More Martial Monks!

by Gene Ching

Shi De Shan and Shi Xing Hao, Two Shaolin Temple Monks, Begin Teaching in America
Flashback! A lone Chinese drifter walks into a dusty saloon in the Old West and asks for some water. When the local cowboys don't like his look, things get ugly and he is forced to defend himself with a graceful flurry of violence. Those "John Wayne" haymakers are no match for that Chinaman's strange Kung Fu fighting techniques. Certainly you remember this scene. It was how America was introduced to its first "Shaolin monk" - Kwai Chang Caine in the 1970's show Kung Fu. But that was all TV make-believe. After all, why would a Shaolin Monk warrior wind up in the Wild, Wild West?

Well, truth can be stranger than fiction. In 1998, a band of authentic Shaolin Temple Monks of China really made the journey to the West. In case you missed it, this was the largest public demonstration tour of the Shaolin Temple Monks to the United States so far. This tour was an overwhelming success, playing to sold-out theaters across the nation, and even catching the eye of pop-culture with appearances on the Tonight Show and in Rolling Stone. As if that wasn't enough, two Shaolin Temple Monks remained after that tour to spread the sacred teachings of Shaolin to the United States. They have been here every since, and their new temple away from the temple is in (of all places) Houston, Texas. Now, the Wild, Wild West has the greatest single repository of Shaolin Kung Fu outside of China. It is the only institution with two senior Shaolin Temple Monks under the same roof.

A Tale of Two Monks
America's two new monks are 31st generation Shaolin Temple Monk Shi De Shan and 32nd generation Shaolin Temple Monk Shi Xing Hao, and their true-life stories reveal a penetrating view of the Shaolin Temple that is far more extraordinary than any Kwai Chang Caine episode. However, to fully appreciate their personal accounts, it is necessary to know something about of the recent history of China. While the Kung Fu TV show captivated the American imagination with its fantasies of Chinese mysticism and martial arts, the real Shaolin Temple was in turmoil. Like all of the elder generation Shaolin Temple Monks, the lives of Shi De Shan and Shi Xing Hao were heavily influenced by this difficult period. It was the Cultural Revolution, the massive re-organizational movement that turned China's economy and social mores upside down. Five thousand years of Chinese culture faced virtual annihilation. As the blossom of Chinese culture, the historic Shaolin Temple was about to be pulled up by its roots.

Under the new definitions imposed by the government, the Shaolin Temple was declared a capitalist institution, and was forced to shut down. All of the monks were ordered to go back to their former homes. Those lacking relatives that would take them back in became homeless. During this upheaval, the senior monks were afraid that Shaolin Temple's incomparable Kung Fu skills would be lost. In an effort to preserve their precious art, many of the monks moved to the small towns and villages located in the mountainous areas around the Temple and secretly began teaching students. Some of the areas where the monks carried on their clandestine teaching included Chankang, Dengfeng Town, Donchun Town, Mugo Village, Dachiden Town (which incorporates Lotoi Village, Lei Village and Sutoncao Village), Donchinden Kuchun Village, Shiman Likon Village, Shida Village, Wangshan Village, Beecha Village, Kaochan Village, Enshi Town, and Shanchaden Village. Their intention was to keep the art of Shaolin Kung Fu alive covertly to avoid government oppression.

Shi De Shan was born in Jiangsu Province in 1966, the same year the Cultural Revolution began. His parents gave him the name Wan Shan Qing. As a child, his greatest desire was to study Kung Fu. After hearing many tales about the Shaolin Temple from one of his father's friends, he dreamed of becoming a Shaolin Monk, but his parents did not understand and offered little support. Few parents wish their child to enter monastic life, especially during this time of persecution. Remarkably, his father's friend had heard the stories directly from Yang Shao Bao, the son of one of the evicted Shaolin monks. On a historical note, during this period many Buddhist monks were compelled to reenter secular society, get married and have children. The alternative was death. And yet, the spirit of Shaolin is transmitted in mysterious ways. In this instance, the son of one of these forced marriages provided the seed of inspiration for another future monk to sprout.

Eight years later, in faraway Fushun City, Liaoning Province, Shi Xing Hao was born. His given birth name (or secular name) is Cheng Hao. His father believed in the traditional values of Chinese culture known as "Wen Wu." Wen denotes scholarly pursuits and Wu means martial arts. Shi Xing Hao's education in the martial art was fully supported by his family, and he began his training in Wushu and Kung Fu at age six. There, he demonstrated a natural ability, excelling in Chang Quan (long fist) and perfecting his four major weapons (staff, spear, sword and broadsword) at an early age. He was also encouraged by his father to cultivate Wen, so he studied Chan Buddhism. It was as if his path toward monkhood was sown from birth.

Meanwhile, at the young age of thirteen, Shi De Shan left home. He traveled by himself, a journey of over 1,000 km, to Henan Province, determined to study Shaolin Temple Kung Fu. During that time, most of the monks had left the area or were still underground, but he did not give up hope. He searched everywhere for word of the Shaolin monks. Finally his perseverance paid off. He made contact with two of the former monks who were still teaching secretly and they agreed to take him on as a student. His first teacher was Master Zhang Shu Chi, who became leader of the martial arts group of the Shaolin monks in 1970. His other teacher was Master Fu Ji Chang, who became nationally famous as a martial arts master in 1979.

By 1983, the political climate had changed in China, and the Shaolin Temple was allowed to reopen. Most of the former monks returned to the Temple. In 1985, Master Fu Ji Chang formally added Shi De Shan's name to the official list of Shaolin monks. Master Shi Su Yuen, a 30th generation Shaolin Temple Monk, accepted him as a disciple. Under Shi Su Yuen, he learned both internal and external styles, including Shaolin forms and weapons, and excelled in qigong and sparring. His Shaolin name "Shan" means "mountain." Inspired by the first Tang emperor and an early Shaolin benefactor, Li Shin Men, Shi De Shan has used his renowned skills at free fighting to manage police in Luoyang, near Shaolin Temple.

Shi De Shan is a firm believer in the ancient Chinese saying "more sweat, less blood." This means that the more you train in times of peace, the less you bleed in times of war. His Shaolin philosophy is to strengthen the body to protect the weak, help those in need and defend the country. Shi De Shan believes that if everyone were of this mind, it would be a step towards world peace.

Shi Xing Hao began his training at Shaolin Temple in 1985. By then, the restoration of the Temple was well underway. Shi Xing Hao was fortunate enough be accepted as a student by two 31st generation Shaolin Temple Monks. Master Shi De Jun instructed him on martial arts while Master Shi De Ren taught him Chan Buddhism. In 1986, Zhengzhou City officials recommended him for full scholarship study at Shaolin Temple and by 1988, Shi Xing Hao received a 32nd generation disciple degree from Shaolin Temple. His Shaolin name "Hao" means "great," "grand" or "vast." Shi Xing Hao's extraordinary martial skill has brought him further recognition with some appearances in a few martial arts movies, notably USA Shaolin (USA, 1991), Grand Shaolin (China, 1992) and Heaven Wolf (Taiwan, 1993). He was even featured in an unprecedented photo book Shaolin Warrior's Motion like the Tigers, which focused on only three of the warrior monks.

