, I thought there might be something important."

The doctor frowned. "Was there?"

"Quite a lot. I learned why everyone is edgy to have someone new looking for Ranma, I learned that he’s going through a depressive cycle at the moment, and I learned that Shampoo and Ukyo’s primary claim on Ranma—that Akane doesn’t care for him—is completely null and void."

Tofu nodded, smiling slightly. "You picked up on that last bit awful fast. In fact, you’re probably the only one besides myself to notice."

"Being an empath helps," the young man confessed. "Besides that, I have no stake in which he chooses, save that it may influence my ability to correct his training."

Tofu nodded again. "Very well. But if you’re going to be working for and living with me, try and make a point of not eavesdropping."

"Of course, Tofu-sensei." Xian Mao bowed, then looked toward the door. "With your permission, however, I think I’ll go chase her. I would really like to talk with Ranma as soon as possible…"
 
 

"Greetings, Tendo Akane. Might I walk with you?"

At first, she thought the formal words were Kuno-sempai, but something was wrong. He wasn’t glomping her. She turned around to see the new boy… Xian Mao, his name was.

"I guess, why?"

"I was hoping you might lead me to Ranma," he confessed.

"So am I not worth talking to for myself," she fumed, clenching her fists.

Xian Mao calmly met her eyes. "To be honest, Tendo Akane, I do not know you… or Ranma for that matter. Am I in a position to make that judgment?"

Akane blushed. "I guess not. I’m sorry. I’m just jumpy today."

Xian Mao nodded.

"My beauteous Tendo Akane! There you are! Yes, I shall date with thee!"

Akane rolled her eyes skyward as some madman dressed in a blue and white gi came rushing at them, bokken in one hand, roses in the other. Xian Mao could do not but gape. When it became clear that who ever this was, was about to slam straight into Akane, he intervened. A quick chop at the madman’s shoulder sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Do you know this crazy person?" he asked Akane.

"Yeah. That’s Kuno-sempai. I could have handled him myself, you know."

Xian Mao shrugged. Actually, he -didn’t- know, but was aware that that was most likely not the right answer. "This way you didn’t have to."

"Who are you, cretin, to talk as if I were not here?" the madman was on his feet again, staring down at Xian Mao. "Ah, but is it not custom to give one’s own name first? Fine then, mine I shall give: I am Kuno Tatewaki, age 17, Blue Thunder and rising kendo star of the high school fencing world. Speak now: who are you to insult me so, and to speak so familiar with Akane?"

Xian Mao gaped pointing to himself in a ‘who, me?’ fashion.

"<Say what?>" he asked in Chinese.

"Speak not in some barbarian tongue, cretin! Answer now!."

"I am Xian Mao of the Wang-Mao-Yue temple. Priest and disciple of the Yin Cat Goddess. What the -hell- do you want?"

"Twice, now, you have insulted me! You have spoken in overly familiar fashion with Akane, and I have not given thee permission to do so! I challenge thee!"

Xian Mao’s eyes flashed, and he assumed a fighting position.

"Fool, and insolent you are!" he snarled in response. "Disrespectful to the Gods and their servants! Fool, to try and control a female and all those who would speak with her. Insolent, to challenge a priest! Fool and blasphemer, I name you! I accept your challenge."

Akane and Kuno looked at him in shock, not sure why he was as upset as he was… or what he had meant by ‘insolent, to challenge a priest’. But that arrogant ‘warrior’ glint had reached Kuno’s eyes, and he didn’t think much more about it.

He handed the roses to Akane, and raised his bokken.
 
 

Xian Mao found his Center and waited.

‘Never strike first.’ The rule had been pounded into his head by innumerable sensei, some actually of the temple, some visiting. So he waited.

Kuno lunged foreword, bringing the bokken down at his head.

‘Use your opponent’s energy… his Ki, his force, his weight. Use his, not your own.’ A lesson from Jake, master of Aikido (among other things), who had stopped at the temple on a number of occasions. He’d demonstrated that lesson plenty of times.

Xian Mao sidestepped, and caught the bokken just above where Kuno gripped it, pulling down and toward himself, sending Kuno into a headlong roll. The kendoist—for that was what he clearly was—rolled perfectly, and came to his feet two yards away.

"Strikestrikestrikestrikestrike!" Kuno yelled, stabbing the bokken at him with incredible speed. Xian Mao’s body served him well. Even without accessing the power of the Neko-ken, it was always a part of him, giving amazing speed and dexterity, combined with a fluid boneless grace that never ceased to amaze. Seemingly with little effort (though the seeming was false) Xian Mao evaded the lightning fast blows. A brief pause, and opening, and Xian Mao struck. Using the principles of Tai Chi, he effortlessly pushed Kuno back to arm’s length, then sent him face-first to the ground with an outward crescent kick.

Again, Kuno rolled, and came at him again with the bokken upraised. Xian Mao was not a fool. He knew that if Kuno was using the same attack twice, this time he was prepared for the counter (well… that was Xian Mao’s assumption. He doesn’t know Kuno too well, does he?). Consequently, if he used the same counter he had before, Kuno would be ready for it.

So he didn’t.

Instead of stepping aside, he stepped -in-. Aikido, again. Wonderful art, that. And the Japanese had come up with it almost by themselves. As he stepped in, he pushed up Kuno’s arms, making it impossible for him to strike. But Kuno had the advantage of height, and Xian Mao could not quite reach the weapon. So he improvised: he jumped up just before Kuno finished stopping. He caught the weapon, again just above Kuno’s grip, then used the additional height and momentum the jump gave him, along with the inertia of Kuno’s movement to bring Kuno face first into the ground, twisting his wrists to pull the bokken from his hands.

Xian Mao stepped back, bokken held against the back of his arm, and bowed to Kuno.

"You are a worthy opponent."

"Fiend! What foul sorcery have you used to defeat the great Kuno Tatewaki?"

"Fiend?" Xian Mao demanded, insulted and outraged. "Sorcery? This was a duel of the art! I used none such. Look, fool, and see true sorcery!"

Around him, Xian Mao’s battle aura erupted: spitting, guttering black, with flashes of pure silver-white running through it. In response, Kuno’s glowed as well: a sooty brick red. Kuno’s aura also surrounded the wooden sword.

"Through practice, contact, and use, Kuno Tatewaki, you have bound this weapon to your soul… made it a part of you. Now I make it mine."

Kuno screamed as the red aura unwound from the bokken, swirling erratically, and finding its way back to him. As the red aura retreated, Akane could see that it was being -shaved- off of the wooden blade by the black aura. Kuno screamed again as the last of the aura departed from the blade, coming back to his own, and passed out.

The black aura that had covered and conquered the weapon faded from sight.
 
 

Akane stared, shocked and horrified, at the Chinese boy. Not only had he defeated Kuno, but he had taken the kendoist’s bokken, and done -something- to him.

"What did you…" she gasped.

"He could not accept defeat," Xian Mao intoned. "For his ego is too great, and too fragile."

The Chinese boy blinked, seeming to come back to reality from some far away place.

"<Anyway…>" he muttered, in Chinese, then switched to Japanese, grinning. "So. What was that about ‘I shall date with thee’? I thought you were Ranma’s."

"I don’t belong to that pervert!" She screamed, then attacked him with her mallet. He sidestepped, and returned with a palm strike. Akane was already there to block it. He followed up with a roundhouse kick, which she ducked under, responding with a furious series of punches and kicks. Block, evade, block… Xian Mao found an opening and struck. But Akane had seen the hole as well, and was there to defend it, and struck out again with a kick to his head. Xian Mao ducked, and kicked her foot out from under her.

Akane fell, and used her momentum and position on the ground to kick at Xian Mao’s own feet, a trick she’d seen Ranma use. It worked, and the Chinese boy tumbled to the ground.

And surprised her by being back on his feet before she was.

Xian Mao fell back into a defensive position.

"Is there any particular reason that we’re fighting?" he asked, quirking his head at her. "Although, I must say you’re pretty damn good."

"Because you said…!" then she stopped. "What did you say?"

"Well, first I teased you that you were Ranma’s, and what was up with this Kuno guy here—something I’d still like to know—and then, I asked if there was any reason we were trying to beat the shit out of each other, and said that you were good."

"Oh." Akane said, not sure how to handle actually -talking- with a guy, as opposed to beating up or arguing with one…

Xian Mao was just glad his instincts had overrun his hormones. Damn, this girl was pretty. She seemed to be nice, too, despite a violent temper. Neither Shampoo nor Ukyo had mentioned that… of course, he realized, they both had agendas and weren’t likely to be giving him the full scoop.

He damned himself for not having thought of that earlier. He’d taken what the two had said at face value… likely as much because they were aesthetically pleasing, as anything else. He’d have to watch that… pun not intended.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I wanted to find Ranma, and I was hoping you might be able to introduce us."

"I don’t know," Akane said, thinking. "He’s… not been feeling well lately…"

"I need to talk to him, Akane-san. I have come to complete his training in the Neko-ken…"
 
 

It was raining, now. It had looked all day as if it might, and it had started about half way between Tofu’s clinic and the Tendo Dojo.

"… can you tell me precisely how Ranma’s father trained him? Our friends who told us of the Saotomes didn’t say exactly what training methods were used."

Akane nodded. "Ranma was six. His father wrapped him in fish sausage and threw him into a pit full of hungry cats. When it didn’t work the first time, Mr. Saotome decided ‘well, if you don’t succeed at first…’"

Xian Mao twitched, and finished the old adage, a look of black rage crossing his face. "’…try, try, again’. May the Gods forefend, we thought that might have been it, but…"

He just shook his head. How could a father do that to his son? His own flesh and blood…

Of course, his own mother had abandoned him to the winter, but somehow that seemed different.

"Let’s go inside," Akane suggested. "The rain may have convinced Ranma to come in… and if not, Kasumi probably has dinner ready."

"Sort of early, isn’t it?"

"We eat earlier than most. Come on, let’s get you dried off."
 
 

"Oh, hello, Akane," Kasumi said, smiling brightly, "is this a friend from school?"

Akane shook her head. "Sort of, Kasumi-oneechan. This is Xian Mao. He’s…"

"That’s nice, would he like to stay for dinner?"

Akane looked at him and he nodded vehemently. He hadn’t eaten yet today, and munchies were something he’d gotten used to since arriving in Japan. He was, after all, a seventeen-year-old boy. They tend to eat a lot, as you may know.

Ranma wasn’t at the table, and even though Xian Mao had never eaten with (or even met) the Tendos before, he could tell that they were subdued and trying to put on a good face for their guest.

Xian Mao was content to go along with the charade. He chatted amiably, and no one asked why he’d come. They stayed on polite, safe topics such as the weather, and politics. Granted, Xian Mao only nodded and agreed about the latter, but a ‘yes man’ was always important to a political conversation.

He had to avoid looking at Nabiki, however. She’d traded her modest school uniform for a tank top that showed a good deal of cleavage and jean-shorts that showed more leg than he’d seen since he walked through the bad side of Tokyo. Very, very distracting… and she smelled very nice.

She seemed to revel in his discomfort, but he wasn’t about to let his control slip. That would be disrespectful to his hosts, and he didn’t want that.

The Tendos seemed to have a pet panda as well. The odd part was that he ate human food and sat at the table like a member of the family.

Xian Mao finally decided to get down to business.

"Excuse me," he said as Kasumi began to clear the table. "But I was under the impression that Saotome Genma and his son Ranma lived here. May I talk to them?"

They looked around, uncomfortable. "Saotome-san isn’t around right now," said Soun, the head of the house, nervously. "But Ranma should be in the dojo practicing… he didn’t care to eat this evening."

Xian Mao nodded, accepting the story at face value: a cover.

"Thank you for the hospitality and the wonderful food. May I go look for Ranma?"

He was hoping he wasn’t breaking -too- many rules of Japanese etiquette, but they didn’t seem to care, so he got up and went to the dojo.

It was still raining, but he didn’t really mind. After being hailed on for three days straight on a mountainous training trip when he was thirteen, he honestly didn’t care what Mother Nature threw at him, so long as the temperature remained under ninety.

A very attractive young woman with a braided ponytail sat on the steps of the dojo, mindless of the rain as himself. She, too, wore Chinese clothes… black pants and a red top.

"Hello, miss," he said, glad that the rain was dampening any distracting smells she might be putting off… the wet clothes clinging to her rounded boy were quite distraction enough. There was something funny about her aura, though…

"Yeah?" she answered sullenly.

"Could you tell me where Saotome Ranma is?"

"Right here," she grumbled, still not looking up.

"Excuse me?" he asked, wondering. "I had been under the impression that Ranma was male."

"I am… just not right now."

Xian Mao looked at her askance for a few moments, then decided to *lean* subtly on the girl’s mind, hoping for more useful answers: "Care to explain that last comment?"

The girl looked up at him with brilliant, dark blue eyes. "Ever heard of Jhusenkyo?"
 
 

Xian Mao was astonished. Jhusenkyo? Of course he’d heard of Jhusenkyo! What astonished him more than anything, was that someone had been fool enough to get themselves cursed!
 
 

"Hey," Ranma asked the strange boy. "You hear me?"

She’d been sitting here in the rain peacefully for nearly an hour. Glad for the silence and the aloneness, but somehow inutterably lonely. She’d told Akane this morning, in no uncertain terms, to go away and leave her/him alone. Now, she’d not talked to anyone all day. Just alternated between crying, training, meditating, and thinking… more of the first two than the second.

Then this boy had come up… she’d never seen him before. But he wanted something from her/him, but didn’t know about the curse.

"Ever heard of Jhusenkyo?" the words had come out unbidden. She hadn’t intended to answer at all… if he didn’t know, he didn’t need to. But -something- had opened her mouth, and the floodgate, once unbarred, was hard to close.

"I asked if you’d heard of Jhusenkyo!"

"I know of the training ground of accursed springs. Nyanniichuan, then?"

Ranma nodded. He knew… the shock and horror that filled this new boy’s voice said quiet clearly that he knew.

"You fall in one too?" the girl/boy asked.

"No. I know of it by reputation and legend. My people had an argument, actually, with the Joketsuzoku Amazons that involved the Springs… and a few other oddities. No one from my temple has been there for nearly five hundred years.

"So… care to tell me how you fell in?"

Again, Ranma might not have opened his mouth… she didn’t know this boy, after all. She didn’t even know his name. But -something- pushed her on, making her speak when she might have stayed silent. Ranma decided that it was just the need to tell -someone-… anyone, what was wrong with his life, and maybe just leave it in their hands to be fixed… it couldn’t get any worse, after all… could it?

"It was one of Oyaji’s stupid ideas… a training ground in China… one of several we visited…"

And Ranma told the tale of how he was cursed. It was the first time, probably, that she/he’d actually talked it out instead of just buzzing over it with a couple demonstrations and a few quips about his/her ‘stupid old man’. Which is not to say that Ranma did not condemn her father… she cursed him roundly, and damned him often.

But when she was finished, she felt much better.

Ranma hadn’t noticed when the new boy had sat down beside her.

"What’s your name, anyway?" she demanded, annoyed that she’d just spilled her guts to someone she didn’t even know.

"I am called Xian Mao. You don’t like your father, do you?"

They were both soaked to the skin, and the rain showed no intention of letting up. Xian Mao opened his Other Senses, hoping to catch an indication that the rain would end soon, or at least glean more from Ranma… who seemed to think almost as loudly as Akane.

"I…" Ranma stopped, confused by this strange urge to open his heart up to this boy. He gave up… he needed -someone- to talk to, and until he learned otherwise, this boy seemed to have nothing against him. "I… I suppose I should love him. He’s my father and all… but after Jhusenkyo, and the Amazons, and what he did to Ukyo, and what to all those other people he engaged me to… and the c-cat…"

"The Cat Fist training?" Xian Mao prompted.

"How di-?" Ranma demanded, suddenly suspicious, wondering if she’d mislaid trust.

"The Neko-ken is taught at one place… only one. That is the Temple of Wang-Mao-Yue. That is the temple where I was raised. Around two and a half months ago, we received a letter from one of our more frequent visitors… a man named Jake. He’d heard about a fight on a beach, where a boy by the name of Saotome Ranma used the Cat Fist. They decided to send someone to complete your training… that someone is me. I am the first to… what is the word? Absolute knowledge of, complete control of…"

"Master?" Ranma suggested, "Mastery?"

"Master," Xian Mao nodded. "I am the first to master the Cat Fist in five hundred years."

"Okay," Ranma said, still uncertain. "If they found out two months ago, why are you only here just now?"

"Ranma, I walked. Many would consider walking from the Northeastern most part of China to here in that little time to be something of an accomplishment."
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 
 
 

"You walked?" Ranma demanded. This boy didn’t look like a martial artist, but… he -had- said that he was a master of the Cat Fist… wait a minute… how on Earth could you -master- that? Ranma looked at him askance… "I can accept that part, I guess… I did it, after all… but…"

"But what?" Xian Mao was hoping to pick up additional information empathically—and he had, things like Ranma’s fear of someone who knew more about her (him?) than they should, or the disbelief that someone like him could actually make the walk—but he refused to *dig* in Ranma’s head for information.

"How? How can you be a master of -that-? The Cat-Fu has always been more in control of itself… I never remember…"
 
 

"What do you mean?" Xian Mao asked, puzzled. Aside from the fact that a Saotome Ranma had been improperly trained in the Neko-ken, it had never been really clear what was wrong… only that he couldn’t control it. Somewhere along the line, it was clear, a -good deal- of information had been lost.

"How much do you know?" Ranma sighed, wearily…

"That’s a good question," Xian Mao confessed. "Less and less, it seems. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable out of the weather…"

The Tendos stared as the two drenched figures walked into the main building.

This strange Chinese boy had coaxed Ranma inside!

After Ranma had wandered to the baths, the new boy—trying very, very, hard not to get anything wet—looked very sternly at the panda—which was playing shogi with Soun.

"Saotome Genma, we -will- talk later."

The panda nodded… ether accepting of his fate, for once… or agreeing with the intention of running away as soon as Xian Mao’s back was tuned.

Xian Mao smiled, and stood patiently, waiting for Ranma to come out of the bath… hopefully bearing a towel for him as well.

Ranma came out after a few minutes, male and dry, but without a towel. The Neko-ken master shrugged, and followed the young martial artist up the stairs.

When they got to the room that Ranma shared with his father, the red-shirted martial artist gestured for his grey-clad companion to enter first. Xian Mao bowed, and slid silently in.

"How do you move so quietly?" Ranma asked. "I don’t think even Dr. Tofu can move like that… maybe not even the old letch or the old ghoul."

"It is a facet of the true Cat Fist. Once you begin its practice, it becomes an ever-present part of your life… I move very much as a cat does: I step softly, smoothly, every part of my body acts as a… I don’t know the word… most of the shock is taken into and dispersed by my own body. It is not something I choose to do… you know that there are those who seem to never be able to move quietly?"

"Yeah," said Ranma without thinking, "like Akane."

"I see. Well, I might be said to be the opposite… incapable of moving loudly. It is due to, or thanks to, depending on how you look at it, the Neko-ken. My senses are much the same… I have incredibly acute hearing and smell… the exception being my eyesight." Xian Mao smiled, and tapped his glasses.

Ranma nodded. "So, do you turn into a cat sometimes, too?"

Xian Mao shook his head. "No, Ranma-san. Your training is flawed… horribly, terribly flawed. Truly told, you should be dead. No one has ever before survived intact, that we are aware of."

"So? I’ve survived a lot of stuff that no one else has."

