"Now," Li Qinghua said. "Daniel, beat him up."

  Daniel's grin was immediate. Feral.

  "Oh man. Finally."

  "Wait." Henry raised his hands. "Can we just..."

  Daniel's fist shot out.

  The first hit caught Henry in the ribs. Not hard enough to injure, just hard enough to hurt.

  Henry stumbled back. "Ow! What the..."

  Second hit. His arm. Henry tried to raise a guard but Daniel was already past it.

  "Dude!"

  Third hit. His thigh. Henry's leg buckled.

  "That's my leg!"

  Fourth hit. Ribs again, other side this time.

  Henry tried to dodge. Failed. Tried to block. Failed worse. Daniel was faster, more coordinated, and entirely too happy about the whole situation. All those times Henry had laughed at him during training or how he got beat by a girl.

  Fifth. Shoulder.

  "Stop..."

  Sixth. Other arm.

  "I said..."

  Seventh. A light jab to the stomach that made Henry fold over.

  He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air. Daniel stepped back, bouncing on his feet, hands up like he was waiting for round two.

  "Stay down."

  Henry wheezed. "I'm staying down. I surrender. White flag. Geneva Convention."

  Daniel threw one more light kick to his side. Just because.

  Henry toppled over completely, sprawling on the courtyard stones. Face up. Arms spread. Done.

  "K.O.," Daniel said, doing his best Street Fighter announcer voice. He stretched his arms overhead, cracking his knuckles one by one. "Man, I don't know why, but I feel so refreshed right now."

  From the ground, Henry groaned. "Jerk."

  "Thanks." Daniel was still grinning. A little too pleased with himself. "We should do this every session. Really opens up the meridians."

  "This is abuse." Henry's voice was muffled against the stone. "This is literal abuse. I'm calling the cops."

  "You'll survive," Li Qinghua said. Matter-of-fact. She nudged Henry's leg with her foot. Not hard. Just a tap.

  Henry still flinched. "Ow. Everything hurts."

  "Good. That means it's working."

  "Now, catch your breath. Listen."

  Her tone shifted. The lightness from a moment ago evaporated. Something more instructional settling into its place.

  She turned to Daniel.

  "Are you familiar with the Twelve Meridians?"

  Daniel's grin faded. Right. The real lesson.

  He nodded. "A little. From the meridian chart I studied at the Asian Art Museum. Most are connected to an organ and travel throughout the body."

  "The Twelve Meridians." Li Qinghua clasped her hands behind her back. "They are divided into two groups. Those that run through your hand, and those that run through your foot."

  She moved to the center of the courtyard. Settled into a stance Daniel didn't recognize. Something practiced, fluid, but not quite.

  "Hand Yangming." She traced a line from her index finger, up the outer edge of her arm, to her shoulder, to her neck. "It runs here. Up the arm to the shoulder, to the neck, and ends at the opposite nostril."

  She continued to move.

  "Yang is brightness. Heat. Exterior. Ming is illumination. Clarity. Together, Yangming. Bright Yang. The most external of the Yang meridians. The one closest to the surface."

  Her arms made a steady motion.

  "This is where your striking power originates. The Yang meridians are like the sun. Obvious, powerful, direct." She looked at Daniel. "Your Tiger Claw uses this meridian. Whether you knew it or not."

  She stepped back. Let her hands fall to her sides.

  "There are six hand meridians total. Three Yang, three Yin."

  She held up her own arm. Indicated the back and outer edge.

  "The Yang lines run on the outside surfaces. Where they're exposed. Accessible.

  Large Intestine is Yangming, Bright Yang.

  Small Intestine is Taiyang, Greater Yang.

  Triple Burner is Shaoyang, Lesser Yang."

  Daniel watched her trace the pathways on her own arm..

  "These three Yang meridians are what you use for striking. For defense. For explosive techniques. They're external by nature. Meant to interact with the world outside your body."