Shi Xing Hao's family must be proud of his achievement. To become a Shaolin Monk is the dream of every martial artist, and he would not trade this honor for secular life at all. His philosophy is contained in simple advice to aspiring martial artists - Choose the right teacher, then train continuously, without interruption. Remember to practice Wushu, never feel pain, practice Kung Fu, never lose one day. All martial artists must have Wu De (martial morals), respect teachers and help the weak.

In 1988 the Shaolin Wushu Guan was established as a joint project under the leaders of Henan Province, Dengfeng City, and Songshan Shaolin Temple. The Wushu Guan is 700 meters east of the Temple itself and is the largest complex devoted solely to the study of martial arts in China, possibly the world. The purpose of this complex is to provide a place where people from around the world who are interested in the martial arts can come to learn and share their knowledge with each other.

Today, Shaolin Temple is the center of a bustling martial community that sees tens of thousands of students and over two million tourists annually. Although Shaolin Temple experienced this difficult time of repression, its magnificent Kung Fu was not lost. In fact, just as the phoenix is reborn from the flames, Shaolin skills have grown even stronger. The indestructible spirit of Shaolin Kung Fu has prevailed.

Monks on a Mission
Now more than ever, the Shaolin Temple is determined to spread the awareness of Shaolin Kung Fu throughout the world. To help accomplish this, Shaolin Temple Kung Fu Monks and novices have been sent on goodwill demonstration tours all across the globe. So far, they have performed in many countries including Japan, Thailand, Taiwan, Singapore, Malaysia, Germany, Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Holland, Italy, Sweden, France, Canada and the United States. The performances have been very well received in every country they visited. In the wake of these tours, Shaolin Temple has been sending several of its best masters to follow up by opening schools dedicated to teaching Shaolin Kung Fu in these countries. So far, they have established six branches outside of China: Hungary, Austria, Sweden, Holland, Japan and the United States. Both Shi De Shan and Shi Xing Hao were performing members of the 1998 delegation to America and remained to teach here. At present there are only three other Masters sent from the Shaolin Temple who have settled in the United States. They are Shi Xing En in San Francisco, and Shi Guo Lin and Shi Yan Ming in New York.

Shi De Shan and Shi Xing Hao are resolute in their task of bringing Shaolin to America. As they see it, all the Shaolin monks outside of China are doing the groundwork in preparation for more monks to come over. However, much depends on their martial monk brothers back in China. Both monks feel it is their responsibility to encourage more monks to come, but given the vast interest of Americans, even if all the monks came, there still would not be enough. They see themselves as some of the first seeds of Shaolin, scattered in a foreign soil, sown with hard work and discipline. And soon, hopefully, the flower of Shaolin will bloom magnificently. The newly transplanted monks agree that each day they can stay in America is one more day they have to spread Shaolin teachings. Quick to quote ancient wisdom, Shi Xing Hao recites, "Do one day monk, Hit one day bell." This means to try your best everyday. With this philosophy, it is natural that Shaolin will develop in accordance with the times, both at home and abroad.

Neither monk is sure when they might return to their beloved China. Shi De Shan views himself and his martial brother as pioneers. He is eager to return and share his experiences with the other monks in hopes that they might gain some insight about how to approach teaching in another country. Shi Xing Hao says that he will go back when he has made a great contribution to Shaolin. He feels that many Americans do not really understand Shaolin, and he wants to show them what is real. It is the opinion of these monks that the media easily influences the Western martial world, but this just shows the surface. Many miss the deeper meaning. For example, while something like Tae Bo is aerobic, it is neither Kung Fu nor Wushu. It does not capture to true spirit of the Chinese martial arts.

Here, the two monks make a point to clarify the nature of Kung Fu versus Wushu in contemporary Chinese martial arts and Shaolin's current curriculum. According to the monks, Kung Fu is an ancient art to protect the country and defend against enemies. True Kung Fu cannot be performance. "Killing" martial arts cannot be shown to the public. Modern times have created Wushu, which is performance. Wushu still has defense skills, but they are made more flowery, transforming it into a beautiful art. Combining high-level basic skills with continuous routines can express the highest level of the art. Wushu is a beautiful expression of martial skill that resonates with everyone, even non-martial artists, because it is so spectacular and entertaining. It emphasizes art and spirit. A powerful Wushu champion like Jet Li combines both and shows great spirit. Now, both traditional Kung Fu and modern Wushu are important aspects of Shaolin, just as sharing these enlightening skills outside China is vital to the spread of the Shaolin way.

Today, the Shaolin Temple is world-renowned. No longer are its skills reserved for a select few. It has opened its doors to students of every nation, paving the way for a bright and productive future with its many disciples, now and in the future. As more Shaolin Temple Monks spread across the globe, we all are enriched by the profound martial heritage that is Shaolin Kung Fu. But as always, the essential element of the Shaolin Temple remains the same - the spirit of the Shaolin masters, who from generation to generation have sacrificed so much and dedicated their lives to create a smoother road for their students.

The Story of Shaolin

1500 Years
A variety of more detailed history of the Shaolin Temple can be found throughout the different Shaolin articles in this issue. However, we present you here with a capsulized version of the Temple's past 1500 years to better contextualize the multi-faceted story of Shaolin. -Ed.

Origins
The origins of Shaolin Temple are perhaps the most famous and mythologized part of its history. Founded by Ba Tuo around 495 BCE, the temple was home to his disciples Hui Guang and Seng Chou, the earliest known martial arts monks. Thirty years later Ta Mo, or Bodhidharma, came to China from India and settled at Shaolin temple, where he introduced Chan Buddhism. He was said to have sat in his cave in the mountain for nine years meditating, and from his teachings the 18 Luo Han form was created to keep the monks who spent long hours of meditation limber and alert.

In the following centuries martial arts was growing more predominant in warfare. By the end of the Qin (221-207 BCE) peasants are recorded fighting with staffs and tree forks, and during the Three Kingdoms period (220-280 ACE) Guan Yu's broadsword defeated five cities. Author Liu Yamin comments that, "To a great extent, Shaolin wushu, which really took shape during the Northern Wei Dynasty (386-534 ACE) drew upon different folk schools of wushu. In fact, before embracing the Buddhist faith, many of Shaolin monks were wushu masters."

Located in the central plain of China, Shaolin Temple also became a magnet for retired soldiers and ruffians who were also experts at kungfu. Shaolin became favored by the Emperor's court after the Southern and Northern Dynasties (420-581 ACE), and thus given land for their sustenance, which also made a necessity of "soldier monks" within the temple to protect it from bandits.

13 Monks Rescue the Tang Emperor
As Shaolin Temple became more economically independent, it was also more tied politically to the government, a situation which reached its apex in 621 of the late Sui Dynasty. The Prince of Qin, Li Shimin, was leading the Tang army in a bitter battle in the Songshan mountain region against Sui General Wang Shicong. Li Shimin was taken captive after several days of fighting, and the Tang army defeated. They sent a desperate message to Shaolin Temple asking for help. The Temple's monks, resentful of Wang Shicong for taking their land, sent 13 monks to the aid of the prince. Headed by fighting monks Tan Zong, Zhi Chao and Hui Yang, they came with their cudgels and ambushed the Sui army, defeating them, capturing Wang Shicong's nephew and freeing Li Shimin. Li went on to ascend the throne becoming the Emperor of Tang, and he rewarded the monks with 40 hectares of land and other privileges.

