Sheng Xiao Legends: The Green Dragon

九 / 9. Sky Village

PART III: THE SECRETS OF SKY VILLAGE

"Teachers open the door. You enter by yourself."

~ Chinese Proverb

"Cheng!" Sweat pours from my forehead while a wave of nausea crashes over me. After I narrowly avoid puking over the side of this unfamiliar bed, I touch my shoulder. It doesn't hurt as much but it's sore. As the fog slowly lifts from my memories, I fumble to put the pieces together.

Where am I? How long have I been unconscious? And what the hell am I wearing?

A gray robe is wrapped around my body and a pair of loose-fitting pants are covering my legs. After pulling the upper garment away from my chest, I am surprised to see that my bra has been replaced by a thin band of cloth. Bandages are on my shoulder. My fingers slide over the gauze, but I am too afraid to unwrap it. There are probably a few stitches hiding underneath, and since I already feel sick enough as it is, I would rather not look at the wound.

I know that I should simply leave it alone, but I roll my shoulder back and forth in order to further assess the damage. A sharp pain shoots through my arm, so I stop. It's possible that I will have permanent nerve damage. Hopefully, whoever performed the first-aid knew what they were doing.

As the horrifying image of Cheng lying on ground in the parking garage flashes in my mind, I remember that I have something far worse to panic about.

"You are awake," a man's voice jolts me out of my own thoughts. He is standing in the doorway.

The monk.

Startled, I quickly close the robe and hug my arms close to my chest. Embarrassed, the man says, "Don't worry; I asked a lady friend to dress you." He must have known what I was thinking by reading the uncomfortable expression on my face. "Please, do not be afraid. You are safe inside of my home." As he walks into the room, he says with a friendly tone, "I brought you some tea."

He sets a tray down on the table next to the bed where my purse is sitting. I feel a little relieved knowing that it's there.

My cell phone.

Once my grogginess subsides, I will call for help.

For now, I turn my attention back to the nameless monk and watch him pour some tea out of a porcelain pot. He tries to hand me a cup, but I don't take it from him. I am still confused--and angry. Every time I think about what those criminals did to Cheng, I want to crumple into a ball and die.

Maybe it would have been better if they killed me too.

While I try to make sense of everything, I study the man carefully. Signs of age line his face. He might be fifty years old or so. His kind, crinkled eyes put me at ease a little bit.

Should I trust him?

If he truly wanted to help me, then he should have called the police. I begged him on my knees, but he did nothing. Did he leave Cheng lying there in the parking garage? How could he? My heart throbs with agony and frustration, and the only way to stop it is by getting some answers.

So, I decide to start with a highly important (yet simple) question:

"Who are you?"

"My name is Shen Wong. I am sure that you have many, many questions, and I will be happy to answer all of them." He holds up his hand and says, "But first, you must take time to recover. Here, drink this."

With his other hand, he holds the cup of tea in front of my face. I mumble out a "thank you" and take a sip. The acrid, gritty flavor is highly unexpected, and I have to stop myself from spitting it out.