Chapter Text
The fuck?
A heavy blow, sending him sailing.
A punch, but with claws.
Stupid!
Pain. Landing on a bamboo pole over a pool, back first. Snapping.
Idiot!
Not his back breaking, though it wasn't meant to bend like that, but the pole.
The recriminations roiled through his mind as he plunged toward the cold water.
Hitting it was like being shot; fire raced up his nerves as ice clawed at his flesh. Talons raked his heart, mind, and soul.
A sudden cloud of crimson about his head.
Screaming produced bubbles, but not coherent sound, as he was dragged down into the dark.
A fleeting thrill. Disjunction. Cold washing over and in, air replaced with water.
Darkness. Nothingness.
Light.
Ranma woke from the nightmare of drowning to find himself laying on his side in mud, surrounded by dry dirt and scrub green.
"Very good of you to wake," an accented voice said in imperfect Japanese. "Nearly drown in already cursed spring, no want to find out what happens."
Why was the man yelling?
Everything quickly came back to him. Hiking to the legendary training grounds deep in rural western China. Fighting his old man from bamboo poles over cold water springs. Beating his old man, a flash of satisfaction, and a panda jumping out in the remains of his father's clothes.
One moment of shock; getting knocked flying into his own spring.
Pain, snapping, burning, cold.
Ranma sat up quickly. Ten fingers, two arms. Ten toes, two legs. No fur.
But why were the limbs slimmer and longer than he remembered? They still felt whipcord fast and strong but looked... wrong. Everything looked wrong; brighter, sharper.
The smell of wet panda made his nose wrinkle. So close, he could smell the Mao-suited guide's sweat, the lingering stink of pipe smoke.
"What happened-" he stopped talking. That wasn't his voice. It belonged to someone else, a girl by the silkiness. But it spoke his words and vibrated out of his throat.
Ranma looked down after a deep breath. Pulling open his gi revealed-
Yep. Girl.
"Ahhhhh!"
Ruby red rage, hot as fire, strong as the sea, flooded through him. Her.
The old man didn't read Chinese and had led them there. It was his fault.
"Oyaji!"
While he would never be thankful for his son's near drowning, he was currently glad of the time it'd given him to adjust to his new cursed body.
Ranma certainly inherited his mother's temper, that was never clearer than while being chased by the mildly pandacidal redhead. Her temper, for sure, but not her more demure nature.
And he'd trained the boy well. So well that he was warring between pride and regret of said training.
But mostly running.
"Come back here so I can turn you into panda steak!"
He was not doing that! When had the boy been so fast? Or was he really that much slower on stubby panda legs?
Stupid curse. Stupid Chinese guidebook, not having more obvious warnings.
Genma feigned a zig, then zagged, and finally flipped right over a makeshift bamboo javelin that exploded against the rock beneath him.
Definitely his mother's son.
As he landed and moved into a sprint, he emerged from a thicket of bamboo and nearly flattened a boy idling around.
"Get out of the way, fool!" he shouted, waving his hands frantically. Not that it came out of his panda mouth that way.
The boy tried to jump away, and he zoomed on past.
A few seconds later, a loud splash came from below.
Sucks to be him...
"Waaaagh!"
Something heavy hit him, and Genma fell over in a tangle of what was quickly recognizable as limbs.
"Anything Goes, right old fart?" Ranma said from right beside them. "Lucky this jerk was here to throw at you."
I'm so proud, that's my boy!
"Now I'm going to whoop your ass for this!" his son continued.
"Were you not prepared to give up your life for the Art?" he retorted. Well, growfed unsuccessfully.
"Sorry oyaji, don't speak stupid panda," he cracked his knuckles. "But you don't need to speak for this..."
Ungrateful brat!
"You see? Hot water reverses curse. No is stuck."
With all of the patience of the kami themselves, their guide poured hot water from a kettle over her dad's head. It wasn't like those werewolf transformations in the horror movies; the panda just shrank down and turned into the bald Genma.
The bald, naked Genma.
Ranma chuckled. "Little cold, old man?"
He stared blankly at her.
She pointed downwards.
He turned red, somewhere between anger and embarrassment. "At least I'm still a man, boy!"
"At least I'm still human, you fuzzy lard-ass!"
"Actually sirs, no is all true."
Both of them turned slowly to face the guide. "What?" they asked together.
