Archive of Our Own

Instinctively was the wrong word.  Mia had yet to breach the topic of her past, but her clear mastery over these techniques seemed indicative of martial training.  Zhilan suspected that her mother, of the warrior bloodline, had been preparing her for the dangers of the world in the only way she knew how.  Knowing the worldly forces that would inevitably seek the power of a hybrid, it would be imperative that Mia be trained to defend herself.  Isolated in that cabin, her mother had years to pass down her own skills, ensuring each was hardened into an immutable reflex.  Reflexes honed to the point of being indistinguishable from the birthright of nature’s own instincts.

Her thoughts were jolted by the thud of the sparring dummy careening into the wall, sent flying by a particularly nasty kick from Mia.  She stood there, sweat dripping from her brow, hands on her hips, breathing heavily as she glanced at Zhilan for direction.

“Again.”  

Mia nodded, striding over to the fallen dummy to set it aright.  She was lithe, but strong, her black tank top revealing arms toned by continuous use.

Zhilan gazed appraisingly as Mia resumed sparring.  There was strength there, powered by forces neither of them could begin to comprehend.  Her technique was effective, giving every indication that her prior training been comprehensive and thorough.  And her dual heritages were formidable assets, shadowed by a prophecy that guaranteed unrivaled power.  She was undoubtedly impressive.  

But impressions were impermanent.   Mia remained untested.  Landing blows against a training dummy, helpless to defend itself, would be very different from incapacitating a human being.  And when faced with Russell Tan himself?  Would Mia be prepared to make the harder choice, the right choice, the choice that Nicky Shen would never be prepared to make?  Zhilan’s face hardened.  Nicky could lecture endlessly from the comfort of her moral high ground, but here in the muck and grayness of the trenches was where the real work would be done.   And Mia had to be prepared.  When she finally stood in front of her mother’s killer, there could be no hesitation.  Zhilan would make sure that she would be unflinching when she pulled the final trigger.  

Watching over Mia, she felt a gentle tug at her chest, in some small corner, long ago forgotten.  Memories bubbled up, unbidden from the recesses of her mind.  Her family torn apart by Tan, the the pain blooming in the cavernous wake left behind.  The rawness of the wounds, the festering anguish.  The feeling of walking through the world as if underwater, surrounded by others who remained privileged in their ignorance, while she stood silently drowning in front of them. The sense of darkness closing in, ever growing, cutting her off from the world.  The chilling numbness as she was left to  tend to the embers of her hate alone.

“You can help her, you know.”

Zhilan started at the sound of her sister’s voice, still unused to the sudden appearances and disappearances of Pei-Ling.  “What do you think I’m doing?” she said through gritted teeth, eyes still locked on Mia.

“That’s not what I mean.  If training was all Mia needed, she would still be with Nicky.”

“Nicky is a fool.  Her delusions of being a shifu are almost as grand as yours.”

She could practically hear Pei-Ling smile behind her.  “Nicky may have failed Mia.  But it was only because Nicky could not build the bridge of connection that Mia needs.”

Zhilan rolled her eyes.  “A bridge?  Really?”

“You alone understand her pain.  The profoundness of her loss.  The loneliness.”  Pei-Ling began to slowly circle her.  God it was distracting.  Couldn’t ghostly hallucinations stay in one place?

“Zhilan.”  Pei-Ling slowed her pace, halting to stand in front of her.

“Reach her.  Guide her.  She will need your strength to face what is to come.” At last Zhilan fully raised her head to make eye contact with Pei-Ling.  

“It is time to reopen your heart.  If you do, you will find that you need connection as much as she does.”

As suddenly as Pei-Ling appeared, she was gone.  Zhilan sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  “Reopen your heart.”  Of all the cliched nonsense…

She paused, eyes finally registering Mia across the room, blinking at her in confusion.

“What are you waiting for?  Again.”

Mia started, then squared her shoulders before turning to face the sparring dummy again.  

The dull pang settled back into Zhilan’s chest, as if it had never left.

//

Mia wiped her brow and crouched down, taking deep deliberate breaths.  She had been sparring for hours.  Zhilan insisted that understanding Mia’s martial capabilities was imperative to guide further training.  So she had dragged out the dummy, pointed at it, and silently watched as Mia began to wallop it. Zhilan gave very little direction, seemingly content to observe Mia’s favored techniques.  Other than one request an hour in to focus on footwork and kicks, she gave no instructions that deviated from her insistent and repetitive command of, “Again.”

Mia began to unwind the cloth wrapping around her hands, clenching an unclenching them as she freed one and then the other.  She looked up as Zhilan finally approached, hand outstretched as she wordlessly offered a glass of water.  Mia accepted, taking long gulps.  It had been years since she had trained with this intensity.  Not since…. She halted her mental musings in their tracks, refusing to let her mind wander down paths better left untrod.  

Those wanderings were further stalled as Zhilan rested a hand on her shoulder drawing her back into the present with a grounding pressure.  “You’ve done well.  Rest up; we’ll continue in the morning.”  She gave a light squeeze, gentler than Mia might have expected, before releasing her.

Mia paused a beat.  “No feedback?  No critiques?”  

“There will be plenty of time for critiques during your proper training.  Consider today… a warmup.”

Mia scoffed.  “I’ve been trained.  I’m ready to go after Tan.”

Zhilan arched an eyebrow.  “Oh really?  You have weapons training?  Reconnaissance?  Knowledge of all major and minor martial arts forms?  No need to learn any additional skills before you march off to punch Tan to death?”

Staring down Mia’s newfound glower, Zhilan sighed and crouched down.  “Tan is almost untouchable.  Do you think we are the only ones he’s crossed over the years?  The man has an enemies list longer than his considerable list of assets.  There’s a reason he’s still alive.”

She placed a hand on Mia’s knee.  “Look.  I have wanted Tan dead for over twenty years.  He is well-connected, deadly, and above all else, careful.  If we are to out-maneuver him, we must be even more meticulous.  So yes, that means more training.  If you want to kill Tan, preparation  is the only way to get close to him.  So I need you to trust me and my methods.”

There was a beat as Mia evaluated that statement.  Nicky had warned her about Zhilan.  Her cunning, her ruthlessness, her deceit.  Yet it was Zhilan who was forthright about her birthright.  Zhilan who took her in with no questions asked.  Zhilan who trusted her to help carry out this mission.

Mia lifted her eyes to meet Zhilan’s.  And in them she saw an unexpected duality.  There was a hardness, an air of determination.  But also a certain softness around the edges.  A tempering kindness, echoed by the comforting hand now resting on her knee.  And deeper still a sense of grief that Nicky had never properly conveyed to her.  These eyes, that had seen many evils, done many of them herself, and yet now searched Mia’s silently, asking for her help with a profound sense of vulnerability.  

She placed her own hand over Zhilan’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.  

“I do trust you,” she said softly in return.

There was a flash of something across Zhilan’s face.  A sense of surprise, and perhaps relief.  She gently grasped Mia’s hand and slowly rose back up to her full height, lightly tugging Mia up to join her. 

“Tan will rue the day he crossed our families.  

She gave Mia’s hand, still held in her own, another gentle squeeze.

“I promise.”