DISCLAIMER: Ranma Nibunnoichi is the property of Takahashi Rumiko,
Shogakukan Inc, Shonen Sunday Comics, and Viz Video. It is used without
their permission and is not intended for profit but only for the
enjoyment of fans of the Ranma series. All characters within this fic
that are not the property of the above mentioned are copyrighted to the
author, Joseph Kohle, January 1997. This work of fiction is the result
of the author's hard work and is for the enjoyment of others. Please do
not change, modify, or use any segment of this story without the
author's knowing and written consent. Feel free to archive this work.

************************************************************************ 

                    Meiyo Ai soshite Nikushimi

                    A Ranma Nibunnoichi Fanfic
                         by Joseph Kohle

                      Part IV Separate Paths         
                      Chapter VII Wa to Fuwa


                               --1--



     Walking through the woods surrounding the small compound of
Sansui-ji, Saotome Ranma allowed the warm sun to banish the dark shadows
from his mind. Around him the world was alive. The warble of birds and
drone of insects contended with the staccato voices of the students
within the dojo. For him, this was a day of rest. It was the first day
he'd been able to take to his feet since his fever broke two days
before. Although six days behind his schedule, he was content to walk
and enjoy the woods, woods he had not seen since the age of eight. 
     The sense of someone else watching him brought Ranma back into the
real world. Listening carefully, he heard light footfalls, but he waited
patiently for whoever it was to make himself known.
     "Sumimasen, Saotome-sensei," a quavering voice said.
     Turning Ranma saw a gangly adolescent, barely into his teens
standing nervously behind him. He was dressed in the plain robe of a
novice with only a length of soft rope for a belt. His head was shaven
completely, and his dark eyes belonged more on a frightened rabbit than
this boy. As the boy noticed his gaze, he bowed deeply, nearly
prostrating himself on the ground.
     Actually many of the monks, old and young alike, had been treating
him with the deepest respect since he had awoken. He knew he should be
honoured, but he felt that he didn't deserve it, and each obeisance made
him feel as if Kodachi was whispering, "Ranma-sama," in his ear over and
over. Even the students of the dojo treated him with respect, although
he saw that it was grudging on many faces, especially those who wore the
higher ranks. Of course, no one would tell him why he was treated as
such, and the entire situation was grating on his nerves.
     Nodding his head at the novice, he said, "What do you want?" He
had found that the brusque speech he had used through most of his life
got the best results. 
     Straightening, the boy kept his eyes lowered. "Sansui-sensei
wishes to speak with you in the garden overlooking the temple."
     "Sure thing," Ranma batted back and then took his leave to both
his and the boy's relief. 
     Although he knew only a little of the layout of the place from his
memories as a boy, Ranma easily found the stone path that led from the
temple and wound up the slope behind it to the higher, overlooking
plateau. It took only a moment for him to climb the path before he found
himself on a small dirt path that wandered the wooded expanse. 
     In the distance, over the low trees, he saw more cliffs rising
upwards and water cascading downward. He thought it was the source of
the small stream that meandered through the garden. To Ranma's eye, it
looked as if nothing had been done to the plateau, but as he walked
along the path, he could not shake the feeling that it was not natural.
In frustration, he trained his eyes on each patch of flowers he passed,
on each tree and stunted bush. Here and there he saw the subtle signs of
cultivation. A twig cut here, a branch twisted there. A single flower
growing in the middle of a group of moss-covered stones. Someone's hand
had carefully sculpted each tree and bush so that it looked natural to
the casual eye.
     It was so different from the garden at the Tendou home. There, the
order of things had been evident, the placement obvious even to him.
Here, the depth of the garden and the reason behind it escaped him as
surely as a dream slipped between the fingers of a closed fist. Yet, he
enjoyed being within its beauty and the peaceful contentment that seemed
to flow from the ordered chaos around him. He remembered something
Tendou-san had once told him. "Why uproot a single boulder when you can
hide it among two more?"
     At the time, the meaning in the question had eluded him like a
small rabbit he had chased as a boy. Wasn't it twice as much work to
bring two more rocks over instead of removing one? But looking at this
garden, he could understand the meaning behind the question. If one of
the trees around him were removed because of a distracting shape, a hole
that even his eye would discern would appear. So instead, why not blend
the tree into nature so it was not out of place? 
     Ranma shook his head. Such things were not for him. A tree was a
tree. The care in the garden deserved his admiration and the man who had
done it his respect, but to give it more meaning than that was a waste
of his time. What benefit was it for a chicken to wish to be a pampered,
prize pig when they both ended up on a plate? He was a warrior, and the
subtler and finer things in life were beyond him.
     Pushing the thoughts from his mind, Ranma made his way to the edge
of the plateau where he saw Sansui Kadzutoyo kneeling in seiza, his
hands resting lightly on his knees, beside a small, brass brazier on
which a kettle heated. "Join me, Saotome-san." The man's voice was frail
and soft, but it held a quality of authority that Ranma found himself
instantly obeying; even though the Master's words were only a
suggestion.
     Walking forward, Ranma took a seiza position next to Sansui- 
sensei. This close he was surprised at how frail the old man actually
was. As a child, he had thought the man a huge figure, larger than his
own father. Now he could see the bent shoulders, the long drooping
mustache of wispy white hair, and his nearly bald pate, browned and
wizened like a raisin from countless years beneath the sun.
     Dropping his eyes, Ranma turned to face the temple, dojo, and
living quarters spread in the small clearing below them. "I'm not what
you remember, am I Ranma?"
     Ranma didn't answer, not trusting his speech.
     Sansui coughed a short laugh. "I'm not afraid of the truth, boy.
I've known about my age for at least a few years." He chuckled and Ranma
had to smile with him. "In truth, have I changed that much?"
     Listening to the soft, grandfatherly voice, and feeling the
confidence radiating from the frail old man, Ranma had to admit that
Sansui Kadzutoyo had not changed much in the nine years since their last
meeting. 
     "I thought not, but you have changed much. I remember a boy full
of life, eager to learn and explore. You were an open gate, allowing all
inside. Now I see a dark wall staring back at me with eyes darkened by
pain, and a heart that weighs down on me when I look at you."
     "Is that why they all act so scared of me?" Ranma asked, gesturing
towards the temple where three monks were raking the paths.
     The wheezing laughter came again, and Ranma could picture the old
master shaking his head. "No, my son, they think you are some sort of
Buddha. Here is a girl that comes into our dojo, defended by a half- 
blind boy, and she nearly defeats one of our school's best fighters
before she goes unconscious for four days. Then you are turned into a
man, and those who watch over your sleep listen to words spoken about a
world none can understand. They think you have transcended to another
plane."
     "Sometimes, I think I have," Ranma whispered, his hand
involuntarily caressing the idol of Boukyaku. He had spent the time
before sunrise just watching the small stone statue. He'd seen the
swirling darkness slowly spreading. There had been no denying that it
was growing. Over the course of but an hour, it had sent two tentacles
probing out into the white of the rest of the stone. Only his own
intervention had kept them from staying permanently. Because of that
action, however, he felt empty inside, as if a part of his soul had left
his body. It was similar to the aching emptiness of missing Akane, but
this felt as if he had misplaced his right arm. It was painfully obvious
to him, but everyone else seemed to think he had both arms.
     "And what makes you think you can write with a pen?"
     Ranma frowned at the words. He knew what they meant, but not how
to apply them to his situation. Students in school were meant to write
with a pencil so they would be humble and admit and erase their
mistakes. Their immature hand had yet to gain mastery. Only adults could
use a pen and ink, for they no longer made mistakes. How did he explain
that his life rarely ever seemed to be lived on a normal plane of
existence? He was not a master of anything, even his Art. He simply was
a trespasser in a garden maze he had yet to understand the way through,
much less the goal of it. "Sometimes I wonder if I can even write at
all, Sensei."
     "I very much doubt that is the truth, Saotome-san," Sansui
answered. Ranma heard him take the tea kettle from the brazier, leaving
only a faint metallic clink. "Just the same as I doubt you should be
calling me sensei."
     "Gomen nasai," Ranma answered, bowing his head. He knew his words
had been presumptuous, but for three months, he had trained under
Sansui. If that didn't make him his sensei, then nothing would.
     "You have changed."
     "Nani?" Ranma stuttered, turning to face Sansui who was pouring
hot water into two cups. Placing the water aside, he took up a chasen
and began to whisk the tea with the small bamboo brush.
     As he whisked the tea to a froth, he spoke. "You misunderstand me,
Saotome-san. I taught you at one time, but that was many years ago."
     "But, a teacher is always a teacher," Ranma argued.
     Sansui shook his head as he knocked the chasen against the plain,
rude clay chawan. "A fish can teach a duck to swim, but can it teach a
duck to fly?"
     Ranma shook his head in puzzlement. "Why would a fish teach a duck
to swim when it already knows how? Besides, a fish swims differently
than a duck. Ask Mousse, he knows."
     Chuckling, Sansui handed him one of the chawan. Ranma bowed his
head and accepted it with two hands. He did have a few manners, despite
what most people believed. "When you can understand the answer, then you
will understand the question."
     Sighing, Ranma took a slow sip of the tea. He found the taste very
bitter, but he continued to drink it without complaint. Compared to
Akane's tea, this was tame. 
     "Do you know why I decided to teach you those many years ago?"
     Ranma shook his head. "Iie. I always just assumed everyone would
teach me.  I thought it was how things were."
     "Is that true?"
     "Iie. I see it in some of the students Tendou-san has in his dojo.
They talk about their pervious rejections from noted schools. They
always tell me how hard it is to be trained by anyone. Some have even
asked me how I trained under so many."
     "And your answer?"
     "That I was lucky."
     "Your student, Muu Tsu, is a very apt pupil," Sansui observed.  
     Ranma shrugged. "He has a long way to go."
     "Yet still he is better than any student I have here. Does that
say something?"
     Ranma almost said that the few students he had observed were not
of the caliber that his usual opponents were, but he kept his tongue in
check. "Maybe, but he spends way too much time on his weaponry. He
concentrates on one aspect of the Art to the exclusion of almost
everything else. He is more dependent on surprise than a consistent and
higher degree of skill. Sometimes I wonder if he isn't just physically
blind," Ranma muttered.
     "Then why did you teach him?"
     Ranma did not answer, allowing silence to lay over them like a
comforting down. Sipping their tea, they watched the grounds below them
as the dojo doors opened to pour forth students like water from a
fountain. For a moment, Ranma thought class had dispersed, but then a
body flew from the door, as if it had been shot from a cannon, to land
on the ground. Out of the dojo, Mousse strode carefully. Dressed in only
his pants, Mousse slipped into a stance and waited for the other man to
rise from the ground.
     As the other student took his own stance, Ranma nodded his
approval. Mousse had adopted a variant of the Crab stance which allowed
him more protection from the shorter opponent he faced. "Did you teach
him that?" Ranma asked. He knew Mousse had been training in the dojo
during his sickness.
     "No, he used that the first time that we sparred."
     Ranma smiled a little as Mousse initiated the attack, slipping in
close for a few experimental blows and then backing out before he 
settled into a rhythm. Ranma was pleased to see that Mousse had learned
a few things from watching his teacher. Ranma felt pride swell in his
heart as Mousse allowed the smaller student within his reach and then
quickly finished him with but a few blows. It was very satisfying to see
someone he had taught take such steps forward. And in that thought he
found his answer. "Because I saw the potential in him."
     "Not because you wanted him to beat your Amazon fiancee?"
     "How?" Ranma asked, turning to face Sansui, whose face was split
into a mischievous grin.
     "Don't be so surprised, Ranma. Did you think your student would
stay in silent meditation while his teacher recovered?"
     "I guess not," Ranma admitted in an embarrassed voice.
     "We actually had some very interesting conversations. That young
man has led a full life for one so young, but not nearly as full as your
own, from what I can gather."
     "If you call never having a home, never having friends, cursed in
more ways than one, a full life, I'd settle for an empty one. I'm chased
by unwanted fiancees, who all consider me their own property. I try to
deal with the one I want, yet we can barely touch because of the others.
I never asked for this. I just wanted to be a martial artist. I never
thought about family or a future. I just want to live my life, but
things keep stepping in an' disrupting it. It's not like I deserve any
of this. I'm not a toy, but I feel like one." Ranma gently lowered his
face into his hands. "Even my dreams aren't mine. I can't escape
anywhere except through my Art. But what good is it if I can't solve
everything? What good is any of this? Why do I suffer? What did I do to
deserve it?"
     "The man full of questions is one who has lived beyond himself."
     Ranma sighed ruefully as one more question was added to his
already insurmountable burden. "I don't need this."
     "I can't answer your questions," Sansui said, ignoring Ranma's
comment.
     "Why?"
     "Maybe that one I can answer." Sansui finished the last of his tea
and cleaned the lip of the chawan with his forefinger. "Your father came
to this place looking for food. As a temple we have always helped those
in need and gave him and you some food. You, however, had other ideas.
You went to the dojo after only touching your food."
     "I remember," Ranma said. "I wanted to see what was going on
there. I kept hearing the kiais of training students. I wanted to
watch."
     "You weren't very patient back then. I'm surprised you are able to
sit here this long and listen to me, but this is the present. As a
child, you wanted to try everything. So you challenged one of the
students."
     "He wasn't very good," Ranma explained.
     Sansui only chuckled. "I watched an eight-year old boy take on a
student well above him in both skill and age. I expected the student to
easily win, but at each knockdown, you took your place again and
continued the fight. Each time you came closer and closer to him and
took longer and longer to lose. Finally, you sent him to the floor. In a
matter of minutes you absorbed and took advantage of another style you
had never seen before."
     Ranma shrugged. He didn't recall it that way. He remembered the
grinning face of the student, the similarities in the attacks and his
own determination to beat him. Size had not mattered, and in the end he
had found the openings he had needed. 
     "I asked your father to stay, so that I could train you. He
agreed, since I was offering free food and board and a place for you
both to train. But I didn't want to train you, Ranma. I wished to learn
from you."
     Ranma blinked in surprise and turned to once again face Sansui. "I
don't understand," Ranma finally said.
     "I saw in you something I'd never seen. You were under the
tutelage of a man that I found deficient. I sparred with him several
times while he was here. I also closely watched him. He was a wretched
teacher. He expected results without work. You gave them, even though he
barely taught you, only sparring against you. I wondered how you could
have gained the skill you had gained. I wanted to learn how you flew and
swam at the same time. But I couldn't. Everything I taught you was
absorbed as if you were a sponge. In the little time you were here, you
gained the rudiments of my style and advanced into levels few of my
students ever attempt."
     Sansui paused, and Ranma ran the old man's words in his mind. He
didn't understand them, but he could grasp at the meaning. He knew that
he absorbed the Art, but he'd never thought about it. He thought it was
the only way to do it. You either didn't, or you did.
     "Ranma, you have an ancient soul. It is one with many lives to
build upon, but one with even more troubles to master. Do you
understand? Don't you ever feel it?"
     Ranma nodded in spite of his confusion. "You mean I'm just
building upon something that was started long ago."
     "Very good, Ranma," Sansui-san congratulated, "but it is not the
whole truth. There are many ways to reach enlightenment. Some are
through meditation, some through work and understanding, and still
others through the tempering fires of grief and sorrow."
     "So all this sorrow and pain is my destiny?" Ranma asked quietly.
     "I don't know that, my son. I barely understand my own life. How
can I teach you about yours?"
     A bell began to sound from the temple, interrupting Ranma before
he could ask a question. Sansui stood from his place and collected a
bamboo staff that Ranma had failed to notice. "It is time for the midday
meal. We can talk at another time. Would you like to join me?"
     Ranma shook his head. His appetite had disappeared in the recent
days. "I need some time to think. I'll join you for dinner."
     "Would you accept an invitation to practice Forms with me this
evening? You'll be leaving tomorrow, so this is the only chance for me
to train with you."
     Ranma nodded. "Hai, I'd be honoured to do Forms with you. I wish I
could stay, but I have things to do."
     "I understand. Until later."
     Ranma turned to face Sansui and bowed from the seiza position.
Sansui returned the bow and began to walk off, his pace even and steady
despite the frail body that his brown, tattered robes hung from. Ranma
watched him go and then returned to his own troubled thoughts.
Instinctively, he reached into the pouch at his side and removed the
statue. "What is happening, Xian Lin?" he whispered. "What does this all
mean?"