"I don’t know… I guess we feel that we’re responsible for their deaths, and for your problems with the Cat Fu. We—the people of Wang-Mao-Yue—are the only ones on the face of the earth who know the secrets of the Neko-ken, and we feel that those who somehow learn of it and die attempting to master it are our fault… our responsibility. Do you understand, Ranma? In many ways, the Elder and the monks, and myself feel that if we help you, as I have been sent to do, we are somehow atoning for, not only what has happened to you, but for the deaths of hundreds of others…"

Ranma nodded. He understood guilt and repayment. Those were the things responsible for the horrendous P-chan situation.

"So you want to cure me of my fear of cats?"

"I don’t know, Ranma-san. I don’t fully understand what is wrong with your training. I was hoping, actually, that you could tell me…"

Ranma nodded, and began to tell the tale of how a ten-year old boy had been tortured in the name of the Art.

The fear of cats, the strange transformation, it made no sense… and the loss of memory…

"…I don’t even remember what I do when I’m a cat… it took Akane forever to get it through her head that I couldn’t remember kissing her…"

Xian Mao smiled… a friendly smile that brought to mind a kitten’s contented purr.

"You wish you could remember, don’t you?"

"NO!!" Ranma yelled more out of instinct than true feeling. Xian Mao just laughed at him. "Okay, I guess… I… I’m not a pervert or nuthin’, but…"

Xian Mao was laughing so hard now that he couldn’t even sit up.

"HEY!" yelled Ranma, not liking being laughed at, especially by someone he didn’t even know, "what’s the matter with you? It’s not like that!!!"

"Yes," Xian Mao laughed, suddenly more human and more an adolescent boy than he’d ever been since becoming a master of the Neko-ken, "it is! It is PRECISELY like that!"
 
 

The Tendos were insatiably curious about what was going on in the room. Nabiki, especially, wanted to know exactly what was being said. She truly, truly wished that she’d gotten around to bugging that place. She’d do it tomorrow, she decided… then decided against. What were the odds that it would pay off? Now, the bathroom, however… -that-, she would do tomorrow…

They heard Ranma yell ‘NO’, then Xian Mao laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Until he finally came out of the room, still chuckling.

His smile cracked, however, when he saw Genma trying to sneak off. Out of the long coat came a knife, which found itself hurtling through the air and pining Saotome Genma to the wall by his gi.

"Saotome Genma…" Xian Mao began, then stopped. It was clear to everyone that he had no idea what to say. From the top of the stairwell, he jumped, ricocheting of the banister into the main living area, were everyone was siting. Snarling, with the air of a tiger on the hunt, he stalked up to Genma’s quivering form. As the old man quaked underneath his gaze, the young priest/monk opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, finally giving up and simply striking Genma across the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, more insulting than injuring.

"Saotome Genma," he asked, finally finding the words, "what in the names of the Ancestors and the Gods possessed you to do that? The Cat Fist training? Did it never occur to you that the way to one of the two most powerful techniques in Existence would be more than throwing your son into a pit of starving cats? Did that never occur to you?"
 
 

The conversation went downhill from there. It involved Xian Mao screaming a good deal, Genma gibbering an awful lot, and everyone putting in far more than their two cents worth.

In the end, it was Ranma who broke it up.

"EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP!!"

Dead silence. It occurred to Nabiki that if Ranma were to express himself this way more often, he’d get quite a lot done.

"Okay, Xian Mao… you said you’d help me with the Cat Fist and my fear of cats, and I’m grateful… but no one gets to pick on Pops like that."

Xian Mao let go of Genma’s collar and bowed to Ranma.

"My apologies for the disturbance. You are correct: it is not my place to smash your father here and now…. That is your job."

Everyone looked at Xian Mao strangely.

"I apologize for disturbing the harmony of your home."

Everyone was in shock by now. This Chinese boy had come for Ranma… done no damage to the property whatsoever, was -apologizing- for a minor disturbance, and…

"What did you say Ranma?" demanded Nabiki. She was certain she’d heard him say that this Xian Mao was going to help with his cat phobia.

Ranma, however, couldn’t even seem to remember what it had been… only that he’d wanted Xian Mao to stop attacking his father (as Xian Mao had said, that was his job).

Perhaps, had the conversation been finished, things would have worked out in far simpler a fashion. Unfortunately, it was not. Shampoo chose that moment to make her own door in the wall, landing—amazingly—not on Ranma. She landed on Xian Mao.

"Nihao!"

Everyone facefaulted.

Save Xian Mao, who hadn’t gotten up yet.
 
 

Shampoo had known something was wrong from the instant her bicycle had landed. Usually, it was a sold impact, clean and hard… whether it be on the ground or on Ranma that she landed. This time, it had been a dull, wet, crunch.

She could see Airan in front of her, so clearly she hadn’t landed on him… she looked down.

"<Oh, shit,>" she muttered in Chinese. The new boy, the one she’d met at the Neko-hanten, the one who’d sworn truce with her, was lying underneath the tire of her bike… clearly hurt.

"Xian Mao! You okay?"

No response.

"What do you want, Shampoo?" demanded Ranma.

"Shampoo come see Airan! But not having good day… now land on nice-boy!"

She jumped off her bike, and moved it so that she could examine him. "Xian Mao hurt bad? What me do?"

"Get him to Dr. Tofu’s!"
 
 

"Oh, hello!" called out the esteemed doctor as Ranma, Akane, and Shampoo barged into his office at very nearly dark. "What’s the matter, now?"

"Our friend is hurt," Ranma explained.

"Oh! It’s Xian Mao!" Tofu exclaimed. "What happened to him?"

The purple-haired Amazon blushed. "Shampoo land on he…"

"Really?" the doctor asked, delicately popping Xian Mao’s neck, spine, and shoulders back into their proper positions. "You land on Ranma all the time, and he never seems to be hurt too badly. I wonder why…"

Having finished re-aligning all the joints in the boy’s body from mid-back up, the good doctor taped his wake-point.

Xian Mao blinked once, twice, then began muttering in Chinese. Tofu and Shampoo began to laugh.

"What?" demanded Ranma, "What’s he saying?"

"He pray," explained Shampoo. "Pray for help."

"He’s praying to his Ancestors and his Goddess," clarified Tofu. "to protect him from random beatings."

Ranma and Akane just looked confused.

"This is the second time today he’s found his way to my office like this… earlier this morning he and Ukyo had a disagreement."

Ranma still didn’t seem to understand.

"She kicked my ass into the ground."

The group turned to see Xian Mao sitting up. A quick, savage twist of his back filled the room with whet popping noises, and a flick of his head resounded with a sickening *crack*. He repeated the actions with his shoulders, wrists, and elbows.

Dr. Tofu looked askance at him, "Did I do something wrong?"

Xian Mao nodded. "Please do not take offense, Tofu-sensei, but my joints are not aligned like most people’s. Another side-effect of the Cat Fist training."

Ranma looked at him in wonder. "Seems that the Neko-ken changes your life no matter -how- you’re trained in it…"

"Yeah…" Xian Mao agreed. "Can we talk more tomorrow evening? I’d like a chance to rest…"

Then he passed out.
 
 

Nabiki was curious. Well, no, that wasn’t quite the word. She was curious about everything. This, she -wanted- to know about… to the point where almost anything was acceptable to achieve that knowledge.

And what was this great secret that she burned to know?

His name was Xian Mao.

Out of nowhere, he’d just appeared. Searching for Ranma, and seemed to be wanting to help him. He’d through blind luck found Ukyo, and she’d kicked his ass. He’d found his way to Tofu’s and worked out some sort of deal with the doctor to stay and work there… Then he’d met and fought Kuno, won, and taken the upperclassman’s bokken after casting some strange spell (Akane had related the tale to her). He’d followed Akane to the dojo, talked with Ranma… apparently getting something of use out of the boy/girl. Then he’d come down laughing, and gone berserk on Genma. Ranma had intervened—a little of a surprise, until you realized that Ranma’s honor would not allow someone to assault his father—and the Chinese boy had readily backed off. Then Shampoo had shown up, seeming to recognize him… after, of course, having landed on his head. Another surprise, here: Xian Mao hadn’t gotten back up.

All in all, he probably made the least sense of anyone who’d ever shown up looking for Ranma.

And those strange, luminous, silvery blue, cat-pupil eyes…

In short, Xian Mao fascinated Nabiki.

And when there was something Nabiki set her eyes on, she almost invariably achieved it…
 
 

Shampoo was feeling more than a little guilty.

She wasn’t sure why, exactly, but she was.

It probably had something to do with clobbering Xian Mao. Granted, she clobbered Ranma and Mousse on a regular basis (sometimes more than once daily), but this was different. Airan and stupid Mousse both recovered quickly, if not instantly. The new boy (she didn’t have a ‘name’ for him yet… like spatula-girl, violent pervert-girl, ribbon-girl, lost-boy, and so on… she would have to come up with one: it was one of her more reliable forms of amusement) on the other hand, had not recovered so easily. They’d had to take him to Dr. Tofu’s (she liked the nice young doctor, he was gentle, friendly, and had given her a place to stay when she’d first arrived)… where he was apparently staying, anyway. The doctor had somehow not put his joints back together right—because they were put together differently in the first place, according to what he’d told them. Then Xian Mao had fainted.

He’d been badly hurt, and it was her fault.

So she felt guilty. Maybe tomorrow, before the restaurant opened, she’d go and apologize.

Maybe ask him a few questions, as well. Such as ‘Why you ask me swear truce?’ and ‘What -IS- cat fist? Mao Fu? Neko-ken? Is not just what Airan does when scared of cats, is it?’
 
 

"Great-grandmother!"

"Yes, great-granddaughter?"

"I go out! Be back soon!"

"Going out to chase the groom? Good girl."

"No. Go see Xian Mao, see he okay."

The old ghoul’s eyes narrowed. "Very well. But you’d better be back in time to open."

"Shampoo be back!" she promised, and bounced out the door. Cologne’s suggestion, however, had put a slight damper on her morning. Why could great-grandmother not see that Ranma did not want Shampoo? Why could the old woman not see that Airan would never take a woman he did not want?

He seems to be taking four of them, great-grandmother would respond, eyes narrowing.

But the truth of the matter was that he wasn’t. Kodachi, he pushed away with all his strength, even as she tried to blackmail, rape, and abuse him into choosing her. Ukyo was his childhood friend, and he didn’t want to loose that, even if it meant stringing her along… which, with all honesty, Shampoo had to admit, was not what he was trying to do. And Akane… the only people who couldn’t see -that- were Ukyo, Cologne, the Kuno sibs, and the two in question. As for herself… what was she to Ranma? Was she even his friend?

Shampoo hoped so. She did love him, or, rather, had. Unrequited love has a habit of either festering into obsession, as Mousse’s had, or dying… as hers had. At least the romantic love… she still wanted Ranma for her friend… she -desperately- needed a friend.

Perhaps that was why she was feeling so bad about Xian Mao: he was someone who might become her friend, and she’d put him—if not in the hospital, close enough.

"Oh, hello Shampoo." Dr. Tofu’s voice asked her, curious but friendly, "What are you doing here?"

Shampoo looked up in surprise. She’d already made her way here to his clinic!

"Shampoo come see Xian Mao, see if he okay."

"Oh, that’s nice. Go on in, he’s in the room that used to be yours."

Shampoo nodded, and simply smiled thank you… Ancestors! How she -hated- speaking Japanese!

Since it -had- been her room for a little while, it wasn’t very difficult for Shampoo to find it.

"Nihao," she said, walking in the open door. Xian Mao was sitting on the floor, stretching and doing meditative exercises. He also was naked from the waist up.

Shampoo caught herself before she began to stare. He was built even better than Ryoga! Maybe not -quite- as muscular, but since Ryoga stood just this side of the borderline where muscle stopped being attractive, that was in his favor. There was also the way he moved: perfect, fluid, boneless grace… almost like a cat.

"<Hello, Xian Pu,>" he responded in Chinese.

"<Are you okay?>" she asked, still tentative

"<Yeah, I’m fine.>" Xian Mao winced, pushing up shields to keep her out of his head. Were Nabiki and Dr. Tofu the only people in the entire Nerima Ward who thought quietly? "<I was not seriously damaged, Xian Pu. You have no need to feel guilty.>"

Shampoo started. "<How did you know…?>"

"<Xian Pu, I am a priest of sorts. I am also very sensitive, and you think and feel very loudly.>"

Shampoo blushed, and shielded her mind the way great-grandmother had taught her… hoping that he hadn’t picked up on -too- much.

Xian Mao stood up smoothly, walked over to the purple-haired Amazon and put his hand on her shoulder.

"<I realize that it was an accident, Xian Pu,>" he told her, "<and I -would- like to be your friend.>"
 
 

For some reason, Xian Mao was startled when Ranma fell through the roof of Dr. Tofu’s office, landing neatly on the bench-slash-table that was designated for patients.

"Gaaah!"

The good doctor, on the other had, took it in stride.

"Oh," he said, looking up, "hello, Ranma. What did you do to make Akane mad this time?"

"Kawaiikunee tomboy…" the young martial artist muttered, collapsing into a position that closely resembled a dead and mangled bug.

Xian Mao looked at Ranma in shock.

"I’d say this case is a little beyond me, wouldn’t you agree doctor?"

"Yes, Xian Mao, I’d have to agree with that assessment."

Dr. Tofu sighed, and began putting Ranma’s misaligned body back together. Xian Mao watched closely as the good doctor demonstrated and explained exactly what seemed to have been done to the boy/girl, and how to fix it. Truly told, Xian Mao was somewhat shocked that such mangling could be inflicted on a human body before it broke.

"Well, now we just wait for him to wake up," Tofu said after a few minutes worth of work.

"No we don’t," Xian Mao disagreed, grinning. Tofu raised an eyebrow. The boy winked, and laid his hand over Ranma’s solar plexus, then tapped the martial artist’s heart chakra twice. Ranma gasped, and came to life. "Did you ‘see’ the two Ki bursts?"

Tofu nodded. Very simple, very useful.

"So," the doctor pressed, smiling, "what -did- you do to Akane?"

"Wouldn’t eat the lunch she made me," Ranma admitted sullenly.

"And insulted her about it on top of that," the young priest muttered, picking the information out of the incredibly ‘loud’ thoughts that broadcasted their way through the room, just loud enough for both Ranma and Dr. Tofu to hear him. Ranma blushed, and the doctor chuckled.

"Dr. Tofu?" Xian Mao queried, directing his attention to the older man.

"Yes?"

"May I please take this opportunity to explain to Ranma just precisely what the Neko-ken really is? That is why I’m here, after all."

Dr. Tofu seemed to consider. "All right. We don’t have any other patients right now, and you did just show me that useful wake-up technique… incidentally, could that be used to help recover Ki?"

Xian Mao nodded. "That’s what it’s for, actually. It also has the side effect of waking the subject up. It can, under some conditions, help someone recover from a concussion or shock."

"Thank you," Tofu said smiling. "Hopefully, I’ll learn as much from you as you do from me. Do you mind if I listen in, though?"

Xian Mao shrugged. "Ask Ranma."

Ranma, too, just shrugged. Dr. Tofu sat down as Xian Mao began to talk…
 
 

Much like you, Ranma, I began training at a very early age. -My- training, however, was at first purely spiritual in nature. At first I was taught the principles of Buddhism, but once I began to understand those, I was introduced into the true faith of the temple: worship and guardianship of Wang-Mao-Yue, the fallen Yin Cat Goddess. She is the patron of, and to some degree the power behind, the Neko-ken.

That faith, that worship, is based first and foremost on the principles of Balance; of the Yin and the Yang. From that Balance, all things are derived. All things, Life, Death, Rebirth; good things, bad things; everything… all these things cycle, like the turning of a wheel. From those cycles, and the Balance, the world was made, exists, will end, and will be made again.

But I digress…

The Neko-ken derives its power from the Yin Principle, the Tiger, channeled through our fallen Goddess. The true name for the technique—or, rather, path—was lost long, long ago. The name Neko-ken, or Mao Fu, or Cat Fist, comes from the most basic aspect of the path: what we call the Claw. It is an embracing of the Tiger—the fiercest, most powerful of cats—and his mind, and his weapon. This is the thing you become when you loose control of your fear of cats, Ranma. That devastating technique: the ability to shred anything with a claw of Ki without even touching it physically, is only the beginning.

That state can be achieved by anyone with the focus, the training, and enough Yin Energy.

Beyond that, you are considered an adept.

There are Nine Steps, after the Claw… called Phases, Doors, and Gates almost interchangeably.

The First, is Movement. Through this Door lies speed, dexterity, and balance at levels well beyond human.

The Second, is Flight. Escape lies through this Door.

The Third is Defense of Territory. This Gate is the basic feline instinct to defend it’s home ground… powerful, but not lethal unless your enemy will not leave.

The Fourth Gate is the Defense of Self. More powerful than the last, though this Gate lies preservation of self at all costs.

None save a true master of the path can go beyond that point.
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 

Nabiki had watched her female classmate’s reactions to Xian Mao as he followed Ranma back to school that afternoon. She knew that there had to be some way to cash in on that reaction, but how? She also had to admit that she wasn’t immune…
 
 

Since there were no appointments for the rest of the afternoon, Dr. Tofu had given Xian Mao the rest of the day off. So the priest and the martial artist had returned to Furinken… Ranma had returned to class, and Xian Mao would wait outside. A good opportunity for meditation, something he’d not had time to do for too long.

"’Ey!" someone called out to him, disturbing his inner peace. "Wot’s wit’ da t’reds an’ da hair? An why ain’t ya in class, Keiki? Das agains’ da rules!"

Only reflex was able to stop something from impacting his head. Without thinking, Xian Mao rolled away from the onslaught, and turned to face his opponent.

"<Ah, shit,>" he thought. "<What kinda crazy wears anything like -that-?>"

The crazy in question was, of course, wearing a very, very loud Hawaiian shirt. In one hand was what appeared to be a razor of some kind.

"You fas’, Keiki, but dis kahuna fas’er!" the psycho with the strange accent attacked him again. Xian Mao might not have understood what danger he was in, at first. He had no experience with the insane principal of Furinken High School, nor even heard stories. But the incredibly ‘loud’ thoughts that were near universal throughout Nerima were also present in this adversary.

‘Shave head, shave head, shave head,’ echoed through Xian Mao’s psyche like a mantra.

Xian Mao had very few vanities, and one of them was his hair. When one grows up surrounded by shaved-headed monks, one tends in that direction or the exact opposite. Truly told, Xian Mao was even more vain about his hair than Ranma; it was a symbol: that he was not a monk, that he would not be celibate, that he -would- find a woman to love and to marry. That this lunatic whom he’d never seen before wished to take that from him enraged Xian Mao on every level of his being.

The young priest’s battle aura flared to life: icy silver-blue… like his eyes.

He intercepted the charging madman with a two-palm strike similar to the Hadoken. His sheers-wielding attacker hit palms and aura simultaneously, and was driven back by a Ki-blast just this side of true sorcery. Xian Mao followed up with a roundhouse kick to the head, driving his adversary into the earth, then stepped back, flowing into the Claw. He crouched, like an animal, one ‘paw’ reared back and ready to strike.

"Dis kahuna think he gonna find somewhere else ta play…" the madman said, running back into the school…
 
 

Somehow, only two people noticed the fight: Tendo Nabiki, and Gosunkugi Hikaru.

