The Three Tall Black Belts and Their Short Sidekick

Hey human. 

So here's a little something I wrote yesterday and had just finished it around five minutes ago. It's inspired by my seniors at taekwondo class. 

So, here you go.

-----

I was thirteen when I first moved to Beijing.

My parents had gotten promoted to a higher position in the company they worked for and had to operate in China. Just your typical I-moved-here-because-of-my-parents’-change-of-job kid.

Having just entered the age of a teenager, I had a hard time adapting to the change. The skyscrapers that glinted in the morning sun, the bustling hawker streets, the ever-growing crowd-

Oh, the crowd.

I hated crowds. Still do. I have agoraphobia, the fear of open spaces, being outside of home, public places, and- yes, you guessed it, crowds. My mother told me that I was always an over-dramatic child, my “irrational fear” of crowds being one of them. She said I didn’t have any sort of phobia, and that I was just being the usual silly child I was.

Anyhow, I previously lived in Presteigne, a small town in Powys, Wales with a population of a mere two thousand or so. Most of the buildings were old fashioned, often lined with thick blacks and whites. Despite its simplicity, I found them rather lovely. You would rarely bump into anyone there, being such a sparsely populated area. Some even said that there were spirits who kidnapped people during the day and would bring them back during the night. That was why we rarely meet anyone on a daily basis, they would say.

My mother often told me to ignore those buffoons and stick to the logical explanation: because we were a small populated town. Because of that, I was used to the empty streets, or walking into vacant convenience stores, the only other person being the cashier, or even silent restaurants that just never seemed to attract more than five customers at a time.

We would always travel four hours to London during the weekends, where we would meet my mother’s older brother and spend a night or two. My cousins were rather posh, with all four of them being in an elite private school. Despite being brought up to be prim and proper, they allowed themselves to fool around during the weekends whenever I came over. I was probably the only reason why they had a fun childhood.

And yes, I do have a British accent.

Whether it was back home in my backyard or in the carefully decorated interior of my cousins’ home, I had more than enough space to move. I suppose that was probably why I had agoraphobia when we first landed in Beijing.

It was loud, a stark contrast to the peace and quiet we had back in Powys. No birds to wake me from my blissful slumber, no fresh wave of morning air, and no crickets to sing me to sleep before bedtime. It was horrendous.

At one point, my parents finally (finally) realized that the community we lived in was not as safe and carefree as our previous one was. So, they enrolled me into a martial arts centre. I shrugged it off when they told me about it. Sure, I could handle some action. Learn the ways of kung fu by an ancient master who would train me by fighting for dumplings with chopsticks and sipping soup every time I did a push up like Po the Panda.

Or so I thought.

The martial arts centre turned out to be a small taekwondo training centre, called a dojang, hidden in the heart of the city. Taekwondo, a korean martial art. I was going to learn korean martial arts in China. What has the world come to?

Nevertheless, I started off as any other in my white uniform without complaint, even though I wanted nothing more than to rip off the paper-like clothing and catch a train to learn kung fu in the Great Wall of China.

I thought it was going to be a boring demonstration of how to protect ourselves and a long lecture of why we had come to the right place to train when I saw a string of senior students walk out of the changing room.

There were three. One, the oldest and most mature-looking senior, had a pair of square-shaped glasses perched on his long nose. He was firm, and looked like he was built from sheer hard work and discipline.

The second one was a little more laid back, whispering to the first senior with a casual grin. He ran a hand through his tousled hair as he turned to the front after another black belt nudged him to pay attention. It was probably previously neatly combed to the side before being left to grow for reasons unknown.

The third black belt was confident. Up and ready to lend a helping hand. He kicked the second senior in the shin before turning to us white belts with a welcoming smile. I could already tell that this guy was super friendly and outspoken.

Three tall black belts, I looked at them in awe. My eyes then shifted to a young man of five feet four who tumbled out of the changing room in a hurry, tripping over the training mats.

...and their short sidekick.

“These,” said the coach who was previously explaining to us about the history of taekwondo. “Are your seniors. They are the best in this centre, and will aid you in your journey to success.”  

I only managed to glance at them for a millisecond before the coach, Master Ler, started the lesson with a horse riding stance.

----------

“El-pe, you are doing it wrong.” said Master Ler, halting me in my practice.

“Elspeth,” I corrected him under my breath.

“You must bend your knee first,” he bent his knee. “Then only kick high.”

I watched as he did just that. His leg kicked up beautifully, probably high enough to reach the sky, knee bending for a brief moment before landing back down to Earth.

“Understand now?” he asked.

I nodded dutifully, ignoring the lightheadedness I was feeling and the bright spasms of light clouding my vision.

He must’ve noticed my discomfort, and asked if I was okay. “You look white,” he frowned, placing a warm, caring palm over my forehead.

I was about to joke that of course I was white, I had English blood running through my veins and only lived an hour or two away from England after all. But I decided against it and kept my mouth shut.

“Do you want me to call your parents?” he asked, hand leaving my forehead to grip me firmly but gently by the shoulder. I was probably swaying back and forth. Lightheadedness always did that to me.