                               --2--



     The evening meal had just ended and many of the students and monks
of the Sansui Temple were gathering in the temple courtyard. It had been
decided that it would be easier for Ranma and Sansui to practice Forms
in the open where they would not be crowded by the limited space within
the dojo. Ranma was actually displeased with all of Sansui-sensei's
students showing up for something he considered a great honour. But how
could he say no to Sansui? It had been Sansui who had stood up at the
evening meal and offered a chance to watch him practice with his guest
Saotome-sensei. Those had been his exact words, and Ranma was still
nervous about hearing the sensei attached to his name.
     He stood with Mousse by the entrance to the dojo. A scowl adorned
his face, and he had no intention of removing it. The atmosphere felt
like Nabiki had found him and gathered one of her sellout crowds that
she always conjured up for his fights. He hated that. A challenge was a
serious matter to him. It was never an opportunity for a carnival. As a
test of skill and resolve, it was an integral part of his honour and the
honour of the school. It was not a tournament. 
     "Why don't you just go kill someone?" Mousse suggested quietly
from his left side. "It'll make you feel better, and make me feel a
little more comfortable standing next to you."
     "I don't like this," Ranma answered, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Most dropped their eyes from his, but the one person he recognized,
Gankogyu, stared back defiantly. They had not spoken since he had woken
from his fever-induced sleep, and Ranma preferred it that way. He had
decided to let the First Disciple's comments and insults slide. He could
have made an honour match out of it, but he felt no compunction to do
so. Just watching Gankogyu, Ranma could tell that he was the superior
fighter. Gankogyu had skill. Ranma would admit that, but he was only a
little better than Akane. Ranma had nothing to prove, and everyone knew
it.
     "You could always decline," Mousse said, breaking Ranma's
concentration.
     "I could also ask Shampoo to just leave me alone." Ranma turned
his attention back on the gathering crowd. By his estimates, almost
everyone was there. "Do you know what it means to be invited to do Forms
against someone?"
     "In the tribe, we rarely ever did any stylized fighting. Few
Amazons see the point of it."
     "It's different here," Ranma explained. "We use forms to teach
students. We have them face each other and run through a kata, each
reacting to another. It is a way to test if they can do the rudiments."
     "Can't you determine the same from a sparring match or a contest?"
Mousse asked.
     "When you spar, you are not limited to certain moves. You aren't
truly constrained by your Art. Sparring is martial. Forms are the Art."
Ranma motioned at all the gathered students and monks, nearly fifty in
all. "I could easily defeat any of them in a sparring match. Sansui-   
sensei realizes this, so he offered me Forms. It is a test. He'll
determine how good I am by how well I perform. Also, it is a recognition
of my skill. He is a grand master of his school. Technically, I'm only a
student who has been appointed heir to a school. A student and his
sensei will never go through Forms. If a sensei did such a thing, he'd
be raising the student to his level, or lowering himself to the
student's level."
     "So this is a great honour," Mousse stated.
     "If I do well in this," Ranma said, "if I don't screw up or make
any mistakes, I'll be recognized as a teacher of the Art. I've never
been tested by anyone. I have no status in the organized world of
martial arts. My school doesn't work well with the more stylized
schools. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be formally training, neither is
my father. Tendou-san has been tested, and he has a ranking in kenpou.
Before I inherit the dojo, I'll need to be tested. This is my test right
here."
     "But you're not of his school. How can he test you?" Mousse asked.
The entire system made no sense to him. In the Amazon tribe, the winner
was the best. If he wanted to advance, he had to defeat someone who was
better than himself. But, if he had fought a member of another school,
he would have only begun a feud.
     "Each school has its own set of Forms. Well, almost every," Ranma
added after a moments thought. "Anything-Goes does not have any set of
katas or forms. There are common forms though. They're like the
beginner's kata you always see me practicing. They're common to every
school, and you're expected to know them. Of course my father never
considered them worth teaching. I had to pick them up on my own,
watching others. I just hope I can remember the one he chooses."
     "I wish you..." Mousse was cut off by Ranma as Sansui exited from
the temple. He was wearing a black dogi with a red, black-tipped belt
tied around his waist. He no longer walked with the support of his cane,
and held himself erect, his thin hair tied back in a pigtail very
similar to Ranma's. 
     Knowing Sansui-sensei would not call him out, Ranma left Mousse's
side and made his way with easy strides to the center of the courtyard.
When he was about two meters in font of Sansui, Ranma came to a halt and
bowed to the older man. Sansui nodded his head in return and Ranma felt
the nervousness he had held off all afternoon settle like sludge in his
stomach. Despite his words to Mousse, he'd been hoping that the Forms
would be nothing more than a formality. Sansui-sensei's attitude,
however, was that of a teacher to a student. He had decided to test
Ranma.
     Although he should have been ecstatic at the prospect of finally
gaining the acceptance he deserved, doubts plagued him. In his entire
life, he had never been tested in anything involving the Art. He'd faced
challenges and sparred and fought with countless martial artists, but he
had never taken the time to go to a school and test for a rank. Even
though he claimed to have a ranking of ninth dan in kenpou and high
ranks in other schools, he knew it was only a guess on his part. Mousse,
who had been tested in his tribe, held a higher rank then Ranma within
the organized world of the Art. In truth, Kunou or even a wet beginner
outranked him.
      Sansui-sensei assumed an opening stance before the doubts could
run rampant like children within Ranma's mind. All he could conclude, as
he assumed the countering, opening stance, was that he hated the
nervousness that he felt at the moment. 
     A word was never spoken about which Form they would use. Each Form
had a different opening stance, and since Ranma was testing for his
status as a sensei, he was required to know every common Form by just
observing the opening stance. He recognized this one. It was not a
complicated Form, but it was a long one. It was a variant of the basic
beginners kata that followed the same circuitous build up to a climax
and then work down to the beginning. The main difference was in the
length. The Form he was about to commence held nearly four hundred
separate attacks and defenses, strictly regimented in placement, exten- 
sion, depth, power, and speed. Though the moves were simple, the Form
was the most difficult to be tested on. Instead of being tested in one
round, the Form would continue until he or Sansui made a miscalculation
in a position. At that point the outcome would be decided by the victor.
If he made a mistake, he could be given his status despite the mistake,
depending on how long he continued and how well he did. If Sansui-sensei
faltered, then Ranma gained his rank and more.
     Lost within his thoughts, Ranma barely noticed the first movement.
He rushed his block to keep the Form going. Although it ended in a
perfect move, for a moment, he expected Sansui to call the match
finished, but he never spoke. Instead the second attack came and then
the third.
     Ranma followed the Form automatically, his body reacting before he
could think about the move. He did the Form as he fought, without
thought and by intuition. Each attack was blocked by the prescribed
defense. He moved his feet according to the pattern so that they were
moving in a slow circle. At times he'd find an opening for a few moves
before the match was switched back to Sansui's offense. They moved at
neither a fast pace nor a snail's crawl. Instead they gauged the other,
looking for strengths and weaknesses within the structure of the Form. 
     Ranma recognized Sansui's skill and experience as Sansui
recognized Ranma's natural aptitude to read the logical flow of the Form
and respond in the perfect manner. As they reached the climax of the
form, Ranma saw the opening that gave him the control of the descent
down to where Sansui would once again take over the offensive. He
blocked and moved in with his own strike, mimicking the moves with which
Sansui had started.
     To the watchers, the two were strangely paired dancers, an old man
and a young man, both near masters of their respective Arts. Since the
announcement, many students of the Sansui-ryu had anticipated a brief
match, glaring in its unbalanced form and conclusion. The truth was a
wonder to them. Master and student flowed across the clearing in an
endless circle of weaving and attacking. To them, it was a stylized
dance. The fluidity within the movements of each of the participants was
such that they never saw the slight pause after each move, the change in
weight and balance as a foot shifted position for the next attack. They
could only see the simplistic beauty of the orchid instead of the
complexity held within its blossom.
     It was different for Ranma. He saw the balance that was maintained
between himself and the Master of Sansui-ryu. As they continued trading
the lead back and forth as if it were the blame of a failed coup, the
Form completed its circuit once, twice and on into the third time. Even
at this stage, Ranma could see that the winner of this match would only
come from a slight mistake. Sansui had years of dedicated training and
tireless devotion to his Art beneath each of his moves. Each was
perfect. There was no flaw in technique or execution. For Ranma, it was
the opposite. 
     His innate understanding of the Art and his body's natural
adaptation to attack and defense allowed him to anticipate and react to 
a perceived shift in balance. Each move was a conscious effort on his
part, though. If he did not watch his opponent, the Form would slip away
from him. He was forcing himself to stay active within the Form. Yet, he
could never keep his mind active for extended periods of time. Sooner or
later he'd lapse and the match would go to Sansui-sensei. He needed a
way to break his mind's control on his body.
     It was difficult for Ranma to do this. He remembered the words his
father had said to him when he found him practicing a Form. "What did I
tell you?" his father's voice boomed.
     Pausing in the middle of a postion, his leg upraised in prepara- 
tion for a kick, Ranma turned to his father, his small face reflecting
his confusion. "I'm only practicing, Otousan. I thought you wanted me to
practice."
     "That, is not what our Art is about," Genma stated in disgust. "We
are a school of fighters. If we start accepting the stylized forms of
other schools we'll lose our edge. That relies on memory and recital to
a point where you don't think about it."
     "But you've always said I shouldn't have to think about fighting."
     "Yes, but not in that way. That limits you to a few moves. You
remember them. You should learn to react automatically to what is
happening. Pay attention. Watch with your eyes. Your body will do the
rest. It'll react to the threat. It knows what's best. Our Art has
always been about intuition and knowing what is right for the moment. We
are a formless school that relies on that lack of form to create our
advantage. Don't forget that. Learn to read your opponent. Learn to
react to him. Adapt to him. Don't ever face him with a sword but with an
arsenal." 
     He had heeded his father's words, and now because of that he had
found the flaw in their Art. It could never compete form against form
and hope to win. He was only copying a partially remembered Form and was
using his instincts to react to the rest. It was not a winning tactic.
He had to be able to let himself go into the Form, but how did he do
that? He didn't have enough confidence in the Form to let the actions
lead him. It wasn't like when he did a kata. Those he did automatically
to relax, to find his center...his wa.
     Ranma's eyes opened wide as he deflected Sansui's last move and
then took the opening and moved in for his own first attack. Then part
of his mind detached again and began to search his memories for the
answer.
     He had been resting beside Xian Lin after one of their many
training sessions. Around them the world of Boukyaku still burned in a
hellish intensity that belied the peace and comfort they had found in
each other. Xian Lin's eyes were lowered, her hands perched atop her
knees as she meditated in the lotus position. On many occasions, she
retreated into meditation after their sparring sessions to relax and
gain back her strength. Although she had taught him how to do it, he
rarely attempted it. The only benefit he saw from meditating was the
relief it gave him from the oppressive weight of Boukyaku's world.
Beyond that boon he found little practical reason to practice the
exercise.
     "Really?"
     Xian Lin's voice surprised him. Turning his head, he saw her
observing him with her sea-green eyes. It was disconcerting how often
she grabbed thoughts from his mind and answered his unspoken questions.
Out of courtesy he tried to remain out of her thoughts, but she seemed
to have little compunction about such things. 
     "I just don't understand how it'll make me better in my martial
arts," Ranma said. "I see why you need it. Heck, I can feel why it's
useful while I'm here, but what about out there where I belong."
     Xian Lin frowned and chewed on her lower lip for a moment as she
searched for an answer. "I don't know why it would, Ranma," she finally
stated. "I really don't. But, in the village, it was always taught that
you should find your center. The Art was explained as a blending of the
body and nature. You told me yourself that you've mastered your body. It
reacts without conscious thought. You say you can feel the world around
you and react to it even though you can't see it, but you can't touch
your soul. When you can touch your soul, the world opens up to you. I
fight in a different world than you. When we spar, I know what I'm doing
wrong by how it feels. I wrap myself in that inner calm and let it
control me. I feel the balance of my movements compared to your own.
When the balance is right, I'm holding. When it swings in my favour, I'm
winning. It is the same if I'm losing. It feels wrong. What would that
give to you in your fighting? If you could find your center and make it
part of your Art?"
     At the time, her words had made as much sense as women did to him.
On the surface he understood the meaning. It made perfect sense, but
underneath the words was a world that he could barely understand or
grasp. It was the difference between understanding what a period was and
dealing with the reality. How was it possible to explain the discomfort,
the irritation, or the fear that accompanied the condition for himself?
It was the same with Xian Lin's words. 
     Like any male, he could understand what the period was, but until
he experienced it, the words were only words. But, being a part of
Boukyaku's world, residing so close to his own soul did what the curse
allowed him to do. It opened a way for him to experience the words as
more than words. 
     He had felt the perfect balance that Xian Lin described only once
though. The day before leaving Mount Fuji, he returned from his
explosive outburst to commence a calming exercise. The frustration of
the day flawed his Art and made it seem like he was writing with a chunk
of ink instead of a fine brush. 
     With each failure came more frustration and anger, yet, beneath it 
hung a helpless feeling of inadequacy, failure, and despondency. At each
new failure those figments came forward to mock him, showing him how
much his life had been taken from him. In the end, he collapsed to his
knees wanting only to cry in desperation, but nothing answered but a
deep, abiding emptiness.
     Alone, he'd sought the only comfort he could, Xian Lin's constant
presence at his side. He found a purpose for the instant in the trust
and love he felt constantly radiating from the idol that had sealed his
fate. Bringing himself to his feet, he focused himself and began to go
through the beginners kata with agonizing slowness. He allowed his Art
to take him with it, abandoning himself to the movements to allow the
feeling of rightness to manifest itself. It came slowly, over many
repetitions, but in the end he found a center of absolute calm that
radiated outward and engulfed his body to bring him to a new height of
awareness and understanding. The kata turned into an experience that was
nearly orgasmic in its intensity for him. 
     The day burned in his memory, but he could never find that center
again. Too much had interrupted him. The dreams pushed his body farther
away from his wa and more toward fuwa. It was the discord form the
dreams that destroyed his chances of finding his wa, but here he felt no
discord. Here he felt the same peace he'd felt on the slopes of Mount
Fuji. If he just let himself go...
     Pushing away the world around him, Ranma merged his entire self
into the small sphere of the Form. It was only himself and his opponent.
Two beings struggling. Two souls vying for domination, just as Xian Lin
had done when trapped within his own body. The Form became a symbolic
representation of that struggle. He did not look to win. He searched for
the balance that would bridge him towards the final step. 
     It took time and several near missteps before a door opened within
him. He was fighting a lifetime of ingrained doctrine in an instant
where he was being forced to focus entirely on his actions. It was not
like a switch was flipped, but, instead, it was a slow and agonizing
process that was more like gathering sand grain by grain instead of by
shovel full. At times he wanted to just give in to the inevitable and
allow the match to end. He had proven himself to be adept at the Art,
but he knew there was more potential in himself. That untapped potential
was a chunk of gristle that he was constantly gnawing, trying to break
down and digest. The taste sickened him, but he continued to try.
     He could feel the edges of his goal. It was a whisper of a dream
half-forgotten, but he knew it was there, could taste its lingering
afterglow. Yet, every time he relaxed enough to feel his body starting
to let go, he tried to grab hold of it and lost the mist-like substance
between his clenched fingers.
     How did he do it? How had he done it before? 
     "Let go, Ranma. Trust yourself," Xian Lin had told him as he knelt
before her trying to find his wa. "You can't force it. Once it is near
you, you have to ignore it and let it take you. You can never take
peace. To force peace and calm is to flaw it in the most basic sense.
You have to trust that the peace will come, that the balance will be
found within you."
     Doing that terrified though. If he let go, the Form would falter
and he would lose, but if he didn't he would lose despite all of his
work. He didn't want to lose. He wanted to prove himself. His whole life
had come to this moment in time. Lose or lose. The life of a martial
artist is fraught with danger. Without sacrifice there is no gain.
Without life there is no death. Without balance there was no discord.
Without discord there was no balance. 
     Ranma let go.


