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K'ing Kung-Fu #2: Return of the Opium Wars $3.95 $2.95

Published by arrangement with the Olympia Press.

Author: Marshall Macao (pseud.)

About: Faster and Fiercer Than Ever! The Son of the Flying Tiger Is Back!

His wounds still open, K'ing trails his arch-enemy Kak out of the desert... and into the sin-infested backstreets of China's great cities. With the beautiful, alluring Sun Lee and a strange new comrade who calls himself The Moor, he dives into a maze of smoking opium, gang war, and a hundred brutal Kung Fu fights... ever closer to the heart of the fiendish Red Circle!

Excerpt:

Chong Fei K'ing climbed dizzily, painfully down from the rickety wooden tower. The many visions he had been granted there, dancing on the edge of life and death in the very place where the Master had spent so many hours in mystic communion with the universe, swirled away as he coughed and spat up blood. He reeled and staggered halfway around Lin Fong's grave toward the well that stood not far from the house. Then he felt a wound in his arm open. He clenched his hand to it to keep it from spurting blood.

He coughed again.

The blue sky went black, and in it he could see the face of Kak Nan Tang glowering at him in the middle of their night-long fight.

Visions of the battle made him fight it all again: every desperate moment.

Once more the sun came up.

Once more his fingers shaped themselves in the shape of that strange Tiger Claw.

Once more he raked Kak's face with two gouges that cut downward from his hairline to his eyebrows.

Once more Kak stumbled, screaming, over the southern ridge.

But this time K'ing followed. Half dead, half dreaming, K'ing lurched over the sand fence. Perhaps Kak himself had passed out just over the ridge. Perhaps he still lay there. Perhaps King could still overtake him in the sands.

K'ing had not yet reached his fifteenth year when, his body racked with the agony of terrible wounds that had barely closed, he set out on a journey of a hundred miles under the baking late summer sun across the driest, deadest, most hostile desert in the world.

Through every dry gorge, over every gravelly plain, across every drifting dune, K'ing thought, “Now I will catch sight of him. He is more badly wounded than I am. He cannot be far ahead. He must travel a straight line to the Hwang Ho. He has no food. He has no water. His soul is raging with hate, and it burns away his energy. I will catch him. I must catch him—before the Slaves of Zedak can rise up from hell to help him; before he can join with the Red Circle.”

Again and again he gazed up into the cloudless azure of the sky, wondering whether the eyes of the Masters of Zhamballah were on him. But all he saw was the blinding fury of the sun, and now he wondered—was it all a myth? Was it all a fairy tale? Were there really no Masters of Zhamballah? Was he really alone?

This much he did know: that there were on earth eleven Masters of the Blue Circle. There were eleven Kung Fu fighters scattered somewhere around the globe, perhaps with young pupils of their own, who were dedicated to bringing the Peace of Zhamballah back to earth.

The Peace of the Heavenly City of Zhamballah.

The Peace of the Tao.

He knew too: there was also a Red Circle. How many members it had, what their ways of fighting for Zedak's dominion were, he did not know. He only knew there was a Red Circle.

He pushed his failing body hard over the jagged rocks and scorching sand. He forced his eyes to search for Kak Nan Tang.

But fleeting swirls of dust were not Kak, nor dry bushes that moved like humans on the horizon.

K'ing covered the hundred miles in two days. His feet were bleeding. His skin was cracking with desiccation. At night the world turned upside down and he walked from star to star, his flesh burning with fiery pain even as he sailed free from it to ride on the Wind that Blows in the Void.

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This product was added to our catalog on Sunday 13 August, 2006.
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