That night, Ponorogo seemed as though it were being punished by the heavens. Rain fell with a terrifying intensity, battering the shingle roof of the Liu family home with a deafening roar. Thunder boomed in turns, splitting the sky and occasionally illuminating the dim living room. Yet, inside the wooden house, a different sound dominated: the stifled moans of Shu Xian and the scent of sweat mingling with the pungent aroma of traditional medicinal herbs. The tension of living as migrants in a foreign land evaporated for a moment, replaced by an anxiety far more primal.
Liu Lai paced back and forth in front of the bedroom, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the hilt of the double swords strapped to his waist—an old habit hard to break whenever he felt threatened. At the exact moment lightning struck, turning the night white for a split second, a baby’s cry broke through. It was loud and clear, piercing the roar of the storm. Liu Lai burst inside to find Shu Xian looking deathly pale, yet a smile bloomed on her face as she cradled a bundle of red cloth against her chest. A baby girl with clear black eyes gazed at the world for the first time.
"Liu Mei," Shu Xian whispered hoarsely, kissing the brow of her still-reddened infant. "A flower blooming in the heart of a storm".
Mei was their second child; their first, a five-year-old boy named Liu Ko, was already a diligent practitioner of Kung Fu. Liu Lai knelt beside them, caressing his daughter’s tiny cheek with fingers roughened by years of martial arts training. His heart overflowed with emotion, but the peace lasted only a moment. Beyond the window rattling in the wind, he knew another, greater storm was lurking.
"Though she is a girl, she must be strong, Shu," Liu Lai murmured, his gaze shifting to the darkness outside. "She was born between two worlds that watch each other with suspicion. She must learn to stand tall in both, or she will be crushed between them".
Liu Lai’s fears were not without reason. He knew he was a migrant with traditions that mirrored those of the locals, both possessing martial cultures and the performance of great lions or tigers. Making matters worse, the locals were not the absolute masters of the land; the Dutch held power with rifles and tributes. His worries manifested only a few months after Mei’s birth when the "pawns" he feared began to move.
The Dutch were playing a dirty game. Malicious rumours were deliberately spread in the markets, whispering that Chinese merchants were the cause of soaring food prices, while taxes for foreigners were simultaneously raised to suffocating levels. One sweltering afternoon, the silence in the kwoon—the training hall behind the house—was shattered by the arrogant thud of boots on dry earth. Two Dutch officers in pristine white uniforms, their medals glinting and rifles in hand, entered without permission.
"Tuan Liu," greeted the officer in the lead, Van den Berg. His smile was thin, but his eyes were as cold as the snow of his Dutch homeland. Liu Lai halted his movements, returned his practice sword to the rack, and bowed respectfully, swallowing the anger beginning to burn in his chest.
"We hear you have... a rather dangerous hobby, one that resembles the traditions of the Ponorogo people," Van den Berg said, circling the training hall and tapping his command baton against the earthen floor in an intimidating rhythm. "A Wu-Shi club, martial arts training. This town is already noisy enough with emotional local artists. The Dutch do not like surprises, especially those involving a collection of sharp weapons and the gathering of masses".
"We are merely traders from afar wishing to preserve our ancestral traditions, Tuan. We seek no trouble," Liu Lai answered in calm Malay, though his jaw tightened.
Van den Berg stopped before the weapon rack, picked up a double sword to weigh it, and returned it with a harsh metallic clang. "Peace comes at a high price, Tuan Liu. The tax for public assembly permits for foreigners will rise starting next month. Ensure you pay, or your 'tradition' will be deemed a security threat".
After the officers left, Liu Lai stood frozen in the center of his training hall, which now felt uncomfortably small. He realized that in this land of Java, Wu-Shi and Kung Fu were not mere arts. They were symbols of existence that would always be hated and watched by colonial spies hungry for division.
A few days later, seeking to clear his mind, Liu Lai walked to the central market of Ponorogo. The market was a giant cauldron of sounds, colours, and scents—sharp spices clashing with the aroma of raw coffee and tobacco. Suddenly, the rhythmic beat of drums and the shrill wail of a trumpet pierced the air. The crowd immediately parted with excitement, making way for a grand procession.
For the first time, Liu Lai saw it in person: the Reog Singo Barong. A giant mask adorned with hundreds of towering peacock feathers emerged from the clouds of dust. It was danced with incomprehensible strength by a man hidden beneath its weight. The movements were wild, gallant, and steeped in a heavy magical aura.
Liu Lai was mesmerized, his chest vibrating with the drumbeats. He saw an extraordinary similarity in spirit; the Reog was the tiger guarding the honour of this land, just as his Wu-Shi guarded the ancestral soul from the east. However, when he tried to smile at one of the Reog attendants dressed in black, he received only a piercing, cold stare. The locals looked at him as if he were an uninvited pest. The cultural chasm felt deeper than the ocean he had crossed.
As he turned to head home, someone collided hard with his shoulder. A young man in black with a tightly tied udeng stood before him. His eyes were sharp, scanning Liu Lai’s clothes with disdain.
"Your red lion might leap high in your own country, Tuan," the man whispered in a low, threatening voice. "But here, the Reog is king. Do not try to disturb his sleep, or you will learn what it feels like to be torn apart".
The man walked away, vanishing behind the receding Reog procession. Liu Lai stood motionless while, in the distance, he spotted Van den Berg watching the encounter from atop his horse with a cunning smile. The Dutch didn't need to lift a finger; they only had to wait for the fires of hatred to consume themselves. Liu Lai clenched his fists but did not raise them. He had to protect his family and his Wu-Shi. But how could he survive when his enemy was not just the colonizer, but his own neighbour?
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.