This victory quickly gained notoriety for the Shaolin Temple, and with the patronage of the Tang court the number of monk-soldiers began to grow. Li, in fact, gave the title of Great General to monk Tan Zong, and permitted the Temple to retain a standing army of monk-soldiers. Liu Yamin comments, "Tang generals were often sent to exchange routines with Shaolin monks. Generals Cheng Yaojin, Luo Cheng, Gao Huaide and the Yang family members, for instance, taught the monks their characteristic fighting skills with the crescent axe, the plum blossom spear and the black tiger hammer. After repeated practice and research, Shaolin monks were able to develop different types of weapons and form their own unique styles."

Martial arts was developing outside of the Shaolin Temple as well, all over China. Responding to this, the Temple sent monks out to tour the country to seek out other kungfu masters and their knowledge. During the Song Dynasty (960-1279) the abbot of Shaolin invited experts from 18 kungfu schools to come exchange skills at the Temple. They stayed for three years and produced the Shaolin Boxing Manual which contained 280 routines.

The monk Jue Yuan traveled around China during the Jin and Yuan Dynasties, meeting other kungfu experts and bringing them to the Temple, creating 173 routines of Shaolin boxing. He also refined the earlier Five Animal boxing routines, and developed the Dragon, Leopard, Snake, Tiger and Crane forms of boxing which are the ancestors of so much of our kungfu today.

Ming Blossoming
This research, development and practice of martial arts at Shaolin Temple over centuries brought Shaolin kungfu into its great blossoming during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). It was also the era when the ties between the Temple and the government were closest, as the Ming rulers engaged large groups of monk-soldiers for a number of their military campaigns; one source estimates that the Ming had as many as 2,500 Shaolin kungfu monks organized to defend the temple and the Emperor.

In 1644 the Ming was overturned and the new Manchu rulers inaugurated the Qing dynasty. As the Manchus ruled the Hans, there was much popular resentment of the Qing government, and a common sentiment among the people was, "Overthrow the Qing, restore the Ming." Known for its great favor by the Ming government, Shaolin Temple's power, both political and military, was feared by Qing officials, and they subsequently banned martial arts, outlawing weapons training on pain of death. This sent a number of monks out roaming the country, and later they returned with more wushu knowledge.

Despite the ban, Liu Yamin states that by the end of the Qing Dynasty there were several hundred types of Shaolin boxing in current use. While Shaolin martial arts was no longer a public glory, it was still carried on assiduously under the darkness of night and behind closed doors. The depressions in the stone floor of the Thousand Buddha Hall attest to a dynasty of closed door practice. Another result of the new secret training was a renewed emphasis on qigong, and making the body itself a hardened weapon.

Despite secrecy, the Manchus still feared the power of the Shaolin monks, and under Emperor Kangxi, early in the Qing Dynasty, the Temple was burned down.

Shaolin Temple rebuilt itself, but was burned down again centuries later in 1928 during a conflict between the warlords. The monastery burned for over forty days, during which sixteen temple halls were completely razed, and many cultural relics lost forever.

Rebuilding again, Shaolin Temple then had to contend with the Cultural Revolution, which devastated it once more. By the end of that political era in 1978 there were only nine monks left, starving and poverty stricken. In every era the pendulum swings. In former dynasties where the Temple was most glorified, there still existed certain Emperors who persecuted Shaolin's Buddhism. And even in the Qing, generally regarded as the dynasty most antagonistic to the monks, there was the Emperor Qianlong, who visited the Shaolin Temple in 1750 and was so pleased with his visit that he wrote the three characters "Shao-lin Si" (Shaolin Temple) for the sign to hang over the Mountain Gate. These same characters, in the Emperor's handwriting, still hang over the Temple's main front entrance door today.

In the 1980's the pendulum swung once again in the favor of Shaolin. With the help of Henan officials who saw the treasure that was the Temple, and the astounding popular success of Jet Li's movie Shaolin Temple, government and tourists once again helped raise Shaolin up. The seven stages of the monastary's temples have been almost fully restored, and more reconstruction continues. Today there are approximately 300 monks at the Temple, and the rise of dozens of wushu schools in Shaolin village, overseen by the fighting monks, insures that Shaolin's martial art will be well preserved. In 1995 the Temple and the village celebrated their 1500-year anniversary, attended by thousands of fans from China and around the world. Shaolin's fame is now international, and even exists in cyberspace with its own web page. The future is unwritten, but it seems inevitable that however many times the pendulum may swing in the next millenium, Shaolin Temple will endure.

The Monk From Brooklyn

An American at the Shaolin Temple (Part One)
by Antonio Graceffo

SUNDAY 03/02/2003: Dengfeng Village, Shaolin Temple
I stared out the window of the taxi and took in the sights of the rural Chinese countryside. For hours I saw nothing but primitive houses, mud and brick huts, and people toiling in fields. It was like the opening scene in Monty Python and the Holly Grail: "Dennis, there is some lovely filth over here." A horse-drawn wagon went by with three or four poorly dressed passengers, and I suddenly realized I wasn't in Brooklyn anymore. I wasn't even in Taiwan, my home for the last two years. I was in China, Big China, Communist China, and it was a little scary. Spending time in Taiwan first gave me a chance to acclimate and learn the language. No one spoke English here at all. The shock of moving directly from New York to rural China would have killed me. It would have been like flying from base camp to the summit of Mount Everest. I'd be dead within seconds of landing. On the way to the train station, the taxi driver asked me why I was in China. I told him I wanted to study kung fu and showed him the information I had grabbed off the web. I was planning to go to the Shaolin Wushu and Civil Institute in the Shaolin Village, located in Dengfeng. He said that he would take me all the way to Shaolin village for 300 RMB (About $36 US). This seemed easier than taking a train. So, I agreed. Next he said, "My brother is a kung fu teacher. Let's go get him." Against my protestations, we drove an hour out of the way and picked up his brother. The brother had two other friends who were kung fu teachers and they wanted to come with us too. Our twosome became a fivesome, and we pressed on.

When I saw healthy-looking boys limping, I knew we were close. It reminded me of my kung fu team back in Taiwan. They were some of the most gifted athletes I had ever seen, but they were always injured. As we drove through Dengfeng Village, I could not believe how many kung fu schools there were. I learned later that there were nearly 40,000 kung fu students living at the 40 or so schools.

By the time we got to the temple, it was after 8:00 PM and the temple was closed. I figured that they just wanted to show it to me before they took me to the kung fu school I had found on the internet. The driver leaned out the window and spoke with the ghostly figure of a cloaked monk. A few minutes later the gates opened, and we drove inside. I couldn't believe it! I was here, the Shaolin Temple. It looked exactly like it did in the movies. I kept expecting David Carradine, Kwai Chang Caine, to come walking around the corner. The monks, wearing their hooded robes, were a scene right out of The Name of the Rose. Our new monk friend took us to his room. Some older monks joined us. With long gray beards and shaved heads, they looked like ZZ Top's Hari Krishna cousins.

