And tomorrow he would die.

The Time can not be cheated but you can pay your debts with percent. His suffering body was once more pierced with steel and bone needles arousing inner currents and clearing the clogged ways; once more Baby Snake had to go in for exhaustive training, to endure severe pains in his changing flesh crying at nights and trying in vain to sleep a little; once more the secret ointments covered his face and hands; he was subject to alternating massages and herbal embrocations... The baby snake was gradually becoming a grown-up snake.

But all of a sudden he had to put on his old skin again.

Because the great teacher Sunzi whose sayings should be constantly quoted by anybody who wants to deserve the name of a strategist, had also said the following:

– All five kinds of scouts must be active but we are not allowed to know their ways. This is a mystery not to be revealed.

But there's also another saying of his:

– You can get knowledge about your enemy only by inquiring other people.

Judge Bao the Dragon Seal repeated these wise words to Baby Snake Cai before sending him to Shaolin monastery, supplied with three genuine recommendations given by three highly esteemed persons.

Judge Bao was seeing the arms marked with the signs of tiger and dragon in his night dreams.

It seemed to judge Bao that these horrible dead images were able to creep away like beasts of prey and invade all Empire; may be they have already done it.

And Cai worked a miracle: in less than two months he has put on the skin he had almost cast away and went to Henan, to the famous monastery at the Song mountain.

The only person to know the real price of his deed was his mother who had already become so old that the strangers believed her to be the grandmother or even the great-grandmother of the rosy-cheeked youth still bearing his childish name.

But she provided her son with the most necessary things; small bottles and flasks of ointments containing gelatin made of donkey skin, a leather case with a set of needles, three small bags of yanchundan, "pills prolonging youth", and wormwood tubes for cauterization lay hidden in Baby Snake's sack. Without using all this the seemingly young man would live about a week – in fact, four days would be enough if such were the will of the Prince Yanlo – and then he wouldn't simply become old.

He'd die wishing he were a real baby snake falling down to a cauldron full of boiling water.

But the scouts of life are obliged to go and return.

Even if there is no way back he is to go and return.

And it is just the same even though the great teacher Sunzi whose sayings should be constantly quoted by anybody who wants to deserve the name of a strategist had not uttered any sayings on this subject.

It was about noon on the next day when the back door of the monastery opened to let the candidates in, and Cai the Baby Snake entered the inner yard...

I don't know why the moment of my own death remained the most distinct piece of my memory. All my previous life seems to had been but a prelude to this event, as senseless and unjust as many other events in Russia in the last years.

I had my breakfast, piled up the plates in the wash-basin, decided not to shave myself (I felt it like a challenge to somebody, although didn't know to whom) and putting on my jacket went out of the flat.

The staircase stank, as always, with the odors of cat urine and stale cigarette smoke. Down at the door I met our dvornik [17] whom everybody called Aunt Nastia. Her duty was to maintain the staircase in order and she was working hard to fulfill the task but some bad guys preferred to satisfy their needs of nature just at the stairs. Aunt Nastia, in her turn, used to tell these stories to any of the inhabitants of our house and curse the bastards. I agreed with her opinion as to the low moral level of those bad guys and, leaving her content with my sympathy and support, hurried out to the street.

The Volvo of my boss was already waiting for me near the house. This was his habitual trick every time when he was going to charge me with a new problem, one of those problems defined by the whole throng of his prominent computer experts with all their diplomas and certificates qualified with short and distinct term: "Deadlock!"

As a rule, on hearing such a diagnosis the boss would call me up personally, pouring sweet balms of praises and promises through the telephone and the next morning would arrive to bring me to his office in the car of his own.

At first I had felt flattered by all this.

The driver (and body-guard), known under the nickname Big Paratrooper, or simply Paratroop, waved his hand more resembling a bear's paw and smiled to greet me. All his forty-eight and a half golden teeth sparkled in the sun. Once I had managed to conquer him quite convincingly while playing cards but did not boast about this victory to anybody. Since then Paratroop got to like me; I was the second man in the whole world whom Paratroop liked, the first one being himself. He seemed to pity me and used to ask bringing me my morning cup of coffee:

– Well, Genius, tell me honestly: cannot you really discern the colors?

I soon got tired to explain him that color-blind persons are able to see the colors, it is only some hues that we loose, and the world does not look for us as an old black-and-white film. But Paratroop could not believe me.

– Tell me what's the color of that car there? – he would ask me from time to time.

– It's red, – I would answer and go away.

– You failed, Genius, you failed! – he shouted triumphantly.– It's orange indeed! You're wrong, Genius!

After such entertainment he remained good-humored for a whole day.

I am color-blind. Or now it is better to say that I had been color-blind. Besides, I had no musical pitch. To the least degree. The midwife helping my mother to deliver me to this world was a bit too awkward and a bit too strong. Accordingly, she applied pincers awkwardly and pulled strongly, while my mother was too busy with crying and groaning to notice what's going on. As a result, the head of the innocent baby appeared to be a bit too flat from the left side. This defect is now hardly visible; I've successfully grown up, moreover, Vera called the Miracle, my personal hair-dresser, invented a way to hide this asymmetry so skillfully that sometimes I even attract the attention of girls. But our acquaintance does not last long. Sooner or later all of them call me a "callous monster" unable to percieve genuine beauty.

The girls had some reason for saying it.

I was indeed a callous monster.

But I was also a computer genius.

– Good morning! The best of mornings! – the boss exclaimed coming out of his car in a hale and hearty tone.

His round face with fat cheeks stretched in a most good-hearted grimace. I have already almost come to him. But at that moment the Volvo exploded.

A sphere of bluish fire annihilated the car, only Paratroop's head remained visible for a moment in a most silly way, the fire crumpled my boss as if he were a paper doll. As to me, I felt strong heat and saw one's hand and arm amidst the hell of flames.

The hand was waving as if inviting me to come in.

It was very strange: skinny and sinewy, hairless and covered with peculiar tattoo... I tried to approach it and saw it in details – the forearm of this friendly body member was decorated with an image of a dragon showing all his fangs and claws.

Then I looked back and saw my own body.