Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh

skills? Associate with witches? Sorcerers?”
    “My daughter has never studied under any master,” Yanyan's mother said, “or learned any unusual skills. And she certainly hasn't associated with witches or sorcerers. I never let her out of my sight when she was growing up, and she did as she was told. The neighbors all said what a nice girl I had. And now this nice girl spends one day in your house and turns into an eagle on a treetop. How did that happen? I won't rest till I find out what you did to her. Give me back my Yanyan or you'll never get Yanghua back again!”
    “That's enough bickering, old auntie,” the policeman said. “Keep your eyes on the treetop.” He aimed his flashlight at the shadow atop the tree, then snapped it on, training its beam of light on Yanyan's face. With a flap of her arms, she rose into the air and glided to the top of yet another tree.
    “Did you see her, old auntie?” the policeman asked.
    “Yes,” Yanyan's mother said.
    “Is it your daughter?”
    “It's my daughter.”
    “We don't want to take drastic measures unless we have to,” the policeman said. “She'll listen to you if you tell her to come down from there.”
    Just then, Yanyan's mute brother began grunting excitedly and flapping his arms, as if mimicking his sister's flying motions.
    Yanyan's mother was in tears. “What did I do in a previous life to bring this down on my head?”
    “Try not to cry, old auntie,” the policeman said. “Concentrate on getting your daughter down from there.”
    “She's always been a strong-willed girl. She might not listen to me,” Yanyan's mother admitted sadly.
    “This is no time to be shy, old auntie,” the policeman said. “Call her down.”
    With mincing steps on tiny, bound feet, Yanyan's mother moved over to the tree where her daughter was perched, tilted her head back, and called out tearfully, “Yanyan, be a good girl and listen to your mother. Please come down. … I know you feel you've been treated badly, but that can't be helped. If you don't come down, we won't be able to keep Yanghua, and if that happens, the family's finished… .”
    The old lady broke down and wailed at this point as she dashed her head against the tree trunk. A scratchy sound descended from the treetop, the sort of thing one hears when a bird ruffles its feathers.
    “Keep talking,” the policeman urged.
    The mute waved his arms and grunted loudly to his sister, high above him.
    “Yanyan,” Hong Xi shouted, “you're still human, aren't you? If there's an ounce of humanity left in you, you'll come down from there.”
    Yanghua joined in the weeping: “Sister-in-law, please come down. You and I are both sufferers in this world. My brother's ugly, but at least he can talk. But your brother … please come down .. . it's our fate… .”
    Yanyan glided into the air again and circled the sky above the people. Chilled dewdrops fell to the ground — maybe they were her tears.
    “Move out of the way, give her some space and let her settle to the ground,” Iron Mountain said to the crowd.
    Everyone but the old lady and Yanghua stepped backwards.
    But things did not turn out as Iron Mountain had hoped, for after circling in the air above them, Yanyan settled back down onto the treetop.
    The moon had slipped into the western sky; the night was deepening. Fatigue and cold began to overtake the people on the ground. “I guess we'll have to do it the hard way,” the policeman said.
    Iron Mountain said, “Fm worried that the crowd might drive her away from the grove, and if we don't catch her tonight, it'll be that much harder later on.”
    “As I see it,” the policeman said, “she lacks the ability to fly long distances, which means it'll actually be easier to catch her if she leaves the grove.”
    “But what if her family won't go along with our plan?” Iron Mountain said.
    “Let me handle it,” the policeman assured him.
    He went over and told some of the youngsters to escort the mute and his mother out of the pine grove. The old lady, having cried herself into a state of lethargy, offered no resistance. The mute, on the other hand, grunted his disapproval, but once the policeman flashed his service revolver, he walked off meekly. Now the only people left at the scene were the policeman, Iron Mountain, Hong Xi, and two young men, one with a pole, the other holding a net.
    “A gunshot might alarm the people,” the policeman said. “So let's use a bow and arrow.”
    “With