Wang also sometimes lost these impromptu fights. When the gatekeeper announced the entrance of a challenger, all the students expected a quick resolution. But this time, when Wang Ziping looked up and saw a wiry man about seventy years old, he paused. Saihung stole a look at his master. Wang could size a man up at a glance. This one had skill.

   The stranger was tall and quite thin. His white hair was cut into a severe crew cut, and he had a long beard, the symbol of a elder. He evidently spent a great deal of time outdoors, for his skin was as brown as teakwood. Saihung noticed that his arms were rather long, and his fingers were slender but flexible. Wang Ziping was a heavyweight. The man was like a stick figure before him.

   "I know your reputation," began the stranger politely. He held his clasped hands gently before him in the gesture of respect. "I do not believe in isolating myself in a mountain retreat. I believe in testing myself against other skilled people. If I win, then know that old age has not yet bested me. If I lose, then I know the weak points that I must still correct."

   "I have heard of men like you," responded Wang. "You are interested only in the pinnacle of skill."

   "My abilities are quite poor. I am not here to bring shame on your school, and I would understand entirely if you were to den your school, and l would understand entirely if you were to deny me. But I would only like to see if I have made any progress in my practices. Would you please oblige me?"

   Wang could not refuse such a request. His honor was at stake.

   They began to circle each other warily. Neither made flamboyant moves. There were no fancy postures, no talking, no tricks. Just two old men who were fighting to see who the better was. They were two dedicated martial artists who would, if nothing else, uphold the dignity of the challenge and themselves.

   From the very first clash, Saihung could see that his teacher was at a disadvantage. Blows that would have felled a horse were easily dodged or received by blocking forearms. The stranger's posture was low; his stance was strong. Saihung could see that he was using the Elephant style.

   The main feature of the style was to use the hands like trunk of an elephant. This meant that the arms were very flexible and came at a variety of unusual angles. Whereas other styles might use open hands, chops, or jabs with the fingers, stranger relied primarily on his closed fists. The Elephant emphasized the Eight-Cornered Meteor. Instead of a simple punch, the style singled out every angle of the fist as worthy points of contact. Overhand raps with the knuckles, pounding attacks with the base of the fist, roundhouse swings with the thumb side, and use of different angles of the face of the fist were some of the variations.

   The stranger hit Wang repeatedly, hard enough to make booming sounds but not enough to injure him. A man with Wang's reputation was expected to be able to withstand some punishment. Saihung also saw that the man touched lethal spots, places that were used to kill. If Saihung could see it, he knew also that Wang Ziping could feel that he was being spared at every turn. The itinerant master was satisfied with demonstrating his abilities and control; he was not intent on hurting his adversary.

   They fought in fifteen-minute rounds. Wang was tiring. He had already lost his Moslem cap in the struggle, and it was one of the few times that Saihung had seen him out of breath and sweating. The older man was not even breathing hard. He only went to an unoccupied side of the gymnasium to wait courteously for the next round. Wang Ziping tried every technique that he knew, including secrets that he had never taught his students. He still could not best his challenger. In all, they fought four rounds for a bout that lasted over an hour. It was the challenger who stopped the contest.

   "Thank you for indulging me," said the man politely at the end of the final round. "You were too kind in letting me off."

   "No, no. It is I who must thank you," responded Wang breathlessly. It was the only time in his life that Saihung had ever heard his teacher thank an opponent.

   The man came close to Wang as he strode out of the school. "You should continue to teach. You are still good enough to do that."

   Saihung had pondered the man's vast superiority. Totally anonymous, without career or students, the old man cared only for his art. Yet nothing about his persona hinted at his attainment. True, he had a better posture than most men his age, and he walked in a way that was more vigorous than even young men, but nothing else hinted that he was so great. That was why, Saihung thought, one should not boast or demonstrate: There will always be someone unrecognized who will best the arrogant.