Kung-Fu for Dharmi Chapter2 the Regulator

8/14/2019 Kung-Fu for Dharmi Chapter2 the Regulator

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Charles J. Lee

KUNG-FU

for

DHARMI

CHARLES J. LEE

First published by Char les J. Lee, December 2009

All rights rese rved .

Copyr ight Char les J. Lee 2009

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Kung-fu means Skill or Ability.

It applies to all life experiences.

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CHAPTER TW O

The Regulator

A compact, unassuming man entered a quiet bar in Pimento City. It

was late in the day, but his clothes looked as though they were freshlyironed. Not one hair was out of place on the mans head, although there

were no signs of hair gel or oil.

This man had no memorable features. No scars, no pimples, no

birthmarks, no creases, no furrows, no wrinkles, no moles nothing at all.

He was formally, but not fashionably dressed. He carried no scent with him.

Good afternoon, Mister Barkeep, the compact man said. Ill have a

plate of peanuts, please.Peanuts? The bartender stared at the man. Just peanuts?

The compact man nodded. Low sodium and low fat, if possible. I

prefer plain, but Ill understand if you only serve roasted here.

No... nothing to drink with that? The bartenders voice carried a low

rumble, like that of distant thunder.

Oh, Ill also have a lemonade, please.

A-le-mo-na-de, the bartender repeated, his eyebrows rising like darkpuffs of smoke.

The compact man had seated himself at a stool. He looked into the

bartenders eyes and smiled. Thats right. A lemonade, please.

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The bartender would normally ask more questions, but something in

the way the compact man looked made him hold back. A lemonade it would

be. Not spiked. Not watered down. Without an unreasonably large amount of

ice that reduced the real lemonade in the glass. Just a lemonade as

lemonades should be made.

Lemonade and peanuts, coming right up. The bartender tried to

make his voice sound as normal as possible. As though men normally

ordered lemonade and peanuts in bars.

Thank you, the compact man replied.

The compact man had not introduced himself. The bartender was not

even thinking that this small man could be anyone famous or important or

powerful. But something told the bartender that when this nondescript man

asked for peanuts and a lemonade, these items had to be served without fail.

*

The compact man produced a slim, narrow and longish package from

his pocket. It almost appeared to be a parody of a box of cigarettes, or even

a cigar case. The man opened the case, but there seemed to be nothing

within that could be smoked. What was inside was shiny and long and

metallic.

The bartender was at the end of the bar, but the flash of silver caught

his eye. In his job he was accustomed to reacting to flashes like that...

The bartender moved quickly behind some furniture, reaching for a

heavy club. Then he realized that the flash came from a pair of silver

chopsticks with a monogram embossed on them.

The bartender put down his weapon, but his heart rate speeded upconsiderably. Even though he could not see the monogram from where he

was standing, the bartender now knew who this compact man was.

An unassuming man who never raised his voice, never used foul

language, was always neatly dressed, who never drank let alone throw up

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after drinking. A man who said his pleases and thank yous. Every bartender,

every casino manager, every bail bondsman, every collection agent, every

slum landlord, every bounty hunter, every mortgage specialist and every

fund manager shook with fear when he saw this man.

The man that Michael Booze Lee was trying to meet.

This compact man was Frederick Estes Delano, but no one ever called

him Fred. His enemies were many, and they called him all kinds of vulgar

names. His disciples referred to him in respectful terms. Everybody else

addressed him by his title: The Regulator.

*

The Regulator continued eating his peanuts, picking them delicately

from the plate with his chopsticks. He sipped at his lemonade by moving the

glass with just the tips of his fingers.

More men entered the bar. Tough, powerful men, some so tall that

they had to stoop to enter and others so broad-shouldered that they had to

turn to get in. They did not hesitate or break their stride when they saw a

small man seated in the middle of the bar counter with empty chairs beside

him. When they came near and noticed the silver chopsticks with the

monogram, however, they changed their minds about sitting at the bar.

Not one of the men made a u-turn and a hasty exit. Every single man

steeled himself, and walked cautiously at a normal pace towards a seat far

away. Showing fear and making a hasty departure would have been out of

place. The Regulator was known to notice things that were out of place.

The Regulator once said: Anything that is out of place may provoke a

reaction from me.It was not wise to provoke any reaction from The Regulator.