The former was curious, again. Xian Mao could hold off the principal as well as his son. There was something different about the way he fought, versus the way everyone else she knew fought… -that- was it! Nabiki suddenly realized what was so strange about Xian Mao: he didn’t put on a show. He fought cleanly and efficiently. Nothing fancy, unless it was called for. She didn’t practice martial arts, herself, but living at the dojo as she did, and constantly surrounded by martial artists, she had picked up enough theory from their boasting to know that while he might not be as good or as strong as most of the others she knew (Ranma, Ryoga, Shampoo, Ukyo, and so on), he was good enough to do serious damage… and chose not to. He was frugal with his power, using exactly what was needed to get it done -now-, much like Ranma or Cologne in that he did not use more than was necessary, but unlike them he did not toy with his opponent: he crushed them. Nabiki could appreciate and admire that.

The later, on the other hand, was frightened. The so-called "Voodoo Spike" Gosunkugi was not powerful. He could barely be said to actively practice the arcane ways. But he -was- sensitive to some degree… enough that he could feel what Xian Mao had done, at least. He had felt the concussive shock of Xian Mao’s Ki blast. And he had seen the shimmering, black, feline aura that had surrounded the strange new boy after he had moved into a defensive position. The power the new boy seemed to command frightened the would-be occultist. Frightened him very badly.
 
 

Xian Mao stared at Nabiki, shocked from hormonal mode back into genuine conscious thought.

"Say again?"

"I said: ‘I see you had an encounter with our principal.’"

Xian Mao groaned. "Is that maniac truly in charge of this school?"

"Yip." She said, smiling sweetly. Xian Mao was almost as fun to poke as Ranma!

"<Ye Blessed Gods…>"

"What was that?" she asked, smiling again to watch him blush. Xian Mao was very good at hiding how girl-shy he could be, but push enough… this was so much fun!

"Doesn’t translate…" he mumbled, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and tugging on his earring. Unfortunately, the shock did not last long. Already, he was having to force down images and feelings that stemmed wholly from the fact that Tendo Nabiki was an attractive, well-built female. Thanks be to the gods that she wasn’t fertile… he’d be barely able to talk to her for all the effort controlling the animal within would require. That was one aspect of the Neko-ken that had almost no advantage… the animal senses only amplified the animal urges, and when in the city… the noise level gave him an almost constant headache.

To Xian Mao’s relief, Ranma wasn’t far behind Nabiki.

At least, he was relieved at first.

"Hey Ranma, did you hear what your new friend did?"

Xian Mao groaned as Nabiki poked and prodded him into telling Ranma about his encounter with Principal Kuno.
 
 

The two young men faced off in the Tendo’s yard.

"You sure you can take me on?" Ranma asked.

"No." Xian Mao confessed, shrugging. "I’m fully aware that you could accidentally kill me."

"Then why…"

"Because I feel that the best way to begin training you is to see what you -already- know. Besides, I was hoping I might learn something."

"You train me, I train you?" Ranma asked, grinning.

"Something like that."

"Why not? Sure!"

And that was how Ranma and Xian Mao came to the agreement that they would train one another in their respective Arts: the Neko-ken, and the Saotome School of Indiscriminate Grappling.

Xian Mao nodded, bowed, and pulled off his shirt. There was a bandanna wrapped around one of his biceps, and he used that to tie his hair back out of his face

Ranma just assumed a fighting stance and waited for the other young man to make his move.

The problems began right off the bat. Xian Mao was fast and agile, strong and quick… compared to any normal human, even most martial artists. Compared to Ranma, however, his only advantage was agility, and that wasn’t worth much. There’s only so much one can pull their punches, and even that wasn’t enough. The young priest got the snot beat out of him.

"That was educational," Xian Mao groaned as he got up from the ground.

"What’s the matter?" Ranma asked, "I thought you were a martial artist?"

Xian Mao gave the red-shirted boy a sour look. "I am. Frankly, I think your problem is that you don’t know how good you are."

"Oh, that’s right!" Nabiki called from her spectator’s perch on the porch. "Swell his head even more!"

The exasperated young priest turned his withering gaze toward her. She just smiled and waved.

"What do you mean, I don’t know how good I am?" demanded Ranma.

Xian Mao looked at him accusingly. "You see yourself as good, but nothing more. You fail to recognize the skills of others, and take them seriously, because it does not occur to you that anyone could be less than you. After all, you were trained by that looser who calls himself your father—and I just picked those words out of your head, so don’t get mad at me, it’s -your- thought—so if you can be as good as you are, why isn’t anyone better?"

Xian Mao sighed, and looked into Ranma’s shocked eyes.

"I’m sorry Ranma, but that’s not quite the case. Look around you: Kuonji Ukyo has incredible skill and strength, and looks to have even greater potential… if only she took fighting seriously. Kuno Tatewaki could be an excellent martial artist, if only he’d stop posturing, and allow into his mind the possibility that he might loose. Tendo Akane has the potential to be at least as good as Ukyo, if only she would control and channel her anger. And you… you, to reach your true potential, must come to terms with yourself as you are."

The priestly young man grinned, bringing levity back to the situation.

"So. What’s your analysis of -me-?"

Ranma smiled, regaining his composure.

"Well," he said, taking a sort of ‘teacher’ stance, "to begin with you’re slow. On my worst day, I can move a hundred times as fast. Speed training’s easy, though. Second, you don’t seem to have any idea how to deal with airborne attacks. Everything you do is ground-based. Around here, that could get you in trouble: people’s feet almost never touch the ground during a fight. Again, fairly easy to deal with: teach you a few, you’ll learn how to counter them. Your next problem links back to the first: you seem to think about every move before you do it. Wrong. Bad. You need to move as much by instinct as anything else. The only solution for that is practice."

Xian Mao nodded. "Thank you. Will you give me this training I need? As agreed, I shall train you in the Mao Fu."

For once in his life, Ranma picked up on the formal tone of the other boy’s voice, and responded appropriately: "Yes. I will train you, and be trained by you."
 
 

From the porch, a startled Nabiki looked up from changing the film in her camera. What had she heard? Was Ranma growing a brain? Once again, the new boy had surprised her, and this time it was inarguably a pleasant surprise.

Of course, she was in a good mood anyway. When Xian Mao had taken off his shirt, she’d figured out where the profit came in: pictures. Photographs.

Girls were just as interested in beefcake pictures as boys were in the female variety. However, despite being surrounded by attractive young men, she’d not been able to tap that market. Girls just weren’t interested in people who were already taken… or, at least, they didn’t admit to it as readily as boys did. And, of the list, Ranma was Akane’s, so was Ryoga (besides, he was a little -too- built, and a little on the stupid side), Mousse was Shampoo’s, and Kuno was a moron who’d given his heart to Akane and the "pig-tailed-girl"… a woman who didn’t exist.

Xian Mao, on the other hand, was clean. He was well built, a martial artist, and most importantly, single. Thinking back on the shots of him sparing with Ranma, she hoped the fluid grace that had captured the hearts and hormones of so many of her classmates had been captured on film.

Then, she saw him begin to teach Ranma to dance… actually, it was Tai Chi. Probably the only martial art Ranma didn’t know, and finished changing her film -fast-.

These pictures would make the others almost worthless.
 
 

"Are you familiar with Tai Chi?" Xian Mao had asked Ranma, somewhere toward the middle of Nabiki’s reverie.

"Not really," Ranma had confessed.

"Then let us begin there."

And so the priest began teaching the warrior to dance.

Ranma was a quick study, and caught on to all of the more simple movements and sequences almost instantly. So Xian Mao moved on to some of the more advanced things, which Ranma also caught.

Caught, but failed to master.

It irritated Ranma, but he was consoled by his teacher’s assurances that only practice could bring true mastery. So they practiced, working through the movements over and over again, in each of the Eight Directions. Again and again they did it, Nabiki snapping pictures all the while, until at last, as the sun began to set, Ranma’s aura flared to life around him. So lost in the meditative movements he was, that he didn’t even notice. His teacher, on the other hand, did.

Xian Mao led him through a final rotation of the Eight Directions, allowing his own aura to flare up: icy silver-blue to Ranma’s bright fiery blue. More photos, before Xian Mao called halt.

"You have learned well," Xian Mao told Ranma, bowing. "Continue to practice until every fiber of your being becomes aware. Then practice more until you cannot -cease- to be aware. It will not come tonight, do not worry. I will teach you more in time. Tomorrow night, however, you will teach me!"
 
 

Nabiki had not been the only one watching the training session. The entire Tendo household had found themselves a perch from which to view the two young men. They could not hear what was said, but they could guess… most with minimal accuracy, though.

Soun cried that maybe Ranma would be able to take over the dojo: he already had a student.

Genma boasted, trying to take the credit for Ranma’s skill and his prowess in defeating Xian Mao.

Kasumi watched with mild interest, but was far more concerned with the way local Chi flow seemed to warp itself around and through Xian Mao.

Akane just stared, refusing to allow herself to think.

Happosai was worried. He’d seen or heard of this boy somewhere before. Who was he? What did he want at the dojo? At least it wasn’t Taro… couldn’t be. He called himself Xian Mao. Immortal Cat. A tad bit of arrogance, there, on the part of his parents… but it rang True, and one did not get to be as old as Happosai or Cologne without being sensitive to such things…
 
 

[<Honored and respected Elder,>] Xian Mao began, carefully inking the delicate calligraphy.

[<I am in Nerima, Tokyo, and have located Saotome Ranma. It was fairly simple, truly told.>]

He paused, wondering where to go from there.

[<That, however, is where the problems begin….>]

The young man briefly outlined the various problems he had so far encountered with training Ranma. Then came his own problems.

[<And there’s this girl…>]
 
 

Xian Mao watched carefully over Tofu Ono’s shoulder as he set the schoolboy’s leg.

"How’d that happen?" he asked, noting the shiatsu points the doctor had hit to numb the pain.

"I was having a really bad day, and Kuno-sempai was rambling on about how he would have his ‘lovely Akane’ and his ‘goddess in pigtails’. I just got fed up, and told him that Akane would never have him—hell, no woman would, and the pig-tailed-girl… everyone knows she’s just Ranma." The boy winced. "Then he kicked the shit out of me."

Xian Mao nodded, applying the techniques to the boy’s arms.

"I’ve noticed that Tatewaki-sama* seems to have a tenuous grip on reality," he commented. "He attacked me the other day ago while I was talking to Tendo Akane-san, yelling about me being ‘too familiar’ with her. When I took him down, he accused me of sorcery."

The boy nodded. "He’s always rambling on about the ‘vile sorcerer Saotome’."

Xian Mao shook his head, and finished wrapping the boy’s assortment of cuts and contusions. "I don’t know Ranma-san very well yet, but I can assure you he’s not a sorcerer."

"Oh?" the boy asked jokingly, "How can you tell? -You- a sorcerer?"

Xian Mao met his eyes with perfect calm.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Are you really?" Dr. Tofu asked after the boy’s parents had come to pick him up. "A sorcerer, I mean."

Xian Mao shrugged, "Yes, in the most literal sense. I do practice magick, or sorcery, but… I would have trouble qualifying myself as something that great. I don’t know the gradations of power in Japanese, however. So ‘sorcerer’ must do."

Tofu nodded. "Is any of what you know applicable to the healing arts?"

"A little."

"Care to pay your rent, then?"

"Why not?"
 
 

Nabiki was making a killing. She’d been forced to be careful with Kuno, he was a limited market and could only support so much. The female population of Furinken, however, was another story entirely. She sold pictures at 750 a piece, 1500 for sets of three, and 2000 for sets of five. She was also taking orders for poster-sized images—there were a few in particular that had received so many requests that she was almost ready to put them out in a separate line—for which she would charge somewhere between 1500 to 2500.

The money was just poring in.

She did feel a little guilty about exploiting Xian Mao. He didn’t even live with them, after all, but he was a potential source of damage to the dojo and the household, so he might as well pay for it… even if indirectly.

Her sister and Ranma, on the other hand, did not see it that way.

"Look," she’d told them flatly. "Have you ever been able to stop me from selling pictures of you? No? Then why think you can stop me now?"

Besides, with this better source of income, she’d not been forced to continue selling to Kuno. That had, over time, become distasteful. She knew that this market would not last as long, but it would produce hundreds upon hundreds of times the profit. As long as she kept the demand up.

Why, with this much money coming in, she could even afford to keep a few copies for herself…
 
 

The last appointment of the day found their way out of Dr. Tofu’s clinic at around three forty-five. Xian Mao would take a quick shower—a luxury he had come to adore—change into clothing more suitable to training, and head out to the Tendo dojo.

Shampoo threw his schedule off, however, but arriving just as he stepped out of the shower. Fortunately, she arrived at the front door (yes, Shampoo actually -does- know how to use a door), and the bathroom was on the other end of the building, and barely six paces from his room. So, he was -mostly- dressed when she opened his bedroom door.

"<Nihao!>"

"Gaaaah!"

"<Oh, sorry. I’ll come back in a little bit.>"

Xian Mao laughed, blushing. He was only naked from the waist up, he just been startled.

"<No, you can stay. You just scared me.>"

She put on her best ‘innocent look’. "Shampoo scary?"

It was all Xian Mao could do to stand up, he was laughing so hard. Shampoo giggled as she tipped him over, then joined him on the floor laughing as he kicked her feet out from under her. She retaliated by tickling him—finding Xian Mao’s ticklish spots wasn’t difficult… he had a good deal of them. He responded in kind.

It was quarter after four by the time they had settled down. The two teenagers picked themselves up and dusted themselves off, still smiling broadly. Then Xian Mao startled Shampoo, taking her in a quick bear hug.

"<You’re a good friend, Xian Pu,>" he told her, letting her out of the embrace.

"<Th-thank you…>"

As Xian Mao vaulted down the road to the Tendo’s he wondered why Shampoo had been so reluctant to come with him. He’d made the suggestion innocently enough—Ranma was her husband, after all.

There was the problem!

The realization struck him so hard that he almost tripped on an imperfection in the sidewalk. He wasn’t. He never would be. He was Akane’s, and she knew it. That was why he’d been washed with psychic pain just before she’d thrown up her shields. Her smile had died, and she’d quietly said ‘no’, using the window as an exit.

He’d been a fool, and had possibly damaged their budding friendship.

Regaining his balance, Xian Mao sighed gustily. He could think about that later. Right now he had training to do, and this was the sort of thing that would distract him. A little guilty, he closed that off into a small, secret corner of his mind.

When he reached the Tendo dojo, Ranma was waiting for him. Impatiently.

"It’s four thirty." The young martial artist stated flatly. "You’re half an hour late."

Xian Mao shrugged. "I could explain, if you wanted me to."

"Do." Apparently Ranma took his position as teacher -very- seriously.

"First, Dr. Tofu’s appointments ran a little late. I couldn’t get cleaned up until quarter to four. Then Shampoo stopped by, and we talked briefly… not good enough for you, I suppose, but…"

Ranma shrugged. "You’ll just have to work harder to make up for the lost time. Why’d Shampoo show up?"

"Because we’re friends. She may be your wife, Ranma, but even if you did want her, you wouldn’t have the right or strength to control her movements."

"She’s not my wife! And what do you mean by ‘even if I did want her’?"

Xian Mao met Ranma’s eyes and brought his considerable Will to bear on the young man’s mind. It wasn’t outright Suggestion, just a priestly trick to make one listen to what one had to say.

"You -don’t- want her, do you?"

"No, but…"

"But what?"

Ranma just gaped, his self-confidence in this sort of situation an absolute zero.

"You are her husband. By Amazon law, you were wed the instant you defeated her. That law supersedes whatever insult you may have given back at the village. You don’t want her, though, and that hurts her a whole lot… I know: I’m her friend and she sometimes lets down her empathic shields with me. I can feel every twinge, want to or not. She doesn’t want to marry you, but she doesn’t have a choice."

"What do you mean she doesn’t want…" Ranma exploded. "Almost every day, she glomps onto me! Almost every day, I get hit by Akane and sometimes half a dozen other people ‘cause she jumps me!

"And what do you mean, she doesn’t have a choice? If she didn’t want to chase me, why would she?"

It is perhaps fortunate that Akane was nowhere around to hear that particular conversation. It had strong overtones of Ranma -wanting- to be chased.

Xian Mao struck Ranma across the face in a vicious slap.

"She does so because she must. It is her duty to wed you, to bear your child. It is her honor, and her family’s, at stake. And, perhaps most importantly, it is her great-grandmother’s wish that she wed you. It is part of her atonement for ‘allowing’ herself to be defeated. She is to be heir to Cologne’s position on the Council of Elders, and it is imperative that her honor be spotless."

Ranma continued to gape at Xian Mao. "What? How do you?"

"I know because I squeezed it out of what I had: things she and Cologne said, and my own knowledge of Chinese tradition and Amazon law."

Xian Mao glared at Ranma for a few moments more.

"Now, can we get back to training?"
 
 
 
 

* the ‘sama’ suffix can be used condescendingly, as it is in this case, with sarcasm. It comes off as ‘o mister high and mighty’. No, Xian Mao isn’t a native speaker, but he’s empathic and he did go thru’ Tokyo… he would have picked up no few insults and how to use them.
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 

Xian Mao sat in silent meditation. The lights in his room at Dr. Tofu Ono’s clinic had been squelched, and the only illumination came from a pair of candles, one to his right, and one to his left.

Over the past several weeks, he had given Ranma intensive training in Tai Chi, and while it had helped the troubled young man focus, he was still far from mastery. The spiritual training was going nowhere, however. Ranma could simply not bring his Spirit to bear. His Ki was perfectly controlled, the

Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken was testament to that, as was his tendency to slash and cut things with his punches and kicks… though Ranma had never heard of the Razor Edge of Ki, as the technique was called.

But there was something interfering, and Xian Mao had a feeling he knew what it was…
 
 

Finally he gave in. Even after seven hours of intense meditation, he could think of nothing that might be causing the strange psychic imbalance he had seen in Ranma, save for the Jhusenkyo curse. With a sigh of resignation, he headed off in the direction of the Neko-hanten.

He was almost there when he felt Shampoo’s presence… behind him?

"Xian Mao? What you do here?"

"Looking for you, actually." He and Shampoo had developed a ritual of sorts. There were times when she was so sick of speaking Japanese that it made her nauseous, and on those occasions they spoke in Chinese. Other times, she felt she needed further practice, and then they spoke in Japanese. Either way, she would set the standard by speaking first. "I was hoping you could tell me about the magickal nature of Jhusenkyo curses."

Shampoo shook her head. "I no know magick things. Great-grandmother might know, but… no will tell you."

Xian Mao raised an eyebrow.

Shampoo looked sad. "She say she no care we swear truce. She say you are enemy, say your temple kill our people. Say she no want me go around you."

Xian Mao frowned. This was an unpleasant development. He’d hoped to wear down the Amazon Elder’s animosity, but apparently the bad blood between them was too much.

He sighed wearily, and sagged his head. "Do you intend to listen to her?"

"She say that three week ago," the young Amazon smiled brightly. "Shampoo no listen yet, why listen now?"

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "You my friend. I no abandon you."

Xian Mao nodded, smiling again as well. "What’s with the pack?"

"I go back to China, visit home, friends, family."

"Could you do me a few favors while you’re there?"

"What you need?"

"I was hoping you might look for some information…"

"Why not you come?"

"Say again?"

Shampoo switched to Chinese. "<Why not come with me? You could get all the information you need, without asking me to remember it all, you could get away from all the city stink and noise, and I could have someone to talk to on my way.>"

It was perfect logic, and when a girl smiled that way at him… even Shampoo, who was just his friend… how on earth could he say no?