                               --3--



     "I wish you good luck, Miss," the young woman behind the ticket
counter said in consolation.
     Ukyou nodded her thanks and made her way from the ticket area and
out of the front sliding doors of the airport. Luck wasn't helping her,
but she desperately wished that it would. She had checked every flight
leaving the Hiroshima International Airport, and Ranma had been on none
of them over the last two weeks. He also hadn't pre-booked any passage
to China either. Nothing. It was as if he had disappeared off the face
of the Earth. 
     For four days she had been going on hearsay and guesses. North of
Okayama-fu, she lost the trail in a small village. Ranma had gone
through it, and they informed her that he was heading for Okayama. Once
in Okayama though, she found no trace of him. No one had seen them or
heard of the duo she was tracking. Like hawks on a cloudy day did to an
avid bird watcher, they disappeared from her vigilant sight.
     Ryouga was waiting for her outside the door. He was sitting down
against one of the round cement columns that supported the overhead
balcony. Ukyou had decided early on that it was easier to put Ryouga in
a single place and tell him to wait rather than trying to drag him along
with her. When he wasn't moving there was that much less chance of him
getting lost. 
     Sometimes she wished she could just allow him to wander off. The
last six days together had not been the highlight of her life. Her high
hopes of finally having a comforting presence around whom she could talk
with were quickly dashed as if thrown from the cliff on which they had
fought. Although they talked, it was rarely and always terse. Ryouga
always seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, and no matter how
often she prodded him to speak, he generally ignored her not so subtle
prompts. 
     He was elusive about his reasons for going after Ranma. He had let
slip that he knew where he was going, but not who had told him. From his
revelations about his curse, she could easily guess who, unwittingly,
had told him. She consoled herself by trying to put herself in his
shoes. It was obvious he wanted a piece of Ranma, and since she loved
Ranma, he was afraid to tell her very much. She sympathized with him.
She could understand his logic, but understanding and accepting were two
very different states of mind.  
     She was reluctant to force Ryouga to talk. She knew that their
relationship was a very tenuous one, but she didn't know how long she
could sit quietly on the sidelines and watch Ryouga slowly become
consumed by his hatred. Denying the reason for Ryouga's search for Ranma
was a mistake. Ukyou knew this and was unwilling to risk her happiness
with Ranma on a vendetta that most people would consider inane. It was
the fact that the essence of Ryouga's hatred was so trifling, if not
ludicrous, compared to many others that Ukyou was worried. It was very
hard, even for Kunou, to be that blind to reality. Something else, under
the surface, was building the fires in which Ryouga found his purpose.
She knew it was there. He let small things slip in his sleep. He
sometimes said the oddest things, and when Ukyou pushed him about it, he
would clam up and tell her it was nothing. 
     Ukyou sighed in defeat. It was a losing battle, and truthfully she
wasn't worried too much about Ryouga. She was with him and she could
warn Ranma if it came to that. But she needed to find her Ranchan first.
     With their last clue gone, she needed to find out more from
Ryouga, who seemed to know a good deal about where Ranma was going. She
herself had a very good idea where Ranma was going to end up, but she
had no clue where Joketsuzoku was located. All she knew was that it was
near Jusenkyo, and at least Ryouga had an idea where Jusenkyo was
located. She needed him as a guide.
     The thought brought a smile to her face. Who would have imagined
needing Ryouga to lead anyone anywhere? Of course he wouldn't be
leading. He would only tell her how to get there, and she would take
care of the rest. 
     Focusing her eyes on Ryouga, she watched the ebb and flow of
people part around the young man who was muttering to himself. Sighing,
Ukyou made her way over to him and stood above him.
     As her shadow fell across his face, he looked up and nodded at
her. "You don't look too happy," he pointed out. "I guess Ranma didn't
stop by here."
     "No, he wasn't here, and that means we've got to make a decision."
     "What kind of decision can we make?" Ryouga asked shrugging his
shoulders and standing up. "I'll follow Ranma to the ends of the earth.
That's my decision."
     "So then where is he?" Ukyou demanded. "If you know something I
don't know, you'd better tell me."
     "How am I supposed to know where he is?"
     "You said you were following him," Ukyou explained evenly. "That
implies that you know where he is right now or where he is heading."
     "I don't know where he is."
     "Then, where is he heading?"
     "China," Ryouga answered simply as if it were the most obvious
response in the world.
     "I already knew that."
     "Then why'd you ask?"
     Ukyou almost screamed in frustration. "Ryouga, let me explain
everything to you in simple terms," Ukyou said with exaggerated
patience. "We don't know where Ranma is. We lost his trail four days
ago, and we haven't been able to pick it up since. He didn't come here,
but maybe he wasn't coming here in the first place. We could keep going
down the island till we reach Kyuushuu, but I doubt that will help. For
all we know, Ranma is either behind us or already in China. That gives
us two choices. We can go to Kyuushuu and hope, or we try and get ahead
of him and just go to China from here."
     Ryouga sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. You're right, Ukyou.
I just want to find him. I'm not allowing him to get away with what he
did to Akane." 
     "I wish you'd stop saying that. Ranma had no choice in this. He
had to go to China. Akane's the one that broke the engagement. How many
times do we have to go over this?"
     Ryouga shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
Ukyou thought he said something like you don't know everything, but she
was unsure. Deciding that it was not worth pursuing, Ukyou returned to
her original point. "We're already at an airport. I've got enough money
to get us to China. We can fly into Hong Kong and make our way from
there to the Amazon tribe, if that is where he is going."
     "He's going there," Ryouga affirmed. "Akane told me when I was
cursed."
     "See," Ukyou commented, "your curse is useful for something, but
you've gotta stop jumping to conclusions. You wouldn't be out here if
you had heard the full story."
     "I heard more than enough," Ryouga answered his eyes going flinty.
For a moment, Ukyou thought he was going to start another argument with
her, but he just continued on as if nothing had happened. "Why are we
going to Hong Kong anyway? I mean, if he's going to Shampoo's village,
why don't we just wait for him there?"
     "We will, but there are only a few places we can fly to that will
let us in with little in the way of passports and visas. Hong Kong is
one of those places," Ukyou explained. "Besides, if we happen to meet
Ranma in Hong Kong we can settle everything there. Or we might find
Shampoo, and then we can follow her back to her village."
     "Why would we want to do that?" Ryouga asked.
     "Do you know where it is?"
     "Somewhere near Jusenkyo. Like two or three days from it."
     "Do you know where Jusenkyo is?"
     "Northern China," Ryouga replied, "in the Bayan Kara range."
     Ukyou frowned, trying to remember her geography. "That's northeast
of Tibet, isn't it?"
     Ryouga shrugged. He had never been a very apt pupil in a geography
class. For some reason he could never recall how countries and provinces
lined up on a map. He always got them backwards on tests and did it with
even more frequency in his inadvertent travels.
     "So you're telling me that you only have a rather vague guess as
to where Ranma's destination is? And that Ranma knows exactly where it
is?"
     "Yeah, I guess. I know what Jusenkyo looks like, and I could
probably tell you which mountain it is at the bottom of, but other than
that..." Ryouga spread his hands helplessly.
     "So then, tell me why it is such a good idea to find Shampoo and
follow her?"
     "Because she knows where her village is?" Ryouga asked in an
uncertain voice.
     Ukyou smiled. "I'm glad you figured it out, Ryouga. There might be
hope for you after all. Now we need to get some tickets for a plane, and
I need to update my passport. What about yours?"
     "My what?"
     "Your passport. You do have one, don't you?"
     Ryouga shook his head. "I never really needed one. I don't think
I've ever been stopped at a border."
     Ukyou sighed in frustration. "We're going to have to get a place
to stay then. It's going to take a few days to get you a passport, maybe
longer." For the first time in her life, Ukyou wished that she had
access to Nabiki. If anyone could have gotten Ryouga a passport, she
could have. Ukyou shook her head. Needing Nabiki and traveling with
Ryouga. She had never thought that any of those words would be used in
the same sentence in her head without a negative on the end.
     Taking a step forward, she took Ryouga's arm and dragged him into
the swirling crowds that were streaming into the airport. They had a lot
to do, and the airport would probably have all the information they
needed. Besides, they needed to work fast, or else they were never going
to beat Ranma to China and the Amazon village.


