Ghoulies Abroad, Julie Steimle [libby ebook reader .TXT] 📗

become a man again, the monk whispered, “I wish I could reverse time and have stopped that witch, but—”

“But what?” Chen shot out as he finally shrank back into human form, pulling himself upright onto his feet again. His clothes now looked weirdly saggy on him.

Andy rose with a step toward Chen. “But one elf guarding an entire country overwhelmed with demons would be too much to handle.” Taking his hand off his sword hilt where it had automatically rested when the tiger had appeared at their dinner table, Andy shook his head. “Chen, you can’t be too hard on him. There are very few beings like him left around in this world. He is rare.”

Everyone went silent. 

Both Chen and the monk looked at him. Andy stood like a war weary knight. His chin was high, his blue eyes clear. But his shoulders had squared in such a manner as though he was carrying his own responsibility like a lead coat. Times like these, they remembered why he was the leader of the Holy Seven.

“I think it is about time we stopped asking why and we start asking what it is we need to do here,” Andy continued, bringing them all back on track while his eyes raked over the group. Rick admired that about him. Regardless of occasionally getting side-tracked in his daily life from the Seven’s priorities, Andy did have a way of focusing on what was most important when he was called to serve as a knight of the Seven.

Most of them nodded, thinking about what would be ahead of them. They had one horde of demons in the city somewhere, but they didn’t know where. Probably at Hua Guo Mountain if they demons were waxing poetic—as that was Flower Fruit Mountain from the Monkey King legend and the original home and famed birthplace of the Monkey King. It was also the former battle place where the Monkey King had last defeated Hun Shi Mowang, the ‘Demon King of Confusion’. However, that group was not likely to be the only trouble they had to deal with. After all, their entanglements with the triads and the CIA were evidence enough that things were way more complicated.

“I say we find a way to sneak around this place and scout out these demons,” Semour suggested.

Andy nodded in agreement, along with Eddie and James.

Daniel lifted a finger. “I think we need to contact the authorities. Or at least find out if they are involved. If the local police have gone corrupt, we will be fighting more than just those thugs and spies.”

“Agreed,” Eddie said, along with James.

Tom lifted a hand. “I can scout out the demons themselves.”

They all went silent, staring at him. Tom had been rather silent the entire conversation. He hardly cut a joke, or a fart, or done any rude or mischievous thing the entire meal except for hugging Chen. It was so uncharacteristic. Half of them had expected Tom to sit in the middle of the table and ride it like a merry-go-round during the meal at some point. He didn’t even stick his chopsticks up his nose.

Rick cleared his throat, still waiting for Tom to at least burp his response to their stares. “Um, and what if they find you?”

Smirking, Tom shook his head. “No problemo. Stealth is my middle name.”

“You don’t have a middle name,” Daniel interjected flatly, the only one in the Seven who knew Tom on a more personal level besides Peter who wasn’t there but found Tom fascinating. “And Trouble is your nickname.”

Tom winked at him

Rick snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Andy waved his hands to clear the air. “Tom. Why do you want to go ahead to spy out those demons? You aren’t Chinese and you would really stand out.”

The monk lifted a finger. “Not necessarily.”

Tom grinned. His chin lifted a little higher as everyone stared at him.

“A wig would do wonders, and they would hardly notice,” the monk said matter-of-factly.

Everybody else in the party doubted it. Tom had a western face. His nose was long, his eyes were orange, and though wearing a black wig might make him look Chinese from the back, he just didn’t act like someone who grew up in a Communist society. Too much creative spontaneity. For pity’s sake, he usually had a skip in his step.

“If I may,” the monk rose. He plucked a hair off his head then blew on it. It immediately took the shape of Tom, from his impish smile to the fancy suit he wore when he first came on the trip. The faux Tom even had the sunglasses. That Tom said, “No problemo.”

He then walked out of there with a brisk stride.

“What was that?” Eddie pointed after the fake Tom.

“A decoy,” said the monk a little proudly. The monk then turned Rick and said, “I would like you to, if you may, lead us on a tour of the mountain… you know, as tourists.”

Rick gazed wanly at him. “Won’t the demons see through it?”

Smiling, the monk said, “Only if they recognize us.” He then winked at Daniel. Despite the arson incident, the monk clearly held a great deal of respect for Daniel.

Tom left the group soon after his doppelganger. He had changed into a different sort of hoodie which said Native Born English School on it along with several Chinese characters no one else could read except for Chen and the monk, put on a baseball cap which covered most of his hair, and he walked out into the street with his sunglasses on.

“How is that incognito?” Eddie said while the others collected the remaining food into carry out containers.

Rick shrugged. “There are lots of English teachers in China. They will probably just see the uniform rather than him.”

Which, after a moment of contemplation by the others, made a lot of sense.

“Where is this Flower Fruit Mountain?” Daniel asked the monk. “Is it actually a real place?”

Smirking, the monk said, “It is a real place, though… how do I put it? Altered to fit the fiction for tourists. It used to be called Rooster Mountain. These days it is a scenic tourist trap.”