They asked me millions of questions about Taiwan and the US. I steered clear of the Taiwan independence issue as much as I could. They also wanted to see my boxing and my Tae Kwon Do. It amazed me that even at the Shaolin Temple they thought boxing was such an interesting and exotic sport. In Chinese they often refer to boxing as "American Kung Fu." They particularly enjoyed seeing my signature feat, 180 punches in one minute. I read somewhere that Bruce Lee could do more than double that number.

It was getting late, and we were all hungry, so the first monk took us all out for dinner. I thought monks were supposed to take a vow of poverty, but when the bill came he whipped out a wad of cash that would have gotten him rolled in a second back home in Williamsburg. I made a mental note to teach him how to play cards later.

One of the many Chinese specialties which they had was dog meat. Monks are vegetarians. So, they didn't have to eat any of Old Yeller. I ate some, just to be one of the guys, and as a sort of nonspecific revenge for the existence of French poodles. It wasn't bad. It tasted like any other meat, a little gamier than manatee, and a bit greasier than koala or panda.

When we went back to the temple, one of the taxi driver's friends -- a former student at the Shaolin Temple -- took me outside and handed me a Buddhist prayer book. "Put $200 US in this book," he said, "Go inside, prostrate before the monk three times, and then hand him the book. If you do that you will be in."

In? You mean I could study at the Shaolin Temple? I had been planning to study at one of the commercial schools in the village. Studying at the actual Shaolin Temple was beyond my wildest dreams. But what was this issue with the money? Was this a case of "Our philosophies are Eastern, but our payment methods are Western?" Put the money in the book and hand it to the monk? This is one of the oldest scams in the world. They get you to put money in the book, then they switch books and you loose your money.

The Taxi driver's friend was getting impatient. He kept up a constant barrage of fast Chinese, explaining and re-explaining what he wanted me to do, as if the issue were that I didn't understand. I understood just fine. I just didn't want to do what he was asking me. In between explanations, he was alternately pushing my shoulder and throwing kicks in the air. I was certain that one of those kicks could have broken my leg. But he was still standing close enough for me to knock him out with a punch. But then what? If I hit him, I probably wouldn't get to study at the Shaolin Temple. The others would still rob me, and I would lose my money anyway.

Suddenly I found myself in one of those situations only I can find myself in. I was in Mainland China. I wasn't registered with the US Embassy. I wasn't at the school I had told my family and friends I was going to. Nobody knew where I was. I had no friends. These guys could have killed me, and no one would have asked about the body. In the US or Taiwan I always get a little tough with people when I don't get my way. I know that if worse comes to worst I can fight my way out of most rooms. But here I would be fighting my way out of a room full of kung fu monks. A quick call to Atlantic City said the bookmakers were giving 5000 to one against my survival if I refused to give up my money.

I did as he told me and put the money in the book, but as a compromise I made sure to keep control of the book. If I was going to pay a bribe to get into the Shaolin Temple, I at least wanted the bribe to get to the right person. If bribing a holy man was like God's payola, I wanted to make sure Caesar got every penny I rendered unto him. In a very ham-handed and laughable way, the guy tried to pull the old switcheroo. "Give me the book," he said, kneeling down. "I will show you how to hand it to the monk."

"Yeah, I got a better idea, Momo. How about I show you where you can stick your head," I thought. I laughed.

If he tried running a scam this stupid in New York, he'd be left under the boardwalk somewhere with his pockets turned inside out. Once my money was inside, he'd have had to use a crowbar to get that book out of my hands. With apparent resignation in his face, he lead me back to the monk's quarters, and just before I went inside he tried to grab the book out of my hand again. God! Had this guy never heard of Brooklyn? I handed him my diary, instead. "Hold this for me," I said. I went in, prostrated three times, and gave the book to the monk. He nodded approvingly. I saw him exchange a look with the one who had taken me outside. Had they prearranged to steal my money? The other passengers and the driver all stared at the friend questioningly. I guess everyone had been promised a share for their trouble.

"What is your religion?" the monk asked.

"Catholic," I answered.

"To be a monk you have to be Buddhist," he explained.

"No problem," I answered. When my friend Herschel's little brother had his Bar Mitzvah, I went to temple with his family. Isn't this sort of the same thing? Anyway, I am not looking at it as a conversion. It is more like an advanced field experiment in theology. It had been so long since I had been in Church I think Father Carmine would have just shaken his head and said, "At least he is attending services."

"Wait here," said the monk. He went outside and wacked up my bribe money with the taxi driver and his friends.

Before they left, the taxi driver had the balls to come and ask me to pay the fare. "Why don't you just take it out of your commission," I wanted to ask. But I had become a monk, so I wasn't able to feel anger at anyone anymore, not even some jerk-face moron who tried to steal my money. I felt pity instead.

After everyone had gone, the monk returned and said, "Put your things here." Apparently I would be sharing the room with him and his novice monk. The novice and I hit it off right away. He was twenty-five years old, and a good guy. Also, in the couple of hours I had been there, he hadn't tried to steal from me.

It is friggin' cold in China, and there is no heating in the temple. I would later find out that even homes are not heated. The monks live in relative squalor. The chambers were just tiny concrete rooms about twice the size of a deluxe suite at Attica, with absolutely nothing in them apart from a bed and a desk. The only things the monks seemed to own, apart from my $200, were the clothes on their backs. The Chinese are rather dirty in general and throw trash and litter out the window. The temple grounds -- at least the part where the monks lived -- were strewn with refuse.

The novice led me through a labyrinth of outdoor alleyways to the communal toilet. There was no electric light, and in addition to being ice-cold, the night was pitch dark. The toilet was just a hole in the ground, overflowing with human waste. There wasn't even a privacy screen or anything, so everyone could see you poop.

We returned to the room, where the monk and novice shared their hot water with me. I would learn later that hot water was a rare commodity. The novice would carry a single one-liter thermos jug to the kitchen every morning at 5:30 AM and fill it with boiling water. That was the hot water ration for the two of them for the day.

I put on thermals, sweats, thick woolen socks, and my Navy watch cap. I crawled into bed and wrapped up in the blankets they had given me.

"Tomorrow you will have your head shaved. Then we will begin," said the monk.

MONDAY 03/03/2003: Shaolin Temple
The monk, Shi Hengdong, got up at 4:00, but the novice Yantong and I slept in until about 6:00. The three of us made our way to the various shrines on the temple grounds, where Shi Hengdong taught me how to light incense and prostrate before the Buddha. Breakfast was served in an ice-cold room with wooden benches. The food, big plates of spicy pickled vegetables, was brought in large metal buckets. Steamed bread, mantao, which is tasteless but very filling, rounded out the meal. Although no beverages were served during the meal, at several times during the day we stopped to drink boiled water. They seem to drink this more than tea here. After the meal, we washed our bowls with ice-cold water and no soap. Then we took them back to our room to be used again later.

They took me on a tour of the temple grounds, and Shi Hengdong explained, in great detail, the significance of each obelisk and statue. He kept stressing how the history of the temple went back for thousands of years. He had been living here for seventeen years and must have seen these historic treasures thousands of times, yet he was filled with wonder and excitement, as if he were seeing them for the first time.

"I want you to learn kung fu, but you must also learn the culture of the Shaolin temple," he said. The lives of the monks and the students are so minimal that they appreciate every little thing that they have. There is a lesson in that.