He held up a hand and walked the short distance to a sleeping area behind a privacy screen. After a few noises the old guide came back and held out a hand mirror to her.
She took it, turning the reflective side toward her face, and looked. "Okay?"
Crimson hair, delicate features, flawless skin... huh all the marks from years of sun and training were gone. Bright red eyes? That was a little odd.
Pointed ears. "The fu- did I fall into the 'spring of drowned elf' or something?"
"...nǚjīnglíngnìquán is not bad guess, but no. Record has that one as nǚyāoguàinìquán; the 'Spring of Drowned Demoness' you would say," he explained.
Ranma stared blankly at him. After a few seconds, the man sighed and puttered off to a small 'office' space. He carefully searched the collection of books, scrolls, tablets, and even photo albums muttering thoughtfully to himself in Mandarin.
After a minute of that he produced an old silk scroll affixed to a bamboo slat backing from a sturdy chest. Returning to the small table, he carefully unrolled it and displayed it for them. On it was a painting of... her?
She looked between it and the mirror several times.
Sure, there were some differences. The painting was an adult; she was a teen. And the image was of someone fished out of the little water next to the body.
The guide pointed a stubby finger at the writing. "Drowned female demon discovered... one thousand year ago."
"Wow, what are the odds?"
"Is nine-hundred and fifty years, actually. But one-thousand close enough," he explained. "And this scroll only seventy years, made by my father. Records all redone every couple generation for preservation. Now also photographed."
He gestured to the pile of photographs at his desk, which made a bit more sense now if he was making backups.
"Now, nǚyāoguàinìquán." He pointed to a red semicircle with three descending lines below the figure's eyes. "You see? Demon markings."
"So?"
"Well they-" he paused, and got very close to her face. "Wait, you no have!"
He vanished from her face and grabbed a notepad, then frantically scribbled on it while muttering in furious Mandarin. He glanced at the scroll again, sounding like he was reading aloud.
"Description say: red hair and eyes, markings clearly not makeup, skin as pale as snow. But Mr. Customer no have markings or pale skin..."
"So, I'm not a demoness?" Ranma asked.
"Do not know. Have ears, hair, eyes. Also, is girl."
"So, what are you writing?"
"Record for future Jusenkyo Guides," he answered. "Perhaps go see wise womans in Amazon village for more answers? I take you, yes?"
"Sure, if you think they can tell us more abo- wait. You live here. You have these records! How do we cure ourselves?"
"Is no cure," he said sadly. "Once cursed, always have curse, change water."
"What?!" Genma shouted.
The guide gestured with his hands a few times, then shrugged. "As I say, no cure, only curses."
Ranma sighed. "Figures."
"Let's go speak to your hedge wizards, then," Genma said. He grabbed the kettle and dumped it over Ranma's head while the guide frantically yanked the scroll of the table before it could be splashed.
"Be careful, sirs!" he shouted.
Genma grumbled.
On the one hand, the walk from the springs to the village was short enough that the heavyset guide was willing to lead them. On the other, Ranma was still annoyed at her father. Not least of which was because she was a guy but currently a smoking-hot redhead... in his not-so-humble opinion.
Every step moving with unfamiliar anatomy was a reminder of that.
The funny thing was, though, she knew it should be awkward. Different limb lengths, weights, centers of balance, and so forth. And yet she felt her movements were more organic as a girl, flowing from one to another in such a way that her old man seemed like a bumbling... panda in comparison.
A bumbling panda who uses me as a shield against water and then yells at me for becoming a girl, Ranma groused.
That was the other thing. The repeated shifts reinforced the increased grace as a girl; everything came naturally to 'her.' She could see clearer, further. The sounds were loud but easily distinguished even over the birds and insects.
Smells, too, which was... unfortunate when the three of them were sweating and smelling up the place. Water helped a little, but the panda smelled worse than the sweaty old man she was used to. And, of course, the only water on the road was cold, which meant girl.
'Why are you complaining about a little water?', 'You sound like a girl.', 'You break your father's heart with such a weak and frail little body.'
Would they stop and heat water? Only if Genma got splashed, but just for her?
SPLASH
"Your lack of focus shames me, boy!” her old man snapped, lowering his travel cup.
Now he’s just splashing me to be a dick? She’d hit her limit and punched him.
The blow took Genma by surprise and knocked him back. She'd never admit it, but it surprised her, too. Once she'd committed to hitting him, her fist was already rebounding from his chest; like lightning, it had already struck when you saw it.