Quickly, he made arrangements with Dr. Tofu, and informed the Tendos that he would be gone for a while. Then, after a quick trip back to the clinic to gather his pack—out of which nothing important had been removed—he left for China, talking quietly with Shampoo.

So quickly, he left, in fact, that he missed the return message from the Elder Monk as it materialized on his bed in Dr. Tofu’s clinic.
 
 
 
 

*****

AN: at this point, we will do a little break. The story of Xian Mao’s trip to China with Shampoo takes a couple weeks, and they return at the end of the Dragon Heaven Blast cycle. At that point this story takes complete and total leave of the main (Takahashi’s) story line, unless something cool happens that I feel might still work. In this fic I’m taking absolutely -shameless- advantage of Takahashi Rumiko’s endless "now time", where days pass, the seasons change a little, but no time actually goes by (how else are Ranma and Akane in their sophomore year throughout the whole thing… even as far as I’ve gotten(the latest Viz manga release), it seems to have cycled from late summer/early autumn to early/mid spring, and from what I’ve gathered, no real Time has actually passed, and none does throughout the entire 38 volumes of the Japanese manga.

Incidentally, I’m somewhere in Viz’s vol. 12 of the manga. how much does that correspond to the Japanese progression?

Finally, there does seem to be a small hole in the story: Ryoga v. Ranma in the Hiryu Shoten Ha cycle… let us just assume that Ranma’s defeat at Ryoga’s hands drove him to train even harder… I’ll work this out sometime… just as soon as I figure out what to do with it.

*****
 
 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
 
 
 
 

Xian Mao had been somewhat surprised by how readily people had accepted ‘Oh, bye, I’m off to China!’

Very surprised, in fact.

Almost as surprised as he was by the fact that he’d done it. Surprised, shocked, and amazed though he was, however, he wasn’t regretful.

The headache that had plagued him since he’d set foot in Tokyo International Airport was gone, now. It had vanished the instant he’d left the Nerima city limits. Fresh air and quiet did wonders for one’s health. Coupled with good conversation, it was all but a miracle.
 
 

*****

AN: this takes place in that little break toward the beginning of Chapter Seven.

All conversations, unless otherwise noted (<…>) are in Chinese, as opposed to Japanese, since well… that’s what Xian Mao and Shampoo both speak.

[…] is communication thru’ the Kinship. (don’t worry, it’ll be explained), /…/ thru telepathy.

*****

Granted, they would have to return to civilization at some point, in order to catch a plane to China, but that could wait. They were on a vacation, of sorts, and they weren’t wasting it trudging through the city. So they took the scenic route. There would be time enough for quick travel once they reached the mainland.

"So, how did you get here, Xian Pu?"

"First time, I swam. The second time, I mailed my self."

"Say that one more time? I’m not sure I heard you right."

Shampoo’s mouth made an ‘O’. "Aiiya! You don’t know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Promise not to take advantage of me?" then, in a smaller voice, "Promise not to laugh?"

"I’m a priest, Xian Pu, and your friend."

She nodded, smiled slightly, and pulled a water flask from her pack. A quick squirt and…

"Oh," said Xian Mao, looking at the slightly damp Siamese cat that crawled out of Shampoo’s clothes. "My."

[Is problem, yes?]

Xian Mao blinked. It had been months since he’d felt the touch of the Kinship.

"Xian Pu?"

"Nyaaaa!" [You can hear me?]

"Of course I can hear you…"

"Rrrow?" [But I a cat!]

"So it would seem."

"Mmrrw?" [But… how?]

"Another facet of the Neko-ken: the Kinship. I have a sort of empathic link with felines. I guess I can ‘hear’ your thoughts directly… as opposed to empathicly, since you have a human mind, bound with a cat’s." an evil thought occurred to him. "Hey, we can save on tickets this way!"

"Rrrow!" [Hey! You promised not to take advantage!]

Xian Mao laughed and leaned down to scratch the purple Siamese behind the ears. Still chuckling, the young man picked up Shampoo’s discarded clothes (idly noting lack of bra or panties) and stashed them in her pack, along with his own.

"I won’t," he told her simply. "I was just teasing you. Truthfully, though, we really ought to have given some though to how we were going to get back to the mainland -before- we set out without a Yen to our name."

"Mya…" [I suppose… I was going mail self…]

"But we can’t mail me, can we?"

"Rrrr…" [No…]

"So, why don’t we get a plane ticket? I, personally, don’t care to swim the way…"

"RRR!" while that response was pure cat, the negative agreement was quite clear.
 
 

Going their roundabout way, it took them almost a week to reach Tokyo International. Money might have been a problem, but Xian Mao knew what he was doing. The two took a ‘short cut’ through one of the worse areas of Tokyo, and had a hay day. Toughs, gang members, and fools by the score made small-time bets on the two’s fighting abilities and endurance. Those who tried to rob the two found themselves with broken bones and even less money than they’d had before.

There are those who might find such things amoral, but Shampoo’s morality was Amazon in nature, and Xian Mao, being of Yin Nature, was perfectly willing to let any fool on the street give him as much money as he chose… he might have been a priest, but he was in many ways unpriestly, and his feline, Yin, often self-centered Nature was one of them.

Consequently—due in no small amount to the very great number of fools in the Tokyo slums—when Xian Mao and Shampoo reached the airport, they had more than enough money to by tickets… not -good- tickets, granted, but tickets none the less.

The fight to Beijing was peaceful, quiet, and utterly unworthy of comment.

Their arrival, however, was quite noteworthy, as neither one had a passport.

Customs called guards and locked them in a small room while what to do was decided.

"Xian," Shampoo asked, "you’re psychic, aren’t you?"

"That’s one word for it, yes…" Xian Mao had a feeling he wasn’t going to like where that question was going to go.

"Can’t you…" she made a sort of swirling gesture with her hand, "…change their minds?"

"It’s a little late in the game for that, Xian Pu. Besides, it’s wrong, and I’d have no idea how to go about it."

"What do we do, then? They’re going to arrest us, as soon as they get orders. How will we get out?"

Xian Mao sat down and thought about it.

"Well, there’s always the fun way."

"The fun way?" Shampoo raised an eyebrow.

"They come in, we kick ass."

"But they have guns…"

"Yes, they do. That’s why I’m not really all that fond of the ‘fun way’." He thought some more, and Shampoo’s face grew pensive. "Okay, come here. Sit down, relax, and whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself."

"What are you going to do?"

"I’m going to make us unobtrusive."

"You’re what?" Shampoo demanded.

"Just watch."

Shampoo watched curiously as her friend pulled his legs up into full lotus position, seeming to close his eyes while they stayed wide open. She felt a tingling across her skin… almost erotic, and a shimmering passed across her vision. No more than five seconds later, the green-uniformed guards barged back in, looking around madly.

"Where’d they go?" one demanded.

"I don’t know, they were right here!"

"You stupid prick! How’d you let them sneak by?"

"I didn’t! They just disappeared!"

As the brief argument reached its climax, Xian Mao whispered at them: "If we move fast, we can still catch them. Run. Run."

"C’mon!" the first guard barked. "Move! Me might be able to find them!"

And the guards ran out, not bothering to shut the door behind them.

Shampoo turned to Xian Mao… and couldn’t quite see him. He wasn’t invisible, it was just that her eyes slid right over him.

"What?" she demanded, but he put a finger to her lips with a barely seen sly smile, and a ‘come hither’ gesture as he dashed out the door.
 
 

"What did you -do-." she demanded again.

"I’m not telling!"

"If you don’t tell, I’m dumping you in Jhusenkyo when we get there!"

"Only if you can!" he laughed, dodging out of her reach.

"Xian Mao!" she yelled, slightly peevish, but not really putting her heart into it; grabbing after him as they dashed down the streets of Beijing. Laughing as he dodged out of her way, Xian Mao managed to crash into a tall, heavy-set man in gang colors with a scar across his face.

"I’m terribly sorry, sir." Xian Mao apologized, bowing humbly.

"Sorry my ass," the big man snarled. "I think I’m going to have to hurt you… then maybe I’ll take your woman."

Xian Mao stopped stock-still.

"What did you say?" he demanded, the tone of his voice expressing his utter shock at what the man had implied.

"I said I was going to hurt you, then take your woman."

Shampoo stood by, not sure what to do and having difficulty wading through the thick street-accented Mandarin.

"I think not." was all Xian replied, shifting his weight back into what only a highly trained eye might have identified as a defensive posture, blended of Choi Li Fut, the Mao Fu, and Aikido.

"<What did he just say?>" Shampoo asked, slipping back into Japanese for a reason not even she could have identified.

Xian Mao gave her an odd look, and responded, also in Japanese. "<He said he was going to hurt me, and take you.>"

Shampoo broke out laughing.

"What’s so funny?" the thug demanded.

"I told her what you said." /Let me handle this, Xian Pu, dear./

"Funny, am I? Laugh at this you foreign bitch!"

The thug whipped out a weighted chain and began swinging it at Shampoo, who nimbly dodged out of harm’s reach. Xian Mao simply slid out of the way, maintaining his unobtrusive ready stance. Finally, the thug got fed up with trying to hit the lightning-fast young woman and swirled the chain at Xian Mao’s instead. The young priest slid out of the way the first time—just barely, as if he’d almost been hit.

"Let them think they’ve got you," Jake had always told him.

When the chain came ‘round again, Xian Mao was ready. Hands blurring even faster than the chain—though still slower than Ranma, he realized—Xian Mao caught the chain in his hand, allowed it to wrap around his arm and jerked it out of the thug’s grasp; using that momentum, Xian Mao spun off a flying windmill kick, each foot missing the thug’s face by less than a centimeter, then swung the chain around and wrapped it around the huge man’s neck and jerked, pulling him face-first into the ground.

"Thank you for providing my friend Xian Pu with something to laugh at," the young man said without the slightest trace of irony in his voice. The thug didn’t reply, of course… the impact of his head against the concrete paving had knocked him unconscious.

"<That was fun,>" Xian Mao confessed to Shampoo as they walked off as if nothing had happened.

"<Yes, it was.>" she agreed, automatically replying in Japanese.

"<Caught ya.>"

"Say again?"

"I caught you. Twice now, you’ve spoken Japanese in complete sentences. That can’t be a new skill, since we’ve spoken mostly Chinese since leaving Nerima."

Shampoo’s face acquired a distinct resemblance to a dear in headlights.

"Um, er…"

"Any particular reason you kept up the act?"

"When I first came for Ranma, I actually couldn’t speak the language… I learned more as I stayed longer, but I realized people thought I was stupid, and that gave me a certain edge. Besides that, I got used to the baby talk."

Xian Mao gave Shampoo a calculating look.

"You know, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit…" Shampoo chose that moment to step into a puddle of water from last night’s rain. "… for…"

"RRROWWW!!!!"

With a sigh, Xian Mao gathered Shampoo-neko out of her pile of clothes, and set her on his shoulder as he gathered up her clothing and personal items and stuffed them into his pack.

Shampoo-neko growled slightly. [I certainly don’t -feel- smart, now…]
 
 
 
 

Xian Mao and Shampoo had a few more brief encounters on their way out of Beijing. The first was a group of the original thug’s friends. Xian Mao dispatched them by himself, but found—once again—that his skills were nothing compared to Ranma… or even Akane, in this case, for that girl had been able to hold off most of the male population of the school on a daily basis, or so he’d been told. The second was a separate group, out to see if the rumors were true, and discovering to their chagrin that they were. The third and last posed a problem.

The first and second groups had met together and decided that letting one Faye-eyed boy kick their collective asses was more loss of face than they could handle. So on the outskirts of the city, where there was more hill and shadow than city street and light, three vans pulled up in a circle around the two youths.

"I don’t know how you did it, you little fuck," announced the combined groups spokesperson—ironically, the original thug –cracking his knuckles and fingering a knife, "but I don’t like being jacked by a nobody… none of us do. So we’re here to jack you, and have a taste of your woman… if we let either of you live."

A wave of ice passed over Xian Mao’s mind and body. He knew, as did Shampoo, that the shit was about to hit the fan.

A step foreword by the spokesman was all the warning the two received. Both skipped defensive positions and sped into attack. Xian Mao slid into the Claw—the deepest his honor would allow against untrained men, even so badly outnumbered. Focused as he was, aethral claws were visible around his fists in the twilight. Shampoo pulled her bonbori from the Void, and the two began to lay into the oncoming foes with abandon. Where Xian Mao passed, were shredded clothing abraded skin, and shattered blades and chains; bruises, broken bones, and screams of rage and pain followed Shampoo.

It was a good fight by any accounts, two seventeen-year-olds trading blow-for-blow with over two dozen thugs, gang-bangers, and toughs… and slowly gaining the upper hand.

So someone decided to level the playing field.

Full night had almost fallen when a staccato roar and a muzzle flash filled Xian Mao’s ears and eyes; beside him, flooding ringing ears and battle-opened mind Shampoo screamed in pain and fell back, landing limp as a rag doll. Another shriek echoed across the landscape, this one issuing from Xian Mao, as a pale, icy blue light was shone on the scene… Xian Mao’s aura had Blazed Alive, flickering and roaring like a bonfire as the Corridor manifested itself in his mind and the Doors began to open one by one….

Passage through the First Door found him flying twenty feet above the heads of his adversaries…

The Second slid by as irrelevant… running away was the last thing on his mind…

The Third established his territory… where he would fight.

The Fourth battered bullets out of the air as he began his heaven-lit decent to the ground

Beyond the Fifth Gate was yet more power in his grasp…

…And by the Sixth Gate lay the path to Conquer…

Drawing Kuno’s bokken like a lightning bolt, Xian Mao struck the ground as an icy incarnation of Death and Pain. Two strikes felled the man who’d shot Shampoo, the first—a slash rising like a hawk—severed his arms at the elbow, and the second cut him in half just below the ribs. The next would live… if he reached a hospital in time, his ribs and abdomen torn by forces unseen in eons, wrapped razor-sharp around wooden sword and clawed hand. One by one, the ruffians fell, until the remaining few abandoned the lost and drove away, numbering now maybe a third of what they had in the beginning..

The Corridor collapsed, and the Neko-ken fled from him. Barely noticing the broken bodies, Xian Mao hunted for Shampoo amongst the carnage.
 
 

Shampoo came to in nearly complete darkness. She was warm, save that she couldn’t feel her left arm; she looked down and discovered that she was wearing nothing but a bandage on her shoulder and a blanket.

Where was she? Why was she naked?

Interrupting her reverie, a rustle of fabric and change in the texture of the darkness then a presence to her left.

"I see you’re awake, now."

Who was it? She should recognize the voice… it meant something familiar…

"Who are you? Where am I? What is going on?" she demanded, reaching into the Void for her bonbori… to find them missing.

"My name is Xian Mao," the voice said soothingly, "you must have lost more blood than I thought. You’re in my tent… or, rather, our tent since we seem to have forgotten the need for separate accommodations in our preparations. Do you remember now?"

"Yes," she said as the memories came back. "The fight… What happened? There was a bang and a flash and…"

"Gunshot. One of them shot you; the shock probably knocked you unconscious."

Shampoo nodded, then her eyes narrowed. "Okay… so… what happened and why am I naked?"

She sensed Xian Mao shifting uncomfortably. "When I saw you fall… I… I lost it, went berserk. Between your own blood, and the splatters, you needed to be washed before I could even begin to clean the wound."

Shampoo felt herself grow cold. "The splatters?"

"The sight is only an hour or so back… you can see for yourself in the morning, if you want."

"N-no…" Shampoo stammered. It had never occurred to her that Xian Mao—or anyone—could actually kill another human being. Yes, she’d given Ranma the Kiss of Death, but she’d had no real thought of the implications, nor any real understanding… it was custom and Law, so she had done it, much the same as she had "wed" Ranma when she’d discovered that (s)he was male. Killing had never been done in the village, the ritual of daily life had kept it at bay. She knew she could kill if she had to, but… Xian Mao had seemed so innocent and pure; incapable of participating in the benign destruction of Nerima, much less actually killing someone. She had seen the grounds after Ranma had fought in the Neko-ken; imagining that done to human flesh and bone was a horrible thing.

Xian Mao settled beside her, resting a friendly hand on her shoulder.

"Then rest. Relax and I shall heal the rend in your lovely flesh; I’d have done so earlier, save that the ways I know require you to be awake."

Shampoo watched in fascination as Xian Mao’s eyes began to glow… to points of silvery-blue light in the shadows of the tent. Soothing warmth seeped into her body as he began to sing softly, crooning and gentle, voice undulating and warping the very fabric of her body… knitting the wound in her shoulder closed as if by the slow passage of time.
 
 

The duo set off in the morning, waking just short of dawning and moving before the sun was fully above the horizon.

"You know," Xian Mao said at last, "I was in Nerima for but a few short weeks, yet it already seems as if it was my home; I miss it already."

Shampoo smiled and nodded. "That place grows on you, doesn’t it?"

Xian Mao leaned briefly on Kuno’s bokken, which he was now using as something of a walking stick. "That city is a madhouse, but… yeah, it does. I wonder what they’re all doing right now?"

************************

Flash to Nerima:

Ranma is being bludgeoned over the head by Akane and her mallet. Ukyo is chasing the pair.

************************

"Ranma and Akane are fighting, probably…" Shampoo said, shrugging with a bit of bitterness.

"Why so sad?" Xian Mao asked, waking on but knowing the answer before hand.

"Never mind, just… never mind…"

Xian Mao could feel the emotional pain radiating out past the shields she’d learned to maintain without thought.

The rest of the day was spent in companionable—if slightly uncomfortable, on occasion—silence, as the two friends trudged over the scenic hills of rural China, carefully dodging the villages and cities scattered across the landscape. They weren’t making any particular effort at speed, but they were both young, strong, and martial artists; their ground-eating pace would have killed lesser men and women.

As the sun began to set, Xian Mao set camp as Shampoo gathered firewood and hunted for a little food to supplement their rations. Xian Mao cooked the squirrels she brought back, and as he skinned and prepared the animals, Shampoo found herself marveling at his fluid grace and beauty. Truly, she’d had little time to observe him while still in Japan… her Great-grandmother had done her best to limit the time she spent with him, and they’d spent most of that sitting and talking. Each movement, each gesture was flawless and graceful, like the perfect blending of human and feline; now she understood the looks she’d seen some give him; just watching him cook was strangely erotic.

"We’re still moving fairly slow," he told her, breaking her reverie. "If we want to be back in Nerima within a reasonable amount of time, we’re going to have to pick up the pace a good deal."

Shampoo grunted an affirmative. However, she was well aware that she was incapable of moving more than a little faster. "How do you intend to do that? Steal a car?"

"No, no, no." he laughed. "I’m going to splash you with cold water and run as if the Yama Kings were chasing my tail."

Shampoo blinked, "You can go faster?"

"Much." He sated simply. "The Mao Fu grants many things… speed first among them."

Shampoo nodded, wondering just how fast he could move.

They ate, making light conversation about nothing, occasionally bringing up amusing moments from their pasts.

Finally, with a word and a gesture, Xian Mao extinguished the fire and moved into the tent.

"Which side do you want?" he asked with exaggerated politeness. "We have bumpy but padded with grass, and flat and hard."

"Flat," Shampoo decided, grinning.

They spread out their pallets in the dark, readying themselves for sleep.

Just before lying down, Xian Mao took Shampoo in a quick embrace.

"Sleep well, my friend," was all he said.