“It figures…” James muttered, packing his bag with some of the leftover food.   

“But the mountain is about twenty or so miles from Haizhou, which is about fifteen minutes from here in the city,” the monk said.

“So, without Tom stealing a car for us,” Daniel said, “How do we get there?”

Andy shot him a look.

“We can take a bus,” the monk said. “There is a service available that departs from the Hualian Shopping Square to the base of the mountain.”

“And then from there?” Daniel asked, propping one hand on a hip.

“From there we hike,” the monk said.

James patted Daniel on the shoulder, chuckling.

Each of them decided to arrange disguises like they wore back in Yancheng to escape the trap in the market. Their enemy would be looking for a group of Americans with a monk, so they had to change their appearance to not look in the least American—or less like themselves. Daniel made himself up look near like an Arab again with a little wrap around his head and some eyeliner which Tom had snatched for him before he had left, anticipating the need for disguises. For some reason, darkening around his eye made him look more foreign and even darker complected. James teased him about it, saying he looked more like a pirate while calling him Captain Jack Sparrow. Daniel went out of the restaurant alone, heading to the Hualian Shopping Square ahead of everyone else.

James and Andy left next, going together like a pair of average backpackers hiking China. They already had that appearance about them, and there was no way for them not to look like All-American boys. They dressed Eddie up the same, insisting he travel with them as he just stood out as an awkward college boy if he went alone. On their way to the Hualian Shopping Square, Eddie picked up a few tourist items, getting another tee shirt and one dangling Monkey King plush toy that was meant to hang in a car by a suction cup. After a few adjustments to it, he strung it on his belt loop where his sword had been. His sword, to the naked eye, seemed to have vanished.

As for Rick, he stuck with Chen. Both acted like students from the local university along with Semour who put on a winter beanie to hide his blonde hair. Each of them wrapped scarves around their necks, hiding the lower half of their faces and pretending to be freezing cold. The monk stuck by them, his attire transformed into a businessman’s coat, warm hat, and the appearance of a university professor.

“You’re really good at that,” Rick said, eying up the monk’s…. no, Professor Sun’s attire as they went out to catch a taxi. That was what he told them to call him—Professor Sun, or rather Sun Laoshi (said lao-sher).

Sun Laoshi smiled at him. “I should be after thousands of years.”

Semour smothered a chuckle.

Chen frowned. He was still not over the revelation that this man, the Monkey King, was his ancestor.

“No,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I mean blending in. The transformation stuff, I get.”

“And I was answering that question,” Sun Laoshi replied. He smiled kindly on Rick. “My survival was due to my ability to melt into the crowd and keep from being noticed. One of the things I learned in that ‘legendary journey’ memorialized by Wu Cheng’en was that arrogance would be my downfall. I had to tame the id, so-to-speak.”

“Thanks Carl Jung,” Semour muttered, rolling his eyes as they walked along to their bus stop.

Raising his eyebrows, Sun Laoshi said, “I knew him, you know.”

They stared.

Shrugging, Sun Laoshi added, “I didn’t always stay in China.”

Chen stared.

Sighing, Sun Laoshi explained, “I was trying to find a way to make things right. After being named the Victorious Fighting Buddah—a title I earned through much violence, I realized I had caused a lot of damage to some rather innocent fairy folk. I went on several journeys seeking enlightenment. They just weren’t recorded.”

They looked at him, puzzled—except for Chen who knew and was peevish about it.

“And why?” Rick asked, peeking to Chen.

“It didn’t fit the current narrative Wu Cheng’en endorsed,” Sun Laoshi explained. “I’m not Taoist or Buddhist after all. I studied those philosophies, yes. But I studied so much more. I wanted to know what the mortals believed. I knew what was true, having been immortal born and set to my task as guardian like any elf—but it fascinated me how mortals were unable to see the truth for themselves and had invented so many philosophies to explain why there was suffering in the world.”

“And why is there suffering in the world?” Semour asked, this question one he had wondered about himself.

Grinning with patience on Semour and the other two as well, Sun Laoshi replied, “It is the condition of mortality. Suffering. Humans need to know where they come from and why they are here to understand why it is that they must suffer.”

“Must suffer?” Chen’s mouth opened, too appalled to remain silent.

Nodding, Sun Laoshi said, “Yes. How else can you grow? That is the main purpose of our life—growth.”

Chen looked nonplussed. Rick was equally confused, but Semour nodded slowly.

“I see…” Semour said.

“I don’t,” Rick retorted, having suffered way too much in his short life as it was.

Semour heaved a breath with a glance to Sun Laoshi and said, “That’s because you are still very young.”

Both Chen’s and Rick’s mouths dropped open, until Rick remembered that Semour was in fact eighty years old at least and not younger than them as his current body shape was. He just looked like he was in his twenties. The man had already lived one lifetime, though it had been in another world. This was his second one.

“Look,” Semour said, “I don’t expect you to agree or understand, but let me put it in other terms. Imagine