                               --4--



     Ranma bolted upright in his sleeping roll, a scream catching in his
throat. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his blankets. In his chest,
his heart was hammering out a quick time march that was sending his
blood pounding in his ears. For a few moments he remained like this,
trying to recall the fast fading dream. Only brief flashes remained of
the horror that had gripped him in his sleep. He remembered Xian Lin. He
remembered her cries for help and the pain she'd been suffering.
Everything else was gone. An impression of unreasoning terror was the
only footprint left in his conscious mind.
     The dreams were no longer real, and that scared him more than the
vivid nightmares of the past. He could only tell that Xian Lin was in
dire, perhaps life threatening, trouble. It was easier to delude himself
about her safety when he saw her and heard her encouraging words. Now
she no longer gave him that comforting presence. Even touching the idol
often made his chest tighten and his heart flutter as if an invisible
hand had begun to squeeze it.
     He needed to help her. He owed her more than anyone. She was
suffering to give him a chance at life again, and he was not going to
allow her to suffer, or die, for his sake. But how? How did he help her?
He didn't know, and that fact wounded him deeply. The helplessness he
felt was eating him away on the inside. Xian Lin did not deserve the
persecution of hell she was enduring. He should have been the one to
stay behind. He should have done something more, forced Cologne to give
in. Those choices had already been made and were set in stone. All he
could do was hope. Still, hope did little to ease his guilt.
     Sighing, Ranma pushed himself from his bedroll. He knew there was
no chance of ever returning to sleep now that he'd had the first dream.
Glancing outside he saw the eastern horizon beginning to lighten, the
half-moon hanging just above the horizon. He had maybe half an hour
before dawn. At least, he'd gotten nearly a full night of sleep before
the dreams had started. 
     Straightening, he stretched, enjoying the feel of his muscles
tightening and unwinding in a delicious burn. He also noticed that he
was still female from a mishap of the previous night. Shaking his head,
Ranma began to chuckle quietly. Of course he was still female. It wasn't
likely for hot water to fall on him during the night, especially when
there was very little of it around the Sansui-ji. He would just have to
be a her for most of the day.
     Sighing regretfully, Ranma began to undress and search for his
clothes. Fumbling for a suitable set of clothing, his hands encountered
a neatly folded bundle of silk. He knew what it was instantly, but
couldn't help himself from pulling the bundle from the pack and
unwrapping it so he could look at it. He still felt a tremor of pride
run down his spine and spread throughout his body as he held the
slippery silk. It was his dogi, the outfit of a sensei he had earned and
been presented with the previous night. 
     Closing his eyes he tried to capture the moment of the final few
circuits of the Form. After he had given himself to and embraced his wa,
a new world had opened to him. Even now he knew he could find that
moment of peace that waited within his reach, but he refused the
temptation and simply relived the memory. 
     Aware of the world around him and the movements of his body, he
had clicked with his Art, becoming one with everything. He could feel
the potential and power within his body, the untapped reserves that were
so much nearer to his hands now. But mostly he remembered the change in
the Form. It became like breathing to him. It was his unconscious that
led him as he slid from position to position with only knowing what felt
right. The balance was there. He could feel the natural progression of
the Form, the complex harmony within its simplistic movements. 
     Even within his own mind he could not give the feeling he had felt
a name or even a picture. The closest approximation had been his last
night with his beloved Akane. What he felt in the total surrender to the
Art was what he felt when he had surrendered his heart, soul, and body
to Akane. For a time, everything was perfect. For a time, nothing else
in the world mattered except the perfection of his Art, his love for it.
     He had won at that point, but the Form had continued as he set the
pace faster and faster, the positions becoming blurs in his mind.
Although he could not read Sansui's face, he felt the subtle changes in
the Master's defenses and attacks, the imbalance of his opponent's
moves. Then the balance, irretrievably, turned his way. It was an
insignificant thing, barely noticeable to even the most skilled martial
artists. Sansui was a fraction off on his block, but Ranma knew he had
won at that moment. Sansui recognized the truth also. The next attack
would go through the Master's defenses. 
     Pausing in the position, Ranma returned to the real world and
stepped back from the Master of Sansui-ryu and bowed to him. Around him
the crowd maintained an awed silence, wondering what the outcome was.
They were given the answer as Sansui Kadzutoyo returned a bow of equal
depth, acknowledging Ranma as his equal in skill.
     As the memories of the match and Sansui presenting him with a dogi
and master's belt poured over him, a euphoric smile crept across Ranma's
lips. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he was truly happy. For
a moment all the hardships disappeared in the soaring pride of the
knowledge that he was a master of the Art, that he had defeated a master
of a school, that he had gained the right and privilege to build his own
school, his own dojo. The dream that a father's inadvertent words had
spawned was now within Ranma's reach.
     Basking in the moment, he sat quietly with the dogi in his arms,
letting the emotions play across his heart. It was with great reluctance
that he returned the dogi to his pack as the sounds of people rising
began to filter in from the outside.
     Quickly pulling on one of his Chinese shirts and the matching
trousers, Ranma stood up and made his way out of the dojo and into the
still dim light that covered the courtyard of Sansui-ji. The only sound
of his passing was the creaking of the floor board. Behind him, Mousse
stirred, but Ranma didn't notice. For the first time in three weeks, he
was thrilled to be alive.
     For a time, he traversed the temple grounds, trying to enjoy the
morning, but he wasn't very successful. At every turn down the
immaculate paths surrounding the temple, he was greeted by monks or
students of the dojo. This would have been perfectly acceptable to him
if they didn't insist on bowing to him as he passed and greeting him
very formally. He might have dealt with that. He understood that many of
them considered him an enlightened man, or woman at the moment, because
of his curse and the match of the previous night. It annoyed and
disconcerted Ranma, who was used to being insulted and treated with
general disrespect by the people around him. No, it was the older and
more advanced students' attitudes that slowly began to grate on his
patience and calm.
     Ranma could recognize most of the students by face and knew their
general rank in the school. Many of the higher ranked students treated
him with a quiet disdain, their mumbled greetings insincere as they
bowed with their eyes locked on his own. If it had been anyone else they
wouldn't have gone to such lengths, but, to them, Ranma was a nobody who
had walked in and humiliated their master, even though it had been
Sansui, himself, who had offered Forms to Ranma.
     Desiring to escape the condescending and sarcastic glances, Ranma
turned onto a path that led away from the temple. Here he found no one
to disturb him. The path itself was not well worn. It seemed that very
few people ever came this way, or they only tread it on certain
occasions. 
     As he followed the path, the trees surrounded him like silent
sentinels as the refreshing scents of the wilderness tantalized his
senses. Around him the world lived, and for the moment Ranma wallowed
and luxuriated in the contentment and peace surrounding him.
     As he walked, however, he began to get an uncomfortable feeling
between his shoulder blades. It felt like someone was watching him, but
every time he turned around he saw nothing but the undisturbed beauty of
the forest. After the third time, Ranma shrugged his shoulders and just
ignored the feeling.
     Instead, he concentrated on the splashing of falling water that
began to fill the air. Excited by the prospect of bathing in a cold
mountain stream, Ranma increased his pace until he exited the trees and
found herself in paradise. 
     He was standing on a grassy slope, sporadically strewn with moss
covered boulders. In the center of the clearing was a pool several
meters wide and long. He couldn't tell the depth, but the water was
light in colour so it wasn't be too deep. On his left rose the sheer
face of the plateau that overlooked the Sansui-ji and the small peak
above it. A small waterfall fell down the cliff face to feed the pool. 
     Without a glance around or even an exclamation of joy, Ranma
removed his clothes and dove into the chill water, shuddering as the
cold water surrounded him and brought him fully awake. The shock of the
water forced the air from his lungs, and he propelled himself toward the
surface. Breaking the surface, he took in a deep lungful of the sweet
morning air, and treaded water in the center of the pool. 
     Moving closer to shore, his feet found purchase and he stood up
and ran his fingers through his hair, wringing the excess water out. It
was then that he heard chuckling. "I never thought I'd see a girl
splashing in this pool, especially not one like you, Ranma."
     Spinning, Ranma assumed a combat stance, only to quickly drop
beneath the pool surface as he saw Sansui perched atop a boulder,
watching him with twinkling eyes. Blushing, Ranma regarded Sansui for a
moment and then asked, "What are you doing way out here?"
     "I always spend my mornings here, Saotome-san," Sansui responded
and then began chuckling again, "but I never get this much
entertainment."
     Ranma knew that if it had been Akane in the pool and himself on
the rocks, he would have been dead by now. Actually, that probably
wasn't true anymore, he informed himself, but it had been the truth in
the past. Ranma, however, knew that it was his fault for not checking.
That knowledge did little to alleviate his embarrassment though.
     "Why don't you get dressed, Saotome-san?" Sansui suggested. "I'd
like to speak with you, unless you want to continue frolicking in the
water."
     Ranma blushed and dropped his eyes. The curse had been with him so
long that he rarely gave a thought to what form he was in at any given
moment. Truthfully, the difference between the two bodies had begun to
blur in the past year. He figured the human mind could adapt to
anything, and though he thought of himself as a man, he became very
conscious of his gender when others mentioned it. And if not for Sansui,
Ranma probably would have ignored that he was a she.
     Shaking her head, Ranma exited the water and hurriedly put her
clothes on, ignoring the water that was soaked up by them. Since she had
been cursed, Ranma had been forced to adapt to wearing wet clothes more
than dry ones. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't a hindrance to her
either. She finished dressing quickly, and walked over to the boulder
where Sansui sat, looking away from Ranma. 
     Taking a seat, Ranma drew her legs up into the lotus position and
said, "What did you want to speak about, Sansui-sensei?" Ranma asked.
     "I'm no longer your teacher, Saotome-san," Sansui smiled, "but
there are things I want to talk to you about."
     "What things?" Ranma asked cautiously.
     "What has brought you here. What is happening to you. What I see
for you and your student. Will you listen?"
     Ranma nodded her head. Neither of them noticed Mousse as he knelt
behind a tree at the edge of the clearing, his ears intent on the
conversation that was taking place.
     Waiting for Sansui to continue, Ranma nervously picked at the
damp, silk shirt clinging to her curves. Like a court under a new king,
Ranma was unsure of how she should act. The bravado and impolite tongue
with which she usually spoke was a product of her father's influence,
but it was not entirely of her father's doing. Her speech was as a
porcupine's spines were. After being pried away from Ukyou so soon after
losing her mother, Ranma had retreated from the social side of the
world. She was tired of making friends at each break in her training and