*

The Regulator had spent years training his kung-fu. He remembered

his masters advice well.

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Delano, I have taught you how to fight. And to attack quickly if need

be. But always remember to be patient. The essence of our kung-fu lies in

our ability to regulate ourselves. No matter how dangerous the situation is,

we remain calm. And wait. When an opponent makes a mistake, only then

do we make our move

Be patient.

Wait for the right moment.

Wait for your enemy to slip up.

I have a long way to go before I can fill Masters shoes, the Regulator

thought as he caught himself looking at his watch. I am still too impetuous.

Five-thirty in the afternoon.

They are taking too long, the Regulator thought. Have they... have

they been intercepted along the way?

The Regulators silver chopsticks clinked against each other. He looked

down at his plate and found that the peanuts were finished. He glanced

forward and saw that his lemonade was finished. And he made up his mind.

Raising a modestly-sized, smooth-skinned hand, the Regulator called

for the bill. The bartender did not raise an eyebrow when the Regulator paid

exactly what was on the bill.

Asking for any undocumented payment from the Regulator was asking

for trouble.

*

After he left the bar, the Regulator got onto his Otto and traveled

down the highway that he expected Michael to come by.

When the Regulator saw an abandoned Karl by the roadside, a badfeeling chilled his bones. But being the Regulator, he did not show his

feelings. He parked his Otto and got off, warily scanning the surrounding

area to avoid being ambushed.

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Having detected no one in hiding, the Regulator approached the Karl

cautiously.

At first he was not sure about this Karl. It looked like a rental. But he

saw the empty baby seats inside the Karl all empty except for one baby

who looked a lot like a boy from the Regulators childhood memories. And he

knew this had to be Michael Lees Karl.

The Regulators face remained impassive, but his lower lip twitched

slightly.

My childhood friend, Michael. And wife Cindy. They would never have

abandoned a baby just like this! They must have been forcibly dragged off

by bad people... leaving one this must have broken their hearts...

No!

The Regulator fell to his knees. He burst into tears. And he howled to

heaven and earth, vowing to find and rescue his old friend. He beat his chest

and cursed whoever was cruel enough to separate a newborn from its

parents.

The Regulator permitted these emotions to run wild for a grand total of

ten seconds. True to his well-regulated nature, he stopped being emotional

and started looking for clues.

Now, how did Michael and Cindy vanish? Who took them, and how?

The Regulator carefully examined the surrounding area, looking for

signs of fighting.

Nothing. Michael and Cindy must have been subdued fairly easily.

These cannot be common criminals. Hmm...

The Regulator went through a mental list of the people who might beresponsible.

Not much of a fight. Legal attacks often leave no physical marks. Did

Michael do anything to incur the wrath of a lawyer? What did he say over the

phone again?

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And then the Regulator realized.

The Collectors!

On looking inside the Karl, the Regulator saw the thick stack of papers

a Collector had tossed inside earlier. He climbed onto the front passenger

seat and picked up the enormous document.

The Regulators master had ordered him to read dense manuals and

sacred tomes filled with abstract text and secret jargon. So the Regulator

developed the ability to speed-read. He now employed this kung-fu and

flipped through the document at a tremendous pace, stopping only at

several pages to re-read the contents.

Hm!

Although his face betrayed an increasingly stern displeasure, the

Regulator did not stop until he had finished flipping through to the last page

and read every single Final Clause and Supplementary Final Clause and

Appended Supplementary Final Clause and Exception and Exception to

Exceptions and Exception to Exceptions to Exceptions.

After spending only fifteen minutes going through this massive tome,

the Regulator slammed the document down on the drivers seat.

What in the...! The Regulator declared; incensed at what he had read.

The baby started crying. The Regulator quickly became gentle and

comforting. But his anger remained.

Michael was right, the Regulator said to himself as he rocked the

baby back to sleep. These Creditors and their Collectors are no good. Now

where can I find

Quite conveniently, the Collectors had kindly listed the address of theirhead office in one appendix to the contract.

Thats their lair? Ill deal with them! The Regulator vowed. After

carefully strapping the baby seat into his Otto, the Regulator went looking

for the Collectors.

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*

The Collectors head office was a massive building taken straight from

some Gothic fantasy. It was ornate beyond ornate and more baroque than

baroque. The walls were covered with poison ivy and thorny plants.

Gargoyles and similarly nightmarish creatures guarded the exterior at

regular intervals.