  She turned her arm over. Showed the inner surface. Softer. More vulnerable.

  "The three Yin meridians run on the inside. They represent your vitality. Your reserves. Yang is the blade. Yin is the arm that holds it.

  Lung is Taiyin, Greater Yin.

  Heart is Shaoyin, Lesser Yin.

  Pericardium is Jueyin, Terminal Yin."

  Her finger traced along the inner forearm.

  "These are deeper. More internal. Harder to access." A pause. "But also more dangerous when struck."

  Daniel looked at his own arms.

  From the ground, Henry propped himself up on his elbows. Still listening despite the beating.

  "The legs follow the same pattern," Li Qinghua continued. "Six meridians. Three Yang on the exterior surfaces, three Yin on the interior."

  She indicated the front of her leg.

  "Stomach meridian. Foot Yangming, Bright Yang."

  She touched the outside and back of her leg.

  "Bladder meridian. Taiyang, Greater Yang. Runs down the back.

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  Gallbladder meridian. Shaoyang, Lesser Yang. Runs down the side."

  She traced both pathways.

  "These three Yang meridians control your mobility. Your rooting. Your ability to generate power from your legs."

  Then she indicated the inner surface of her leg.

  "The three Yin meridians run on the inside.

  Spleen. Taiyin, Greater Yin.

  Liver. Jueyin, Terminal Yin.

  Kidney. Shaoyin, Lesser Yin."

  She looked at Daniel. Then at Henry, who had managed to sit up now, rubbing his ribs.

  "The principle is simple. Hand techniques flow through hand meridians. Foot techniques flow through leg meridians. You want striking power in your fist? Your yang hand meridians must be open and flowing. You want kicking force? Your yang leg meridians."

  She crossed her arms.

  "And if someone wants to stop your strike? They target your yin hand meridians. Stop your kick? They target your yin leg meridians. Attack and defense. It's all the same system."

  She paced back and forth.

  "There's a story," Li Qinghua said. Her tone shifted. The cadence of someone recounting history. "From the late Ming Dynasty. When relationships between the Shaolin Temple and Wudang Mountains were... tense."

  Henry stopped rubbing his ribs. Interested despite his exhaustion.

  "A Shaolin master named Jue Yuan traveled to Wudang. He was famous for his Iron Palm technique. Pure Yang power. Explosive striking. They said he could shatter roof tiles with a slap. Split wooden posts with the edge of his hand." She traced a path down her arm. "His Yangming meridians were so developed, his palms stayed warm even in winter."

  The courtyard was quiet. Late afternoon light slanted through, catching dust motes in the air. Somewhere beyond the walls, a car passed. The sound barely reached them here.

  "He came to challenge the Wudang monks. To prove Shaolin's external methods were superior to Wudang's internal arts. The head monk sent out a junior disciple. A man named Zhang who'd only been at the mountain for five years."

  "That seems unfair," Henry said.

  "That's what Jue Yuan thought too. He was insulted." Li Qinghua smiled slightly. "The fight began. Jue Yuan struck with tremendous force. Every blow should have ended the match. His Yang energy was overwhelming. His technique was perfect. But Zhang didn't try to block the strikes directly."

  She demonstrated with slow movements. One hand deflecting an imaginary strike.

  "Zhang had been studying meridian theory. He knew that Yang techniques, no matter how powerful, flow through predictable patterns. The Yangming line. Bright and external. Easy to read if you understand what to look for." Her finger touched several points along her forearm. "So instead of blocking Jue Yuan's hand, Zhang targeted the arm itself."

  Daniel leaned forward.

  "Small strikes. Precise touches. Not hard enough to injure. Just enough to disrupt the qi flow. Scattering the Yang energy before it could reach Jue Yuan's palm." She lowered her hand. "After half an hour, the Shaolin master's strikes were growing weaker. His Iron Palm technique wasn't working anymore."