The speed and power gave her a rush. "Done already, oyaji?" she taunted.
He cracked his knuckles. "I suppose we have time for a lesson in discipline."
Ranma bounced on her toes. "If you think you're man enough."
Genma slipped into a stance, immediately coiling his hips and exploding into a double palm strike. She knew the old man was fast from experience, but it was like watching him do it underwater.
Her kick met his hands, driving the strike high, and the other came around for his head as she entirely left the stability of the ground.
He did get a forearm block up in time to catch the kick; she dropped the leg and locked her knee to his elbow. Ranma used the anchor point to bring her other knee up towards his jaw.
His head jerked back, and she used the distraction to kick off his chest and backflip to a landing a meter away. She smirked. It felt good to smack him around so easily. Real good.
"Need another lesson, oyaji?"
Genma growled and kipped back up to his feet, coming in with a flurry of punches, kicks, elbows, knees, and arm swipes. Every move bled from one into another or opened up his body mechanics to start something new.
Her old man was absolutely a jackass, but that somehow made him an even better martial artist. She danced, twisted, sprang, and flipped away from all of the attacks anyway. Leading him until one arm extended just enough-
Ranma slipped into his combat measure and grabbed the arm, spinning and heaving.
The Jusenkyo Guide frantically scrambled away from her father's flight, abandoning the rock he was sitting on.
Genma's face took his place. Loudly.
She felt a rush of sweet satisfaction and energy surge through her as the old man went limp. "Suck on that, hah. Point, Ranma!"
He snapped up, face red. "I'm not done yet, boy!"
"Please, sirs, want to reach village before night!"
"Yeah, oyaji, you're already struggling to stand, don't push yourself. Wouldn't want to break a hip," she teased.
"Raaanma!" he shouted.
The guide just sighed and sat on another rock with his pipe.
One red-maned demoness, her panda father, and their guide walked into the rural village, though that label was a bit of a misnomer. She'd expected more of the little farming communities like they'd passed on the journey.
There were power poles with lines, a few satellite dishes, paved roads, and several automobiles... even if they were mostly trucks laden with cargo.
And the whole thing was a lot bigger than she expected.
"Thought you said this was a little rural village?" she asked, poking the guide.
"Rural mean location, not primitive," he answered. "Nǚjié zú local hub."
"Oh."
They walked deeper into the village, watching a few people going about their business but otherwise the streets seemed... emptier than a 'local trade hub' would imply.
"Oh!" the guide said suddenly, gesturing down the way. "Is very fortunate, Mr. Customers, village womens having tournament. Village is open to all during Martial Art Show. We see their skill, then speak to elders."
Genma made a scoffing noise, but Ranma shrugged. She hoped they'd be better than some of the inner-city dojos they'd visited. But at least it was something to do, if nothing else she could amuse herself picking apart the flaws in their technique.
The group trundled down the street, the sound of fighting and cheering steadily getting louder.
As they approached, she felt that yawning hunger start growing again. At some point she'd stopped noticing it, but it was back with a vengeance.
And something smelled... delicious nearby. Cooked meat, steamed buns, roasted vegetables, seasonings... it was intoxicating.
Apparently, her old man felt something of the same because both of their gazes alighted upon a table absolutely loaded with food that was currently lacking feasters.
More for them, then!
The three made their way to the benches before it. The guide sat down to watch and began narrating, and they started eating. If he didn't want to help himself, they wouldn't save him anything, even though there probably was plenty.
Two-way split!
They spent a moment stuffing food in their mouths, her tongue alight with taste. Sweet, savory, umami, sour, salty... and then others she had no words for. A vibrancy in food she'd never experienced.
She moaned and dove further in, grabbing and sampling things, looking for those new sensations again.
After a bit, she calmed down enough to turn and watch the fight while eating the things she had found a 'taste' for.
A girl about Ranma's size with the most vibrant blue hair was dueling a much larger brunette. The bigger girl had a spiked club against the smaller's pair of round maces, and they were really going at it.
The big one has the strength and reach advantage, if she'd actually use it. She stuffed a steamed pork bun in her mouth. Both are about the same speed.
To her, this meant slow, but at least equally so.
Another bun vanished into the empty void of her gut. Two with reach are going to beat that club if she doesn't stop choking up so far.
