About
...as honored to be accepted as the infamous Master Loa Toa’s apprentice. Apprenticeship meant he would learn and live beside his master, for as long as his master or his parents decide, like boarding school. He was uneasy about living with a stranger, even though Master Loa Toa was the oldest, wisest man of all China. Supposedly, he could perform magic and miracles, but Ching Chang didn’t believe such baloney. Master Loa Toa was most famous for his dragon paintings. He drew beautiful, detailed drawings of dragons, yet he doesn’t let anyone have a painting. Despite offers of millions of dollars, Master Loa Toa kept his paintings to himself. Ching Chang’s father had borrowed a cart and oxen for the ride to Master Loa Toa’s house. On the way there, all Ching Chang could think of was how his orchard would slowly decay and shrivel to nothing. Ching Chang stared somberly at his feet as the cart wobbled through the market. Despite his gloomy mood, his surroundings were filled with joy. The village was now awake. Young children laughed and played between old, wooden carts as merchants each boasted about his great goods, from precious jade charms to mouth-watering hard candy. Colorful lanterns were hung over the road, creating a vivid and bright setting. Women carrying brightly decorated sun umbrellas were admiring the different jewels, as young boys cheered on their cricket fight. The market was teeming with life. Soon, they arrived at a quiet, reclusive part of the village, just below the Mountain of Dragons. The only sign of human inhabitance was a thin, dirt road leading to a small hut. Master Loa Toa came out of the hut to greet them. “Welcome, welcome!” he said with a smile. He had a slow walk and friendly posture. On his face were wrinkles from smiling throughout his life. He had long, white hair that flowed from his head and chin like milk. “This must be young Ching Chang,” he said, looking at Ching Chang with a gentle smile. “Yes, sir,” Ching Chang replied. “You be good,” warned his parents as they left without a second glance at Ching Chang. Ching Chang accompanied Master Loa Toa in everything he did, even during his endless meditations. They would walk far away from the hut, deep into the forest. Here, the quiet sounds of nature surrounded all. Birds nested and sang from among the tall, slim trees, which jingled their leaves as the wind blew. Then, Master Loa Toa would sit down and close his eyes, blending in with nature and meditating on the many lessons it quietly taught. Ching Chang imitated him as best as he could, but could never sit still for more than a few minutes. Hours would pass. Ching Chang sometimes opened one eye to see if Master Loa Toa had snuck off and left him, for Loa Toa sat so motionless that one would think he was a statue. Master Loa Toa made Ching Chang look like an amateur. Ching Chang was not used to sitting still for so long. His horticulture had acquainted him with constant movement. Ching Chang shifted and shuffled, sniffed and coughed. Meditating was boring and frustrating. “You must master the art of meditation, young one, for when faced with tribulation and doubt, meditating can reveal deep secrets of your heart and mind. Let your spirit intertwine with the earth. Let nature be your teacher, as it is mine. Focus your mind, and be one with nature.” What’s this nut talking about? thought Ching Chang. Ching Chang admired the swift, graceful movement of Master Loa Toa’s brush as he wrote his calligraphy. The brush danced across the scroll like the silk dresses of the emperor’s daughters, swishing the floor as the twirled about the ballroom. Master Loa Toa always produced beautiful work. His Chinese characters were like blossoming flowers, the ends of the words flaring out like petals at their peak of beauty. Master Loa Toa barely blinked as he wrote his calligraphy, his eyebrows gently furrowed in concentration. No matter how hard Ching Chang tried, no matter how hard he furrowed his eyebrows, his characters never turned out quite like Master Loa Toa’s. His brush jerked about like a pursued rabbit. His strokes were either too fast, producing a faded color, or too slow, making the paint leak through the scroll. Occasionally, his brush would stop dead in the middle of a character as he tried to remember what the next stroke was. This made giant puddles of dark, wet paint throughout his calligraphy. It seemed impossible to master the deep, rich color of Master Loa Toa’s calligraphy. The most extraordinary thing about Master Loa Toa was the way he painted his dragons. He put all his effort into it, expressing whatever the painting was to express. His black, fiery dragons were painted with sharp, powerful strokes as his whole body moved vigorously in accommodation to his brush. His elegant, graceful dragons were painted with soft, gentle strokes as his wrist and arm moved smoothly and in harmony with his brush. His paintings were no less than magical. The dragons would seem to jump out at the spectator, who would not be able to resist being engulfed by its intense emotion. Ching Chang sometimes felt that the paintings were more than just paintings. Because the dragons were beautiful, majestic, and perfect, one little flaw bothered Ching Chang. None of the dragons that Master Loa Toa drew had eyes. It seemed senseless to have such a detailed painting, meticulously painted right down to the claws, but leave out just one, black dot that would complete the masterpiece. Where the dragon’s eye was supposed to be, there was just a blank, white space, just waiting to be dotted. The eyelids and parts around eyes were all done. The onl...