Chapter Fourteen

When the crowd recovered from its surprise, shouts and applause broke out for the first line cut of the day. Meanwhile, dozens of small boys waited at the far end of the park, downwind of the competition field. As the losing kite sailed off, the stampede began as each raced to be first to reach the kite and claim it for his own.

The gong sounded; Young-sup and his opponent bowed again, first to each other and then toward the King's platform. Young-sup dared not meet the King's eyes for fear of somehow giving away their secret alliance.

He returned to his place in line to watch the other matches. The second line cut of the competition was achieved by Kim Hee-nam. He used a similar technique to Young-sup's, but it took several tries before his opponents line was severed.

Young-sup's next two matches were nearly identical to his first. The striking appearance of the dragon kite combined with the swiftness of its victories had the crowd buzzing with excitement. With each match the row of contestants grew shorter. With each match the champion stood closer to Young-sup in the line.

***

After Young-sup's third quick victory in a row, the judges conferred briefly, then called him to the platform.

Young-sup told himself he had no reason to feel nervous. He reached the platform and bowed before the judges. The tallest judge, seated in the middle, returned his bow and spoke.

"Your line cuts are most impressive, young flier. We are all agreed that we have never before seen such an efficient display." Young-sup bowed again.

The judge continued, "We have been wondering if it is skill alone that enables you to cut your opponents' lines so easily."

With trembling fingers, Young-sup unreeled some of the line and held it before him. He forced himself to speak clearly, for he did not wish to appear to be hiding anything.

"The part of the line that you see here, Honorable Judges—it has been specially treated. It has been rolled in a mixture of glue and powdered pottery. It is this mixture that stiffens my line and gives it an extra cutting edge."

The judge gestured to a nearby guard, who took the kite and reel from Young-sup and brought them to the judges for closer inspection. The judges examined the line carefully, touched it gingerly, and whispered to one another.

Young-sup held his breath. The old kite seller had said it was not against the rules, but the three judges might still decide against him. It seemed like a long time before they handed the kite back to the guard again.

"We are agreed," the tall judge proclaimed, "that there is nothing in the rules that prohibits the use of such a line. We are also agreed that it would be unfair to make a rule about it now, with the competition already half over. Next year it may be a different story."

The judge paused and looked down at Young-sup. "The final thing that we are agreed on is that the cleverness of this line is matched only by the skill of the one using it." He nodded and bowed. "Fight on, young flier."

Young-sup took the kite from the guard and bowed his thanks. As he walked away, he felt wobbly and realized that his legs had been shaking like the leaves of a willow in the wind.

***

All eyes were on Young-sup as he entered the circle for his fourth match. The crowd, the judges, and Young-sup himself expected another swift victory.

But something wasn't right. He used the same technique as before, but after several attempts the opponent's line still held.

Young-sup tightened and released the line so his kite gained some height and was clear of the battle for a moment. What could be wrong? Was he doing something differently? There was no doubt that this opponent, having also survived three rounds, was highly skilled. Even now his kite was moving in for another attack.

Young-sup tried again. He released some line; feeling the slack, the dragon drifted back, its line rubbing the opponent's. The enemy kite seemed to duck like a boxer, with the other boy trying hard to accomplish the dual feat of avoiding Young-sup's line while knocking his kite. Finally, after two more hard-fought encounters, the opponent's line was frayed to a mere hair. And then the wind joined the fight on Young-sup's side, with a strong gust snapping the kite free.

Young-sup, suddenly exhausted, reeled in his kite. He picked it up and went back to stand in line yet again. On the way there he saw Kee-sup hurrying to his side.

"What's the matter?" Kee-sup asked anxiously. "What happened?"

Young-sup shook his head. "I don't know. I did the same as before—"

"Let me see." Kee-sup took the kite and reel and inspected them. "Look."

He was staring at the section of line that had been coated with the ground pottery. "It's nearly gone."

The glue mixture had worn away with each successive fight. Now there was hardly any of it left on the line, just a few rough patches here and there.

Young-sup looked frightened. "I never thought it might wear off."

"Neither did I."

"What now?"

Kee-sup spoke calmly. "What do you mean, what now? It's no different—you go out there and fly. Just do the best you can. You can win—even without the special line."

Young-sup tried to smile at his brother's reassurance, but inside he felt a quick flame of anger. He's not the one who's flying, he thought.

The knock-out contest was down to just four boys. If Young-sup won his next match, he would fight for the championship.

***

To the great surprise of both brothers the semifinal match was as easy as the first three had been. Once again it took only a few maneuvers to sever the opponent's line.

Kee-sup was waiting when Young-sup walked off the field. "What happened this time?"

Together, the brothers bent over the line. There were spots where the glue-and-pottery mixture still clung to the silk, a finger's width here and there. One of these spots must have made contact in the battle.

But all along the once-coated section, the sky-blue silk was beginning to fray.

Young-sup tested it, pulling tentatively at the weak spots. "It will probably hold—there's only one match to go. And if it does, those last little bits might be enough to help me cut his line."

Kee-sup shook his head. "It's not worth the risk. You need to get rid of all that weakened line and retie your reel."

"I need the special line, brother! This next match—it's Kim Hee-nam I'll be fighting."

"You don't need it. You can win without it."

"Against the others, maybe, but not him!"

Kee-sup took the kite and reel and laid them carefully on the ground. He began to untie the fraying line from the kite.

"I'm the one who's flying!" Young-sup protested. "Leave the line alone!"

Kee-sup shook his head and paused in his work to look up at him.

"You have to trust me, little brother. I know what you can do with a kite—even better than you do yourself. And do you know why?" Kee-sup grinned as he cut away the ragged part of the blue silk line. "Because you've never seen yourself fly."

***

As Young-sup reluctantly helped Kee-sup tie the last of the knots to secure the blue line once again, a shadow fell across the kite. The brothers looked up to see their father standing there.

They rose slowly and stood before him. He nodded. "The kite is well made."

Kee-sup bowed. "Yes, Father."

"And so far it has been well flown."

He has been watching. Young-sup thought. "I have done my best, Father."

"But you are not yet finished."

"No, Father. This last round..."Young-sup groped for words. "It's Kim Hee-nam. He has twice been the champion before."

His father shrugged, almost imperceptibly. He gestured for Kee-sup to join him. Young-sup took the kite from his brother and watched as they moved toward the crowd. Then his father turned back for a brief moment.

"You are a Lee," he said. "Honor the name."