Her old man produced a big roast, and she reached over to tear a chunk out of it. He grumbled but didn't stop eating.
As predicted, the bigger girl finally realized her predicament after being pushed on the back footing, and threw herself into a thrust while extending the two-handed club like a spear.
Telegraph much? Eeesh. She winced.
The bluenette vaulted over it, landed lightly, and sent her opponent flying with a full-strength smash.
"Win tournament is very good honor," the guide said.
"Not bad," Ranma agreed, tearing into a cob of corn. "Slow, but she's got some serious power."
"Oh, sirs... what you eating there?" the man asked, his pipe hand falling to his side as he stared at them.
Was that a hint of... worry? And why were all the locals staring at them like that?
She heard the swish of displaced air and caught the flash of color out of the corner of her eye, and Ranma flipped out of the way. One of the maces smashed the bench she'd just abandoned. Don't gotta be a bitch about it.
Her feet barely touched the ground before Ranma was off like a shot. The girl took a surprised step back but, to her credit, swung both weapons.
She bent back, the blows missing by the barest minimum as Ranma uprighted and zipped in. Her fist blurred, and the bluenette ducked down, frantically swinging the maces to take out her legs.
Ranma sprang up and landed nimbly on the head of one, then lashed out and sent the girl sprawling with a kick to the face. Her suddenly unsupported stand dropped to the ground with her riding it, and she just walked off it back to the food, riding the high of her victory.
Or she tried to. The crowd encircling the table started to produce weapons.
"S'like that, eh?" she said. Her eyes flashed rapidly to all the visible fighters, all women, she noted. She registered body language, stances, weapon capabilities... everything flashed through her mind in an instant.
"Bring it, bitches."
Genma never stopped stuffing food in his face while watching the confrontation. You'd never know that the Saotome Style didn't specialize in crowd-fighting the way Ranma exuded pure confidence.
There was only so much space a group could squeeze in to attack a single target, and he cut off half of that by keeping near to the table, and it at his back. Anyone approaching like that would give themselves away, and be easily dealt with.
He only hoped some would be foolish enough to try and claim high ground on his son.
And, of course, if things did go south, he'd be ready to grab the redhead and bolt.
Short spears came from the sides, trying to hem him in. Swords and maces from the rest of the forward arcs. It was well executed, the women clearly trained or experienced in working together.
They struck.
Ranma danced. Like a breeze skipping through the trees, flowing around an obstacle, without ever being stopped.
Open-palm slaps drove away blades, kicks deflected staves. Elbows smashed into faces as he rolled around one attack and into another's bubble... and created openings for hands and feet to send opponents flying.
Of flight, Ranma took to the air as if gravity was a suggestion. Landing on outstretched weapons only to knock out the lights of the wielder with a spinning kick and bounce away.
It was the Art as art. Organic, precise, efficient... flawless.
He wept manly tears of pride as his son showed the dominance of the Saotome Style over all challengers. It was everything he'd hoped for out of their long training trip.
Compliments and coddling would have been weak, so he could never share those thoughts, not for either of their sake. But it remained, a pearl hidden in his mind.
Perhaps Ranma could even learn... no, he'd sealed those for a reason.
At one point in the melee, the boy relieved someone of her short staff. He twirled it into a deceptively awkward ready stance and flicked the other hand tauntingly.
That's my boy! Keep them mad, keep them off balance!
The Amazons stared. Ranma smirked and scraped one foot in a semi-circle between him and them. The challenge was clear.
The crowd charged.
They weren't their champion, that was for sure. But there were so many of them. They pressed her hard, and her blood burned, every instinct on fire. With every foe struck down, her heart sang with sheer joy.
It was the best fight of her life.
And then someone couldn't hold their grip on their staff, and she was armed.
Breathing hard but not at all tired, she gave a dramatic flourish and waved them in. Come on, come on, come on.
A taunting line in the dirt, a raised brow in challenge, an arrogant smirk curling her lips.
They obliged.
Her first swing arced around from behind her shoulders and hammered the nearest attacker down and away. Ranma let the rebound guide her into smashing another approaching her other side, and then she vaulted into the air over their heads.
They turned to follow her as, instead of running, she dropped herself into a hollow space roughly in their middle.
She started swinging, the staff humming in tune with the glorious music in her soul, and the warriors started to go flying.
It was the duty and privilege of the elders of the village to observe the tournaments they orchestrated. Through them, they could see how well the coming generation was being trained and how well the older ones were keeping up with their practice.