finding her life empty the next day. Yet, even though she didn't desire
friends, they came to her anyway. She thought it was the same phenomenon
that attracted so many to her now, but she was unsure. In the end, she'd
found that prospective friends were easily turned off by a hostile
greeting. Her speech became the rough version she often heard in the
streets and among her father's drinking companions. It became the forked
stick she used to keep the venomous fangs of friendship away from her
sensitive flesh, that kept her lonely and sheltered.
     She knew the formal patterns of speech. She could use them, but
not with any versatility. She was lugging logs when he tried to speak
with formality. In the past few weeks, she had seen that she had to shed
the spines of her normal speech. With Mousse she tried not to speak, or
at least as little as was necessary, so she didn't insult him. At every
village, she tried her hardest to control her tongue, but it was a
struggle. Here, Sansui presented another challenge. Ranma was reluctant
to treat him with anything less than respect. Yet, as she was with
Akane, she just didn't know the right words to say. All she could think
of was how grateful she was to this ancient master.
     "Etoo," Ranma mumbled. "I, um, would like to thank you, Sansui-
san, for testing me. I-I... didn't deserve the opportunity."
     "Is that the truth, Saotome-san? Would I test anyone who wasn't
deserving?"
     "I didn't mean it that way!" Ranma quickly explained. "I was
trying to be polite."
     "You are trying to be someone who you are not," Sansui answered.
"I do not expect to see an ant build a bird's nest. From the moment I
met you, I've known who you were. I never minded the fact that you have
a tongue of bamboo. It is who you are, Saotome-san."
     "It just doesn't seem right to talk to you like that."
     "Nor does it seem right for one man to have four fiancees and to
turn into a girl when immersed in cold water. What should a few coarse
words mean to someone like that? It is like the man who once noticed
that the spring rains were dislodging the rock and dirt from the rocky
slopes behind his home. They would dirty his steps and damage his
patties. Finally, he built a small dam and for many years there was
peace. One spring, however, the rains were especially harsh and the dam
he'd built was washed away and the house with it while he slept."
     "So I shouldn't build a dam above my house, but what does that
gotta do with how I talk?" Ranma asked.
     Sansui sighed. "I said I expected nothing from you, which I do,
but it is hard to watch a man walk off a cliff because he refuses to
uncover his eyes and unstop his ears. Life is not to be controlled,
Saotome-san. When you control everything, then you deny what life is
trying to teach you. In the end, life will have its way. So why not take
the path given to you?" 
     "Because I can't. If I do, I just give up and everyone suffers. I
tried that for nearly two years. I let everything continue around me. I
did nothing to stop any of the insanity. I hurt a bunch of people.
Following that path was just digging me a bigger grave to put myself
in," Ranma replied disdainfully. "I don't care what life wants me to do.
I'm doing what I think is right. What I believe in."
     "And how do you know that your path is to do what you believe is
right?" Sansui asked carefully, fixing Ranma with his serious eyes, but
he continued before Ranma could respond. "I've talked with your student
Mu Tsu. He has told me a great deal of what has happened in your life.
He has also related many of the things that have happened on your voyage
together. Did you really let life take you in the past? Or did you
constantly fight it because you were afraid of what the future held for
you? You fought it and built up more dams to keep everything from
collapsing and ruining your precious fields and safe home. Yet,
eventually the dam broke and everything crumbled around you in but a
short time. So were you following the right path?"
     "I-I," Ranma shook her head and let it fall toward her chest in
defeat. "No. Maybe I was wrong, but what was I s'posed to do? I didn't
know. I wasn't ready..."
     "And maybe life wanted you to learn in that time. Are you wiser or
lesser for your hardships?"
     "Wiser, I guess," Ranma conceded after a few moments of thought,
"but I don't see how. Shouldn't have things gotten easier? I admitted
how I felt. I dealt with people, and I have more troubles. Is this what
it means to follow that stupid path? I'm getting tired of walking
highwires. I just want to stop for a time. I just want... I don't know.
I always wanted a dojo, but I gave that up. I wanted a family, but I
probably gave that up. All I got is Akane, and just barely. Now I have
this curse Cologne put on me." Ranma pulled open the pouch at her side
and set the idol on the stone in front of her. She could see the
delicate balance of black and white tinged with blue. The black was
smaller than Xian Lin's presence, but it had grown more than Ranma found
comfortable. "I can't escape it. My dreams, my thoughts, everything
seems to come back there." She pointed at the statue. "It's like I'm
being cut apart piece by piece, and I don't know how much is left. I
can't shake the feeling that I'm gonna die." 
     The words chilled Ranma as she spoke them. For the past weeks, a
tiny whisper had been in the back of her mind, repeating, like a
skipping record, that she had almost died, that she still could. With
the illness still fresh in her memory and the weariness that grew with
each passing hour, more weight was being given to that tiny, insinuating
worm of a voice until it was a powerful serpent wrapped about the
deepest roots of her turmoil, unavoidable and terrifying. "I don't wanna
die," Ranma whispered. "I can't die. I have too much to do. I have too
many obligations. I can't leave Xian Lin. I can't leave Akane like this.
I can't hurt her. She doesn't deserve this. She..." Her voice broke, and
she dropped her eyes from Sansui, forcing back the anguish which was
threatening to overwhelm her and bring her to her knees, sobbing like a
lost child.
     The breeze sighed through the leave above them, sighing in and out
of branches. The cascading water created a musical backdrop as birds and
insects filled their air with their lulling songs. Nothing intruded on
the scene for a few minutes until Sansui lifted his eyes from their
contemplation of a small struggling tree within the thin soil between
the rocks. 
     "We are all destined to die. We are born and begin to die from our
first breath. It is as inevitable as the turning of the seasons, as the
tide, as the sun rising above the Pacific. But there are some who live
only to die. They do nothing within life that is of importance."
     "I don't understand," Ranma said, shaking her head and then
brushing a lock of flaming hair out of her eyes. She understood about
death and knew that it would claim her someday, but how could her death
be the only purpose for her life? "How can I struggle so much just to
thrown aside like a broken shoji? What purpose does that serve?" Ranma
demanded, her eyes lifting from their contemplation of the rocks. She
found strength in the anger, but looking into Sansui's calm eyes and
grandfatherly face, it died as the next words did on her lips. Instead,
her face sank into her hands, and she mumbled, "I don't understand." 
     "Few people can see the truth within their own lives. They don't
see the higher purpose in a sacrifice. Take this tree." Sansui pointed
out the small, maple sapling between the rocks. "It has no chance at
finding life within these rocks. In a year or two it will be dead. Yet,
while it lives, it holds the soil in place and accumulates more around
itself. Then, it'll die and add nutrients to the ground. Maybe hundreds
more will find the same fate, but soon one tree will grow and spread
deep roots. That final tree is the purpose for which the death of the
sapling is called. It could be the same for you, Saotome Ranma. Your
presence on this world might only be for others and to protect them from
something. It might only be to set the seeds to move them along the path
to enlightenment. Your death could be the push needed for many, and then
your next lives will be that much more fulfilled because of the
sacrifice in this one."
     "So I'm here to die? " Ranma asked bitterly. "I suffer for a few
short years and just throw everything away when I find something that I
truly want?!? I do this because of what Cologne did to me?!? I am not
doing that!" The anger was back, but this time directed at people she
had no compulsion of mercy towards.
     "I don't understand about Boukyaku, Ranma," Sansui said as he
placed a calming hand on Ranma's quivering shoulder. "I can barely
believe that such a thing exists, but if it does, I hope, for our sakes,
that it does not become a part of our world. Yet, whether that is true,
or not, does not matter. Do not deny what you are called for. Would you
give your life for your Akane's life?"
     Ranma nodded her head without thinking.
     "Would you give up this life to make sure that she finds her place
and moves on so that in both of your next lives you will both be
together for eternity? A trapped animal often gnaws off its leg to
escape and hopefully live to finish its life. Each life is just a part
of our whole being. For the good of our being, a single life might be
discarded to save the rest. Don't fight that. In the end, it will bring
only more harm for yourself and for those you care about."
     Ranma's head dropped in defeat. "Sometimes...sometimes I wish that
I had never left my mother. None of this would have happened. None of
this would be so complicated. I just wanna normal life."
     "You can't have one," Sansui stated emphatically. "And even if you
did, the end would be the same. In the end, everything finds
nothingness. The path maybe long or short, hard or easy, but the end is
still the same. All paths meet. There is only one final destiny awaiting
every living being. Accept that, and the way will be clear to you. Let
life take you. Stop denying it and embrace it. Everything has a purpose
in your life, Ranma. Even a curse has a purpose. You may not see it,
just as you don't see the subtleties within a poem, but, like a poem,
every part contributes to the whole in some way. Just find how that
piece fits within the whole."
     Ranma frowned and nodded, her eyes sightlessly watching the
struggling sapling. The part about her curse having a purpose had
sparked an idea in her mind, one had to consider if she was going to
help Xian Lin. "Arigato, Sensei. For everything."
     Neither of them noticed the shadow detach from the bushes and
cautiously slip into the woods like a shadow across a dark room. Mousse
had a lot to think about.
     Sansui reached out and placed his hand gently on Ranma's shoulder.
At the touch, Ranma raised her eyes. "I'm not trying to take everything
from you, Saotome. The truth is the truth, but who can tell how the
truth will use one? For all you or I know, your purpose might be decades
into your life. This might all be preparation for that one single moment
when you have to choose one way or the other. A master will spend days
crafting a single tool in order to only use it once because that tool
will be broken in the moment of conception and realization. Don't give
into despair. Don't give up."
     "I won't," Ranma growled. "I've never lost. I've never admitted
defeat. I'm not going without fixing everything first."
     "A worthy promise, but one that can't be upheld," Sansui chuckled.
"Don't worry about the future. Live your life today. You have a gift.
I've never seen someone with your skill. It is rare to find a master of
anything these days, or even one with the potential, like yourself.
Don't let that gift fade from the world. You have a student. Teach him,
let him learn from you. Your life is not meant to be thrown away in
revenge and needless hate. If you forget everything else an old man told
you, remember that."
     "I've been selfish and stupid, haven't I?" Ranma asked, grinning
sheepishly.
     "Even the Buddha made mistakes, Saotome-san. Learn from them, and
you'll be fine." Sansui uncoiled his legs and rose to his feet
gracefully. "It's time for you to be going. I've kept you too long. You
have things to do, and I'd like some order returned to my small piece of
the world."
     "Whatever, Sensei," Ranma answered, gracefully standing and then
leaping from the rocks to the ground. She waited patiently at the bottom
of the rocks for Sansui to join her. The old man, his shoulders carrying
the weight of many years, chuckled and shook his head as Ranma fidgeted
with her clothes, trying to unhitch the silk from her breasts.  