We hiked up the mountain to Damo's (Bodhidharma) cave, and Shi Hengdong told me the story. Damo is the monk who originally brought Buddhism to China, from India. The legend, or the history, is that the Shaolin Temple was originally created as a Buddhist temple. When Damo came back to check on the progress of the monks, he was appalled to find that they had all become fat and lazy. Damo went up the mountain and sat down in a cave to meditate. He stayed there for nine years. While there, he observed the animals and invented kung fu. He brought kung fu down the mountain, and taught the monks. From the Shaolin temple, martial arts eventually spread throughout the world. Karate in Japan, Tae Kwan Do in Korea, Thai boxing in Thailand - they all started here at the Shaolin Temple.

We came down from the mountain and began training. I had expected a boot-camp style training regimen. In the schools which surround the temple, training follows this type of strict schedule. But in the temple things are different. The Chinese are always working on an unlimited time line. So, they see no reason to rush. There is intensity, but it is somehow a slow intensity.

We began with Yantong teaching me a basic horse stance, which meant standing with my back straight and knees bent. After just a few seconds my legs began to quake with strain. No sooner had he let me sit down when another young monk came to see my horse stance. Next, an older monk came, and so on. Everyone who stopped by wanted to see me perform. They had me standing in horse stance and throwing punches for much of the day.

After lunch we took a rest and then resumed, doing horse stance and punches. Shi Hengdong took me up the hill where a young instructor named Jiao Lien was training a group of students. I joined them for about two hours of kicking practice. We had to walk across a hundred meter field with our arms held straight out to the sides, parallel to the ground, kicking over our head as we went. We went back and forth, forever. Next, the kids demonstrated their forms. The monk asked me to demonstrate my boxing.

After dinner, the young Jiao Lien took me back up the hill for more kicking and stances. Once it was too dark and cold to train, Jiao Lien and I headed back down the hill. Along the way, he told me he had been living in the temple for seven years, but that he is not a monk. He is allowed to drink alcohol and eat meat. In theory, he could even marry, but there isn't much opportunity to meet women living in a monastery. I asked what he wanted to do with his life. He said that he wanted to live in the temple forever.

He referred to the other students I had seen as "my students." I am guessing that the Shaolin Temple is like a franchise. These guys are all allowed to use the temple, and to have students, but then they kick some of the money back to the temple. He took me to a restaurant and ordered a ton of food. These guys eat constantly and none of them have any body fat. I think the combination of exercise and cold keeps them thin. You probably burn a ton of calories just walking around the temple grounds in this cold weather.

When I got back to the room, Shi Hengdong told me my tuition would be $5000 US for the year. "What!" I wanted to ask if he had included the $200 bribe I had given him. I don't remember this scene from the Kung Fu TV show with David Carradine. They never showed Master Po extorting money from the students.

I didn't feel like arguing. Instead, I flat out told him I couldn't pay. He asked what I wanted to pay. I told him the other school only wanted $200 a month. I picked up my bags and started heading for the door.

"You stay here tonight and think about it," he said.

"There is nothing to think about. I can't pay your fee," I said. He insisted I spend the night.

"Tomorrow we will find a way," he told me.

TUESDAY 03/04/2003
Shi Heng Dong was gone all morning, so Yantong trained me. He had me doing horse stance and bow stance until my thighs were crying. Shi Hengdong returned, and said that he had no time to train me. So he ordered Yantong to take me to another Sifu, named Se Hungfu, who also lived in the temple grounds. Se Hungfu was probably in his late forties, very fat, but phenomenally strong. He looked like a Mongolian prince, wearing his monk's robes and a tall fur hat.

He accepted my offer of $200 US a month, but there will be some changes to my temple experience. I will be living in a school outside the temple grounds, but training in the temple each day. I will not be a monk, but still will have to shave my head, wear the uniform, and attend Buddhist prayers.

Sifu Se Hung Fu's apprentice is not a monk. He is a 19-year-old kid named Miao Hai. He is well-mannered and has been living in temples for eight years. Sifu Se Hung Fu is the trainer of the famous Shaolin Monks stage show, which tours all over the world. Sifu ordered Miao Hai to show me all of his photo albums, of the different countries they performed in. At first I was really fascinated by all of the photos of people doing tremendous feats of kung fu. But after a while it got boring.

"Oh, look, people doing kung fu," I said. And then the next page, "Well, would you look at that, more pictures of people doing kung fu." When Miao Hai handed me the final book, I said, "Let me guess, more pictures of people doing kung fu." I opened the book and I don't know if I am psychic or what, but I was right.

No one here speaks any English at all. Occasionally they will come out with some phrase, like, "let's go" or "very good." One of the instructors said that my clothes were cute. He said it all in Chinese, but used the English word "cute."

My new Sifu must be rich. He has a VCR, and his room is heated. That is to say it is somewhat heated. You can still see your breath in there, but it doesn't interfere with your vision. We watched a video of the Shaolin Monks performing, then Miao Hai took me outside and demonstrated his form. He did a Wushu form where he jumped, spun, flipped, kicked, landed on his belly, and hopped back up again. He was really incredible. His grand finale was that he smashed an iron bar over his head. I think if we had had a kid like Miao Hai in my high school we would have all brought things from home to have him smash over his head.

"How about a rock, can you do a rock?"

"Here try this manhole cover."

"What about a desk, can you break a desk over your head?"

After he did his demonstration, Miao Hai began teaching me. The first form he taught me was called Wubu Quan (five step form). The Sifus watched me go through it about a thousand times. After the Sifus left, probably to split up my tuition payments, Miao Hai and I took a break in the relative warmth of the Sifu's house. He raided Sifu's cupboard and made us a snack of tea and some kind of gooey candy that tasted like halva. My legs ached like no pain I had ever felt before. My back was throbbing. My forehead was bruised from where I had repeatedly kicked it. Miao Hai laughed a conspiratorial laugh. We were Huck and Jim stealing apples. It was good to be breaking training. I can't believe it is just beginning.

WEDNESDAY 03/05/2003
Sifu explained to me that Miao Hai is my training brother, Lien Shung Di. I have another training brother named Miao Ping. He is twenty-four years old and comes from Canton. He completed his education as a Microsoft Engineer before coming here. Although fifty or so other students live in the school, Miao Hai, Miao Ping, and I report to the Sifu and train directly with him. Training brothers is a very special relationship in Chinese society. Training brothers are bound for life. Sifu even told me, "You are the older brother; you have to take care of them." At the end of my training I will receive a certificate book, which states the lineage of my Sifu. It will also identify me to any training brothers I have in the world. Apparently, there are others in America, Europe, and various places. They are all Chinese. As far as I know, I was the first foreigner to be given the title of training brother.

Strolling through the Shaolin Village, all you see is a sea of uniforms. Kung fu students roam the streets brandishing swords and other edged weapons with reckless abandon. I saw some kids playing with a spear, and I almost stepped in to take it away from them. "You could put an eye out," I wanted to say. After all, I used to be a schoolteacher. I was going to say, "This spear is going in my desk and you can have it back at the end of the term." But, of course, I did nothing, because the kids could probably have maimed me.