Shampoo did not find sleep easily.
 
 

Come morning, Xian Mao left Shampoo alone in the tent to pile her clothes and trigger the Jhusenkyo curse. When Shampoo yowled readiness, he came in, put her personal affects in his pack, her on his shoulder, and slid through the First Door of the Neko-ken. Time seemed to slow, each gust of wind merely a breeze, slowly pushing back the grass; he could see each blade distinctly, the perfect beauty of nature in evidence everywhere. Smells were sharper, clearer… he almost thought that he could discard his wire-framed lenses. Shaking off the distraction of his even more heightened senses, and dashed away in the direction Shampoo indicated.

To Xian Mao, it was a leisurely lope, almost on all fours, trees and scenery passing just fast enough to blur. To Shampoo, it was as if she were in a car… a fast car… an Indi Racer, perhaps. The countryside blurred so that she could barely see it, wind rushed through her fur, and she was forced to cling desperately to Xian Mao—not that she really minded the close contact. She would have guessed that they were moving at 110, maybe 120 klicks. Was this the power of the Neko-ken?

[How long can you last at this pace?] Shampoo demanded with a meow.

[Forever, probably.] Xian Mao answered in her head; it wasn’t like telepathy… it was a closeness of mind and soul… she could see, now, why it was called the Kinship. [This isn’t very fast.]

[You mean you can go faster?]

[Hang on and see!] he answered laughing.

Shampoo had thought they’d been moving fast before… now they were flying. She could feel the Chi Power he was generating, touching the ground maybe once every couple seconds; he was going maybe twice as fast as before. Ferocious winds whipped at her, trying to pull her off of Xian Mao’s back. After a little bit, he slowed down—gently, so she’d not be thrown off his back by the momentum—settling back at his original speed. Landscape blurred by as Xian Mao barreled on, settling into an easy lope that some cars couldn’t match on any terrain, much less the hilly rural areas of China.

When they set camp for the night, it was perhaps two hours walk from the perimeter of Joketsuzoku territory. Xian Mao, tired from running all day, and unashamed to admit it, had gone to sleep after preparing a small meal—of which he ate none. Now, as the moon rose over the tops of the trees Shampoo watched the dying campfire, too restless even to seek the comfort of blankets. There was something wrong with her, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, and it disturbed her greatly. Odd moments would find her chest tight and her eyes watering with loneliness; she was having dreams that disturbed her, but that she could not remember in the light of dawn save that they were disturbing because they were pleasant.

Finally, as the moon neared its zenith, Shampoo left the open for the tent. Xian Mao looked so peaceful in the moonlight—indescribably graceful, even in his sleep. Shampoo’s throat constricted; she knew where from her troubles stemmed… at least in part. Kneeling down, the restless Amazon kissed the sleeping priest’s cheek.
 
 

This dawn came much like the last, Xian Mao rising first and waking Shampoo when he had made breakfast—she didn’t remember packing so much food, so Shampoo assumed that he’d either bought some in Beijing or hunted in the early hours before she awoke. She "changed" as he cleaned up the camp and packed everything up—Xian Mao had refused all offers of help—then rode on his back again as he ran, faster today than yesterday, though still not as fast as the brief display of his true power. Around noon, Shampoo called him to stop.

[This is Amazon territory,] she impressed into his mind. [We are very close to the Joketsuzoku village, and Jhusenkyo. I should return to human shape soon.]

Xian Mao nodded, idly scratching her behind the ears. "Yes… and we need to come up with a reason for me."

"Brrrow?"

"Why am I here, Xian Pu? There is no real reason."

"Rrow." [You are a scholar, researching the Cursed Springs. You will not be the first, or the last. And there is no lie.]

Xian Mao nodded. "And there is no lie…"
 
 

Xian Mao and Shampoo arrived in the Joketsuzoku village the next day. Shampoo was cheered, and a great party was thrown in her favor… and no one really minded her guest. The young "scholar" smiled sweetly, spoke both softly and politely, and did not try to grab anyone. As a matter of fact, he seemed singularly uninterested in any of the Amazons; not that they minded, they just found it curious. His research was aided by the village Elders, who found him intelligent and intriguing. In two short weeks, he had learned all he needed to: there was no cure for the Curse of the Springs…

But, there was more. A passage in Chinese so ancient that the Elders could not even recognize the characters. It was plain script to Xian Mao’s eyes, easy to read as the Sunday newspaper; for the Holy Scripts of his Goddess, Wang-Mao-Yue, were written in this script. The passage read
 
 

Xian Mao feigned ignorance of the words, but he knew that lying was wrong and had no skill at it… to this day, he does not why the Elders did not press the case. He and Shampoo left the Joketsuzoku soon after, and the young priest was in something of a state of melancholy, although he tried to hide it from his companion, he failed… for again, it was a lie. But he could not tell her the cause… there were no words that suited.

They did not return quickly to Nerima, going slowly instead so that Xian Mao could raise his spirits. It worked, but the question would be raised: at what cost? What could the presence of Xian Mao and Shampoo have prevented…

… or was it fated and for the best that they were gone?
 
 
 
 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
 
 
 
 

Nabiki gave up. She simply had to admit it (even if only to herself): she missed Xian Mao.

He’d been gone for some time now, and she simply had to admit she missed him. He’d been good conversation and fun to tease.

Particularly in her mind, stuck out the incident(s) with the baths… several times, after working out with Ranma, he’d stayed at the house long enough for a bath and dinner… a few of those times, she’d "accidentally" walked in on him. Oh! the faces he made!

Or the time she’d dragged him to the mall as a packhorse, and made him watch as she modeled swim suits…

And the time…

Nabiki laughed, shaking her head at his shyness.

And most importantly, he wasn’t a martial artist. Well, not really, anyway. He could fight, but he didn’t have that obsessive thing that seemed to dominate every martial artist she knew. And besides, he thought of himself as a priest. So what was he then? A sort of warrior monk, she guessed.

But regardless, he was nice, friendly, her own age… and profitable! Oh, was he profitable! Already, in the short time he’d been training at the dojo, she had made eight times what she’d made off of Kuno since Ranma’s arrival. Eight times!

But now he was gone, and since no one was sure when he was coming back, she had to admit that she missed more that the money.

Stimulating conversation was so hard to find…
 
 

"<You know,>" Xian Mao commented to Shampoo as they crossed the city border into Nerima Tokyo, "<It’s kinda good to be back.>"

"Yes," she agreed, speaking in Japanese. "It is."

"Going to continue talking the way you used to, even now that I know your secret?"

"Of course," she said primly, "No one else know, after all. Not even great-grandmother."

Xian Mao laughed, then choked as he felt the local chi begin to be drawn into a central point… Furinken High, if he had his bearings correct. The draw was so powerful, in fact, that Shampoo felt it. They looked at one another, nodded, and ran to the central point. They were almost to the Furinken baseball field, when they hit the shock wave.

Ki, Chi, magickal energy, whatever you wish to call it, acts much as any other physical force: in waves. The main difference being that -any- magickal action causes a wave, and most physical ones do not… at least not such that most can perceive.

The shock wave of power almost bowled over the highly sensitive Xian Mao, and while Shampoo was not so sensitive, she still felt it. Both, with equal vision and equal awe, saw the magickally born tornado climb into the skies.

They exchanged startled glances and ran to see what had happened.

Chaos, everywhere. There was a large group of schoolboys burying something, and Cologne had sent the rest to gather up some strange slips of torn-up paper. Assuming it was important, the two friends joined suit. Untill…

"…HAPPO FIRE BURST!"

This time the shock wave -did- knock them to the ground. Fortunately for the unshielded Xian Mao, it was a physical blast only. He and Shampoo turned to see Ranma and Akane falling from the sky, hundreds of feet in the air, and some strange, airborne creature chasing after them.

"Shampoo, get the thing. I’ll deal with Ranma and Akane."

"Hai!" she declared, with a sharp nod of her purple-haired head, and jumped into the air.

The energy of the land was strong, here… much had been gathered by whatever had caused the tornado. Drawing a deep breath, Xian Mao reached out to it…

…then stopped.

What on earth was he doing? Sorcery of that scale would likely kill him! Besides that, he had better means available!

Xian Mao’s focus turned inward, toward the power of the Neko-ken. Beyond his heightened state of existence, past the Claw, and through the First Door. Movement.

Stepping back, the young man fell into a crouch. Luminous cat-slit eyes focused on the falling couple (a small part of his mind noted that their auras blended quite prettily), calculating their suddenly slow-seeming rate of decent. Muscles, already strong, coiled and tightened with the incredible power of the Mao Fu. The two who were his targets were high, higher even than Ranma could jump on his best day, but well within reach of the Immortal Cat (AN: if you hadn’t picked up on that, that’s how Xian Mao’s name translates ^_^)… now, at least. He jumped, briefly wondering why he ever forsook the full power of the Cat Fist… the world was clearer, brighter; colors and scents were sharper, and everything seemed to make more sense…

Xian Mao brought his Will to bear, and returned his mind to the appropriate task. Ranma.

It had taken mere moments for him to traverse the distance between ground and target. The young priest grabbed a hold of Ranma as they impacted. The young martial artist stiffened, but for some reason didn’t otherwise respond.

Now came the tricky part.

Gathering his Will, Xian Mao slid deeper into the Neko-ken; slipping past the Second and Third Doors, he reached for the Fourth: Defense of Self. Of it’s own will, the Fifth opened, laying clear the way to save his Allies.
 
 

As Ranma plummeted toward the ground, there were several things he had to face. First, was that he was afraid; not just for himself, but for Akane as well. Second, was that he was almost certainly going to die. Third, was that despite his hopes, he probably wouldn’t even be able to save Akane.

"…HAPPO FIRE BURST!"

The blast’s slowing us down! He thought, Now we won’t hit the ground full force!

Then his hopes were shattered. Happosai appeared, floating through the air beside them.

"Hey you!" the freak cried, "Hand over those photos of you in the lingerie! Right now!"

"What?!" Ranma demanded, meeting the old lecher’s gaze. There had to be something he could do, but…

*WHAM!*

A bonbori slammed into Happosai from below.

What? Thought Ranma, Shampoo? Where’s she been, anyway?

Before he could really process what had just happened, though, both Happosai and Shampoo were gone.

Why didn’t she try to save me?

Something washed across his awareness, distracting him yet again. He looked down, in the direction the sensation had come from. He saw the black shadow of a cat flicker around one of the many people standing below, just before they jumped. Mere moments later, Ranma could tell that the figure was Xian Mao.

There was something about the other boy—maybe it was the feral look in those slit-pupil eyes—that frightened Ranma horribly. Impact, and Xian Mao wrapped his arms around the two. Ranma stiffened, fighting off that strange, paralyzing fear.

For a few brief moments more they fell, a trio, now, instead of a pair, before the fear hit Ranma in another oceanic wave.

The black ‘shadow’ of a cat flickered around Xian Mao again. This time it stayed.

Perhaps it was, in this case, fortunate that Ranma’s strength was gone, for if he had it he would surely have crushed Akane in his terrified embrace.
 
 

There was a certain clarity that came with the deeper levels of the Cat Fist. With one’s purpose absolutely straightforward and focused, the mind’s eye had no distractions.

And with that clarity, Xian Mao realized that he hadn’t really thought things through too well.

That, however, was irrelevant.

He now, for the moment, had a clear purpose and direction: he was saving Ranma and Akane. Friends, Allies. That was the purpose of the Fifth Gate.

That was his purpose.
 
 

Ranma’s fear had all but consumed him. His mind was drifting, and he could hear a yowl building at the base of his throat.

He was holding off, though… it was different, this time.

Always before, the fear had simply consumed him, welling up against his mind, then crashing over like a tsunami over a breakwater. But something was different, this time. It was almost, almost as if the thing welling within him was afraid, as well, or repulsed by the cat-aura that had surrounded Xian Mao.
 
 

A cat will always land on its feet. One can survive great falls, great impacts, by learning a cat’s tricks.

And Xian Mao knew them all.

He was a cat.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, Xian Mao relaxed his entire body.

Impact! His legs coiled beneath him like springs, absorbing the force. He fell foreword, rolling to redirect and disperse it. Twisting around, he kept Ranma and Akane from the ground, taking their impact, as well. His bones creaked with the strain, but his own strength and that of the Neko-ken sustained him well: Xian Mao rolled to his feet, crouching, Ranma and Akane safe in his arms.

Gently, he placed them on the ground.

Taking a step back, he left the Neko-ken behind, closing the Doors he had passed through.
 
 

Xian Mao stepped back, and the fear drained from him. That was strange… why had Xian Mao set off his phobia?

Akane shifted in his arms, and he turned his attention to that.

She sat up, dazed.

"The… the chart…" she murmured, mind coming back into focus, "Ranma! Where’s the Moxibustion chart?!"

How do I tell ‘er… he thought, … that I let that chart… get shredded by the wind…?

Voices behind them caught their attention.

"Hey, Granny, here’s all the confetti!"

"All we could -find- he means."

Confetti? Then… there’s still hope…

"We’re missing one piece!"

"It’s a shame, really…" Cologne muttered. "Seeing as the piece which shows the exact location of the Ultimate Weakness Moxibustion counter-point is the -only- one missing. Tsk, tsk."

Ranma *twitch*ed.

"Then Ranma…" Ryoga gaped, "…will -still- die a weakling?!"

He barely heard it though. He was lost. The only thing in the world that made him of any value was gone.

"Old Lady… Ryoga… Ucchan… Everybody…" he mumbled, lost in his misery. "I just wanted to say… thanks for everything… it’s been fun."

Then he jumped off.

"Son-in-law..?"

"Ran-chan!"
 
 

The adrenaline had left his system, and left in its wake an awareness of every bruise on his body. But that came second. There was something more important to be dealt with first.

"Could someone here -please- explain," he demanded, "what in the Name of the Yama Kings is going on?"

People seemed to notice him for the first time.

"Hey, it’s that new kid"

"Where’s he been, anyway?"

"I dunno—"

Xian Mao’s eyes flashed dangerously. "Someone -will- tell me what’s been happening."

"Or what?" demanded Cologne from behind him. "What can you do?"

"More than you care to know, Honored Matriarch…"

"Old Ghoul!" someone Xian Mao didn't know called from behind them.

Cologne bounced over, snagging whatever it was that the yellow-clad boy held.

"Ohh! This scrap of paper--!"

Xian Mao looked over her shoulder, adjusting his glasses and examining the scrap with narrowed eyes.

"Moxibustion? Is that what’s going on here?"

"Yes," Cologne hissed. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going."
 
 

Shampoo had followed Ranma, more out of instinct and habit than anything else. What was going on? Had Ranma really used the Dragon’s Heaven Blast? Where had he learned it? And why… how… had he gotten himself and pervert-girl caught up in the whirlwind?

On an impulse, she stayed back, watching only.

Out of nowhere, a massive backpack crashed into Ranma.

"What were you gonna do, just walk off without a word?"

"Akane…"

"I won’t stop you… but…" Akane paused, meeting Ranma’s eyes, "I will… go with you."

They stayed like that for a moment, Ranma on the ground, pinned by the huge pack, gazes locked together. "Akane…"

Like psychic shields, Ranma’s emotional defenses came crashing back up. "C’mon, don’t be stupid." He said, tugging the pack over his shoulders. "I can’t go off for training with a -girl- tagging along…"

The weight of the pack tipped him cleanly over.

"I’m -offering- to come along to carry your stuff."

Ranma started sobbing.

"Ranma… you don’t have to leave. You don’t have to be -strong-."

"If I never get my strength back, what’ve I got left?"

"Uh…" Akane fumbled, "Lot’s of things! You have so many other qualities…"

"Like?" he demanded, meeting her eyes.

"Well, like… uh… you know… like.." she stumbled, brain frozen. "You just don’t have to be -strong-, okay?!"

"Would it’ve -killed- ya to’ve come up with -one-!?"

Shampoo had seen the looks passing between them, and the unavoidable realization came crashing down on her. She’d known for a while, on a certain level, that Akane had always held Ranma’s heart and soul… but now she was forced to face it like a brutal slap.

Ranma loved Akane, and her him, and despite the fact that neither of them had accepted or acknowledged it, it was true. Maybe she could have lived with that… certainly, she could have, were these normal circumstances. But they were not. This was not youthful courtship, in a normal sense. By Amazon Law, she and Ranma were already wed… as of the moment he had defeated her, even for the first time at the village. Her honor, her great-grandmother’s honor, and the honor of the Joketsuzoku tribe were at stake. If that honor were smirched, her life was forfeit. Though he might not realize it, Ranma had sentenced her to death.

For that was the nature of the Amazons. No male defied them, and -no one- defied the Tribal Elders. To do so was death. If a woman could not control a man, then they were both to die, by whatever means necessary.
 
 

Cologne bounced off in the direction Ranma had leapt, and Xian Mao ran after her. The old woman was fast, and the young man was forced to slide again into the Neko-ken to keep up. It was only the First Door, and that crossing cost him less, even, than the Claw, but he’d been traveling for weeks, and had already been quite free this day with invocations of the Tiger… his strength was only so much.

He caught up just in time to see the Matriarch poke a hot rock into the base of Ranma’s back.

"What’d you do that for?! Lemme -alone-!" Ranma snarled, back-striking our of instinct.

Knee-jerk reflex brought him to parry the massive stone weight that was hurtling toward his head, seemingly from nowhere.

The stone shattered like glass.

"My… my strength…"

"Looks like the moxibustion worked," Cologne stated off-handedly.

Xian Mao shook his head, still trying to figure out what went wrong. Nerima Tokyo seemed to have gotten even stranger (if that were possible) while he’d been gone.

"What?!" Mousse demanded, appearing from nowhere, Kuno Tatewaki and his equally insane father right behind the half-blind Amazon male, "Saotome Ranma is cured?!"

"Lie at your own peril, cretin--!"

*WHAM*

A single kick sent all three soaring into low orbit.

"Bwahahahaha! I’m cured!"
 
 

*****************************

Xian Mao stared at the sealed scroll lying on his bed. Judging by the notation on the side, and the lack of "ripples" in the local energy, he’d say it had most likely been sitting there since shortly after he had left for China with Shampoo.

Sighing, he picked it up and broke the seal.

[<Xian Mao, son-of-my-soul,>] the beautiful Chinese script began. [<I fear your ignorance of certain events—granted, this ignorance is no fault save my own—and facts regarding the Joketsuzoku, may be leading you down a path you may regret…>]

The priest’s jaw tightened as he read down the scroll. As the Elder Monk said, this road would be hard to travel, but it was far, far too late to travel back down it…

******************************
 
 

Xian Mao sat between Kasumi and Nabiki, idly watching Ranma destroy everything in sight.

Beside him, Nabiki twitched with each crash, imagining repair costs.

"Ranma must be -so- happy," Kasumi said idly.

After a week, however, no one else was. Xian Mao had gotten the whole story out of the Tendos and was somewhat disappointed in his wayward pupil/teacher.

"Ranma." Xian Mao called sternly. "Ranma!"

Nothing. The exuberant martial artist continued smashing everything (mostly large chunks of rubble, at this stage) in sight, all the while laughing that he was cured.

"Ranma, stop! Control yourself, Ranma!"

More mad cackling, and no change in behavior. Xian Mao’s patience was being strongly taxed.

"Cease, Ranma!"

Again, nothing. Completely fed up, Xian Mao gathered his Will.

"Enough!" he roared, forcing the thought directly into Ranma’s mind.

No reaction.

"RANMA! STOP!"

