Chapter 11 Broadcast Calisthenics
Old Wang crawled up at once, hugged the charlatan's leg, and wailed, "Heavenly Master, save me!"
The charlatan lifted his chin, squinted, and put on a look of profound mystery.
"Very well. Our meeting today is fate. I'll follow heaven's will and take you as my final disciple."
Old Wang was overjoyed. Without another word he slammed his head to the floor three times—bang bang bang.
What a gifted bootlicker.
Seeing Old Wang so eager to please, the charlatan smiled and immediately held the master-disciple ceremony.
"What feudal leftover is this?" Xiao Zheng watched Old Wang kneel and offer tea to the charlatan, and curled his lip.
"How else would the two of them hit it off?" I said with a laugh.
The charlatan patted Old Wang's head, then his face went stern.
Old Wang startled with him. "Master, what is it?"
The charlatan stared at him a long time before saying solemnly, "I just spirit-wandered to Tiananmen and asked Tai Bai Jin Xing about your fortune. He told me you face a great tribulation these two years. I'm afraid there's blood disaster ahead!"
I thought, No kidding. Look at him—is there a single good spot left on his body?
But Old Wang's IQ seemed as shredded as his crotch.
His ugly face collapsed at once as he howled, "Master, you have to save me!"
"We're master and disciple. Why so formal?" The charlatan took it all on himself. "Get up first. Your Master will teach you a divine skill. Once you master it, blades and spears won't pierce you!"
Old Wang flushed red with excitement, clasped his fists, and cried, "Please instruct me, Master!"
The charlatan drew a deep breath. "Watch. This is the first form of the divine skill!"
He raised both hands high over his head, palms inward, then kept his lower body still and twisted his waist left and right once each.
"This is the second form of the divine skill!"
He clenched his fists, bent his elbows so his arms were level with his chest, then straightened his arms four times.
As we watched.
Xiao Zheng said, puzzled, "Why does this look familiar?"
"National primary and middle school Broadcast Calisthenics," I said with endless nostalgia. "I did it as a kid too."
Xiao Zheng looked equally nostalgic. "Ah, my lost youth."
Even though he was a fish that slipped the net of nine-year compulsory education, this set of Broadcast Calisthenics might have stirred a few of Old Wang's scarce school memories.
He said hesitantly, "Master, I think I've seen these moves somewhere."
The charlatan blew his beard and glared. "Smooth talker. Do you still want to learn the divine skill or not?"
Old Wang didn't dare say more. He honestly followed along.
In that sunless, gloomy building, an old man in a tattered Daoist robe led a blood-soaked Old Wang through Broadcast Calisthenics, move by careful move.
Their careful counts filled the gloom with something hollow.
On the third floor, Xiao Mei stood on the balcony watching with curiosity. "Brother, what are they doing?"
Brother closed his eyes. "It's dirty stuff. We don't look."
Xiao Mei stubbornly kept her eyes open. "No. I want to look!"