“Um, I’m fine Master Ler.” I croaked. Since when did my throat feel like it was roughly scratched with sandpaper?

Master Ler gave me a gentle smile. “Let us phone your parents.” he said, bringing me to his office.

I was amazed. I had never seen a teacher, much less a taekwondo master, this gentle and kind before. Weren’t martial art coaches supposed to be tough on their students?

My parents came to the centre fifteen minutes later, fretting and worrying while I was just about ready to pass out on the training mat-covered floor. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately,” I heard my mother tell Master Ler. “We shouldn’t have let her come to class today.”

“It is okay,” Master Ler gave her an understanding nod. “Make sure she take lots of rest.”

My mother nodded back. “Yes, we’ll be sure to give her plenty of rest. When can she come back to train?”

My coach opened his arms wide. “The centre is ready to welcome at any time.” he said.

“Oh, that’s good then, that’s good.” said my mother, taking my hand. “Well, we’ll be off then.”

Master Ler smiled and gave us a warm wave of goodbye. As I held onto my mother to prevent from tripping over my feet, the three tall black belts casted worried glances at us as we walked out of the dojang.

“Oof!”

...and their short sidekick.

----------

I learned their names the next time I went to taekwondo class.

The one with glasses was Yong, the poomsae master. Poomsae was a series of moves - both defense and attack - put together in one. There were many levels of poomsae, taegeuk one being the first a fellow student would learn in their yellow belt lessons. It was an intricate business, and Yong was the best at it, with sharp blocks and kicks perpendicular to the floor. It was no wonder that he had a tall and straight stature.  

Lim was the name of the second senior, the best fighter in the centre. His kicks were strong and powerful, each one echoing throughout the room with a loud bam! whenever he practiced kicking targets. His back thrust kicks were often the culprit for knocking his opponents out, no one could survive five seconds when sparring with him. To him, chopping kicks were a walk in the park and could do three-sixty turning kicks without feeling a tiny bit dizzy. No one could beat him, even Master Ler himself.   

The third black belt was Foon, the martial arts instructor. Of course, he wasn’t a certified taekwondo instructor, being a student at the dojang himself. But he often took Master Ler’s place in conducting the lessons when our coach had crucial matters to attend to, especially at the start when we do our stretch routine and physical training before we started the actual training. I wouldn’t be surprised to come back here five years later with him as the head coach.

Then there was Tay, the first degree black belt A.K.A the short sidekick. He wasn’t short, but compared to the other three six feet tall fourth degree black belts, he was a dwarf. And apparently, he had just gotten his black belt a day before I joined. Thus, the constant clumsiness portrayed by the nineteen year old that we all now had to deal with. Sometimes he would even shout for joy due to the lingering excitement and disbelief of actually owning a black belt with his name printed on it.

It was an ordinary day at the dojang when a group of men burst through the entrance. They were tall, some even taller than Yong, Lim, and Foon. Most of them had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, exposing their well-trained forearms for the world to see. I gulped. They looked strong enough to break a neck. Or rather, multiple necks.

There was a dark aura in the air, one that spelled trouble. It was only when they started barking incoherent Mandarin at us that I noticed their uniforms. They were black, with traditional chinese buttons trailing a vertical line down to their stomachs. Their pants were black too, and if you squinted hard enough, you would be able to make out the black belts tied at their hips.

Who were these guys? I thought. They obviously weren’t taekwondo students, and certainly didn’t seem like allies either. Were they enemies?

“Your centre is teaching wrong things to the future generation.” one of them growled. Ah, there we go. Finally some Mandarin I could actually understand. I may be an English who once lived in Welsh territory, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t catch up on the language here. (My cousins taught me some Mandarin back when I visited them.)

“We are proud to be Chinese, and therefore learn the correct martial art, unlike you.” another one pointed an accusing finger at us. The correct martial art?

“There is no such thing as a correct martial art, Zhou.” said Foon, crossing his arm defensively. “There is only martial arts. There’s nothing wrong with learning a martial art that is not related to our roots.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” said ‘Zhou’. “Here in China, we learn kung fu. No one learns taekwondo in Beijing, it’s practically heresy!”

“What’s heresy Zhou, is your clan poking your noses in other people’s business. We never wronged you or provocated you in any way, now turn back and leave our clan alone.” Yong retorted, crossing his arms as well.

Whoa, did he just say our clan? We’re a clan now? Cool!

“No.” Zhou glared at him. “Not until you turn this place into a kung fu centre.”

“That’s not happening Zhou.” Lim stepped up, crossing his arms in front of his chest like his other two friends did. Was that some sort of defense signal? Were we under attack?

“Very well then, you brought this on yourselves.” Zhou said with a tone of finality before knocking down the bo staff stand.

Before we knew it, the group of men whom I later on realized were the kung fu community from across the street attacked the dojang. They started trashing the place, knocking things down and throwing everything everywhere. Any movement to stop them ended in a fight. The white belts screamed and gathered around me in fear as the black and colored belts went off to defend our beloved dojang.