Again, as if Ranma had not even heard him.

"<CEASE THIS MADNES!>"

Again, no reaction. Ranma was lost in his own little world.

As Xian Mao moved into a crouch—the movement was strange, almost an undulation—Nabiki could swear she’d heard him hiss. His eyes seemed to gather the light of the setting sun, glowing with a powerful anger.

Seeming to glide across the ground, Xian Mao stalked Ranma. The youthful warrior did not even sense the priest until he was within arms reach.

Ranma turned, and Xian Mao caught him by the collar with one hand, a strange glow encompassing the other.

"Enough." He snarled, eyes blazing in the waning light. " That is quite enough."
 
 

Ranma’s spine stiffened with that strange, paralyzing fear as Xian Mao grabbed a hold of him. Like a dear caught in the headlights, he could not break away from the priest’s furious gaze. No, not a dear… and no headlights… like a mouse who has just met the eyes of the cat who was about to kill him.

Ranma was dinner.

He knew that, and there was not a thing he could do about it.

Xian Mao snarled, the bestial noise of an infuriated wild cat, and the Neko-Ken began to well up in him. A noise built deep in his throat, but this time it was not a yowl… it was a hiss.
 
 

Xian Mao could feel something building in Ranma. It was not his own Will, he knew that feeling… he’d seen Ranma use his Ki attacks… and this was not that.

But it was familiar somehow, but… different… and…

Ranma’s eyes blazed, and a strange hissing noise erupted from his throat.

The "Neko-Ken" had taken him…

But it was not the Yin Incarnation filling him. It was something more… something twisted… something that resonated with his own Mao Fu. Of their own, doors began to open. The Claw… The First Door… The Second… Third… Fourth…
 
 

Cold fear washed over the Tendos… across the yard, a flickering black Void had surrounded the two young men.

This was not a natural thing.

Even they could sense it.

Even Nabiki.

Even Akane.

Even Genma and Soun.

The first shielded so well by her refusal to believe that she might as well have been mind-blind, the rest so dense that they might as well have been shielded.

And they knew, beyond a doubt, that something was terribly, horribly wrong…
 
 

Images flashed across Xian Mao’s mind. He knew, now, what was wrong…

But he had no idea how to fix it…
 
 

Ranma was swimming in a Void… he could feel his body, see it… but he was not a part of it. Something was wrong, he knew… something—what ever had forced him from his body—was fighting Xian Mao. And the young priest was loosing.

NO!

The thought echoed throughout the Void, shaking it.

This was not right!

NO!

The Void trembled again.
 
 

The Darkness trembled. Xian could feel it. Ranma was somewhere in there, fighting back.

A feral smile touched the young priest’s face. He could win. They could win.

Light and Shadow… Glare and Darkness… the two sides of the coin… Yin and Yang…

Light… Yang(+)…

Glare… Yang(-)…

Shadow… Yin(+)…

Darkness… Yin(-)…

The Light best fought the Darkness… but the Light was not of him. Xian Mao was of the Shadow. But fight he could, and well and truly… for Ranma was of the Light.
 
 

The Void around Ranma and Xian Mao darkened… solidified.

No one watching could find the courage to move.

Xian Mao had taken Ranma’s head in his hands, and a point of light seemed to be blossoming behind the martial artists. The Void had taken on a slick, oily quality… except behind Ranma, where the light bloomed, and behind Xian, where the blackness was somehow… cleaner… more pure…

Soon, but clearly with much struggle, the oily blackness was trapped between the light and the cleaner blackness.

The Void swirled, and the oily Black seemed to be ground between the two other forces.

Moments passed, seeming like minutes.

Minutes passed, seeming like hours.

An hour passed, seeming like days…

Finally, the oily-slick blackness vanished, and the Void shattered.

In its place was a white teardrop, and a black claw, curled around each other in the ancient sign of the Yin and the Yang.
 
 

"What the hell just happened?" Ranma demanded.

At first, Xian Mao didn’t answer. He was exhausted, drained; it took him a while to bring his breathing back under control.

"Xian-kun?"

"I… I think I know… just… just give me a minute…"
 
 

"Yin and Yang is sometimes compared to positive and negative… like magnetics. That’s a vast oversimplification, but in this case, it’s apt. Opposites attract. Negative pulls positive, Yin pulls Yang… or, as in this case, Yang pulls Yin.

"I think the most shameful thing about this whole scenario is that I didn’t see it right away. You can’t learn the Cat Fist, Ranma. It simply cannot be done. The Mao Fu is an Evocation of the Yin Principle of the Universe… with most magicks, anyone can Evoke anything, so long as they are strong enough; with the Neko-ken, however, you must be of similar Nature… I couldn’t say why."

"But," Ranma interrupted, "I use it all the time… every time I get hit with a cat!"

"That’s what I was getting to." Xian Mao shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot on the decimated floor. "The magnetism, the attraction. The Cat Fist, Neko-ken, Mao Fu—whatever—is a thing of the Yin: the feminine, the creative, the negative, the chaotic, the magickal, and so on. You, Ranma, are not of Yin Nature; you are quite solidly Yang Polarized: active, assertive, destructive, masculine, ordered, physical… When your father tried to train you in the Cat Fist, you tried to fight back on every level of your being… mind, body, soul. Your Nature—the most quintessential, basic part of you—Flared… repeatedly, with each time you were tossed in. With the aura of the cat’s Nature’s, and the desire to acquire the Neko-ken, the incredible force of your Yang Nature attracted the Yin Incarnation to you… but one corrupted by the pull and your own Nature. With each time you were tossed into the pit, the bond was closer… combined with the naturally forming phobia…

"You can see the result."

"I… I think so…" Ranma sat for a moment, staring at the floor, then suddenly glared. "OYAJI!!!!!!"

Xian Mao—a proper, elder-honoring, ancestor-worshipping Chinese boy—winced at the abuse Genma took… but could not bring himself to lift a finger. Saotome-san deserved as much and more… much, much more. So Xian Mao sat and watched blasphemy, unsure whether or not he should intervene.
 
 

Two days had passed, since what Xian Mao privately called the Revelation; the discovery of the problem with Ranma and the Cat-Fist. Not much had happened in that space of time… no confrontations, no fights—not even between Ranma and Akane—no insanity. It was as if Fate was holding back briefly, building up for a big showdown of epic proportion.

But, thankfully, for now, things were quiet.

Xian Mao lounged, cat-like, on the back porch of the Tendo household. Ranma sat on his right, Akane on his left. The monk and the boy/girl were exhausted from training, and the young woman had been put upon by Kasumi to bring them some refreshments.

"You’re improving," Ranma admitted grudgingly.

Xian Mao nodded. He’d almost managed to land a few today.

"My," said Kasumi. Xian Mao almost jumped: he hadn’t heard or felt her approach. "It’s been awful quiet, lately. Maybe one of Ranma’s friends will drop by."

The three looked at Kasumi strangely as she walked off.

There were a few moments of silence. Then a strange, obscene, insane laugh echoed across the yard… almost as much so as the aura that touched Xian Mao’s mind.

"Oh, Ranma-sama!"

Somewhat afraid, Xian Mao swiveled his head in the direction of the weird, high-pitched voice. Flying over the fence was a somewhat attractive girl in a leotard, hair in a ponytail to one side of her head. Se was waving a ribbon.

"Ranma-sama! How is my darling? And who is this new boy?"

"I am called Xian Mao," he said, not allowing Ranma enough time to open mouth and allow access for foot. "You must be Kodachi."

"Oh! So my Ranma-sama speaks of me, does he?"

"Yeah," Xian Mao shrugged, "in approximately the same terms one speaks of a serial killer or a rabid animal." As do Shampoo, Cologne, and Ukyo, he added to himself.

"Lies! My Ranma-sama and I love each other! He—"

"If he loves you so much, why hasn’t he run up to embrace you?" Coupled with the words, Xian Mao sent a psychic *spike* into the oni-woman’s mind, driving the point home past her psychological shields.

Kodachi stopped dead still. Ranma and Akane stared at him. This was, perhaps, the first time -anyone- had managed to shut Kodachi up.

"Be-because…" the psychotic gymnast stammered after a few moments, before she could recover from Xian Mao’s psychic attack. "He fear’s the peasant Akane’s retribution… she’s always striking him with that awful mallet…"

Akane, glaring at Ranma as if that just might be the case, started reaching into hammerspace for said mallet.

Ranma, knowing what was coming, edged back: Kodachi was approaching the truth (if from the wholly wrong direction), and Akane -did- look pissed off.

"<Bullshit,>" Xian Mao stated flatly, drawing once again the attention of everyone involved. "We all know Ranma could avoid Akane’s attacks if he chose. He could just vanish, he could dodge, and he could even defend himself. He doesn’t."

"My Ranma-sama is too honorable to strike a woman, even a peasant such as her."

The young priest looked over at Ranma. "Am I wrong," he asked, "or is that the only reason that you haven’t -dealt- with our "Great Lady" Kodachi, here?"

The ribbon-girl’s eyes blazed with rage at the double insult. This strange boy in the robes of gaijin peasantry had not only spoken as if she wasn’t there, but he’d mocked her noble blood!

"Come on, Ranma" Akane probed dangerously, irritated at Kodachi and taking it out on Ranma (as usual)… as well as genuinely interested in the answer. "Is that it?"

Ranma stuttered, looking around helplessly. Akane was getting pissed, and if he denied it he’d make her even madder, as well as encourage Kodachi’s advances: if he ‘fessed up, Akane probably wouldn’t believe him (although, if she did, he might get to see her smile), and he’d have Kodachi after his hide: not even a Kuno could refuse the truth of a direct answer.

A lose-lose situation. He knew, somehow, that Xian Mao would not let him back out; just as he -knew- that this time there would be no interruptions. Then, as he met the other boy’s eyes, frightening and cat-like though they were, he also -knew- that, whatever he said, Xian Mao would back him up, and he would escape alive; the young priest had very deliberately maneuvered him into this position, and would see to it that no harm came of his work. What hat Xian Mao said the other day? "I don’t care who you pick, Ranma. I’ve no stake in that, and I swear Blood Oath that I will not push you any way… but choose you must. To find Balance, and face the Horror within you, and rid yourself of your fear of cats… you must choose!"

For the first time in his life, Ranma felt confident that he’d come out intact in a verbal, emotional confrontation. He could tell the truth, and live to see the setting sun.

"Well, Ranma?" demanded a very angry Akane. "Is that it, or do you -want- to be with Kodachi?"

"Actually," Ranma said, surprising himself and everyone else with the firm confidence of his voice. "Xian-kun, here, has it about right."

Dead silence.

For a full minute, dead silence.

Then Kodachi shrieked, slipping beyond "crazy" into true madness. Dark eyes blazing with incoherent rage, she lunged at Ranma, hands twisted into claws.

For the first time since the Fifth Testing, Xian Mao did not -think- about releasing the Neko-ken. He just -did-. The Fifth Door opened itself, with neither conscious thought nor deliberate will… but neither did Xian Mao fight it. He simply used it for it’s only true purpose: the defense of an ally.

A back handed slash which did not even land, physically speaking, send Kuno Kodachi soaring back and out the gate of the Tendo residence. Xian Mao had hit her with the incredible precision of one who does not even need to think about his actions: a perfectly aimed blow to deflect more than to harm, with just enough strength to send her soaring, and only enough power to disrupt her Ki field, but not to actually her life-force.

Then, just as Xian Mao closed the Door, the cat-aura of the Mao Fu hit Ranma.

The boy/girl became cat.

Ranma-neko jumped over Xian Mao, landing between the priest and Akane. Ranma-neko snarled, and took a combat stance.

The Neko-ken master backed off quickly, trying to puzzle out what, precisely, had happened. Ranma-neko settled himself in Akane’s lap and continued to glare at Xian Mao, who began to laugh.

"What’s so damned funny?" demanded Akane, who was less than pleased at having Ranma in his cat form again.

"Ranma," Xian Mao choked out around his laughter. "Even in the throes of … this, he still sees you as his mate!"

"I’m not…!" Akane broke off. "What do you mean?"

"Ranma’s a cat right now," Xian Mao explained, brining his mirth under control. "I am, in his eyes, another cat. As a cat he doesn’t want another tomcat in his territory. I’m bigger, though, so he has to put up with that. He does NOT, however, have to put up with me—the other cat—trying to take his mate away: namely you."

"Hunh?"

"You…" Xian Mao struggled to find a way to make it clear to Akane. "He’s defending his mate from an invading tomcat!"

"But he’s a cat right now, he’s…"

"Akane," Xian Mao said gently, trying to convey everything he knew into his tone. "You know as well as I do… better, really… that this IS Ranma. He just sees the world differently, now… Cats do not lie to themselves, and very rarely to one another."

"But… but…"

"This, Akane-chan, is how Ranma really feels."
 
 

The sun rose on yet another day in Nerima… it seemed like forever ago that he’d left the monastery. Life in this world was so different, he observed, tugging idly at the iridescent hoop in his ear.

One down, two to go, he mused to himself. At least, he hoped Kodachi was out of the running. Even if she didn’t pursue Ranma any more, though, Ranma had gotten that solved in his own mind, and Akane knew now what was going on there.

More importantly, Akane had something of a better idea what was going on with Ranma. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided to actively take part in the drama that surrounded the young man, but he had and he made a point of never doing anything by halves.

Last night, as Ranma-neko sat in Akane’s lap, purring contentedly, Akane and Xian Mao had had a long talk.

"I don’t know," Akane had said helplessly, "every time we’re alone, we either start fighting, or someone… interrupts us before we can even -say- anything, much less -do- anything…"

Xian Mao smiled a little, "Ranma complained of the same thing."

"What? When?"

"That first night I arrived, Ranma and I had a long talk. He… said a few things that I don’t think he’d want anyone to know he said… I don’t think he knows just how easy he is to read."

"Really? What did he say?"

"Did I not just say ‘things he wouldn’t want anyone to know he said’?"

"Well…" Akane had said, blushing.

Xian Mao had smiled, and smiled again in the remembrance.

"Among them was a complaint that the two of you never really had any time alone." a paused. "If I could arrange it, and get Ranma to agree, would you take advantage of it?"

After a few moments, Akane had nodded. "Yes. But… how?"

"Tomorrow, after school. I’ll have the Dojo set up so that no one can bother you."

"Why are you doing this?" Akane had asked suddenly. "Did our fathers set you up to this?"

"No. Nothing of the sort."

"Then why?"

"First, because if I’m to cure Ranma of his fear of cats, and his tendency to do… this… he has to be in better emotional balance. To do that, I have to help him work out some of his emotional difficulties.

"Frankly, you, and his relationship with you, seem to be the primary factors of his stress… not even his father can compare. Second…"

"Second?"

"Because I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’d like to help you two, if not come together, at least work out the terms of your friendship and whether or not you want this whole shebang to happen."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 
 
 

Ranma awoke to find Xian Mao sitting over him. The priest had changed clothes, and most likely bathed (given his damp hair) since the Cat Fu had taken him. Ranma wondered how much time had passed.

"Xian-kun?" Ranma groaned. For some reason, his entire body ached… this hadn’t ever happened before, any of the times he’d lost awareness to the Neko-ken. Actually, he’d usually woken up somewhat refreshed. "What happened…?"

"I found a way to wake you up. Unpleasant side affects?"

"No…" Other than the fact that all of me hurts! Ranma thought to himself.

"It’s painful, then? Hmmm…. I’ll have to think of a way around that…"
 
 

Ranma blinked. There was something wrong… he hadn’t mentioned that he hurt out lout, had he? Had he slipped into that kind of weakness?

"I have a proposition for you, Ranma."

"You what?"

"Ranma, if you were given the opportunity for, say, an hour alone with Akane—no interruptions, no spies, nothing—would you take it? An opportunity to talk, to find out just what it was you wanted out of your relationship? Be it friendship, marriage, utter separation, whatever?"

A slight pause as Ranma thought. Then, with no hesitation whatsoever, "Yes."

"After school tomorrow, in the dojo."
 
 

The sun had long ago set over Nerima as Xian Mao sat in silent meditation by the Koi pond, drawing Power into himself, and beginning the Weavings of the spells he would use to protect the dojo. The spell would be incredibly complex; involving Wardings against every conceivable form of interruption or spying, a way to put it up later, instead of immediately after the spell was cast, and most difficult of all, a way to bring it down from the inside. It would also be incredibly strong, drawing on amounts and levels of Power Xian Mao had never even dreamed of touching

"Why are you hooking them up?"

Xian Mao started, looking to the voice behind him. It was Nabiki.

"Several reasons. Do you object?"

Nabiki shrugged, "No, but I stand to loose a lot of income if Ranma’s problems get resolved."

"There are other was to make money."

"True enough. So, why?"

"First and foremost, duty. I have a duty to help Ranma with the Cat Fist. Because the temple where I was raised and trained is the only place on the face of this earth where one can learn the Neko-ken, we hold ourselves responsible, directly or indirectly, for the actions of those who learn the technique. Indirectly, we are responsible for Ranma’s problem… Saotome Genma is directly responsible, but it is our shame that he was able to learn the little he did, and put Ranma through the hell of the Fourth Test. To do what I must, however, Ranma’s mind must be calm… which can only be achieved by helping him through his emotional turmoil.
"Also, I hope… I hope that by helping Ranma with -his- romance, I can have a better idea of how to manage my own love interests."

Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. "You’re a well spring of information this morning. Any chance you’ll tell me who that love interest is? None of my sources have reported any moves made on your part. Someone back in China?"

"None of the information I’ve given has been worth much. And, no, she’s not back in China. … Wanna know why your sources haven’t reported any moves made?" Xian Mao grinned a little.

"Sure."

"Because I haven’t really made that many."

"Oh? So who is this girl you’ve set your heart on?" Nabiki wasn’t sure why she was pestering Xian Mao for the information. It was of almost no importance whatsoever. Maybe it was because he didn’t seem to have fallen for Akane, as so many seemed to have.

"Really want to know?"

"Sure."

"You."

Stunned silence. A shove sent the Chinese boy into the pond, but if she had hoped Xian Mao was another victim of Jhusenkyo, she was disappointed.
 
 

The Rising Sun of Japan breached the horizon to find Xian Mao still standing in front of the Dojo, hands clasped in the Tiger-Chases Dragon Salute. An wind unfelt by the rest of the world whipped at his hair and clothes, and spun black flames in a blazing circle around the building. A plethora of ancient symbols and glyphs—ranging from Sanskrit, to Ancient Chinese, to Nordic Runes, to strange arcane characters that no one had seen for millennia—danced through the flames, shimmering in and out of existence. For almost an hour he stood there, serene and unreadable, impossible to determine if he was alive or dead, moving again only once Ranma and Akane had dashed out the gates for school.

Pulling a fist-thick candle from his belt-sash, Xian Mao began to chant again and walked toward the Dojo, as oblivious to the Sun’s light as to the stares of the Tendo household. As he crossed the Circle, the wax of the candle began to shimmer in time with his chanting, as did the flames of the Circle. Slowly, Xian Mao made his way to the center of the Dojo—by no means a coincidence that it was also the exact center of the Circle—and with a final spoken Word, placed the candle on the floor. Outside, the flames roared up, swirling even faster ‘round the Dojo, then died down as RuneScript flowed up the candle from the base to the very top, evil-looking black against the virgin white of the candle’s wax.
 
 

"The nerve!" Nabiki fumed as she walked to school. "He deliberately led the conversation to that point!"

