His lips smack-smack against the mouth of his pipe. At his feet, the tip of his cane stirs loose gravel, ocean waves to Jun-Jun’s sensitive ears. I hear you, Sifu, thinks Jun-Jun. You insult me, Sifu. I know this trick. Has she not practiced tirelessly? Did she not prove herself on her first day of instruction, holding the jak ma position for a solid hour at age four? Has he forgotten all she has accomplished since that first day? By the age of six she could leap and trap a sparrow in her cupped hands. At nine she had mastered the pole form. At ten she’d driven her fist through a bench and left the skin on her knuckles intact. And yet, on this particular morning, she has been instructed to practice jak ma as if she were a novice.

Over the years she’s become accustomed to Great Uncle Chutt’s punishments, which usually consist of endlessly repeating a newly learned sequence or skill. She doesn’t openly question or challenge him; for as long as she can remember, he has been her sole guardian, her teacher. There is also pride. She wants him to see that she can take all the punishments, expects them even. But nothing so basic as jak ma! She cannot think what she has done to upset him. She has always been diligent and humble. She hasn’t been guilty of manifesting pride, which, to her Great Uncle Chutt, would give the greatest offense. But in her fury she thinks, I can leap above your head, old man. Great Uncle Chutt hobbles around her, examining her stance, and she’s suddenly unnerved by the possibility that he can hear her thoughts. He grunts approval at the straightness of her back, the equilibrium of her centered palms. He turns to the boy.

“Try again,” he instructs.

“Yes! Yes!”

The boy jumps up and down in front of her, beaming; he has fewer good teeth than the old man. The boy runs at her, lunging head first into her stomach. Jun-Jun is as solid as a tree, and the impact sends him back, wobbling one, two, three steps. She keeps her eyes forward; her skin is warm with fury. Heavens, thinks Jun-Jun. Can you hear me? What will deliver me from this misery?

Great Uncle Chutt is nodding, nodding.

“Again,” he tells the boy.

ENGLAND, 1970