                               --5--



     Hong Kong was a bustling conglomeration of close-packed Asian
living with the high speed day and night life style of any western city.
Thousands of voices filed the air at any given time, competing with the
dull roar of traffic. A hodgepodge of dialects and languages filled the
air. English vied with Mandarin. Cantonese and Japanese were batted back
and forth with the same regularity as Korean and French. In Hong Kong,
the French Quarter of New Orleans met with Los Angeles and Paris in the
back streets of San Francisco's Chinatown. 
     For newcomers, the city was a maze of exotic sights. It was easy
to become lost and just as easy to be prayed upon in the darker corners
of Hong Kong. Those darker corners were not a part of Ryouga and Ukyou's
problems, however. Looking for two people, transient visitors in a city
sprawling with life, among several million was an impossibility. That
fact had become clear the moment they had left the airport and promptly
became lost. 
     It was not the kind of lost Ryouga was used to. He was used to
wide open spaces and mountains appearing where they should not be. This
was different, like wandering into a fun house. The press of bodies and
sound of the city distracted him and kept himself and Ukyou from moving
in a regular direction. They found themselves taking streets for an
easier path, only to backtrack and not find the street they had been on
before turning. 
     Ryouga had to trust Ukyou with the direction they were traveling.
Truthfully, he was more than grateful for her help over the past two
weeks or so that they had been together. She had a natural ability of
keeping him in sight and making sure he never wandered off by accident.
Yet it had not all been for the best.
     In Hiroshima, he'd found himself curtailed like a common farm
animal to the pen of their single room. At first he vehemently opposed
the idea. He was not about to take a back seat to their journey. He had
as much, if not more in his opinion, reason to find Ranma than Ukyou
could ever have. The threat of becoming a pig and being locked within a
cage finally cooled his arguments, but not his displeasure.
     For four days, they had stayed within the room as Ukyou searched
for a trace of Ranma and a way to get him over to China legally. During
that time, he paced a small rut into the crude floor of their room. A
dozen wood carvings formed under his hands, and a million doubts and
whispered promises of death left his lips as easily as the breath in his
lungs.
     For a person such as Ryouga, loneliness was a catalyst for every
emotion. It twisted and intensified every feeling until it became an
extreme, pushing the envelope. Love became worshipful adoration and hate
became a festering emptiness that slowly consumed the soul like a silent
cancer. Only Ukyou's frequent returns and status reports, her amiable
words, had kept the loneliness from dragging Ryouga down like a weighted
line into the depths of his despair. 
     It was the end of the day that he came to await for expectantly.
Ukyou would return with their dinner, or to make something to eat. She'd
come into the room with a smile of her face, her long brown hair flowing
like a field of ripening barley in the wind. In spite of her
disappointments of the day, she'd never let her cheer falter. It was the
same attitude she used to wait patiently for Ranma while she spent many
days and her nights alone. Ryouga admired her for this, and felt the
loneliness slip away because he knew part of her smile was for him.
     Yet even Ukyou's smile could not halt, much less tame, the growing
despite he held for himself within his heart. He had not protected
Akane. He'd allowed this to come into being by his own inability to find
his way. The forced confinement only bolstered the truth of this. He
could not even find Ranma without help. He was helpless as anything but
a wanderer. If he didn't have this curse, he would have been there to
prevent everything. So much was his fault.
     Fortunately, the seeds never had the chance to grow. Ukyou
returned early one day and told him they were leaving. Ryouga was
confused by this sudden turnabout. Ukyou informed him that it would take
nearly a month to get a passport. Expecting to wait that long or simply
stowaway on a ship to get to China, he was surprised when Ukyou told him
to pack and then splashed him with water and slipped him within a fancy
cage.
     "You're my pet until we get to China, Ryouga," she stated simply.
"We can't wait any longer and I got my passport updated to day. Besides
I can afford the surcharge for a pet, but not for your ticket. I'm
sorry, Ryouga, but it has to be this way. I need to find Ranma." 
     He had seen the sincerity in her eyes and accepted the
humiliation. Besides, at least she knew about the curse. It wasn't like
he was actually a pet to some unknown girl. 
     "Ryouga?"
     The voice snapped Ryouga back into reality and the dull roar of
the street. He noticed they were standing in front of a cheap motel. The
building was in desperate need of repair, and several signs in Chinese
hung from the second floor. The street was crowded, but not too much.
There were also several market areas and restaurants nearby that would
keep them supplied for a few days.
     "This is where we're staying?" Ryouga asked.
     "I think so," Ukyou answered. She eyes the building dubiously, but
shrugged her shoulders in the end. "At least the windows are intact."
     "Yeah, but does it have hot water?"
     Ukyou smiled. "It better. We're going to be here for a few days. I
don't think Ranma's come into town yet, and if he has, then a few days
checking won't hurt us. So, we'll just watch the airport everyday and if
he isn't here by the end of the week, we'll leave."
     "Hmm," Ryouga answered. He looked around, wondering where the
airport was and then swallowed his pride and asked.
     "It's over there." She pointed down the street they had come and
at a slight angle. "I saw a road that led toward the main road that'll
get us there. We're about two miles from it. Not too bad, but it could
be worse. C'mon. Let's get a place to stay and something to eat. I wanna
be up early."
     Ryouga shrugged and followed her into the motel. Watching her thin
back, the spatula slung across is, bobbing as she climbed the steps,
Ryouga had to admit that he needed her. Without her, he'd be completely
lost in his search for Ranma. Without her, he'd have no direction.
Without her, he'd be lonely, and for that small boon he was the most
grateful.