Of course, at a certain level, she had to admire the way he’d pushed and prodded her into asking the right questions. Everything snapped into place, every piece of dropped information, every odd phrase, suddenly made sense. Now, she couldn’t doubt his claim to have out-cheated an Imp… he had managed to trick her with goals she hadn’t thought of, working perfectly to achieve two or three separate goals, and sacrificing strategically useless information in exchange for what -he- felt to be important.

"Boss?" asked Natsuko {A.N.: I’ve never actually picked up the names of Nabiki’s two partners in crime; this was the first thing that came to mind. If you happen to know their names, e-mail me, I’m curious}. "What’s the matter? You seem out of sorts this morning…"

Nabiki told her two companions precisely what was the matter. At great lengths, and with no few explicatives.

"Personally, Boss, I think you should go for it."

"What?"

"Yeah, if nothing else, you could learn from him. Think about it: he hasn’t been around long enough to owe you anything, or to have any grudges against you. He’s only been to school one day, so he doesn’t even know what other people think of you…"

"A perfectly clean slate," agreed Mariko {A.N.: yup, that’s my name for the other one. Lame, ain’t it?}. "And he -is- pretty well built…"

"You two are crazy."

"C’mon, Boss, don’t tell me you never get lonely?"

Nabiki lashed out in an unprecedented and uncharacteristic display of emotion and violence, grabbing her two cohorts by the collars of their uniforms, and slamming them against the wall.

"You two -can’t- have any idea how lonely that madhouse I’m forced to call home is!" She snarled, shaking them slightly to emphasize her point, "My older sister has Dr. Tofu so madly in love with her that he literally can’t remember where he is when he sees her. My younger sister has every male in the school chasing after her. Ranma has -three- women, in addition to Akane, who want to fuck him blind.

"You cannot -possibly- know how lonely I get in the dark hours of the morning!"

"So, Boss," choked Natsuko, pressing the point for some reason that was beyond all logic save that it was the will of the Gods, "why are you throwing this opportunity away?"
 
 

Cologne looked up from her studies, preoccupied by ancient texts in the business-dead hours of the morning—a ramen shop having very little of a breakfast rush. She felt something… someone working magick; great magicks from the feel of it: a powerful roaring sensation in her skull, a tingling across her skin as the ambient power activated her Chakras. There was no one she knew of here who could work such spells—a would-be occultist at the high school, and Dr. Tofu were the only "Magi" she knew of in the Nerima district, unless one counted Happosai, but she would have recognized his "feel".

Strange, too, that it seemed to be coming from the direction of…

NO!

That couldn’t be it!

That would-be priest couldn’t be that powerful! She’d have sensed it in him! But…

Who else was there?

Bah.

It was probably just Happosai, masking himself somehow. Whatever it was, Son-in-Law could deal with it.
 
 

In the courtyard outside Furinken, "Voodoo Spike" Gosunkugi fell to his knees, grasping his stomach in agony as a wave of Power rippled across his inexpertly shielded body, mind, and soul.

What was going on?
 
 

Shampoo sat alone in her room, utterly insensitive to the powerful Workings that were disturbing every wizard, sorceress, and would-be mage in the region, wondering what she was going to do. She was honor bound to wed Ranma, but he did not want her. She had loved Ranma, and openly; now everyone assumed that she did… regardless of what she might protest, had she the courage. Now, another had worked his way into her heart. Enemy to her great-grandmother and her people, powerful in ways she could barely comprehend, but a martial artist of very, very earthly caliber. If Great-grandmother ever found out, it would most likely be the last day of her life.
 
 

With a snap of his fingers, an exhausted Xian Mao lit a candle for an astonished Ranma and Akane.

"Take this into the Dojo," he told them. "With it, light the candle in the middle of the floor. Whatever you do, don’t disturb that candle; blow it out gently when you’re ready to come out, or the Circle will collapse by itself at dawn."

Nodding unsurely, but without second thoughts, the reluctant couple walked across the charred patch and up the steps to the Dojo. Moments later, flames leapt up again, raging black and cold; burning higher and higher until the shadowy fires formed a dome over the Dojo. Completely drained, Xian Mao collapsed back against the Warding; tired, but satisfied with work done well.
 
 

"So, how’s it going?" Nabiki asked, looking at the shimmering black bubble surrounding the dojo building. Xian Mao, exhausted, sat with his back against said bubble, which had been the work of over twelve hours of intense ritual magick.

"They’re in there," he answered with a gusty, tired sigh. "and they will continue to be in there until they choose to come out… or dawn tomorrow, whichever comes first."

"Any idea what’s going on in there?"

"None."

"So… how’re you doing?"

"I’m exhausted, to be honest. I don’t think I could stand up if I wanted to."

Silence, for a while.

"I’m… sorry I pushed you into the pond."

Another sigh. "It’s okay. I propositioned you, you rejected me. End of story, right?"

"Well, actually…"

Xian Mao raised an eyebrow, wondering if for once he was going to get something without some sort of sacrifice… his pride had been traded for the spiritual training, his innocence for the Five Tests, his humanity for the Neko-ken. Perhaps, just once, he might get away intact…

"… I was wanting to reconsider…"

Xian Mao reached out his hand. "Can we be friends while you think about it?"

Nabiki smiled and took his hand in a firm grasp. "Yes."
 
 

An hour passed, and then another. Still, the bubble stood intact. The mercenary girl and the priestly boy sat together on its perimeter, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting.

They went in and ate when Kasumi called them to dinner, both wondering just what to do with themselves… and each other.

"Where are Ranma and Akane?" asked Kasumi in her usual innocent way. "I haven’t seen them since right after school."

Xian Mao looked across the table to Nabiki. "Should I tell?"

She thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah, nothing anyone can do about them now."

"They’re in the dojo," the Chinese boy explained, "talking. Don’t bother trying to eavesdrop, I’ve got it spelled so tight you couldn’t hear an atomic blast go off in there."

Everyone just stared at him… save for Nabiki, who already understood the situation.

"They’ve both complained that they never have time alone without being interrupted. I’ve seen to it that only the Gods themselves can interrupt them. Don’t even bother trying.

"They’ll come out when the want to."

After dinner, Xian Mao and Nabiki returned to their vigilant watch of the dojo. They sat in companionable silence as the sun set.

"Xian Mao?" asked Nabiki after a while. "Do you have any nicknames? Something shorter, easier to say?"

"A couple. Some people just take my name apart, calling me Xian, or Mao. Some of the other acolytes at the temple called me ‘Baka’ until I learned Japanese… then they found somewhere else to be. When I first opened the Fourth Door, I was called "Claw" for a while, because for days after, my aura had claws. Other than that…" He shook his head. "None."

"Well, I can’t call you ‘baka’, that’s Ranma," they both chuckled, "and ‘claw’ is sort of odd… Mao is awkward, so I guess I’ll call you Xian… okay?"

"Fine by me…"

The wall behind them shimmered.

"They’re finally coming out," Xian Mao explained.

"Mmmm…" said Nabiki, getting up slowly, then turning to her first real friend in years. "You know, I really don’t have any experience in this… just a few manga and watching this chaos around me…"

"As incompetent as I am, hunh?" he asked, trying to find some way to speak his deepest heart—hard enough in Chinese, much less a language not native to him, "Care to try anyway?"

Nabiki smiled… the first genuine smile in some time, and kissed him on the forehead. "Yes."

The shell collapsed, and they could here what was obviously the tail end of the conversation.

"RANMA NO BAKA!!!"

"At least," he said with wry exasperation as the Dojo door opened, "we have a very excellent example of what NOT to do…"

"Yeah…"
 
 

Mu Tsu sat alone in the darkened lobby of the Neko-hanten. Despite what most of the people in Nerima believed, he was not stupid… except where it came to Xian Pu and any emotions she might or might not have for him, but that was beside the point. He could see that there was something wrong, both with Xian Pu and Khu Lon. Xian Pu was depressed by something, maybe even a little fearful… and Khu Lon was absolutely terrified by something, and enraged as well. And Mu Tsu had his suspicions… the trouble had began shortly after the young priest Xian Mao had arrived. Mu Tsu had no problems with the young man; he had his own disagreements with the Council of Elders, and Khu Lon especially. Something disturbed him, however, about the young man’s friendship with Xian Pu… they were too close for his comfort. There was nothing untoward that he could actually see, but that made little difference to Mu Tsu… there was very little that he could truly see, after all…

No. It couldn’t be that. Xian Pu was in love with Ranma; as much as he had denied it in the past, the time had come for him to admit it… even if only in the vaults of his own mind. Xian Mao was just a friend. That Mu Tsu could accept… almost.

Save for the fact that whenever Xian Mao was around, he had the odd feeling that the young man knew… knew what, he wasn’t sure, but something… something Mu Tsu did not want him knowing.
 
 

Alone in her room, Khu Lon did something she literally hadn’t done since Xian Pu’s mother’s mother had been a small child. In the center of a candle-lit circle, Khu Lon cast bones. It was a mark of her uncertainty that she did not simply look at the weavings of Fate with her own Sight, choosing instead to cast the rune-carved knuckle-bones of her own great-great grandmother and read their interpretation of things.

And as she finished the third casting, it was a mark of her anger that she couldn’t even focus strongly enough to extinguish the candles of the circle.

Her own interpretation of things was bad enough… the bones foretold things even worse. Both agreed, however, on a single point: this new boy, child of the Ancient Enemy (Khu Lon remembered what had happened… she’d been there; she remembered the fires, the death and the dying… she remembered it all very well) that was Wang Mao Yue, this unfathomable and unreadable Xian Mao… he would be her downfall… the beginning of the collapse of Amazon society.
 
 

Xian Pu, in turn, sat in her room crying.

She was dead, her body just didn’t know it yet.

She knew that Great-grandmother (Khu Lon wasn’t actually her mothers’ mother’s mother… it was far more complex than that) suspected. How could the Elder not?

She could no longer bring herself to pursue Ranma, and Xian Mao…

She was dead.

But she was an Amazon, and she would not die without taking her enemies to the Yama Kings with her.
 
 
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 
 
 

Xian Mao sat in his rented room in Dr. Tofu’s home, alone and lonely with only candlelight to keep him company. First, Nabiki had told him she was too busy for a date… business and all; then Ranma was too busy running after Happosai to train (could it possibly be the Happosai? Ancient master and renowned pervert?); and now this…

"Do not ask, for I will not declare truce," she stated flatly.

Xian Mao gulped, hoping that he was not about to die.

"But," she continued after a brief pause, "as you have sworn truce with my great-granddaughter, I will choose not to remember our people’s feud… until such time as you cross my path."

"May we pray that it never comes to that," Xian Mao murmured.

The words echoed through his memory.

And now this…
 
 

Xian Mao stared at the piece of paper in front of him, waffling between despair and anger, hoping that some solution might come to mind. Again, he read Khu Lon’s missive, neatly caliagraphed in the formal script that denoted an ancient, mage, or well-educated priest:

[<To the Interloper and Would-Be Priest Xian Mao

Not run, certainly; he could not abandon the people he had here. And not accept her sentence… Khu Lon had no rule over him. He was now forced to face her. He would die, almost certainly… he would…

No. He would not die. Khu Lon had no right to take his life, and he every right to defend it. The time had come for things to change: he was Yin; he was Chaos; he was Xian Mao, Master of the Neko-ken… all Nine Gates were his to open.
 
 

"Ranma!" Shampoo’s voice hit him like a brick, quickly accompanied by the door that had previously closed Akane’s room off from the rest of the house; the voices owner loomed in the doorway, foot still raised from kicking the portal open. "Akane! Shampoo need talk you now!"

Akane face faulted, and Ranma would have had he not still been pinned underneath the unhinged door.

"What’s this about Shampoo?" demanded Akane. "Ranma’s made his choice and it’s not you!"

"Shut up stupid girl," Shampoo mocked, then dropped the singsong accent. "Ranma made his choice long before I even arrived. I’ve known so for some time… now if you’ll both just SHUT UP for a little bit, maybe I’ll explain to you why I still have to marry him…"
 
 

It was noon of the third day when Nabiki walked in on Xian Mao. She had knocked but he hadn’t answered, so she’d walked on in… not really expecting to find him there.

She certainly did not expect to find the blinds drawn and covered so that the only light in the room came from two candles; she definitely did not expect to find Xian sitting calmly between said candles as if the rest of the world had ceased to be… and she absolutely did not expect to see him floating a good foot off the ground.

The breeze from the opening door caused the candles to flicker, and a powerful gust from nowhere extinguished them and nearly pushed Nabiki back through the open door. With a crash, Xian Mao fell gracelessly on his butt.

Not yet aware of what had happened, Xian Mao rolled backwards faster than she’d ever seen anyone move—when had he gained such speed?--and came into a fighting stance wielding the bokken he’d stolen from Kuno-sempai.

"How on Earth did you manage to get that from Kuno-baby, anyway?" Nabiki asked nonchalantly overly used to martial artists.

Xian Mao shrugged. "I broke the Link that had Bound it to him." He gave her a special smile, "How’re you doing?"

"I’m doing all right. I came to see if we were still on for tonight?"

"Of course… but that’s not all, is it?"

"No, it’s not… I… I heard about the letter from Cologne."

Xian Mao blinked. "From whom?"

"Shampoo."

"I… see…"

"What are you going to do? You can’t beat her… but… you can’t run, either, can you?"

Xian Mao set down the bokken and looked Nabiki in the eyes.

"If I run, she will find me, and the battle will be on her terms. If I come to her, once again it will be on her terms. She holds the cards, so I must change the rules of the game."

Nabiki nodded. "That’s the way it works." A pause. "So… what are you going to do?"

"I haven’t the slightest clue."
 
 

"<Xian Pu!>"

"<Yes Great-grandmother?>"

"<You have disgraced me again.>"

"<How so, Great-grandmother?>"

"<You know how, child. You have been beaten twice… many times now, actually, by an outsider: this Ranma Saotome. By Law you should be wed to him and by now be big with his child. Yet you constantly refrain! You hold back! And now you have not only ceased to pursue him, but you have given your heart to another! Our enemy!>"

Shampoo was silent for a time.

"<Your enemy, honored matriarch, not mine. I will not forsake a friend—with whom I have sworn truce!—for a society that does not believe in love and uses honor to hide the fact that they no longer have a soul.>"

"<You have to the count of five to begin begging for the chance to retract that remark.>"

"<I will not! When I went home, I found that the people I had loved as family and friends were but lifeless husks, walking carefully through the daily ritual of life, the meaning of which had been forgotten so long ago that they do not even know why they do it. I will not abandon real, living people who have become my friends for those walking corpses!>"

Khu Lon’s eyes grew cold.

"<Then you will die, child. You will die.>"
 
 

On the morning of the fifth day, Cologne was forced to open the Neko-hanten herself—since Shampoo was gagged and tied in the basement, and Moose was carefully watching her (Cologne had told him that Shampoo was under the influence of evil magicks cast by the would-be priest… nothing she did or said was to be paid any attention to, save if she tried to escape). She told the customers that both her assistants were sick—nothing communicable, mind, but enough to keep them abed for some days.

"I’m sorry to hear that," said one of the customers. "Oh, did you notice that someone scratched something on your door? Some Chinese and some American…"

Cologne blinked. "I should look into that… if you’ll excuse me…"

Sure enough, something was scratched into her door. Actually, "carved" would be a better word: the characters were gouged exactly halfway through the wood of the door. Cleanly etched and finely drawn, they were in the same style of script as the letter she had sent to Xian Mao… and too perfect to have been done by any hand save his, and only by using the Claw. On a certain level it frightened her that he could push aside the bestial mind of that technique to do this perfect calligraphy, and more so that the force of his Chi had not awakened her. But as she read the words, fear was burned away by anger:

The proverbial butterflies filled Xian Mao’s stomach as he tried to calm himself with meditation. People as old as Cologne could not be properly considered sane; as they grew in power they became quite used to getting their own way, and more and more belligerent about seeing to it that that never changed. It was entirely likely that Cologne was already close to the edge because of the difficulties with Ranma and Shampoo… and now his interference, which by itself could have pushed her close to that edge, might well have pushed her over… far over. What was there that a four hundred year old Tribal Elder would not be willing to do to see to it that her will—the will of the tribe—was not crossed? Kill him? Those dear to him? Everyone in Nerima? He could hold her off—defeat her even—if he were willing to cross certain lines…

He’d already crossed one of them, in China [AN: see side-story "Into China"], when he’d opened the Sixth Gate… to conquer. But the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Gates still stood before him. In his meditative state, he could see them at the far end of the Corridor. The Seventh Gate, to destroy. The Eighth Gate, to defend his mate… if it came to that (or was Nabiki truly his mate? Were they that close?). The Final Gate, the Ninth: to avenge, or to destroy on a level that few could imagine. Could he bring himself to cross those lines? If he did, there was no guaranty that Cologne would be alive at the end of it… or that he would not kill out of hand anyone who tried to interfere.

Mere moments after he sensed the presences of several people approaching, Ranma bashed the door open.

"Xian Mao!"

The young man looked up inquiringly, putting on his best "I expected you to come, my child; how may I help you" Priest-face. "Yes?"

Something was horribly wrong, but their thoughts were too confused for him to pick out.

"Nabiki vanished this afternoon," Ranma all but yelled, "and we found a note on her bed!"

Alarm bells began ringing in his head, but Xian managed to look calm. "And it says…?"

"We don’t know!" blurted Akane. "It’s in Chinese."

No one in the room knew Xian well enough to read his face at that moment; for all they knew, he had suddenly lost the ability to comprehend Japanese, his face was so blank. But anyone from back at the Temple would have noticed that his eyes had changed from silver to sapphire, recognized the sudden tightening of muscles by his left eye, and along his jaw… anyone from the Temple would be backing out of the room as quickly as humanly possible.

Ranma: "Xian?"

Nor response, but his battle-aura flared silently to life.

Akane: "Xian?"

Still no reply; an acrid stench filled the room.

Tofu: "Xian-kun?"

"Show me the letter."

Quickly Ranma handed the note to the other young man, who stood up calmly to accept it. Where he had been sitting, the wood looked corroded, as if someone had spilled acid on it.

Xian Mao read aloud and translated as he went:

"[To the Grand Fool and Dishonorable Xian Mao:

What happened next surprised and frightened them even more:

Xian Mao punched at the wall without otherwise moving his body; the wall exploded outward, hitting and doing considerable damage to the building opposite.
 
 

Somewhere in the world, there was a man.

Not an important man, by many people’s standards, but a powerful one if you knew what true power was. He was maybe average height, with brown eyes and dark hair that fell to just below his shoulder blades; he wore a long overcoat covering ratty jeans and an old T-shirt. As he sucked down his cigarette, perhaps the only thing one might find extraordinary about him was that he was somehow too normal, too average.

They would, of course, be right. He was far more than he seemed.

As he walked down the street, empty at this time of night, he stopped for no apparent reason, and looked east, considering… calculating…

"Could it be?" he muttered to himself, lighting another cigarette. "How old would he be now? Eighteen? By the Gods… I think it’s time!"
 
 

Xian Mao spent an hour in prayer and meditation before packing the few things he would need. An hour or two wouldn’t matter, one way or the other… and if he did not calm himself, he did not know what might happen… but it was entirely likely that he would utterly loose control.