THURSDAY 03/06/2003
While the other students have to live in crowded rooms with bunk beds, I have my own room. It is a 12 X 12 concrete box, devoid of any amenities apart from my steel frame bed. There is no box-springs or even a mattress. My blanket is simply laid out on a wooden plank. The house itself is just a concrete block with no comforts. We have no running water. Miao Ping helps me by having his little brother fill my water jug in the kitchen once a day. We are allotted one liter of drinking water per person, per day. There is no shower or even a toilet. We have to take a bus into town to take a shower, once a week. As for the toilet, it is a smelly, snow-covered hole, a little too close to the kitchen for my tastes.

Our meals consist of vegetables, rice, and mantao, three times a day. There is never any tea or any beverage apart from our meager drinking water. I learned to drink the water quickly, because if you let it stand sediment would collect in the bottom and make it even more foul tasting.

Last night, a seven-year-old performed for me. He was jumping, flipping, kicking, and tying his legs in knots behind his head. Then he took off his shirt and posed. He had washboard abs and pencil-sized veins popping out of his biceps. A twenty-one-year-old student named Duo Mo demonstrated the Shaolin low kick. I held the kick pad at knee height, and he kicked it so hard it nearly ripped my arm off. I don't want him kicking the side of my knee like that. With the advent of the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship), and with the popularity of Muay Thai, in the West, we are all aware of the benefits of low kicks. But somehow we never practice them. After seeing Duo Mo kick, I thought, "What a crazy concept. If you want to be good at low kicks, you should practice low kicks."

Every minute of down time they have me standing in horse stance, standing in bow stance, stretching, walking across the room kicking, or throwing punches. They train constantly. I am used to being one of the best. But here I am the limping old guy who hobbles behind the team. It doesn't help that we train with all of our clothes on because it is so cold. It's hard to move with five layers of clothing on. You train to keep warm. Then you get tired, so you want to take a rest. But as soon as you stand still, you get cold again. So, you always train. It is exhausting.

FRIDAY 03/07/2003
In Taiwan I used to complain that I had to train in a large basement, and that we did the same kicks over and over again for hours. Here, I train in my room, which is completely bare except for the brown and gray dirt which covers the stonewalls. It is brutally cold, just like a jail cell, ala Gulag Archipelago. I go back and forth, doing my kicks, intermittently standing in horse stance.

This morning when I woke, all I wanted out of life was to take a hot shower and change my clothes. Coffee would also have been nice. Obviously none of those bourgeoisie luxuries were open to me. There is no shower, no hot water, and often no water at all. After hours of training I begged for some drinking water. But the answer was, "It's still too cold, and the snow hasn't melted yet."

Miao Ping arranged for me to get my Shaolin uniform. It is a red tracksuit with Shaolin Temple written in Chinese and English. It looks a lot like that outfit Bruce Lee wore in "Game of Death," except that his was yellow.

SATURDAY 03/08/2003
Miao Ping took me to practice kung fu in a martial arts park (Wushu Guan) this morning. There were endless armies of kung fu students running in formation, wearing various colored uniforms. The parade of color took forty minutes to pass a given point. It wasn't a special occasion. It was just morning in Shaolin Village.

Miao Ping had me stand on top of posts, in horse stance, like in the "The Karate Kid" movie. I had to throw three hundred punches before he let me come down and practice kicks.

Because it is so cold, I am wearing four layers of clothing under my red kung fu tracksuit. I look like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. The hooded sweatshirt and the navy watch cap I wear make me look very Brooklyn, like I am here to collect money for Jimmy the Nose. Apparently Shaolin Temple students are the only ones with shaved heads. So everyone knows at a glance what school I go to. In total there are less than 80 Shaolin Temple students, in contrast to the tens of thousands of non-Shaolin students.

Yesterday, the old cook got a little lippy with Miao Ping. I was about to step in and say, "Not only is Miao Ping my friend, but he is an adult, and if you ever talk to him like that again, I'll stick your head in the oven." But then I thought better of it. This is their culture. If they want to mistreat each other, it's none of my business. The other thought that crossed my mind was that the cook probably knew kung fu. I had visions of that fight scene in Dragon, the Bruce Lee Story, where Jason Scott Lee, playing Bruce Lee, gets in a fight with the four cooks at Ruby Fu's Restaurant in San Francisco. Of course, Jason Scott Lee's kung fu is better than mine. So, I backed down. Later in the day I found out that I had decided correctly. The assistant cook must have done something to piss off the old cook. The old cook beat the living tar out of him with some of the most violent kung fu I have ever seen.

"Note to self. Don't upset the cook."

I made it a week! I know I will make it longer, but I am really feeling my age. We have three training sessions each day. We have one from 5:30 AM to 7:00 AM. Then we eat breakfast. Next, we train until about 12:00. We have a two-hour nap and then resume training until 6:00 PM.

As hard as the training is, the sanitary conditions are actually even harder on me. The students spit on the floor everywhere, including inside the house. The floor is covered with a thick slime of yellow lung jelly. They also blow their nose on the floor, even while eating. They hock green and yellow lugies right next to the table while they are eating. In fact, the only people who eat at a table are the instructors and me. Everyone else squats on the floor, inches above their own mucus, happily shoveling food into their mouths with chopsticks. Anything that winds up in their mouth that they don't want, like bones, seeds, inedible leaf fragments, or small stones, are just spit out on the table, or on the floor. Toddlers, in China, don't wear diapers. They wear little jumpers with a slit up the back. When they need to go to the bathroom, they just squat and go wherever they are, even indoors.

We have one monk, our Sifu, and three instructors (Jiao Lien). One instructor asked if I would teach him some boxing. We worked for a while, and I was surprised at how quickly he picked it up. It turned out that he is the trainer for the Shaolin Temple Sanda team. Sanda is Chinese kickboxing. We sparred around a bit for twenty minutes or so. His foot speed was incredible, and he could probably cripple me with a kick. I did land a few punches, however. I accidentally drew blood on him, which was embarrassing, especially since -- if he had wanted to -- he could have really hurt me.

Sanda is very similar to Thai boxing, except Sanda has more grappling and all of the throws come from leg grabs, as opposed to head grabs in Thai Boxing. Another difference is that the kicks are even lower in Sanda. In Thai Boxing, or UFC, you kick your opponent's thighs to wear him down. In Sanda, you also kick the opponent's calves and ankles. Those kicks really hurt. A single kick to the ankle could end a fight.

Sanda fighters are terrible boxers. The strategy I eventually learned to employ when fighting them was to go low, catch a kick or two on my forearms, but then move in and take the opponent out with a combination of punches.

I sparred the Sanda instructor again. I was extremely nervous that he might try to hurt me to regain face. I meant to let him win, but he did something stupid. Instead of staying at a distance and kicking -- which I completely couldn't have defended against -- this time he tried a Sanda technique called shuai jiao, ducking his head and grabbing my waist in an attempt to throw me. I caught him in a guillotine choke and then went to the ground with him, arching my back and cutting off the blood flow to his brain. I kept waiting for him to tap out, to signal that he had enough, but the signal never came. When his body went limp I released my hold. It turned out that he didn't know about tapping out. Apparently in Sanda, when people try to throw you, you are supposed to have the good manners to fall down.

Now I am worried. Maybe he will jump me when I'm not looking. Actually it wouldn't matter if I were looking. He could kill me with those kicks.