  "Did Zhang win?" Daniel asked.

  "No. Jue Yuan was too skilled to be completely defeated. But he couldn't break through Zhang's defense either. After an hour, both men were exhausted. They called it a draw."

  She shrugged.

  "Jue Yuan returned to Shaolin. The story says he spent the next three years studying meridian theory. Trying to understand what Zhang had done to him."

  She looked directly at Daniel.

  "The lesson isn't about who was stronger. It's about knowledge. Pure Yang power, no matter how overwhelming, has predictable patterns. The Yangming line is bright and obvious. Powerful, yes. But also exposed. If your opponent understands how qi flows, they can disrupt your technique before it ever reaches them."

  Daniel flexed his hand. Thinking about his fights.

  "This isn't secret knowledge," Li Qinghua continued. "Every martial art that survived long enough discovered these patterns. Shaolin monks use them. Wudang priests study them. The southern styles. Choy Li Fut, Wing Chun, Hung Gar. All incorporate meridian theory. Northern styles like Baguazhang and Xingyiquan build their entire systems around it."

  She began pacing slowly. Three steps one way. Three steps back.

  "Even Okinawan karate learned it from Chinese teachers and preserved the knowledge. The difference is in emphasis. Some styles focus on striking meridians to disable opponents. Others focus on protecting their own meridians while fighting. Some, like Wudang's internal arts, focus on making the meridians stronger. Harder to disrupt."

  "How do I defend against it?" Daniel asked. "The meridian strikes."

  "Proper foundation. Dense qi. Conditioned body." Li Qinghua shook her head. "All things you don't have yet."

  She stopped pacing.

  "Is knowing enough?" Daniel asked.

  "No. But it's better than ignorance."

  She moved toward the doorway that led back into the shop.

  "Same time next week. Daniel, we'll work on your stances. Build your foundation. Henry..."

  "Run every day," Henry said from the ground. He still hadn't bothered to stand up. "I know."

  "Good. You're learning."

  Li Qinghua disappeared inside. Leaving them alone in the courtyard.

  Daniel walked over to Henry. Extended a hand.

  "You good?"

  Henry grabbed it, wincing as Daniel pulled him to his feet. He stood there for a moment, bent slightly, one hand pressed against his ribs.

  "Nothing's broken," Henry said. Testing his range of motion. Rotating his shoulder. Flexing his arm. "Probably."

  "Definitely not broken. I was pulling my punches."

  "That was pulled?" Henry straightened up slowly. "Remind me never to make you actually mad."

  They stood in the courtyard for another moment. The late afternoon light had shifted, the shadows growing longer against the brick walls. The potted bamboo rustled slightly in a breeze that carried the smell of someone's cooking from a window above.

  "So," Henry said. "Twelve meridians. Six hand, six leg. Yang outside, Yin inside."

  "You were paying attention."

  "Hard not to. She's a good teacher." He paused. "Even if her methods include me getting beat up."

  They left through Li Qinghua's shop. The medicinal smell followed them onto the street, clinging to their clothes.

  Evening had settled over Chinatown. The sky had turned the color of bruised fruit, purple and orange fading to gray at the edges. Streetlights buzzed on one by one, casting yellow pools on the sidewalk. Neon signs flickered to life. Restaurant kitchens were hitting dinner rush, steam pouring from vents and open doors. The smell of roast pork and the ever-present salt breeze from the bay.

  Shop owners pulled down metal shutters with that particular rattling sound. The day crowd was giving way to the night crowd. Families heading to dinner. Couples walking slow. A group of pedestrians clustered around a street performer doing card tricks.

  Henry walked stiffly. Testing his ribs with each step. Wincing when he forgot and moved too fast.

  "I can't believe my training is getting beat up," he muttered.

  "You're learning valuable life skills," Daniel said.

  "Like what?"

  "Like how to take a hit and keep going."

  "Great. Can't wait to put that on my resume. Special skills: getting punched repeatedly."

