As we exited the mall, Maruyama was herding us like particularly unruly sheep.....Hongbing suddenly froze. His entire body went rigid, his hand flying to the small of his back where his sword usually rested.
(Oh dear.....)
The mall's polished floors reflected the eerie glow of the security bot as it glided toward us with unnatural smoothness. Its dome-shaped body stood about waist-high, mounted on a base that moved without visible wheels or mechanisms. The digital display screen cycled through a series of cheerful emoticons :) :D :| before settling back to the original smile.
"Contact," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Enemy spotted. Possible reconnaissance unit."
Maruyama followed Hongbing's gaze and went pale. "Oh no. No no no NO"
The robot emitted a friendly chime as it pivoted to face us directly. A synthesised female voice chirped: "Please maintain social distancing. Masks are recommended in crowded areas." Its camera lens whirred as it zoomed slightly, the red recording light blinking ominously.
What happened next would later be analysed frame-by-frame in a 'viral YouTube video' titled "REAL NINJA vs SECURITY ROBOT (NOT CLICKBAIT)".
Hongbing moved with the lethal grace that had once made him the most feared assassin in the ancient world. ' His initial leap carried him clean over a nearby bench, his borrowed sneakers barely grazing the seatback. He used a potted ficus as a stepping stone, the plant's leaves shivering as he pushed off with perfect precision.
The spinning kick was textbook White Crane technique, his right leg extending in a perfect arc, the heel connecting with the robot's dome with a resounding CRACK!!!!. The force of impact sent the machine careening sideways, where it smashed into the display case in an explosion of cinnamon-scented debris.
The robot's death throes were both pathetic and strangely poignant. Its screen flickered through a series of increasingly distressed emoticons :O :'( X_X before settling on a single tear. The voice gargled out, "P-please... rebooting..." before emitting a final, drawn-out electronic wail.
The security bot's remains sparked pitifully, one wheel still spinning in futile circles. The smell of burnt circuitry mixed uncomfortably with the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
Hongbing landed in a perfect three-point stance, his cat shirt riding up to reveal the distinctive scar from an arrow wound. His eyes darted between the twitching robot and the growing crowd. "Secondary units?" he asked me urgently. "Are there more?"
Before I could answer, the mall's PA system crackled to life: "Code Silver in Food Court. All available units respond."
As mall security descended upon us, Maruyama's face settled into what I recognised as the expression of a man seriously considering homicide. "College," he said through gritted teeth, "can't come soon enough." Three security guards surrounded us, their expressions shifting between confusion and barely-contained laughter as my ancient kin stood protectively in front of me, his borrowed sneakers planted in a perfect defensive stance. The demolished security bot sparked pitifully at his feet, its cheerful screen now displaying :(
"Explain yourselves," The head of security demanded, his taser not quite pointed at us but not quite holstered either.
Our old man stepped forward with the air of a man who had aged a decade in the past minute. "Officers, my deepest apologies..."
"Security," he corrected automatically.
"...My nephew has special needs. Very enthusiastic about robotics. Got carried away." Maruyama's smile looked like it might crack his face.
My partner's nostrils flared. "That metal demon was surveilling us. I saw its unblinking eye tracking our movements." His fingers twitched toward the butter knife he'd pocketed at the food court.
The youngest guard, a lanky kid who couldn't have been older than twenty, snorted. "Dude, it's just a camera..."
"Camera!" Hongbing spat the word like a curse. He turned to me, eyes wide with realisation. "Jincheng, they've mechanised the imperial spies! No wonder they knew our every move during the..."
I stomped on his foot. Hard.
Our retreat through the mall became a gauntlet of really weird stares and cameras. Whispers followed us like a toxic cloud:
"...saw that old dude pay them off....."
".....think they're YouTubers?"
"...that kick though..."
Hongbing remained on high alert, his head swivelling at every reflective surface and automated door. "They're everywhere," he muttered. "The metal spies. In the ceilings. The walls. Even the children's hands." He glared at a teenager taking our picture, making the boy yelp and drop his phone.
"Hongbing..." I gave him a warning glare in return.
"What? he did that first!!!" He told me as we followed our old man towards a new type of vehicle, something called a jeep.
The moment Maruyama's jeep doors locked with an ominous thunk, all hell broke loose AGAIN!!!!!. Hongbing immediately went for the door handles like a caged tiger, his instincts interpreting the automatic locks as some form of imprisonment.
"It's a security feature!" our old man shouted over his increasingly creative attempts to dismantle the window controls. "Not a kidnapping attempt!"
I watched in horrified fascination as my bodyguard, who had once remained motionless for three days straight during the Siege of Nanjing, completely lost his composure over windows. His face when the glass slid down at the touch of a button was something I'd treasure forever.
"The glass... it obeys silent commands?" Hongbing whispered, poking at the button with the reverence of a peasant encountering imperial magic. Then his eyes narrowed. "Or is this some trick to suffocate us when..."
Maruyama started the engine. The resulting roar (perfectly normal combustion engine sounds) sent Hongbing into a defensive crouch in the backseat, his arms coming up to shield his face from imaginary shrapnel.
"By the Nine Hells!" he bellowed. "The metal beast awakens!"
I turned to Maruyama, whose grip on the steering wheel suggested he was imagining it was someone's neck. "Perhaps... public transportation next time?"
"Perhaps it would be best," he agreed wholeheartedly, his knuckles still white on the wheel.
As the jeep lurched forward, I frowned. "Wait... wasn't your car black? This one's... not."
The vein in Maruyama's temple pulsed visibly. "My car," he said with terrifying calm, "is currently undergoing spiritual realignment at the repair shop."
"Repair shop?" Hongbing piped up from the backseat, suddenly interested. "What happened?"
Maruyama's glare could have melted steel. "Perhaps you recall yesterday's incident? When someone," his voice dripped with pointed emphasis, "decided our modern door locks were 'imperial torture devices' and tried to dismantle them with an extra pen?"
"Ah." Understanding dawned as I glanced back at Hongbing, who suddenly found the passing scenery fascinating. "So that's why we're in a borrowed jeep."Maruyama made a sound halfway between a sigh and a scream. "My mechanic says the door mechanism now resembles a 'modern art interpretation of grief.'" He downshifted violently. "So yes. That's why."
I looked at Hongbing as he started to fidget nervously, obviously uncomfortable being inside the jeep
"sigh..... Hongbing, it's just a machine, calm down," I said, patting the dashboard as if comforting a skittish horse.
Hongbing's eyes narrowed. "It exhales smoke and prowls without horses. Every scholar from the Han dynasty onward would call that a dragon."
Maruyama didn't bother responding; his muttered complaints about "delusional LARPers" and "emergency whiskey" were nearly drowned out by the engine's growl.
Through the grimy rear window, our reflections shimmered in the mall's glass facade.....two displaced warriors squeezed into foreign fabrics, flanking a man who'd aged ten years in as many hours. The harsh fluorescent lighting rendered us spectral, insubstantial, as if we were fading ink sketches on rice paper rather than flesh-and-blood men.
The cat on Hongbing's shirt stared blankly as he tugged at the constricting collar. "I'd trade every 'sneaker' in this accursed future for one good armour."
The silence between us stretched taut. No words could bridge the chasm yawning beneath that simple truth.... We were now exiles in time. The weight of my sword belt, the rustle of court robes, the dawn muster of troops whose faces I'd never see again were reduced to memories crumbling like old parchment.
The mall's garish sign shrank in the distance, its neon hues bleeding across the wet pavement like a painting left in the rain.....vibrant, transient, already dissolving into the night.
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