That was an idea that scared him, actually. Loosing control. He’d never lost control, before. Since achieving mastery of the Mao Fu, he’d been possessed of an almost preternatural calm. That calm was gone, now. He wasn’t capable of the fiery, thundering rage that Ranma or Akane or Shampoo displayed. In some ways, though, the soul-numbing ice of his fury was more frightening. As he packed his formal robes into the top of the backpack, and strapped Kuno’s bokken to the side, it was almost fascinating to feel the cold, economical precision that the rage added to his normal grace. So wrapped up in the new feelings of rage and bloodlust, Xian Mao never noticed that neither Ranma nor Akane had left. Out of the pile articles that he had discarded as excess weight, Xian Mao pulled a pair of candles, setting them on the altar he had built in one corner of the room. Breathing deeply, moving smoothly and gracefully, he lit them from the nearly gutted candle from the night before. With a commanding dignity, the young priest bowed before the altar.

"<Wang-Mao-Yue, my beloved Goddess, fallen in the Time of Mists. Power of my Art, strength of my Spirit,>" he intoned in a voice that carried very well, given that he barely spoke above a whisper. "<Beloved Goddess, I have found myself set upon a path that I may never see the end of, and never return from. It is my own folly, this I know, and do not ask you to save me from it… only that you watch over those that I may have hurt in my pride and foolishness.

"<Wang-Mao-Yue, I beg the, hear my prayer, and when I die, take me home to thy breast, for know that I never meant wrong.>"

Xian Mao stood, and looked to the hole in the wall. In the light of the now-setting sun, his eyes seemed to glow. So suddenly that not even Ranma had known he was going to move, Xian Mao dashed for the hole, almost seeming to run off the edge, but performing an incredible flip, backwards onto the roof rather than plummeting to the ground. Ranma followed almost the instant Xian Mao began to move, but as his feet landed on the roof, all that could be seen of the young man was a flea-sized speck.

"On my best day, I could never move half that fast…" Ranma whispered in awe. "Is that what I’m missing? Is that the Neko-ken?"
 
 

Ranma and Akane told Dr. Tofu what had happened in as much detail as they knew how to, before dashing home, trying to figure out how they were going to catch up with Xian Mao.

Akane’s mind reeled at Ranma’s description of the young priest’s speed, but for once didn’t doubt… Ranma would not exaggerate… if anything, he would play it down. Admitting that someone could move ten or twenty times as fast as he was not something Ranma would do easily… since that was the number given, Akane mentally bumped it up to thirty or forty… could a human body survive that kind of speed?

Reaching the Tendo residence, they instantly began packing, calling to Kasumi to make them some trail rations—there would be no time for Akane to try to cook for Ranma…
 
 

Immortal Cat skidded to a halt as he hit the coastline, snarling defiance at the obstacle. Knowing that there was no faster way, Immortal Cat plunged into the frigid water, swimming for all he was worth. His blood did not boil, Immortal Cat was not yet upset enough to loose that last vestige of dignity… he was just very, very annoyed. And the Shriveled One would pay for taking the females. The Shriveled One would pay in hearts blood, so he swore.
 
 

Two hours later, Ranma and Akane stormed down the stairs to see their fathers also bearing backpacks. They shrugged, knowing that they’d need all the help they could get for this one. If Nabiki hadn’t been kidnapped, they’d have gone so far as to ask her to squeeze Kuno into helping.

As it was, however, they had their feet, and the little help they could get.

The only way they could get to China was by plane, therefore, they would take a plane. Resolved, if somewhat resigned, the Nerima Wrecking Crew set out.

Then, something occurred to them. They not only had no real idea where they were going (Genma had no idea how to get back to the springs, much less the Village), but no way of getting there, even if they did. It was usually Nabiki’s craftiness that would get them through stunts like this, and/or Kuno’s money. they had no way or where to go.

There must be money somewhere… enough to buy a plane ticket…

Wait, Tofu… doctors were rich, right?
 
 

**********
 
 

Xian Mao’s last great leap landed him at the edge of the Joketsuzoku Tribe’s territory. He’d managed to conquer the animal within, but the icy rage still held. Pausing to catch his breath and draw in more energy, Xian Mao crossed the invisible line that marked the home of the Amazons. Two full weeks early, there was no one there to greet him. A very fortunate thing, for them.

Xian Mao got as far as the village gates before someone finally tried to stop him.

"<Halt! Who are you, and why do you come to our village?>"

"<I am Xian Mao. I have come for Khu Lon. Tell her if she releases Tendo Nabiki and Xian Pu, now, I will consider letting her live.>"

The Amazon was too stunned to respond, so he simply walked through the gates. He’d been here before… twice before, he realized, though the first time had been four hundred years before his own birth. Calmly, he walked directly toward the Hall of the Council—a grand title for a glorified hut. Before the doorway, he clapped three thunderous times.

"<I call upon Khu Lon to answer the ancient call of challenge. She has dishonored herself before me, cast insult where it is blasphemy to cast, and called myself before the headsman’s block using two bystanders as bait. I call upon the Elder Matriarch to answer the call of challenge. If ‘yea’, then stand before me at the setting sun, or ‘nea’ then know that I name thee enemy, and will chase you unto the ends of the earth. Know that I stand to end the Feud of Wang-Mao-Yue, for it is the hand of this village that shed first blood…>"
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 

"<…that I stand to end the Feud of Wang-Mao-Yue, for it is the hand of this village that shed first blood…>"

Within minutes, all of the Joketsuzoku knew of the challenge, and the response.

Khu Lon had calmly emerged from the Hall, a gleam of hatred in her eye.

"<The girls are as yet untouched. I had hoped you would answer this way.>"

She never gave away the fact that she was afraid… how had he gotten here so quickly? None had felt magic, or even Chi… and how did he know that form? It had been out of use since her own youth…
 
 

{A.N.: All text is in Joketsuzoku dialect Chinese, unless otherwise stated. "Otherwise" probably means Japanese.}

Xian Mao was having second thoughts.

Not, mind you, about having come and made the challenge, but he was definitely regretting having not thought about what to do after that point.

He wondered if anyone else knew what had really happened, all those years ago, to start the feud. He doubted it. He hadn’t even known, before he came to Nerima… and likely wouldn’t have ever learned, had he not told the Elder Monk about his encounter with the Amazons. Only he would know that he wasn’t in the wrong… of course, given the people he’d met so far… technical right and wrong seemed to take a back seat to "us" and "them".

It was a beautiful sunset, Xian Mao observed absently… an oddly calm thought, amidst the turmoil of the rest of his mind.

At least Xian Pu and Nabiki were safe.

"So, young fool, you have come to accept your fate?"

"I am Xian Mao, I write my own fate."

"Fool. You are not strong enough. You have no choice but to accept the fate that those stronger write for you."

"Yes… but who is stronger than I? I who have mastered the Cat Fist?"

"Mastered it? None have mastered your dark art since I was a child."

"Oh! So you were there, then, when this began? Appropriate, that you should see it end."

"I was there! Doubt that not, for I remember the fire and blood. I remember watching as my mother’s blood poured from where her ribs should have been, I remember as the bastard laughed…"

Something flashed in Xian Mao’s eyes, and a cold wind whipped at the two as the village gathered round to watch.

"I did not laugh." It was almost Xian Mao’s voice…

"What?" Khu Lon’s voice was somewhere between a shriek and a gurgle.

"I did not laugh. I have never laughed at death." It was Xian Mao, but there was something strange about his voice and his eyes. Something that spoke of memories older than his flesh… older than his bones… as old as his power. "That time, and all the times before, I wished to weep a thousand tears for every drop of blood. I did weep a thousand tears, but there was no one left to see me. There will be no tears, this time, though. I know now what I do."

Khu Lon—and the other Elders, as well, and many of the tribe’s warriors, tho’ they matter nothing to this tale—could feel a subtle pressure building within the young man… the image in her mind was of weight being added to one side of a scale, which for no known reason would not tilt.

"You cannot remember… it could not be you… you are too young! Who are you!"

"I am Xian Mao, I was Zhai Ku, who destroyed your village. I have been Thamdrin, Klaidro, Mathrig, Sholai, Mali, Mikara, and more. I am the Mao Fu!"

With a shriek of rage and fear, Khu Lon rushed the young man.

The scale tipped, the force holding it even gone.
 
 

In an instant, memories came flooding in. Lives he had lived before, each time mastering the unknown art of the Neko-ken, living and loving and dying in the end. Names and faces, male and female both, some he did not believe were entirely human.

With the memories came the Hall of Portals, wherein each of the Gateways lay… all were open, but he had passed through none, yet.

He finished, not entirely aware of what it was he had said, and Khu Lon charged. Almost without thinking, utterly without hesitation, he flew through the Hall, right to the threshold of the forbidden Tenth Gate: the Door That Would Not Open.

Power exploded into his soul.

When the dust cleared, no one was quite sure what had happened. Khu Lon was picking her shriveled body up from the dust, a piece of her shattered "pogo stick" staff in each hand and her eyes seeming even wider than usual. She’d never even heard of anything like this, before. Xian Mao stood poised, half crouched, like a bipedal tiger, in the center of a ten-foot crater. He snarled, and his eyes glowed.

Amazingly, Khu Lon cackled.

"At last! A real fight!"

The other elders understood: it had been nearly three hundred and fifty years since the Elder Matriarch had been seriously challenged in a fight. It had been around a hundred and fifty since she’d broken a sweat. This was everything she could have dreamed it to be: The first good fight in more than three centuries, and the chance to avenge her mother’s death and end the feud with the Wang-Mao-Yue temple. This, to Khu Lon, was a dream come true. Her eyes shone with life, and one could now imagine the beauty she had been in her long-ago youth, when she had been as lovely as she was strong.

Again, she drove foreword, taking the offensive, the dominant position that was her right as an Amazon, and drove the Chestnut Fist into Xian Mao’s ribs.

Or, rather, where his ribs had been. Like a shadow bending around torchlight, Xian Mao bent slightly to the side, and Khu Lon flew by, missing by a precise fraction of an inch. Almost gently, he pushed on her back, unbalancing her and releasing a burst of powerful Ki to send her face-first into the ground some thirty feet away.

Barely bruised and slightly disoriented, Khu Lon was nonetheless exhilarated… not since her last lover had she felt so alive. Neither opponent spoke, for no words were needed, now. The battle was life, life was the battle… focus was everything.

Again, Khu Lon took the offensive, rocketing through the air at speeds that should not have been humanly possible. Again, Xian Mao slid aside… a moment too slow, this time, for the Matriarch’s clawed hand tore in… catching nothing but cloth. Lightning struck in the form of the young priest’s hand, and the Elder impacted the ground at his feet. Khu Lon struck, and Xian Mao’s legs were no longer beneath him.

The adversaries found each other righted simultaneously.

This would be a long fight, if it kept up like this.

Khu Lon’s confidence swelled. There was no question of her eventual victory… this boy could never outlast her. Men were always weaker.
 
 

The plan went like this: once they reached China, they’d find a plane going out to the appropriate province (Oyaji had somehow found it on a map, oh wonder of wonders), and bully the pilot into flying over the Springs…

If no such plane was available, well, they’d walk.

It might have occurred to them that they’d be too late, but it was doubtful.
 
 

Cats always play with their food.

"Where are the girls, Khu Lon?" Xian Mao demanded as he slid away from yet another of the Matriarch’s air-borne attacks.

The Elder twitched, startled by the unexpected taunt—the boy had not spoken since the beginning of the fight, and the question was an utter surprise… that, and he wasn’t breathing hard, either. The twitch was a momentary opening of guard, and the young priest struck, hitting Khu Lon with an icy ball of power that sent her crashing into the ground, again, some yards off. Moments later, a fireball roared back at him. Xian Mao took the hit, but came up unscathed… not even his clothing was burnt.

Xian Mao nodded sharply. "You’re better than I thought."

Khu Lon growled and lunged in, putting more of herself into the fight. The Chestnut Fist, again, and this time it connected. He took the blows well, but one of the several hundred punches wormed through; one of his ribs cracked loudly.

Get out of my head! You’re not me…!

Shampoo and Nabiki winced at the sight and sound of bones breaking. Some "considerate" soul had placed them by a window from where they could see all the action.

Hope was fairly much lost.

I am me! Not you or you or you or…

"Worthless fool," Khu Lon growled as she hammered Xian Mao with punch after kick after punch after swipe. "You are nothing, hear me? Nothing!"

The young man just coughed, blood staining his lips.

"You thought that you, a mere male!, could best the greatest fighter in Amazon history?"

I am me! I don’t care who I was before. Maybe later, but not now. I will not be you again! I am me! I am Xian Mao!

The young man coughed again, more blood speckling his lips and chin.

"Fool, you—"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I thought I can win. Now, I know I can."

"What?"

Xian Mao’s eyes flashed.

{A.N.: This scene has a soundtrack: Iron Maiden, "Can I Play With Madness" from the *Seventh Son of the Seventh Son*… hell, just start playing the CD and keep ‘er goin’.}

Xian Mao had exploded. There was no other way to describe it… or, if there was, neither Nabiki nor Shampoo could think of it. A tear leaked from the young capitalist’ eye. Cologne had done something, and now the young priest, her first real boyfriend, was dead. If only he’d waited, they might have worked something out…

The purple haze was finally blinked away from the two youths’ vision, and they saw a scene that they never could have imagined: Xian Mao was not on the ground, or even doubled over. He was standing, loose and straight-backed, while Cologne struggled to her feet some yards away. Xian Mao crouched, and leapt… and Hell broke loose again.
 
 

He understood, now, what the Ninth Gate meant. It was vengeance, yes, or annihilation, but it was also perfect crystal clarity. He had opened it early, unprepared, and seen more than he was ready for… but he was nothing if not adaptable, and would cope. Beyond that, though, the Ninth Gate was power… power to do what needed to be done.

He landed with deadly, beautiful grace and delicacy, two yards from Khu Lon. The ground shuddered under his power. A snaking, cat-like strike that did not touch her but shredded the Council Head’s clothes and left one clean cut along her cheek.

"Bow down," he commanded in a voice that could be heard equally clearly in the front row and in the Jhusenkyo Guide’s hut by the springs.

"Never," she hissed.

His other hand slashed upwards, the claw glowing a putrid black. Six feet away, Khu Lon screamed as she was sent flying up and back. Xian Mao jumped back and prepared for her repartee. And she did with a vengeance, battle aura flaring to life, and his erupting in response to hers. Shining blue, a shade paler than Ranma’s met black the color of the Void as the two traded blow-for blow, auras shrinking and growing with the tide of the battle.

At last, Khu Lon went for the finishing blow: a searing sphere of light as white as the human eye can perceive that shattered the black aura. Xian Mao fell, and Khu Lon held the pose, breathing heavily.

"Idiot."

Khu Lon still hadn’t quite realized that it hadn’t been her that had spoken when a shaft of black energy pierced through her.

"As the Yin will never rise victorious over the Yang, so may the Yang never defeat the Yin… you didn’t even touch me. Submit."

"Never," snarled Khu Lon. The blow wasn’t physical… she was untouched, really… but there was very little holding her aura—her Ki, her Chi… her very soul—together, attached to this body. Xian Mao twisted the shaft, sending searing pain through her soul.

"Submit, and you will live."

"I will die with honor."

"No you won’t," he said, gathering his strength—plentiful, now, but he could feel that when he released the Mao Fu he would be weak—and throwing her into the Springs, as he had done—not he! His predecessor!—five hundred years before… or, maybe a bit less, it seemed.
 
 

**************************************************************************************
 
 

History did not repeat itself, and for that Xian Mao was grateful. It had been a proper challenge, this time, and in the eyes of the Joketsuzoku, there was nothing to avenge. Exhaustion was claiming him, and his control wavering… Xian Mao released the Cat Fist, for the first time wondering what lay behind the forbidden Tenth Gate. He staggered to the Council Hall, from where Shampoo and Nabiki were being released, and returned the two girl’s fierce embrace, though he had little strength left. Shampoo and Nabiki soon found that it was they supporting him, rather than the other way ‘round.

This amused them to no small degree.

Hell, right now, everything amused them. Maybe it was hysteria, maybe it was relief of tension, maybe it was just one of those days. Naw, it was hysteria.

Shampoo guided them toward her old hut, the one that she’d shared with Cologne, once. She wasn’t sure how to cope with what had just happened…

Xian Mao did not awake for three days. Shampoo and Nabiki had much time to talk, and they took full advantage of it.

Xian Mao came to with a shriek: "{Where am I? What's happened?}"

Instantly, the two girls were by his side. In his pain and fear, he'd cried out in his own dialect, which neither could speak any more than Xian Mao could speak the Joketsuzoku dialect. They still understood the meaning; better, perhaps, for lack of words.

"You're safe," Nabiki told him. "You won."

"<You're in my home,>" Shampoo assured him, at the same time. "<You were victorious.>"

"<I won?> I won?"

Events came back to him, and he desperately clutched to the support the two girls offered.

"I... I won. I... Khu Lon..." his voice cracked. "Oh, Shampoo, i'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I..."

"Is okay," she whispered, falling back into her old speach patterns. "Great-grandmother Xian Mao defeat not Great-grandmother Shampoo love. Great-grandmother Shampoo love die when Ranma beat Shampoo. Just is body dead now, too."

"I... I..." maybe he had heard her, maybe not.

The girls shared a look.

"Xian Mao... what yous said, at the beginning... before fight..." Shampoo faltered, and Nabiki took over.

" 'I am Xian Mao, I was Zhai Ku, who destroyed your village. I have been Thamdrin, Klaidro, Mathrig, Sholai, Mali, Mikara, and more. I am the Mao Fu...' "

Xian Mao was quiet for a bit.

"I... I will try to explain, as best as i understand..."

His eyes became distant, and his voice took on the tone of someone quoting oft-read text.

"-Each of us is a soul born into a body, forming a balance between the soul's Nature and what the body experiences... the balance we call a mind. These three things: mind, body, and spirit, existing over the course of a mortal time, are a *life*. Each soul has lived ten thousand times before and will live ten thousand times again...-"

He pause, eyes twitching as if skimming over text for another passage.

"-Each life we are born, we live, and we die. When we are born, we have nothing but Dharma--a duty that must be fulfilled through life--and when we die, we take with us only Kharma--the energy of how we performed our duty.-"

Again, he pasued... serching, perhaps, for a third excerpt.

"-There are some souls which are singled out, blessed and damned for eternity... bound to a single Dharma. Blessed, they are, with memories, of what they have learned before. ... Damned, too, with memories, of what they have done. ... These souls are bound forever, and while they will grow to greatness and Perfect Knowledge, they will forever be denied Nirvana... forever denied rest.-"

There was silence, for a time, as the three youths thought that over. Xian Mao had been there, before, but never quite as powerfully as now. Knowing is one thing, being shown is another. Shampoo wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge--she only knew enough to suspect a meaning. Nabiki only now suspected just how little she really knew.
 
 

The four marched on. Two youths and their fathers, walking across the hills of China. They realized, now, that they could never reach the villiage by the appointed time, but could only hope that when they reached the Joketsuzoku, it would not be too late. There was hope: that Xian Mao had lived... that humiliating him would be enough for Cologne; that Nabiki was all right; that maybe Xian had seen wisdom, and begged forgiveness of the Matriarch... and that she had granted it.

There was little that they could do, really, until they got there. When they did, there would be a reckoning... one of placation and relief, or one of death and vengeance, they did not know, but there would be one.

Driving hard, barely pausing to eat, not even pausing to train, the Saotomes and the Tendos drove foreward. What would come would come, and what needed to be done would be done.
 
 

End Part One of the Tales of Xian Mao...
Part Two in the works, okay?

Jeff Groves
3/14/00