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Long and Seh stood still as stone, staring coldly at Ying.
    What's going on?
Fu wondered. Then it hit him. Those scrolls were the only source of information for further training for them—or for anyone else. The library contained advanced scrolls for every kung fu style imaginable, holding a thousand times more information than could fit even inside Grandmaster's head. Without those scrolls, their kung fu might disappear. Forever.
    “Hey, Lizard Face,” Fu called out as he stood up. “Why would you burn all the other scrolls?”
    “I have no interest in them,” Ying replied casually.
    Long's eyes narrowed. “You would destroy one thousand years of history simply because you did not find it of interest?”
    “Absolutely,” Ying replied.
    “That is most unwise,” Long said in a solemn tone. “A dragon you will never be.”
    Fu watched Ying's carved face grow dark. Ying shouldered his
qiang
and pointed it at Long.
    “Enough of this idle talk!” Ying shouted. “When you are gone, Brother Long,
I
will be the last dragon!”
    “That is not true,” Grandmaster interrupted. “For I, too, am a dragon.”
    Ying turned the
qiang
toward Grandmaster.
    “Thank you for reminding me,” Ying said. “I nearly forgot. I shall kill you first, then. It seems most fitting, anyway, that you—the
old
man—should be on the receiving end of my
new
weapon.”
    Grandmaster paused. Fu assumed he was taking a moment to analyze the
qiang
so that he could figure out how to counter it.
    “Your toy does not concern me,” Grandmaster said. “What harm can come from a hollow metal staff?”
    Ying laughed. “A hollow metal staff? Is that all you see? This weapon is the future. With a single finger, someone who's never trained in the fighting arts can destroy a warrior monk with sixty years of training!”
    Ying waved a finger at Grandmaster as if scolding him. His voice lowered. “There is no defense against this weapon, you sneaky old man, so stop trying to figure one out.”
    Fu saw Grandmaster smirk as the old man's voice boomed, “My young monks, when I count to three, run for the door!
    “ONE!”
    Ying took aim.
    “TWO!”
    KAA-BOOM!
    There was an explosion of light and sound as Ying fired the
qiang
at Grandmaster's chest.
    But Grandmaster was no longer there. The instant Ying's finger began to move beneath the
qiang,
Grandmaster had hit the ground and rolled toward Ying. Grandmaster lashed out with a vicious leg swipe.
    Before Ying even hit the floor, Grandmaster yelled, “THREE! RUN!”

T he young monks ran. Hok sailed through the flame-filled doorway first. Seh followed, quick as a whip, with Malao scampering close behind. Fu bounded powerfully through the flames, and Long zipped outside last, fast as lightning.
    After just a few strides, Long was out front, leading the others through the smoky darkness toward the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas. Fu thought they should head in the opposite direction, but he knew no one would listen if he protested—so he kept his mouth shut and followed as best he could. His body was built for power, not speed. He had a hard time keeping up.
    The scene unfolding before Fu was worse than anything he could have imagined. Flames leaped fromevery building. In the eerie glow, he could see orange robes everywhere, filled with dead monks. Hundreds of armor-clad soldiers lay flat on their backs with long spears extending straight up into the air from their throats. Fu choked on smoke and the stench of burning bodies that had been ignited by flaming arrows. He wanted revenge so badly now, he could taste it. But he knew he'd be of no use to himself or anyone else if he were dead. He picked up his pace as best he could.
    Fu made it to the back door of the Thousand Buddhas hall only a few strides behind the others. He knew what Long was thinking—they would cut through the hall on their way to the main gate. But when Long thrust the door open, burning air rushed out to greet them like a kiss from a