  Daniel barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere. Replaying Li Qinghua's lesson.

  "You okay?" Henry asked. Noticing Daniel's silence.

  "Yeah. Just thinking."

  "About meridians?"

  "About how much I don't know. And how fast I need to learn it."

  Henry was quiet for a moment. Then: "You'll figure it out. You always do."

  "That's what you said about the forums."

  "And I was right, wasn't I?"

  They grabbed their skateboards from where they'd left them outside the shop. Daniel's legs were sore, but skating didn't require the same kind of strength. Just momentum and balance. The wheels hummed against the pavement.

  Henry pushed off, wincing slightly. "Man, I'm gonna feel this tomorrow."

  "You're gonna feel it for a week."

  "Thanks for the encouragement."

  They rolled down the street. Weaving between pedestrians heading to dinner. Past the bakery with its windows fogged from the day's steam. Past the souvenir shops closing up, owners stacking boxes of ceramic dragons and paper fans. Past the old men still hunched over their chess tables in the fading light, cigarettes burning down to stubs.

  The evening air helped. Cool. A bus rumbled past, belching diesel fumes. Someone shouted in Cantonese from a second-floor window. The world going about its business while Daniel's head spun with meridian theory and ancient stories.

  They turned onto the main road. The traffic was heavier here, cars backed up at the light, headlights cutting through the gathering dusk.

  The Asian Art Museum came up on their right.

  The building sat back from the street, stone steps leading up to the main entrance with its tall columns. At night it looked different. Imposing. The windows were dark except for a few security lights that cast pale rectangles onto the steps. The banners advertising the current exhibition hung limp in the still air.

  "Remember when you spent like three hours in there looking at that one scroll?" Henry said, rolling past.

  "It was a meridian chart. And it was two hours."

  "Sure felt like three. I read every plaque in the Japanese section twice."

  Daniel glanced at the museum as they passed. He'd spent so many hours in there. Studying the charts. Copying diagrams into his notebook. Trying to understand what the old masters had known.

  Then he slowed.

  Stopped.

  The side entrance. Something about it looked wrong. The door sat slightly ajar, a thin line of darkness visible along the edge.

  "What?" Henry circled back.

  Daniel kicked up his board. Walked closer. The door looked closed at first glance. Normal. But something made him reach out and test the handle.

  It turned.

  The door swung open. Darkness beyond. Emergency exit signs glowing green in the distance. The smell of the museum drifted out. Old paper and air-conditioned air and something else underneath. Something chemical.

  "Whoa." Henry came up beside him. "That's not locked."

  "It should be." Daniel stared into the dark hallway. "Security here is tight. Cameras, guards, the whole thing. They wouldn't just forget."

  The chemical smell grew stronger. Daniel recognized it now. Acetone. The kind of smell you got from cleaning supplies. Or from removing adhesive.

  They both stood there for a moment. Looking into the darkness.

  Movement. Faint. Deep inside the building.

  Someone walking. Trying to be quiet about it. The soft scuff of shoes on marble. Then silence. Then movement again.

  "Okay, that's weird," Henry whispered.

  Daniel was already stepping inside.

  "Wait." Henry grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

  "Checking it out."

  "What if it's a security guard? We're just gonna walk in?"

  Daniel paused. Listened. The footsteps inside were too quiet. Too careful. Not the heavy boots of a guard making rounds. The footsteps of someone who didn't want to be heard.

  "Doesn't sound like security," Daniel said.

  "So what, a burglar? And you want to go toward that?"

  Daniel thought about it.

  "I need to see," Daniel said.

  Henry hesitated. Looked at the dark hallway. Looked back at Daniel. His expression said this was a terrible idea and he knew it.

  Then he sighed.

  "Okay. But if we die, I'm haunting you forever."

  "Fair enough,"

  They stepped inside together. The door swung shut behind them with a soft click.