My instructor today was named Da Se. He had me standing in horse stance for periods of five minutes, with a one-minute rest in between. We did the same for bow stance, on both the left and right side. Next he had me do my form about five thousand times. Each time I finished, he said, "Ok, begin." We kept this up for four hours.

The other students ply me with questions every chance they get. They all want to know about the outside world and ask me about Taiwan and America. They also ask me about my fighting and my religion.

The apprentice monk asked me about the cross I wear around my neck. I told him, "I am Catholic."

"Is that the Jesus religion?" he asked.

I knew from previous experience that Chinese have trouble telling the difference between Protestant and Catholic. Once, a Chinese friend had asked me if I attended "Jesus Church" or "Mary Church." So I told the young monk, "I attend Mary Church." And suddenly he understood.

Today being Saturday, the kids are allowed to watch TV after dinner. And what tape did the Sifu bring for the kids to watch? You guessed it: the tape of the Shaolin Monks performing. You would think they would have had enough of that. But they never tire of kung fu. They live it, eat it, and breathe it.

Da Se wanted to show me how strong he was, so he held out his arm and said, "Feel." In the West when someone does this they want you to feel their bicep. Here, they want you to feel their wrist. Their thinking is "anyone can get big biceps. But big wrists, that is really something." This guy's wrists were as hard as stone, and as big as a normal man's thighs. I am exaggerating, of course. But when he grabbed my hand, I was powerless to defend myself. He could have crushed my bones like a vice. I was looking at him thinking, he must be about 45 but he is in such great shape for his age. It turned out that he is 26. People lead hard lives in China.

Da Se told me that he has lived in the temple since he was six. His kung fu is amazing, but what does that do to your psyche in the long run? He can just barely read and write. He has never had a job, never had a bank account. He has probably never been laid, with a woman. The other weird thing is, he's not a monk. He is just an instructor. He is allowed to drink alcohol, eat meat, even marry. But how would he marry if he is living in a monastery? And if he did marry, where would they live?

Da Se hasn't seen much TV and very few movies. He doesn't know popular music. He's never read a book...Imagine having no knowledge of the outside world! No MTV, no CNN.

I look at Miao Hai and the younger kids and think, "Man, you're missing out on so much." But then I think, there isn't all that much opportunity in China. Maybe they aren't missing out on anything. They have food, occupation, activity, and they love their life and their kung fu. Maybe that is enough. If nothing else, they are better off than if they were Chinese kids not living in a temple. Those kids have nothing.

The only thing they ever talk about is kung fu. I asked some of the non-monks what their plans were. None of them seem to have a plan. Before I came I was told that the dream of anyone at these schools is to go get a good job with the police or the army after graduating from the temple. But only one kid has mentioned that to me. The rest of them plan to live here forever.

THURSDAY 05/01/03 Two months later...
We had been hearing rumors about SARS for some time. Sifu was forcing the kids to drink a Chinese medicine which cures SARS. I asked Miao Ping, "If China is the only country with a cure for SARS, why is China the only country where people are dying of the disease? And why doesn't the WHO know about this cure?"

"No one ever believes China when we invent something," explained Miao Ping.

The only trustworthy information I can get anymore is from the internet. But we are allowed out less and less. The police closed down all of the shower places and all of the internet cafes. I haven't had a shower in about a month.

Se Gu, Sifu's little sister, who works as our house administrator, told me, "The police have been here again, looking for foreigners."

The government hadn't officially blamed foreigners for SARS, but they were cracking down on us. The final time I managed to sneak out of the temple and get into town, I ran into two foreign friends, Kim and Bill, who told me that most of the foreigners had left and the few who remained were trying to get out. Apparently there were no more flights to Hong Kong. Rumor had it that there wouldn't even be buses or trains to Hong Kong anymore. We had also heard that foreigners were being forced into quarantine in hospitals or hotels.

Foreign countries weren't issuing visas to people who had been in China. This wasn't a problem for Kim and Bill, who would be returning home. But for me it was serious, as this meant I couldn't return to Taiwan, my home for the last two years.

"All the foreign students left the other schools," confirmed Se Gu.

"Were they forced to leave, or did they leave by choice?"

"Well, you know blah, blah, blah, police, blah, blah, blah SARS." Asking Se Gu a direct question was a waste of time.

FRIDAY 05/02/2003
On the night leading into the morning of 05/01, I became extremely sick, with diarrhea. Running a fever and completely dehydrated and exhausted. I felt so weak that I couldn't stand. I wanted to drink some soup or even some hot water, but there hadn't been any water for days.

Se Gu told me that the police had been there asking about me. She said that I would have to register with the police, but that I first needed to go to the hospital for a health check. I wasn't crazy about doing it, but I agreed.

At the hospital the doctor said, "You have something wrong with your lungs. You'll have to stay overnight and get an IV."

"But what is wrong with my lungs?" I asked.

"You are sick a little bit," answered the doctor.

"But what exactly is wrong with me?"

"You are sick a little bit," he repeated.

"You are sick a little bit," confirmed Miao Hai.

"What is it that you want to give me in the IV?"

"Medicine."

"But what kind of medicine?"

"For the sickness," said the doctor.

I asked for an English-speaking doctor. Of course there wasn't one. Miao Ping and I went out in the hallway to discuss my situation. I had been dehydrated for weeks. Most days I only got a single liter of drinking water, and Miao Ping and his brother drank about half of that. The bout of diarrhea had completely drained my body of fluid. My stomach ached. I was running a fever. It was all I could do to stand up.

"If you try to leave the hospital they may force you to stay," said Miao Ping. "Or the police may bring you back here. Also, we can't register you with the police till after your medical exam. So you will have to leave the school."

I thought out my options. I didn't trust a Chinese hospital. I certainly didn't trust them to give me medicine, and particularly if I didn't know what that medicine was. If avoiding the hospital meant that I had to leave the school, that wasn't a problem. But I could barely stand up. Could I make it to Hong Kong by myself? In my present state I didn't think I could lift my backpack, much less travel with it. And what if I got to Hong Kong and couldn't get to Taiwan? At least here, I had lodgings and food.

I was put in a room with four beds approximately a foot and a half apart. The nurse inserted a mystery IV in my right hand, and then disappeared. At one point the family of one of the elderly patients in my room came over and made some adjustments to the flow mechanism on my IV. "That's better," he said. "It wasn't draining fast enough before." Is this normal procedure? I wondered. Do people just make their own adjustments to medical equipment? It must have been because the nurses never came to check on me.

Some time during the night a guy was admitted to my room who was throwing up blood. His spittoon was a glass jar two feet away from my bed. It was like sharing a room with Gene Simmons. He was spitting so much blood that his son had to empty it about every ten minutes. Aside from the noise, which was disgusting, the sight of all that blood was turning my stomach. And of course, once again, I was scared about infection.

The next morning, the doctor came in and said that I would have to spend another night in the hospital. When the nurse thankfully pulled out the IV tube, I packed my things, preparing to escape. When no one was looking, I tore off down the hall. At the elevator I bumped into Miao Ping.

"Did the doctor say you could leave?"

"I don't care what he said. We are out of here."

"OK," said Miao Ping. "I will go ask him."

