The Flight Begins

**The Great Chicken Glider Debacle**

Master Long Jian’s escape began with a *squawk*, a *thud*, and a cloud of feathers. The chicken, regrettably, had not consented to being a glider. It pecked his ear furiously as they crash-landed in a rice paddy, leaving Long Jian face-first in mud and fowl droppings. He spat out a stalk of rice, muttering, “A lesser man would’ve mastered *avian flight* by now.”

The moonlit night offered little mercy. Behind him, the Jade Lotus Dojo glowed like a lantern of doom, Lady Mei Ling’s voice echoing across the valley: *“BRING ME HIS HEAD! …OR AT LEAST HIS LAUNDRY!”*

**The Reluctant Posse**

Mei Ling’s “pursuers” were not the shadowy assassins of legend, but rather a ragtag band of village eccentrics:

- **Old Chen**, the tofu seller, armed with a ladle and a grudge (Long Jian once “borrowed” his cart to practice *Chariot Sword Technique* and returned it as firewood).

- **Little Yue**, a starry-eyed disciple who idolized Long Jian but feared Mei Ling’s dumpling embargo.

- **Auntie Zhu**, the herbalist, wielding a broom and a jar of *Tiger Balm of Eternal Itching*.

“Remember,” Auntie Zhu hissed, “Mei Ling promised free *zongzi* if we catch him. No mercy!”

**The Chase Through Pickle Alley**

Long Jian bolted into the village, his robe flapping like a panicked crane. The posse gave chase, stirring chaos in the night market.

- **Slapstick Moment**: Long Jian vaulted over a noodle cart, accidentally kicking a bowl of hot broth onto Old Chen’s lap. “MY SPOON!” Chen wailed, hopping on one foot.

- **Distracted by Swordsmanship**: Spotting a fishmonger’s cleaver, Long Jian paused to critique the man’s grip. “Your *Downward Salmon Chop* lacks *spiritual intent*!” The fishmonger blinked. “It’s 3 a.m.”

- **Pigsty Hideout**: Long Jian dove into a pigsty, camouflaging himself with straw. The pigs, unimpressed, oinked loudly until Little Yue peered in. “Master… why are you hugging a sow?”

**The Chopstick Duel**

Cornered in a tea shop, Long Jian faced Auntie Zhu across a table littered with leftovers. She brandished her broom; he snatched a pair of chopsticks.

“*The Thousand Noodle Strike*!” he declared, flinging udon like whips.

“*The Sweeping Wind of Disappointment*!” she countered, smacking his wrist with her broom.

A dumpling soared through the air—a peace offering from Little Yue. Long Jian caught it mid-bite, only to spit it out. “Cilantro?! You know I hate—”

*WHACK*. Auntie Zhu’s broom sent him crashing into a shelf of porcelain teacups. “That,” she said, “was for the cilantro.”

**The Unlikely Escape**

As the posse closed in, Long Jian spotted salvation: a river raft loaded with fireworks (destined for the ill-fated Anniversary Apology Display). He leapt aboard, slicing the ropes with a chopstick.

“Farewell, fools!” he cried, striking a dramatic pose. “Tell Mei Ling I… uh… left the stove on!”

The raft sped downstream, propelled by rogue fireworks. The posse watched, slack-jawed, as explosions lit the sky.

Old Chen sighed. “He’s gonna burn down another village, isn’t he?”

In the valley below, a rooster crowed. Somewhere, a chicken plotted revenge.

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