We watched as blue belts my age tried their best to beat the kung fu enthusiasts, kicking and punching their hardest, only to end up bruised and beaten up on the floor. I sighed as the five year old white belts huddled closer to me, some even burying their faces in my hip, too scared to handle the horror before us.

I was the only thirteen year old in our group of white belts. The rest were either four or five years old, six at best. The kids my age were green belts or higher. It made me look rather inexperienced and might I say, shallow, but Master Ler said that I had powerful kicks, something even the red belts my age didn’t have. So I held onto that rare compliment and carried on. I wanted to go and help them out so badly, but if I didn’t look after the little ones, then no one would.

My thoughts were interrupted when a kung fu student was flung right above our heads, back making hard contact with the wall, eventually sliding down to the floor with a pained groan. We shuffled away from him, keeping our mouths shut the whole time. Lim came by not a second later, looking rather satisfied with the now unconscious man. I realized that he must’ve been the one who flung the man across the room like it was nothing.

“Are you alright?” he asked us, concern etched on his face.

We nodded silently, tiny whimpers escaping some of the kids. He turned to me with a dutiful look. “Look after them,” he ordered. I gave a curt nod before he leapt off to fight alongside his comrades.

Soon, the three tall black belts and Tay were the only ones standing. Almost every colored belt - yellow, green, blue, red - were down, coughing and wheezing in pain. These guys knew no mercy, did they? Beating up ten to fifteen year old kids? Where was the honour in that?

The three tall black belts and Tay stood huffing and panting in a circle, backs facing each other, ready for whatever the kung fu men threw at them. The dojang was a mess. Bo staff stand toppled, dents on the lockers, training mats upturned, it was a nightmare. Oh why did Master Ler have to choose today to go for an important conference meeting?

We were lucky that the seven year old yellow belts had swiped important certificates lying around and hid them safely in Master Ler’s office, where we were currently hiding. I was especially grateful for the large window in his office. It enabled us to watch what was going on outside.

With a battle cry, the kung fu men charged at them simultaneously. We thought it was the end. They were going to beat them up and then they would come for us, the little ones. The poor, weak, vulnerable white and yellow belts who knew nothing of beating full-grown kung fu men. That was it. We were done for.

Except, we weren’t.

Lim took the first step. He blocked off a man by giving him a rather high back thrust kick to the face, effectively knocking him out. The man didn’t even manage to lay a finger on him. Yong went next, leg flying up into a vertical line from the floor, successfully kicking an opponent from the chin. The man fell to the ground soundlessly, it was as if he had been pushed off a cliff when all Yong did was do a front kick. Foon merely swung a leg in a reverse kick and hit a man square in the head. Tay gave another kung fu man multiple turning kicks in a row, never stopping until he gave a high turning kick to the head as the last blow. We watched as they fought the kung fu men effortlessly, yet giving it their all, determined to save our dojang.

They had taken down every single one of them, with another one more kung fu man to settle things with when Zhou, if I remembered correctly, lit a piece of paper on fire. My eyes widened when I realized what he was about to do. I left the white belts in the yellow belts’ care before running out of the office.

“Stop-” I managed to shout before he dropped the burning paper onto a wooden table, instantly catching fire.

“Fire!” I yelled, running back to Master Ler’s office to get the white and yellow belts. We needed to evacuate the dojang, other objects were starting to catch on fire and the smoke was going to make it hard to breathe.  

“What did you do Zhou?” a kung fu man demanded, standing up shakily. “We were supposed to make them agree to turn the dojang into a kung fu centre, not destroy it!”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” was all Zhou said before walking out of the dojang, the rest of his lackeys following close behind.

Ignoring the irresponsible display of the kung fu men, I quickly helped the colored belts up to their feet, ushering them out of the dojang with the younger ones. Before I knew it, we could hear sounds of frantic splashing from the dojang. It was Tay, hauling big buckets of water from the toilet for the three tall black belts to fling at the growing fire.

Soon, the fire was put out. We were lucky that it didn’t burn much. Just mostly wooden furniture and all our bo staffs. As the smoke cleared, we colored belts cheered and clapped as Yong, Lim, Foon, and Tay walked out of the dojang like the heroes they were. They casted worried glances towards each other, no doubt silently asking what were they to do when Master Ler got back only to see his dojang half-burned to ashes.

But we didn’t care.

They saved us. They were our heroes.

The three tall black belts and their short sidekick.

-----

So how was it? I'm kind of proud of this one. I managed to write this in 27 hours (which is actually good, because then my writing mood didn't dissipate and actually wrote quite decently). And yes, I do actually call my seniors The Three Tall Black Belts and Their Short Sidekick... just without the "Short Sidekick", because I call him by his real name. 

So it's just "The Three Tall Black Belts and [insert name here]". Also, since The Three Tall Black Belts are already 20-21 years old, one of them is on internship now and another one would be starting his internship next semester. And they won't be coming back. So it'll just be The Tall Black Belt and His Short Sidekick from now on. *sobs, cries, wails*

Bye.

- Nukey