Whatever weathered stone exterior that showed through the ivy was

falling apart. Some of the windows were boarded up with thin, partially

rotting plywood. It looked vaguely like a crumbling film set for a haunted

house or an abandoned mansion taken over by squatters.

Punctilious as always, the Regulator read the sign that was displayed

on a piece of stonework outside the Collectors lair:

NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS FOR DEBT RECOVERY ASSURED

COLLECTORS, UNDERWRITERS, LIQUIDATORS AND AGENTS

The vampires lair, the Regulator commented acidly and marched

past the rusty gates into the compound.

Hoi! You are not allowed to enter! A voice called out.

Says who? The Regulator turned around to find a portly armed guard

approaching him from the left. This man looked as though he had been

stuffed with offal drowned in tequila. There was another armed guard

approaching from the Regulators right, a thin man with greasy hair, greasy

skin and a couple of mean streaks in his eyes.

No one enters our grounds without permission! The thin guardsnarled. What do you want?

To speak to your Collectors, the Regulator answered.

Many people like to talk to our Collectors, sneered the thin guard.

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They are always asking for the same things. More time, mercy,

special considerations the portly guard guffawed. As if these losers can

get any from our mighty Collectors!

The Regulator did not move, but his eyes swept swiftly from one man

to the other.

I must speak to your Collectors. I suspect they have taken away a

friend of mine, the Regulator stated.

The portly guard sized up the Regulator. Here was a small man in a

suit and tie and seemingly without any weapons.

Oho! The portly guard roared. Then you have to speak to me first!

I have no time for that! The Regulator responded.

Then fight with me! The thin guard grinned. He was nearly a head

taller than the Regulator, and thought it would be an easy fight.

Stand aside! The Regulator waved his arm. Or face the

consequences!

Youre not getting in! The portly guard bellowed.

Get him! The thin guard cried out.

The two armed guards came at the Regulator, waving heavy

truncheons and batons. The Regulator let the guards make their attacks,

thereby opening themselves up to his countering moves.

With a swift wave of one arm, the Regulator grabbed the portly guard

and slammed him face first against a tree trunk. The guard crumpled onto

the ground, out colder than leftover turkey after the holiday season.

The tall, thin guard charged forward, but the Regulator moved to one

side, sweeping one foot along the ground. The tall, thin guard trippedviolently and was flipped over like a piece of bacon on a frying pan.

The Regulator now marched unopposed into the building.

There was a secretary sitting at the front desk. She was probably forty

years old but looked fifty, and she was practicing her specialized kung-fu of

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nail-painting and manicure. Her eyes looked as vacant as a cardboard house

on an ice floe in the middle of the Arctic.

Where are Michael Lee and Cindy Roth? The Regulator demanded.

Uh... I dont know...

Anticipating this answer the minute he saw the secretarys eyes, the

Regulator had marched off already. He strode straight into the nearest office,

where he grabbed a clerk and lifted him into the air.

Where are your Collectors?

Hall... end... I show... the clerk stammered.

The Regulator marched out into the hallway with the clerk still on his

arm. The clerk pointed to a huge set of doors at the extreme end of the

hallway with a trembling finger.

Thank you, the Regulator said and let go of the clerk.

No! The clerk gasped as he slammed face first onto the carpet. A

little cloud of dust rose all around the hapless man.

The Regulator marched swiftly down the hallway towards the set of

twin doors. He tried the handles, and when he found them locked, he simply

let out a roar and slammed his palms against the doors.

Hot Pursuit Entry!

There was no way an ordinary barrier could stand against the

Regulators Hot Pursuit Entry kung-fu. The great-grandmaster who had

founded the Regulators school developed this kung-fu so that heroes could

smash their way past barriers when pursuing criminals. Although these

doors were extraordinarily heavy and locked fast by a thick metal bolt, they

simply fell off their hinges when the Regulator struck them.Bash him!

Whack him good!

A group of Collectors were watching TV inside the room. The program

involved various forms of wrestling and punching and leaping on fallen

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opponents, and the Collectors evidently enjoyed it. They were cheering so

loudly that they did not even hear the doors crash onto the stained linoleum

floors.

The Regulator wasted no time marching between the Collectors and

their precious television.

What have you people done with Michael Lee and Cindy Roth?