                               --6--



     Mousse moved through the cool sand, a soft squeak from the
shifting grains came from each step. Along the shore, waves washed
against the sand with a gentle crash as the tide began its outward
journey. The sun had just disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the
world in a blue twilight that seemed to accent the senses. The cool,
brine breeze was a mother's caress on his cheek, the scent of flowers
her delicate perfume. With the coming of night, the beaches had cleared
and the world had become an empty water color landscape which Mousse
walked within. It was peaceful and calm.
     For a moment he pictured himself entering the cold water of the
Sea of Japan and floating on the salt water before scrambling ashore to
fall into the damp sand and let the night breeze dry his body. It was
only a fantasy, a pleasure he could no longer indulge. Ranma was waiting
for him after allowing him to train as he wished for most of the day.
     The rare opportunity had not been wasted by Mousse. In the early
morning, he had left and found a small backwater around which to
practice. Although he had been able to go for his weapons, he found them
awkward in his hands as he drilled through the tens of dozens of
exercises Ranma had shown him over the past three and a half weeks, most
in the last six days since they had left Sansui-ji.
     Like a broken blade is reforged in a fire, Ranma had become a
different person after leaving Sansui-ji. His method of training began
to change in slight, yet apparent, ways. After a time, Mousse became
comfortable with the rigorous drilling Ranma used that seemed to hold no
purpose yet improved him with leaps and bounds. Even the temples and
dojo they visited before Sansui-ji were an integral and instructional
part of his truing. He had learned more in three weeks from Ranma than
in nearly two years of trying to win Shampoo from Ranma through any
means necessary.  
     After making their farewells, which lasted well into the morning,
they made their way toward the main highway. At the highway, they stowed
away on a truck and headed west toward Kyuushuu. Expecting to stop near
Hiroshima, Mousse was surprised when Ranma made no move to leave at
Hiroshima and even continued on with the truck until they crossed over
into Kyuushuu, leaving the truck about twenty kilometers south of
Kitakyushu. 
     Here they began to train in earnest. At first it was strange.
Ranma began to show Mousse his own personal style. He demonstrated the
uses for many of his basic maneuvers and even more of his complex
strategies. A good deal of the instruction was beyond Mousse. He
struggled to grasp the subtleties Ranma tried to explain about his Art.
In truth, Mousse began to wonder about his own duels with Ranma. There
was no doubt in his mind that Ranma was well beyond him in both skill
and experience. Only Cologne was at a level higher than what he saw in
Ranma, and even that was only because Cologne knew so much more about
other aspects of the Art. 
     Stopping in the tall grasses that ran along the small dunes of the
shore, Mousse turned his eyes heavenwards. Above him the first stars
glittered, each coming to light as slowly as the fireflies that he had
come to love in Japan. Even without his glasses, he was always able to
see the soft, moving glow of a firefly. 
     Watching the unchanging stars, Mousse wished that life was like
that. Although he knew that the changes in the past months were a new
hope for himself, he could not feel complete joy in the change. The
possibility existed for him to gain Shampoo as a wife. All his dreams
seemed to be on the verge of stepping across that thin, yet
insurmountable, line between imagination and reality. But he could not
shake the certainty that he didn't deserve any of this.
     Throughout his life, the seeds of tragedy had lain beneath the
surface of his mind. He was the martyr, looking for the pity he thought
he deserved. He believed he suffered and was constantly led astray and
afoul because of it. But it was becoming clearer and clearer with each
passing day that his life was an easy one. If his curse was removed, if
his eyes were healed he would have nothing to be pitied for. His faults
lay within his own personal mistakes in reason and action. Maybe his
life was hard, but it was nothing compared to Ranma's.
     As a bright star dwindled and became insignificant against the
brilliant expanse of a galaxy, so did his suffering become insignificant
compared to others, compared to the horrors Ranma was forced to live
with for the rest of his life.
     At the Sansui-ji, Mousse had not meant to overhear Ranma's words.
He'd only been curious at Ranma's absence and had been eager to train
with his reluctant sensei. When he stumbled across Sansui-sensei and
Ranma, he knew that he should have left them, but he stayed and
listened. Whether it was curiosity of concern he was unsure, but it
didn't matter. That was a conversation not meant for his ears, and one
that soured his life in but a few moments.
     In the past weeks his opinion of and feelings toward Ranma changed
with the agonizing slowness of an advancing glacier, but they had
changed. Initial distrust turned to anger and then grudging respect in
the first few days as they spent their time on Mt Fuji. But now, that
grudging respect was a thing of the past. He admired Ranma, And at the
same time, he pitied his former rival. 
     He did not know when his attitude became pitying. He believed it
was when Ranma showed him the Statue of Boukyaku. For the first time in
his vendetta against Ranma, he saw the final consequences of the path he
had been walking blindly and faithfully.
     It had been, and still was, easy to lay blame on Ranma for almost
anything. From the outside, it seemed that Ranma was the one who created
the insaneness within his life. To a rational person, it was impossible
for disasters of that proportion to just create themselves, but Mousse
knew the truth. Over the weeks, he coaxed the truth from Ranma. Unlike
many of the others, Mousse knew little about his rival. How could he
when Shampoo rarely talked with him, when no one else even considered
him as a friend? In his talks with Ranma, he found someone who only
wanted a normal life, who wanted to put everything in the past, but
didn't know how. At every turn, something or someone always imposed
their own will on Ranma's life. Whether it was Ranma's father, fiancees,
rivals, or anyone else, it resulted in the same thing, a loss of control
for Ranma. 
     He remembered Ranma's words from a few nights ago as they sat
beside the fire. "No matter what I do, it doesn't work out. I want to be
something and make a choice," Ranma said softly as she poked the fire
with a stick, "but every day I wake up and someone takes one more piece
of my life from me. I can't live like that. I can't live for a dozen
different people, all wanting something different. I didn't even realize
it. I just thought that was how it was s'posed to be. I'd never had a
choice in my life, and so I let other people decide for me.
     "I didn't see it until after I tried to kill myself. I made a
choice then. I decided to die, and Akane stopped me." Ranma fell silent
and traced Akane's name in the glowing embers on a log. The constant
chirp of crickets surrounded them as Mousse waited patiently for his
sensei to continue.  "But I sometimes wonder if I really made a choice,
or if I was just trying to escape. When I made the decision to commit
suicide, I was unsure whether it was right, but I felt relieved, like it
was all gonna end and be better now. I'd be out of the way and everyone
would be happy. I didn't make a choice for myself. I let everyone else's
needs make that choice. I came so close then, so very close to ending it
there. It scares me now. It scares me that my life was worth so little
to me then. Akane cared more for my life than I did. I... when I saw
that, I made a choice, a very simple one, but it is the most important
in my life now. I gave my life to her. Without a single doubt or a worry
about what someone might think. I wanted her to be happy, and that is
what I'm doing now. I don't care about anything else except her." 
     Mousse envied Ranma for that decision. He envied the purpose Ranma
had found in his life, but the lengths to which he suffered for that one
goal astounded Mousse. From that one moment, it seemed that everything
and everyone turned against Ranma. Cologne had not let Ranma's decision
pass without a fight. It seemed to Mousse that Sansui was right. Ranma
was not destined to live. It was a miracle he had lived this long. 
     There was something more. For some inexplicable reason, Ranma had
chosen him as a means to break free. In the end, Ranma would do anything
to have Akane, but he wanted it done so his life was not ruined in the
process. A good deal of what made Ranma was honour. And in a way Mousse
was defending that honour by removing Shampoo from Ranma's list of
obstacles. But was he up to that challenge yet?
     He knew Ranma expected him to challenge Shampoo when they reached
Hong Kong. Mousse knew he had developed to a point where he could beat
Shampoo, but there was still a reluctance on his part to attack and hurt
Shampoo. He did not want to force her into a marriage with him, but if
he did not, Ranma would be forced to marry her. In the end the
obligation to Ranma won out. He could not abandon his teacher and his
friend like that, but he knew he was not ready to face Shampoo. Not now,
and not in Hong Kong. He could not risk that with Cologne there. He had
to do it in front of the Tribe, so that nothing would interfere. For
that to work, however, he needed it to be a surprise. He could not let
Cologne or Shampoo know what was happening. T prevent that, they could
never see him, so he could not continue with Ranma to Hong Kong. 
     It was a hard decision to make. It meant he was giving up the best
teacher he had ever had. It meant that he had to trust himself to do the
right thing, but if Ranma could deal with the consequences of his
actions, then Mousse could also. 
     Turning, Mousse continued to walk along the beach, his eyes
sightlessly watching the waves lapping against the wet sand. He needed
to talk to Ranma, and it was not going to be easy. It was always hard to
say goodbye, and he needed to tell his teacher some things before they
parted ways.
     Ahead of him, he saw the sooty glow of the campfire beckoning him.
Increasing his pace, he came into the circle of light cast by the fire.
Ranma was crouched on the other side of the fire, his form shadowed. He
was watching the surf, but turned as Mousse settled next to the fire. 
     "I picked up some dinner. It's there if you want it." Ranma
pointed to four bento boxes, resting next to the fire. Two were open,
obviously the remains of Ranma's dinner. 
     Mousse snagged one and began to eat the rice, tempura shrimp,
stir-fried vegetables and sasami. It wasn't great, but it was better
than the rations they had been living on since leaving Sansui-ji.
     "Did you practice?"
     "I found an inlet that gave me enough room to move and privacy,"
Mousse answered in between bites.
     "What did you practice?"
     Mousse shrugged. "I just went over the stuff you showed me. I
tried a little weapon work, but mostly the katas you showed me yesterday
and the day before."
     "Good."
     Mousse glanced up at the satisfaction and approval in Ranma's
voice, and he caught a glimmer of a smile before it disappeared from
Ranma's lips. "I thought it was the right thing to do," Mousse explained
lamely.
     Unwrapping his arms from around his legs, Ranma turned toward the
fire, his eyes glinting in the dancing light. "You've improved a lot in
the past few weeks, Mousse. You've even surprised me a few times. Even
though you've improved, I wish I had more time to train you."
     "Why?" Mousse asked warily. "Do you think Shampoo'll beat me."
     "No, I don't think so, but it couldn't hurt to have more time. I
could teach you a lot more. Your style is still sloppy. You don't have
the control you could. Man, I just wish I had the time, and I could make
you into as good a fighter as Ryouga."
     Mousse smiled. He knew this was the moment he had to bring all of
his doubts into the open. "We all have dreams, and even though I'd be
honoured, I think our time together is coming to an end."
     "What?"
     Mousse lowered his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the hurt
betrayal on Ranma's face. "I can't fight Shampoo yet. Not in Hong Kong.
I need more time. I need to train more and decide how I want to do this.
I can't be there with you when you meet up with Cologne and Shampoo."
     "So, that's it?" Ranma muttered. "You're just gonna say thanks and
walk away. We had a deal, Mousse."
     "I'm not backing out on the deal," Mousse stated carefully. "If I
go with you to Hong Kong and fight Shampoo there, Cologne will try
something. We need to do this in the village, but if I travel with you,
there is going to be trouble. Cologne isn't stupid, and Shampoo isn't as
dense as you think, Ranma. They'll figure it out pretty quickly.
Especially if I practice a different form of the Art."
     "I don't like this," Ranma stated. He had been hoping for a quick
resolution in Hong Kong and then back to Nerima within a few weeks.
     "Do you dislike it enough to risk your future with Akane?" Mousse
demanded. 
     "No. I don't dislike it that much. But I don't like it either."
     "Why?
     Ranma turned his face away, refusing to answer Mousse's question.
Mousse, however, was not easily deterred. He pressed forward with his
questions. "Why? It's only a few weeks. So why?"
     "Because I'm scared!" Ranma snapped. "Okay, I'm scared. I'm scared
something will go wrong and you won't show up in the village. I'm scared
Cologne has something up her sleeve. I'm scared I'll die before I get
back. Maybe I won't risk this because of Akane, but soon I gotta risk
something, and the more I let it go, the more the odds are gonna slip
from my favour." Ranma ground his teeth in frustration.
     "Why?" Mousse asked. He thought he knew the answer but he wanted
to hear it directly from Ranma.
     Ranma shook his head and remained silent. Instead, his eyes began
searching the sky. "What day is it? Is it the twenty-seventh or twenty- 
eighth?" he asked suddenly.
     Mousse frowned, confused by the sudden change in the conversation.
He had seen a newspaper that morning. He just had to remember the date. 
"It's Sunday the twenty-seventh," he stated after a few moments and then
asked curiously, "Why?"
     "In two days, it'll be twenty-nine days since I broke free of the
curse," Ranma sad sadly. "I don't think I broke free though. I left
something behind in the statue, a part of myself, and I've gotta go back
and see if I can prevent that part from dying."
     Mousse shook his head. He understood very little of what Ranma was
talking about beyond the Judgement of Boukyaku. "Why should you have to
go back? If you broke free, then you should be free."
     "It doesn't work that way with me. I didn't really break free.
Toufu-sensei did something that opened a path back to my body, but only
I could go. Someone had to stay behind and make sure that Boukyaku
couldn't get through. If he had, I would have just traded one prison for
another."
     "You mean there was someone else cursed with you?" Mousse asked
incredulously. He had never heard of something like that happening. Only
one judgement was placed at a time, unless the Tribe had given someone
to Boukyaku at the same time, but he would have heard about that before
he left for Australia. Cologne rarely hid the messages she received from
her carrier pigeons. 
     "No, that isn't it." Ranma reached for the pouch at his side and
fumbled with it for a few moments before pulling out the small formless
idol. Holding it out so Mousse could get a clearer look at it, he asked,
"What do you see when you look at this?"
     Squinting, Mousse tried to focus on the idol. He had trouble with
objects closer to him than a dozen or so meters. Though blurry, the idol
had no shape and was nothing spectacular to look at, but he found
himself trying to find a pattern within the chaos of the black rock. All
he could find though was a disturbing feeling of anxious nervousness,
that grew the more he was enraptured by the idol. Finally, he tore his
eyes away and shook his head. "I don't see anything. But it doesn't feel
right. It feels out of balance."
     "Actually, it's in balance," Ranma said, setting the idol on the
sand next to him. "I can see two auras around the idol. One is dark and
black, the other white tinged with blue. The blue is me, helping the
white. The white is Xian Lin. Do you know who Xian Lin is?"
     "You've mentioned her name a few times and sometimes call it out
at night, but I don't know who she is." Even though he didn't know who
Xian Lin was, Mousse couldn't shake the feeling that he had heard the
name, somewhere, before.
     "She's in the idol."
     "You mean she is part of the idol? She is part of Boukyaku?"
     "No," Ranma said "She is there because she remained behind because
she refused to let Boukyaku win. It was something to do with her being
an Amazon."
     "An Amazon?" Mousse asked incredulously. "How is that possible? We
are required to know every Amazon who has gone to Boukyaku and why they
went there. The only Xian Lin I know of didn't even go to Boukyaku, she
faced him and that was when the marriage law came into effect. She died
at Jusenkyo..." Mousse raised his head in awe and fear. "It couldn't be.
That's impossible. They wouldn't have done that." The last came out as a
whisper, barely audible above the crackle of the fire and the pounding
of the surf.
     A log crumbled in the fire, sending a rush of sparks into the
night air and turning Ranma's face into a mask of soot red and dark
shadows. "It's the same girl," Ranma stated. His voice was low and
angry. "I don't know how to explain this, you'll probably call me
insane, but here it goes. When I was cursed at Jusenkyo, I just didn't
get to be a girl half the time, but I gained something else. I just
didn't realize it. The girl who drowned there had her spirit trapped in
the pool. When I fell in, she became a part of me." Ranma placed his
hand over his heart and closed it into a fist, as if he were trying to
rip something from around his neck.
     "I didn't know about it. I never even thought about it. I just
wanted to get rid of this damn curse, but when I was put in that thing,"
he spat, jabbing a finger accusingly at the idol. "When I was going to
die she was there telling me what to do, how to survive. She gave me a
chance at survival. She learned from me and taught me. She fought beside
me against Boukyaku and sacrificed herself so I could go back. That was,
and is, Xian Lin."
     "So is that a reason to go back?" Mousse asked. "Are you going to
throw away everything you have now to protect someone who choose to
remain behind? You don't know the Amazon history. She was exiled and
cast from the Tribe for refusing to kill an outside male. She broke
dozens of taboos and thwarted the Matriarchs. She doesn't deserve your
help, Ranma. It's not worth your life."
     "I owe her!" Ranma growled. "I owe her more than I owe anyone
else. She saved me. She sacrificed her freedom. She gave me everything I
have right now. If I don't go back, if I don't try and help and she is
destroyed, then I don't deserve any of this." 
     Mousse glared defiantly at Ranma, but soon dropped his eyes from
the unyielding granite he found in Ranma's gaze. How could he explain
the fables Amazon children were taught about Xian Lin? She had been a
single warrior who had nearly destroyed the Tribe because she loved a
man who had led other warriors to wipe out and enslave the Amazons.
"You're set on this, aren't you?"
     "I have to," Ranma replied. "But I need you to be here when I do
it. I gotta have someone to watch and make sure nothing goes wrong. Will
you do that? I'm not leaving for Hong Kong until the first. It gives you
time to train, and it'll be best to see if you even need to go."
     "What's that supposed to mean," Mousse demanded.
     "It's not important. Just tell me you'll stay for a few more
days."
     "I'll stay," Mousse stated after a few moments of silence. He was
not about to abandon his friend when he was needed.
     "Thanks," Ranma stated. With that the conversation turned to more
mundane matters and the night deepened slowly. Finally, late at night,
the stars bright above them, and the small sliver of the moon just
beginning to rise, they both curled up and went to sleep.
     In the morning, Mousse woke to find Ranma already up and packing.
As had become their tradition since leaving Sansui-ji, they began to
morning by sparring. Mousse had been ecstatic when Ranma relented on his
rule of sparring, but that ecstasy had faded after the first morning.
     Ranma never went easy on him and this morning was no different.
For an hour they fought back and forth on the cool sand of the beach as
the sun broke over the dunes behind them to begin warming the world.
Ranma fought a notch above Mousse, forcing him to fight for every inch
of the battle. In the end, Mousse lay on the ground, his body throbbing
from the well placed strikes Ranma had landed. He took encouragement
from the fact that Ranma was favouring his left leg; however, it had
been a lucky strike, but Mousse would take anything he could take from
Ranma in a fight.
     They left the beach in the late morning and began to move south
past Sasebo. They didn't hitch a ride, preferring to walk. Mousse didn't
mind. It was obvious Ranma was in no hurry to reach Nagasaki. The first
day passed quickly, and was spent training across the low mountains of
northern Kyuushuu.
     They spent the night huddled around the fire. Ranma talked
incessantly. It seemed to Mousse that he was trying to keep his mind on
anything but what the next night would bring. Mousse didn't blame him
and just listened and talked with Ranma. His sleep that night was
fitful. He could not keep the dread from his mind. He knew the next
night was going to bring something that he could never understand, that
he did not want understand. He feel asleep that night while Ranma was
still up, watching the fire with a distant expression on his face.
     The next morning brought Mousse to wakefulness with Ranma still
sitting beside the burning fire, his expression distant. He thought he
saw the dried trail of tears on his sensei's face, but he was never sure
because Ranma hastily assumed his feet when he noticed Mousse was awake,
his hands rubbing away any evidence from his face.
     It was few minutes later, after a hurried breakfast that they were
walking south again, the morning sparring session mutually forgotten.
Their silence was only broken by the humming drone of insects mixing
with the occasional bird's warble and the sigh of the breeze through the
trees, like a mother's whisper of love. 
     The silence that they maintained that day mocked the night before.
With every minute, Mousse could feel the depression and gloom growing
within Ranma. He spent the day trying to distract his friend with
stories of his own life and jokes that he hoped would liven the mood up.
He tried to be a comforter, but never gained more than a half-hearted
smile of gratitude from Ranma throughout the entire day. That single
smile, however, at least gave Mousse the impression that his efforts had
not been as ineffective as loading catapults with goose down pillows.
     When they halted for the day in a small clearing nearly twenty- 
five kilometers south of Sasebo, Mousse wasn't surprised. He was
surprised when Ranma excused himself, explaining to Mousse that he did
not want to be disturbed until dinner. Mousse forced himself to wait
patiently as Ranma disappeared up into the rocky hills with his
backpack. It was hours later, the sun descending as a red fireball among
the gathering clouds in the west that Ranma returned. 