"No you won't," I said, grabbing his arm. "We are leaving right now. And don't call any attention to us."

We were nearly out the front door when Miao Ping said, "I have to check you out at the cashier and pay the bill."

"I already did all that," I lied.

"Who helped you?"

"I just figured it all out on my own."

I didn't breathe a sigh of relief until we were safely on the bus and away from the hospital. Now, more than ever, I felt like a fugitive. In fact, technically I was. Not only had I violated doctors' orders -- something which the government had declared a crime since the beginning of the SARS outbreak -- but I hadn't paid my hospital bill.

I knew I had a certain margin of safety, however, because I hadn't given the hospital my passport. Neither had I given them my English name. When they asked for ID, I gave them my Taiwanese identity card, with the excuse that it was all written in Chinese and easier for them. This meant that the police wouldn't be looking for Antonio Graceffo. They would be looking for An Dong Ni, and they wouldn't have my passport number.

I decided to leave Shaolin.

WEDNESDAY 05/07/2003
On Sunday, 05/05, Sifu came to the school. We all got dressed up in our formal monk outfits and we took my graduation pictures. The entire school came to my room to see the photos. Naturally they all started in with "Can I have this one? Can I have that one?" Se Gu, even more than the kids, kept begging me to give her photos.

On Monday I called Sifu to ask when he was coming with my money and my certificate of training. He still owed me 1500 RMB. This was the only money I had, and I needed it to get to Hong Kong. He said that he would come after breakfast on Tuesday.

On Tuesday morning, the day got later and later and still Sifu didn't come. Around 10:00 there was a knock at my door. Se Gu, the two school teachers, and the three kung fu instructors all pushed their way into my room. They surrounded my bed, where I was reading, and demanded that I hand over all of the photos I had made while I was in China. I hopped out of bed, put on my shoes, and told them in no uncertain terms that I wasn't handing over anything. They kept pushing the issue.

"It is illegal to make photos inside of a school," said Se Gu.

"If it is illegal, then call the police," I suggested.

"But we are trying to help you," said Se Gu.

"By stealing my photos?"

"It's not stealing. We just don't want you to get stopped at the border to Hong Kong with illegal photos."

They began to move in on me, and I really thought I was going to have to fight them. I ducked, pushed through the six of them, and put my back against the concrete wall. I then slid along the wall until Miao Ping's swords were within reach. Se Gu and the two teachers probably wouldn't have been stupid enough to try and fight me. So they were out. I had beaten two of the instructors on several occasions in the past. There was no way either of them was going to initiate anything. The only person at the whole school who I couldn't necessarily beat was the kickboxing instructor. And the other five were all looking to him, to lead them. I never took my eyes off him. If someone -- anyone -- made a move for my bag or my body, I was going to punch the kickboxing instructor in the throat. I had nearly knocked him out a week earlier. I was extremely angry, and I wasn't backing down. The whole time we kept arguing in rapid-fire Mandarin.

I was so high on adrenaline at that point, it was all I could do to not start swinging. The kickboxing teacher stepped to the back of the crowd, stared at his feet, and I knew I had won.

"It is our law," Se Gu kept saying.

"You are lying," I said. Finally, I told her to go get my money. I wanted to leave right then.

Se Gu, the two teachers, and the two smaller instructors left. Se Gu basically told the kick boxing instructor to remain behind and guard me. As soon as we were alone in the room, I felt sorry for him, because he was fidgeting around, frightened. I opened the door and said, "You can leave too." I didn't have to tell him twice. He left like he was running from a fire.

I wanted to get out before Sifu came because he is the one person at Shaolin who I couldn't bully and intimidate. Anytime there was a problem with me, they sent Miao Hai to straighten it out. But this time, even Miao Hai's pleading and his charming face weren't going to soften my heart.

"An Dong Ni, you have to give them the photos."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. It is the law."

"Bullshit! It's not the law. And if it is, then just call the police."

Miao Hai was nearly crying. "You have to give them the pictures. I promise. It is the truth."

"Miao Hai, you don't know what the truth is. You only know what they tell you. And they lie."

"It is true, An Dong Ni," said Miao Ping. "You have to give them the pictures. Chinese law says that you can't take pictures inside of a school. It's just like if I went to America, there are things I couldn't take a picture of."

"No, if you went to America you could take pictures of anything you wanted to."

"You have to give them the pictures," repeated Miao Ping weakly.

"You are the smartest one, Miao Ping!" I said. "You know that what you are saying isn't true. If it were, you would have stopped me from taking the photos in the first place. Or you guys would have told me yesterday when you saw them. You know you are lying to me right now."

For one one-thousandth of a second Miao Ping became human. He looked at me pleadingly and said, "I can only do what they tell me. I am powerless here."

But then, like flipping a switch he became a robot again, and insisted that I hand over my photos.

I put on my backpack and carefully made my way down the stairs, keeping my eyes open for an ambush. The only thing that kept me from making an immediate dash for freedom was that I had no money.

My heart stopped when I saw that Sifu was waiting for me in the living room. The two smaller instructors ran off to hide somewhere, as did the two teachers. I never saw them again. The kickboxing instructor was still there, "guarding" me. But I knew now that he was powerless. So did he.

"I want to see the pictures," demanded Sifu. He said that he didn't necessarily want to take them. He just needed to see them. I placed my fist in front of my chest, and laid my left hand on top of it. Bowing, I said, "Sifu, I'm sorry. It is not a question of bad manners. But I cannot give you my pictures."

"Who said give? I just want to look at them. If they are OK, I will let you keep them."

"I'm sorry," I said, bowing again. "I can't do that. I just want my money." He kept demanding to see the photos. I kept politely refusing. We went through a number of exchanges like this. Finally I gave up on my money and just made a B-Line for the door.

Sifu sent Miao Hai to try to calm me down. But by this point anything my friend said just enraged me. He knew the situation was a farce, and yet he participated. He kept saying, "You took pictures of us squatting on the ground, eating. If people see that in the West, they will think we are poor and filthy."

"You are poor and filthy," I said.

"But you can't tell them about it," said Miao Hai. He was crying. Miao Ping came next and said that Sifu would give me my money and my certificate if I went back in the house.

"You go get my money, and I will wait here," I said. Miao Ping went in the house, but it was Sifu who came out.

"You don't have to show me the pictures," he said. Then he shook my hand. "We are all good friends." He handed me my Shaolin certificate and said that Miao Ping would be out in a minute with my money. When Miao Ping came back, he handed me 800 RMB.

"But you owe me 1,500 RMB," I protested.

"Is there a mistake?" he asked. "Come inside, and we will straighten it out."

"You are all a bunch of bloody thieves," I screamed. "Now go back in the house and get me my damned money!" Miao Ping came out and gave me 200 RMB more.

"You owe me 1,500 not 1,000!" I protested.

"Do you want to come in the house?" he asked.

"No! You are all thieves and animals!" He went to put his hand on my arm, and I shoved my friend away from me.

"Thieves and animals!" I said. These were the last words I said to Miao Ping. By this time Miao Hai had disappeared. I was angry. But more than anything, I was heartbroken. I had really come to love the two of them. And my last act was to push Miao Ping and curse at him. When I left Shaolin I didn't just feel that a period in my life had ended. I felt that a portion of my heart had been ripped out.