Who do you think A Collector began. But he stopped when he

recognized the Regulator. The Regu The Collector could not bring himself

to finish the word.

Wah... Several shifty pairs of eyes fastened on the Regulator

momentarily, then slid away as quickly as rats scampering from cats.

A silence followed.

Well? Im waiting for an answer, the Regulator stood with hands

clasped behind his back.

We dont...

Crash!

The Regulator had made only the slightest of gestures with his hands,

but the television shattered.

I know you took them, the Regulator spoke in the silence that

followed.

How can you be so sure...

I am the Regulator, came the answer. Of course I know.

An uncomfortable silence followed. All the Collectors were clearly

wishing to scuttle away and find places to hide, but no one dared to move in

the presence of an opponent as formidable as the Regulator.Where are they? The Regulator demanded.

We dont know...

You took them.

Well... yes... a man admitted. They owed money.

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Ill decide if they really owed you money, the Regulator said,

unclasping his hands from behind.

No, the man answered hastily. We originally wanted to take them in.

But they were taken away from us in turn.

Do you think I believe you? The Regulator demanded. You are the

Collectors. You people are famous for your Grab and Hold kung-fu. You dont

let go of anything!

No, its true, a second man spoke up. Youve got to believe us!

Im a monkeys uncle, aunt and son all at the same time if I believe

you, snarled the Regulator. You Collectors are so greedy, you will dig up

dead bodies and strip them of body parts to sell!

No! You dont understand, Mister Regulator! A third Collector came

forward towards the Regulator, an imploring looking on his face. The

Regulator waved his hand, striking the man with his fingertips. The Collector

was sent flying backwards where he slammed heavily into a wall.

Why must I believe you? The Regulator advanced on the second man.

This Collector looked afraid, but stood his ground.

They have been kidnapped, explained the second man. By some of

the Eleven Evil Entities.

What? Is this true? The Regulator demanded.

Yes... yes... they took the couple South of the Border...

South of the Border... The Regulators face darkened. It was evident

that he was close to believing this man, but nobody dared suggest that the

Regulator was a monkeys uncle, aunt and son all at the same time.

Yes, yes, South of the Border, the man said. He could not resist aslight delight entering his voice.

You smile at this? You like this? The Regulator demanded.

Uh...

Taken by surprise, the man stumbled on his words.

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Let me guess. You think I dont dare to cross the Border?

No, no...

You want me to take you across the Border with me? To visit the

Eleven Evil Entities?

No! The man gasped. He fell on his knees. Please dont take me

across the Border!

You will pursue people to the ends of the earth. Whats so scary about

crossing the Border?

The ends of the Real World only, Mister Regulator, sir! The man

begged. We dare not cross the Border!

Call yourself a Collector, the Regulator sneered. You only dare bully

the weak!

The man lowered his head. He was a member of the Collectors and

was accustomed to using all kinds of ways to collect debts. But the Eleven...

no way he was going to have contact with them. They were called the Eleven

Evil Entities for good reason. It was said that they were demons or aliens,

not regular people.

The Regulator folded his arms. Before you send me on a wild goose

chase, I want to know why the Eleven Evil Entities took Michael Lee.

Uh...

Go on. Im listening! The Regulator roared.

We... sir... Mister Regulator... I... we... have no explanation... The

man stammered at last.

The Collector would normally come back with a slick response that

sounded perfectly logical. This time, he was so frightened of the Regulatorthat he couldnt think. So he answered that he had no explanation. Ironically,

the Regulator was willing to trust this response precisely because it was not

a slick answer.

The Eleven...

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The Regulator was used to dealing with fiendish plots and complicated

schemes. So he quickly thought up a dozen reasons why the Evil Entities

would want Michael Lee and his wife. And he convinced himself of these

reasons, without any further input from the Collector.

Ill have to take back my friend from these Eleven oxygen-wasting

pieces of garbage, the Regulator decided aloud. Ill deal with you people

when I come back.

The Regulator turned around and strode off. Normally careful, he was

in too much of a hurry to save his childhood friend. He did not notice the

look on the Collectors face.

*

The Regulator was disciplined enough to keep going even if he was

hungry, but the baby was not. Less than an hour out of town, the baby

began crying. At first the Regulator wanted to hold off until he could find a

proper hospital to drop off the baby. But he did not pass any hospital, and

the babys cries grew louder.