                               --7--



     Finishing the stroke of the final hiragana, Ranma set aside the
pen his father always advised him to carry, just in case, and traced the
three simple syllables. "A-ka-ne," he whispered each in turn like a
silent prayer for forgiveness. The benediction did nothing to soothe his
fear and sorrow, just as the letter had done nothing to assuage his
guilt.
     He was breaking his promise to Akane. He had promised to return no
matter what. How could he have known that events would turn as they did?
When he had made that promise, he had been expecting to return. What
could have stood in his way? If it meant sacrificing his honour, he was
prepared to do so, but he could not sacrifice Xian Lin. He could not
withhold on the debt he owed her. He couldn't because it wasn't his
honour that solely held him. It was his heart. He cared for Xian Lin.
Maybe not as he loved Akane, but it was stronger than the friendship he
held for Ukyou.
     After the full moon had risen above him and the fever descended
upon him, Ranma had spent most of his time dwelling on the predicament
of Xian Lin. There was no doubt that she was in dire straights. Maybe
the Judgment had not been fully broken by Toufu's intervention. Maybe
the intervention only delayed the inevitable. He was unsure. But as the
dreams grew in strength and the dark cancer of Boukyaku spread across
the idol, Ranma knew he had to attempt something.
     For several nights, he had spent the evening, after Mousse took to
his blankets, trying to break into the prison and find an avenue that
would allow Xian Lin to escape. His efforts proved futile. The closest
he came was when he embraced his wa in his cursed form, but even then,
his mind only gently caressed Xian Lin's, leaving him huddled around the
idol fighting back the tears as Xian Lin's desperation, fear, and pleas
for help repeated over and over in his mind.
     That entire night he spent awake. In his mind he ran over
everything he had come to know about this curse that stalked him
nightly. He recalled as many of the dreams as she could. He tried to
recreate the world of Boukyaku, the feelings and the sensations that had
been a part of that imprisonment. Despite nearly abandoning the whole
exercise on account of his lack of sleep over the past weeks, as the sun
began to lighten the sky, he found an answer of sorts. It was risky, and
he was unsure whether it was the right one. It seemed to be the only one
though. If he was to follow that course, it was a risk for not only
himself but Akane. 
     That morning he had sent Mousse away to practice on his own so he
could make a decision, one he knew would irrevocably affect his life and
maybe his existence on earth. His only hope was a last stand, a suicide
gamble that could ultimately lead to his death and possible oblivion.
But was there anything else that could be done? If there was, the answer
was beyond him. He was only privy to his limited sphere of knowledge,
and in that sphere, returning to the idol and facing Boukyaku was the
only hope he held of attaining his ultimate goal. 
     Although he had made his decision, he tried to ignore it, hoping
the denial of the reality would make it disappear. Instead, during the
next day, Ranma engaged himself in a nearly continuous conversation with
Mousse as they traveled south. In so doing, he pushed the consequences
of what he was about to undertake into the dark recesses of his mind
until Mousse finally slipped into slumber, then he was faced with the
night alone and the doubts and guilt.
     As was common for him lately, his first thoughts turned to Akane
and kept him awake like a stray puppy he had once fed had done by
scratching at the tent and whining throughout the night. He saw the
desperation in her eyes when he told her he was leaving. He saw her
tears, the puffy eyes, and disheveled hair that had greeted him upon
waking in the hospital. Mostly he saw the unreasoning terror in her eyes
and heard the panic in her voice turn to relief and joy as she realized
that he hadn't left yet. What would her face look like when someone she
barely knew told her he was dead?  
     He didn't want to know, but how could he prevent that? He reasoned
that if Akane knew why he was risking his life, then she might not be as
devastated. It was that thought that forced him to take up a piece or
paper and begin, haltingly, to write. Some of it he finished that night,
but in the morning, he was unable to find any redeeming factor for his
actions except that Xian Lin might have a chance. 
     It was a small consolation. One that he knew Akane would never
understand. How could a stupid letter ever alleviate the pain he knew
would be in her eyes? Could a open a paper ever become a balm for the
pain and anguish, a wall against the tears? He tried to make it so, and
that was why Ranma left Mousse alone as he sought some space to finish
his explanation to Akane.
     He wished he hadn't been forced to write the letter he now held in
his hands. It felt like he was giving up on everything when he wrote
Akane's name on the folded pages. Was Xian Lin worth this effort? Did he
love Akane so little that he was willing to throw his life away for
someone else? He didn't know. 
     All he knew was that Sansui had been right. He was fighting his
life. He, Ranma, the person who never backed from a challenge, was
cowering from his own self. He didn't know how true his dreams were.
Maybe if he didn't help, Xian Lin would survive. Maybe she would die and
nothing would happen. But he doubted that. He could feel the connection
between himself and the idol. Maybe it was stronger when he was in his
cursed form, but he still felt it as a male. Xian lin would die without
his help. He was certain of it, and then, he might be given a few months
reprieve, a small time to be happy and enjoy life until Boukyaku finally
slipped past the last barriers and destroyed the world Ranma lived in,
the world in which Ranma's loved ones lived. 
     Ranma was certain Boukyaku saw him as only a means to enter his
world. The dreams were to real, the visions he had faced to terrifying
not to substantiate this belief. But, Ranma was not going to allow that
to happen. 
     His had told Sansui that he would give his life for Akane. In a
way, he believed he was, and that gave him some strength to continue
with this course. He just wished that he could explain everything to
Akane before it happened instead of after the fact in a letter borne by
his pupil carrying the news of his death.
     Ranma noticed the sun was beginning to kiss the western horizon,
the passion of the meeting alighting the distant clouds with a burning
fire. It was time for him to return. He had to prepare himself for the
night ahead. Mouse had to be informed of what he had to do if things
went wrong.
     Standing up, Ranma gathered his belongings together, and then
lifted the letter to Akane. Tracing the letters again, he slipped it
into his shirt and began to walk back towards the campsite. Passing a
small stream, he knelt down and took a drink of the cool water before
splashing himself. If he wasn't in his cursed form, he knew he would
never be able to enter the idol. Standing up, he wondered if he would be
male or female if he died and was cremated. Like many other things, he
didn't know and was scared of the truth.




                               --8--



     The first thing Mousse noticed was that Ranma had reverted to his
cursed form, becoming a she. Over her back was slung her backpack, and
in her hand were several sheets of paper folded into a thirds with
something written on the outer one. She walked directly up to Mousse and
smiled encouragingly. Mousse could tell it was forced, but he returned
the smile.
     "Are you okay?" he asked.
     Ranma nodded and asked, "Do you have any wax? Or a candle?"
     Nodding, Mousse dug into his robes and pulled out a small red
candle. He didn't ask why Ranma wanted it, but handed it to her. 
     "Thanks," Ranma said as she took the candle and went over tho the
fire. 
     Mousse followed her. At the fire, Ranma knelt and set the candle
and the folded paper on the ground, keeping the paper well away from the
hungry flames of the fire. Mousse glanced over Ranma's shoulder and saw
Akane's name written on the paper. Lighting the candle, Ranma flipped
the paper over and dripped red wax on the letter to seal it and then
blew out the candle and handed it back to Mousse. 
     Ranma picked up the letter and turned to look at Mousse. "This is
for Akane. If anything goes wrong, I want you to give this to her.
Before you do anything else, make sure she gets this. It explains
everything." 
     Mousse nodded. He wanted to ask about the letter, but he knew that
it was none of his business. Ranma took the letter and placed it in her
backpack and pulled out an object as long as Mousse's forearm from out
of the pack. It was wrapped in white silk, and as Ranma set it on the
ground, the silk slipped to reveal the rosewood sheath of a tanto.
     Unable to hold his curiosity anymore, Mousse spoke up. "What is
that for?"
     "It's in case something goes wrong. Give me a moment and I'll
explain everything." 
     Ranma then pulled the idol from the pouch at her belt and placed
it in front of her. Reaching behind her, she took up the tanto,
unsheathed it and laid it next to the idol. Taking a deep breath, Ranma
stood up and motioned for Mousse to follow her.
     He did.
     They walked away from the campsite, their footsteps slow and
measured like a funeral procession. Finally, out of the firelight, Ranma
stopped and turned her eyes toward the sky. "The moon won't be rising
until pretty late, probably near dawn. That gives me some time, but not
a lot. I need you to listen to me and do everything I ask you without
any questions. Do you understand?'
     "Hai, I understand."
     "I don't know what is gonna happen tonight. I don't even know if
this will work, but I've gotta try." Ranma turned to face Mouuse. Her
eyes were shimmering in the night, and Mousse could see the fear and the
determination in the set of her jaw and her wide eyes.
     "If it does work, I'll be leaving my body and going into the idol.
I'll be there for the full time the moon is above the horizon. I don't
know why, but that is always how my dreams go. If the moon is out, I
have them. Whenever the moon rises, they start. So when the moon sets, I
should wake up. If I don't, then I'm dead. There is nothing you can do.
Burn my body and take the letter to Akane. Also take the idol and hire a
boat to take you out into the Pacific. Throw the idol in the Pacific and
forget where you threw it. Do you understand?'    
     "Yes, but..."
     "I'm not done!" Ranma snapped, her eyes burning. "One thing is for
sure. Boukyaku wants into this world. My body will allow him into it.
When I wake up, I will scratch Akane's name in the sand at my knees. If
I don't do that or start doing it a few moments after my eyes open, I
want you to take the tanto and cut out my heart and then burn my body."
     "Ranma!" Mousse exclaimed."I can't do that. I'll kill you."
     "I'll already be dead at that point," Ranma answered regretfully.
"It won't be me. It'll be Boukyaku at that point. He probably won't have
control over my body, so you'll be able to kill him fast. Don't
hesitate. Do it. I'm not gonna let him win. Do you understand all of
that?"
     The requests made Mousse feel nauseous. The cold, emphatic way
Ranma stated it made him want to force Ranma to not continue on with
this insanity. In the end, however, he silently nodded his head.
     "Thank you, Mousse. This means a lot to me. I feel better now. I
feel like I'm not making a complete mistake anymore."
     Mousse bit back his retort and began to walk back to the campsite.
Ranma followed him, her steps silent on the ground. When they reached
the campsite, Ranma made dinner and that sat around the fire, talking
quietly as the night deepened and the stars twinkled into being. A dark
premonition began to settle within Mousse's stomach. It grew steadily as
the night lengthened and then, as it was becoming unbearable and the
night had come nearly to a close, Ranma stood up and walked to where she
had set the idol and tanto.
     Mousse stayed in his place and watched her with worried eyes as
she settled into a lotus position, her hands resting lightly on her
knees. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
     "No."
     "Then why are you?"
     "Because I have to. I have obligations, Mousse." Ranma fell silent
for a moment and then turned to face Mousse again, her eyes pleading
with him. "Please keep your promise. Do those things. And if I don't
come back... if something goes wrong... tell Akane I'm sorry... that I
love her and did this to keep her safe."
     "I will," Mousse answered.
     He watched as Ranma closed her eyes and her breathing calmed and
slowed. Her eyes moved beneath her lids for a time and then stopped. For
a moment nothing happened, and then as the new moon rose unseen above
the horizon, her body shuddered once and a gasp escaped her lips and
then there was silence, a dark unnerving silence that held the ominous
promise of death.


Author's Notes:

--Translations-- 
Relations and titles:
Otousan/otousama  - father
Okaasan - mother
oneechan/neechan - older sister
imoto - younger sister
onisan - older brother
oyaji - old man, disrespectful form of father
jiji - very disrespectful term for an older man
ojisan  - older man or uncle
obasan  - older woman or aunt
obaba  -affectionate name Shampoo gives to her grandmother
hiibachan  - grandmother same as obaba
musume  - daughter
-san - everday ending for a name. Takes place of Mister, Ms,or Mrs.
-kun - more informal edning, used to refer to subordinates or friends
-chan - ending that denotes affection or can mean little on a pet. Used  
 mostly for children and teenage girls
-sama - very respectful. Like Lord or Lady. Means you are less than them
sensei - master, teacher, doctor, or officer.



Others:
otoko - man or male
onna - girl or female
Soo-desu  - It is so  - or - that is so
Hai  -  yes
Iie  - no
masaka - impossible
wa - center. A state of meditatvie trance.
fuwa - discord, the opposite of wa
ki - soul
chi - energy of the soul and life
sakura - cheery blossoms
-fu - as in Okayama-fu, means Prefecture
-ji - means temple, so Sansui-ji if the Temple of Sansui
zabuton  - the pillows that Japanese kneel on when they are at a table
     or in a seiza position
seiza  - position of kneeling
tatami - floor mats, these are made of tightly woven reeds or rice. A    
 room's size is usually indicated by the number of tatami, i.e. a 6
     tatami room
shoji  - rice paper doors, light and airy.
Shogi  - Japanese form of chess
Go - a Japanese game involving black and white stones where you try to   
 turn as many stones to your color as possible
cha - tea
chasen - the bamboo wisk used to prepare the tea in the chawan
chawan - the tea bowl
chanoyu - proper name for the Tea Ceremony
gomen/gomen nasai  - sorry
arigato  - thank you
ne  - a term similar to Right? Or eh? Or huh? Denotes question basically
ja (dewa) mata - well, again... sort of like  see ya later
sayonara - good bye
shitsuree shimasu - exuse me - good bye
oyasuminasai - good night
ohayo - good morning
konnichi wa - good afternoon (used until 5pm)
konban wa - good evening
sumimasen - pardon me and in some cases thank you
meiyo - honour
ai - love
soshite - and (used for sentences, but I misused it and don't want to    
 change it)
nikushimi - hate

     I didn't use all of them, but I'm trying to compile a section of
commonly used words in my fics...                  


Comments:

     First, I want to give a heartfelt thank you to all of my
prereader's. They have been doing a great job with pointing out the
lacking points of each part and helping me make them as good as I can.
I'd especially like to mention Dave Eddy, Shelley, Rea, and Phoenix
Jones, who have all given me a great amount of help, as well as their
own time, on these last sections. Thanks guys, I couldn't do it without
you...

     Now less serious stuff...

     I don't know why this took so long to write. Actually I do know why
it took so bloody long. School work school work slep for two hours
school work work work schol... well you get the idea, and if you don't,
let me put it in a way I told all my prereaders. Take four people's
schedules, put them in a blender, hit puree and you have mine. Of course
that isn't the only reason. I still found time to write, I always fin
time to write. I'm asuming you read what is above by now, and I can
assume that you noticed the conversations and scenes tended to border on
the philosphical and metaphysical. Well, it aint a piece of cake to
invent that stuff of the top of your head. Sometimes I wish I could
lower myself to palgarism, but that'd be horrid, and I haven't had time
to read up on Zen, Tao, and Confucia yet.
     Like I rpomised, there are only nine parts to this chapter, I just
have to finish writing them. Hopefully the next two won't take as long.
They are much more story oriented and progress the story much farther. 
     Hmm, I don't think there is much more to say, so I'll sign off and
talk with everyone at a later date.

     Note: The Legacy is just sitting on the backburner. I've just not
had time to look at it recently. I'll get to it though. Don't worry.

     Until next time
     Joseph A. Kohle

     Watch for the Next installment of MASN.
     Chapter 5 Separate Paths: Part 8 - Sisterly Love


   ----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----
   All rights and priveleges to Ranma Nibunnoichi       
   belong to Rumiko Takahashi. The characters of her        
   series are used without her permission for the       
   purpose of entertainment only. This work of fic-
   tion is not meant for sale or profit.                    
                                                                         
   All original characters are the creation of the
   author. All copyright privileges to these chara-
   cters are reserved for the author.

   This story is a product of the author's hard work    
   and imagination. Do not modify, add to, or make 
   use of any part of this work without the author's 
   knowing and written consent. Please feel free to archive 
   this work.                             
            
   Comments and criticism are welcome.                   
   Written by Joseph A. Kohle, (c) 1997.                 
   Send all comments to ashira@worldnet.att.net
   Find some of my fanfics at 
   http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/6184/