Chapter 8: The Dance of the Panda
The weeks that followed were a blur of motion. I had learned to be a fortress. I had learned to be a cannonball. But I hadn't yet learned how to be both at the same time. My training sessions became a clumsy switch between two extremes. I would practice my Panda-Tiger stance, delivering bone-jarring blows to the wooden dummy, feeling the solid, unmovable power of the earth beneath me. Then, I would back up, take a deep breath, and launch myself into a rolling practice run, becoming a dizzying, unstoppable force of momentum.
But the transition was ugly. Going from a roll to a stance was like a train trying to make a ninety-degree turn at full speed. I'd often stumble, tripping over my own feet, my hard-won momentum dissolving into a clumsy heap.
Master Shifu watched all of this, often from the side of the dojo while sipping quietly from a small cup of tea. One afternoon, after I'd ended a particularly graceless roll by accidentally knocking over a rack of bamboo staffs with a clatter, he finally stood up.
"You are a collection of notes, Po," he said, his voice cutting through my frustrated panting. "Each one is strong in its own right. But you are not playing a song. You are merely hitting the keys one at a time." He gestured with his cup towards the open floor. "There is no harmony. There is no rhythm. You must learn to flow from one move to the next. You must learn to dance."
"Dance?" I asked, picking myself up. "Shifu, have you seen me? I have the grace of a runaway cement mixer."
"Dancing is not about grace," he corrected me. "It is about response. About feeling the rhythm around you and moving with it, not against it." He walked towards the center of the dojo, towards a large, hulking shape that had been covered by a dusty tarp since the day I first arrived. "And I have built you the perfect partner."
With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the tarp away.
My jaw dropped. The thing underneath was a nightmare of wood and gears. It was a thick central torso, like a bigger, meaner version of the wooden dummies. But sprouting from it were eight long, articulated wooden arms, connected to a complex system of weights and pulleys. The main body was also dotted with small, round holes. It looked like a giant, mechanical spider.
"What is that?" I whispered in awe and terror.
"This," Shifu said with a hint of pride in his voice, "is the Octopus of a Thousand Slaps."
I just stared. "You made that?"
"The path to harmony often requires a bit of engineering," he said. "The arms will swing in random, unpredictable patterns. The holes will fire these." He held up one of the familiar red rubber balls. "Your task is not just to survive. It is to disable it by striking the central gear housing here," he tapped a small, reinforced spot on its chest, "three times. Now, begin."
Before I could protest, he pulled a large lever on the wall. The machine lurched to life with a horrible groan of straining wood and the clatter of winding gears. The eight arms began to swing, slowly at first, then faster, whipping through the air in a chaotic, hypnotic ballet of violence. A moment later, a rubber ball shot out from a hole with a loud thwip!.
"Okay, Po, you can do this," I muttered to myself. "Be the fortress."
I sank into my Panda-Tiger stance. An arm swung low—I let it pass over my head. Another came straight for my chest. I braced for impact, ready to stand my ground. But as I focused on that arm, a different one swung in from my blind side and smacked me hard in the ribs, sending me stumbling. At the same time, a rubber ball hit me square in the face.
"Okay, new plan!" I yelled. "Be the cannonball!"
I tucked into a roll, the arms whipping harmlessly over my back. It worked! I was moving, I was dodging! But now I couldn't attack. I was just rolling around the outside, unable to get close to the central body. I tried to uncurl near the machine to strike, but the moment I became a target, three arms swung at me at once. I yelped and tucked back into a defensive ball.
The machine was relentless. It was forcing me to be either completely defensive or completely still, and it punished me for both. I got overwhelmed. I got tangled. I ended up on my back, with two of the wooden arms pinning my shoulders to the floor, and a third one repeatedly and comically bopping me on the head. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Defeated, I just lay there and took it. Shifu pulled the lever, and the machine shuddered to a halt.
He walked over and looked down at me, his expression unreadable. I felt a hot flush of shame. "It's too much," I said, my voice quiet. "I can't think about my stance, and rolling, and the arms, and the balls all at the same time. It's impossible."
Shifu didn't lecture me. He simply sat down on the floor beside me. "That is because you are trying to think," he said gently. "Your mind is a terrible dancer, Po. It is clumsy and slow. It is always three steps behind the music."
He looked at the silent machine. "You have practiced the notes until your body knows them by heart. The roll. The stance. The strike. You do not need to think about them anymore. You just need to let your body listen." He turned to me. "Stop trying to fight the Octopus. Stop planning. Just… respond. Feel its rhythm. Listen to its song, and dance."
I took a deep, shaky breath. Let go. Stop thinking. It sounded simple and impossible all at once. But I looked at my master's calm, confident face, and I trusted him. I got back to my feet.
"Again," I said.
Shifu nodded and pulled the lever. The monstrous dance began anew. For a moment, it was the same chaos. An arm swung. A ball flew. My mind screamed at me to plan!
But then, I remembered the dumplings. I remembered the bao. I remembered that feeling of perfect, singular focus. I stopped thinking about the machine. I stopped thinking about myself. I just… listened.
An arm swung low, aiming for my legs. Before my mind could form a command, my body was already flowing into a roll, the arm whipping harmlessly through the air where I'd just been. As I was rolling, a rubber ball shot towards me. There was no time to stop. Instinct took over. My core tightened mid-roll. BOOM! The Belly Drum sent the ball rocketing back, where it struck one of the swinging arms, throwing off its rhythm.
I came out of the roll not with a stumble, but with a smooth transfer of energy, my feet landing perfectly on the floor as I sank into my low, powerful Panda-Tiger stance. For a split second, there was an opening. I surged forward and delivered a devastating blow to the central torso. CRACK! One down.
An arm swung in from the right. Instead of blocking, I let it come. At the last moment, I used its momentum, pushing off it to spin my entire body around in a surprisingly agile pirouette. I was no longer fighting the machine. I was using its own energy against it. I was moving with it.
It was a dance. A chaotic, destructive, and beautiful dance. I flowed from roll, to strike, to spin, to block, my body responding to the music of violence with its own harmonious rhythm. I was the fortress and the cannonball.
I saw the final opening. I launched into one last, powerful roll, using a ramp I hadn't even noticed before to go airborne. For a glorious moment, I was flying. I twisted in the air and came down with all my weight and power, my paw striking the central gear housing with the force of a meteor.
There was a horrible, grinding screech of protesting metal and splintering wood. The arms shuddered, twitched, and then fell silent, hanging limp like the tentacles of a defeated beast.
I landed on my feet, breathing in huge, ragged gasps. The dojo was silent. I was exhausted, aching in a dozen places, but my entire body was thrumming with a new, exhilarating energy. I had done it. I had learned the song.
Shifu stood by the lever, a proud, serene smile on his face.
"Good," he said, his voice filled with a quiet warmth I had never heard before. "The dance is learned."
He looked at me, at the student who was no longer just a collection of clumsy moves, but a true martial artist.
"Now," he said. "You are ready to face the music."