Since his kung-fu master had always told the Regulator to be vigilant,

the Regulator had never learned the kung-fu of turning his ears deaf. Unable

to shut off the crying sounds, he was eventually forced to stop at a roadside

diner to buy some milk for the baby.

While he was feeding the baby from a bottle, the Regulator started

feeling hungry.

Lady, can I have the menu, please? The Regulator asked in his usual

courteous tone.

Surprised at being called a lady, the waitress raised an eyebrow. Butsince the Regulator did not seem to be sarcastic, she smiled and took out

the cleanest, least creased menu and handed it to him with both hands.

The Regulator looked at the menu with increasing dismay:

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Veggies: Justice Leek.

Bread: Judge Bread, Submariner Sandwich.

Burgers: The Whizzer.

Noodles: Fantastic Pho, Soup Ramen, Wonder Ramen.

Meats: The Flesh with Daredevilled Eggs, Ziggy Pork Chops, Super

Rabbit Stew with Power Basil, Incredible Hunk of Pepper Steak.

Desert: Gingerbread Man, Battered Man, Peacher Pie.

Garnishers...

Mister, do you want anything to eat? The waitress asked eagerly.

This menu reads like something produced by a semi-literate

teenager, the Regulator pronounced sternly.

I wrote it, the cook turned around. He looked younger than the

average Karl and sported a face that reminded the Regulator of a volcanic

landscape.

The Regulator looked sternly at the cook. You should be studying in Li

Hais School.

Quit Hais School in my first year, came the reply.

You quit? No wonder you dont even have the basics.

Like? The cook sounded as though he had heard this a thousand

times before.

You can barely read and write, the Regulator tapped the menu.

Is that important?

The Regulator gestured with his fingers in the cooks direction.

Without the basic kung-fu of reading and writing and math, you cantunderstand the more advanced kung-fu tomes and manuals. So you can

never go to a more advanced Kung-fu academy and learn higher level kung-

fu. Youll always be at the bottom of society.

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Higher level kung-fu? The cook sneered. With the outrageous fees

they demand, do you think I can afford to attend an advanced academy?

The Regulator was not accustomed to responses like this, and racked

his mind for an answer. At last he said: At least Li Hais School is free.

After which? The cook sneered again, jerking his chin defiantly at the

Regulator. I graduate from Hais School, get a minimum-wage job, then

save for a thousand years to pay for my first year in an advanced academy?

You could try for loans, the Regulator suggested. Then he cursed

himself inwardly. After what he had seen happen to Michael Lee...

Ya, ya! The cook sneered, twisting his volcanic landscape of a face

like an earthquake. Are you suggesting that I borrow from the Creditors?

And hope to pay back before they send their Collectors after me?

At a loss on how to reply, the Regulator simply repeated himself. You

could still have completed basic schooling at Li Hais School first.

The waitress looked at the cook. I told you, you should at least stay

long enough to get a diploma from Hais School. The basic kung-fu they

impart to you are valuable.

Worthless in the Real World, the cook replied.

Worthless? The Regulator raised a hand.

They teach nothing but book stuff, the cook replied. And their book

stuff all that fee-sicks, care-mystery and buy-all-logic and meth-the-

matics rubbish these dont help me in the Real World.

The Real World is dominated by people who have mastered high

levels of kung-fu. Doctors, lawyers, bankers, the like, the Regulator said

sternly. They have powerful kung-fu because they went to advanced kung-fu academies. They were able to go to these advanced academies, because

they mastered the kung-fu basics in Li Hais School.

My Real World is not the same as your Real World, the cook

shrugged.

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The waitress jerked her head towards the cook while addressing the

Regulator. To him, the Real World is filled with tough teenage boys. Hais

School doesnt teach the right kung-fu to deal with these boys.

Exactly, the cook said. While talking, he waved his spatula

dramatically in the Regulators direction. This caused specks of grease and

food bits to fly out. The Regulator swiftly picked up a napkin and blocked the

specks of grease and food before they could hit his perfectly pressed suit.

Wow. Im impressed, the cooks eyes opened wide. The Regulator

had not even wrinkled the suit while making his move.

That wasnt intended, the waitress said hastily. Boy, put down the

spatula when you talk to customers.

No problem, the Regulator replied. See here, boy, he addressed

the cook. When you learn such high levels of kung-fu, you can do almost

anything. You can lead a company. You can head an organization. You can

manage a corporation. Everyone will bow to you and pay you respect...

The cook did not respond, so the Regulator decided to try a different

approach.

Well, I hate to admit this, the Regulator sighed as he lifted his

napkin. But with the right kung-fu, dirt wont even stick to you. And the

Regulator twitched his wrist. It was the slightest, almost imperceptible

movement but the specks of grease and food were tossed off the napkin

instantly. The Regulator now showed both the cook and the waitress his

perfectly clean napkin. Some of the food bits which landed on the napkin

had been very greasy, but no stains were visible on the napkin anymore.

Oh my goodness! That is just the perfect kung-fu for me! Thewaitress was wide-eyed with excitement. How did you make it so clean?

Its the kung-fu of Accountancy, the Regulator said as he folded up

the napkin. That move is called Cleaning The Books. Allows you to move

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dirty items off any surface. You wont soil yourself or leave any traces

behind.

Now he looked directly at the cook: How do you like that?

I like that, the cook licked his lips.

So why do you not want to hang on in Hais School? The Regulator

turned a hand over, palm upwards, and stretched it out rhetorically at the

cook. Learn the theory, then go on and find some way to get into an

advanced kung-fu academy. There are such things as loans and scholarships

and financial aid programs. And now the Regulator closed his hand and

raised a finger like a teacher. Once in an advanced academy, you could

learn more powerful kung-fu. Its just a matter of enduring the tough times.

I wasnt sure I could live that long, the boy shrugged.

What do you mean?

Havent you heard of the phrase, Survive Hais School? The waitress

asked.

Of course. That isnt that hard, is it?

What do you mean? The cooks expression showed that he saw the

Regulator as a typical adult. One who did not understand school life in the

Real World. Every day is a battle for survival! We had impromptu kung-fu

tournaments in school every day!

The cooks eyes rolled upwards as he reminisced: Punch here, kick

there, shove here, poke there; slam this, smash that, hit this, box that...

The cooks hands started moving about menacingly.

Sounds rough, the Regulator broke in to stop the cook from waving

his spatula around. When I went through Li Hais School, things were a lotbetter. Students just sat at their desks and learned the theory. There wasnt

a whole lot of fighting.

Youre kidding! The cook stared at the Regulator. No fighting in

Hais School?

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Except between classes and after school, the Regulator admitted

after a short pause. But well, we did have plenty of energy. And you need

to practice what you just learned. But, ahem, well, it was just a bit of rough

play. Nothing life-threatening.

Times have changed, old man, the cook replied as he put down the

spatula. When I got in Hais School, they had just gotten metal detectors to

stop people bringing in weapons. Then people started carrying bokken

thats wooden swords, wooden clubs, shuriken made of tough plastic,

ceramic ninja claws, nunchakus... and then the authorities hired turkey

bacon to conduct strip searches...

Their own private security guards, the waitress added, in case the

Regulator did not understand the slang the cook was using.

... and there were still duels and gang fights all the time. Practically

everyone was carrying some lethal weapon, hidden inside an innocent-

looking daily object, the cook concluded.

You dont know how Hais School is like nowadays, the waitress

sighed. Youngsters risk their lives by going.

Its tough in The Real World, the Regulator commented mildly.

There was a pause during which nobody talked. The cook turned back

to his stove.

Well, what do you want to eat? The waitress asked.

Give me some salad, please, the Regulator said. Without dressing or

cheeses. Olive oil is acceptable. Thank you.

Once both the Regulator and the infant had finished their meals, the

Regulator paid and left. Hang on, mister, the waitress called out. Youre heading in the

wrong direction. That way is South.

I am heading for the Border, the Regulator replied.

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The waitress watched the Regulator and his Otto disappear over the

horizon. Her pleasant and caring face was clouded over.

I hope nothing happens to him, the waitress said to herself.

The cook picked up the napkin that the Regulator had used to block his

grease bits. He turned over the napkin several times to make sure there was

no trick or illusion involved.

This is quite amazing, the cook commented. Hack-Count-Ten-See,

he said?

The waitress did not answer. She wiped her hands uncomfortably over

her apron. Having worked at this roadside diner for years, she knew that not

everyone who crossed the Border came back. And some took many years to

return.

Next: Street Child

Kung-Fu for Dharmi Chapter2 the Regulator

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