For those with descendants participating, it was also a point of pride. And betting. Lots of coin changed hands on tournament days.
Kě Lún was no different, the matriarch having poured her long lifetime into the training of her great-granddaughter. Individual aptitudes and passion for the fighting sciences varied, but she was confident that her heir would perform well.
Her faith was rewarded, and her coin purse would be full that night.
Nobody could have expected the redhead and her pet panda to help themselves to the victory feast while everyone was focused on the final bout. They'd never needed to guard the prize before; it was inconceivable.
And her granddaughter was justifiably pissed about that. They all were. One swift surprise from the champion and the thief would never ply her trade again.
Except... even she was flabbergasted by how quickly the girl shut down Shanpū. That would be the point where the new champion would, rightly so, deliver the 'kiss of death' for the defeat. Not even challenging before going all out, how barbaric.
With each passing second, her astonishment and her eyes grew bigger.
To take out the champion and then to take on the audience!
And be succeeding! An outsider!
It was the fleeting glimpses of the girl's smile that gave her further pause. That wasn't a look of grim determination for a last stand or the arrogant toothy grin of an outsider looking to 'win' himself a bride, all things they'd seen before.
That was the purest expression of joy she'd ever seen. The girl's qi danced invisibly in the air like fire, caressing her opponents. To one like Kě Lún, who was wise and experienced in the esoteric, the aethereal flames called to her. Reached longingly.
It sang to her soul, and her heart sped up.
She had to talk to this outsider before the crowd wore her down.
While making a dent in the angry rabble hadn't taken long, in real-world terms, a moment was an eternity in a fight. An eternity that allowed the champion to hurl herself back into the fray.
Shanpū ignored the calls of the senior warriors and guards as they arrived from their posts and sought to break things up. She wasn't going to let them steal her kill; she was going to 'kiss of death' the shit out of this fucking outsider!
She grabbed a jian from one of the other villagers and started shouting, "she's mine, back off, I'll kill her!"
There was a break in the waves of Amazons trying to crash down on the redhead, and Shanpū dove into it, blade leading.
It met the staff with a loud ring, slapped aside, and the outsider turned most of her focus from the crowd. Someone came at her back, and she spun, the stolen staff striking with a painful 'thwack' and sending the unfortunate Amazon tumbling away.
Someone's heavy strike broke the staff in half, roughly, and the girl didn't even hesitate in closing into new opponents with the two clubs.
Was she imagining it, or had the redhead gotten faster than before? Breathing heavily like she should be tired. Why the hell wasn't she tiring out?
"Stop this right now!"
Shanpū heard her great-grandmother's booming command and swore. No, I was so close!
The voice boomed out, and the fighting stopped just as suddenly. While they may not have been individually good fighters, they were disciplined. They withdrew from Ranma, keeping her surrounded but refusing to close and fight.
She stepped in; they moved back.
With the sharp end, she felt... empty. All the joy that had been coursing through her during the fight vanished like it had never been, and the whiplash was agony.
"No! Nononono, don't stop! C'mon!" she whined.
Nobody indulged her. But through the crowd came the tiniest, wrinkliest, shriveled old... maybe woman? she'd ever seen. Bouncing on a gnarled cane of all things, though it was a full staff to her.
"Be still, outsider," the gravelly voice bade.
Ranma realized she was fidgeting, sticks twitching, fingers tightening and loosening on the broken halves. With some effort, she brought her body back under control.
"Why did you steal the Grand Prize feast from our champion?"
The redhead turned back to the table and her gluttonous father, who had cleared a good portion of what remained while she fought.
"Prize feast?" she asked.
The living wrinkle nodded.
"Uh... where does it say that?"
The tip of the staff moved past her nose, pointing at a broken wood frame, probably a sign.
"Heh... would you believe I was hungry and didn't see that?" she asked.
"Didn't see it, or don't read Chinese?" the old woman retorted.
Ranma laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck... as well as she could without disarming. "Both?"
She was rewarded with a heavy sigh.
"I am Kě Lún, the matriarch of Nǚjié zú," she introduced. "Who are you?"
"Saotome Ranma of the Musabetsu Kakutō Saotome Ryū," she answered.
The matriarch paused for a moment, holding back what she was going to say, then shook her head and continued. "So you claim ignorance, not malice, behind the theft?"
"...yes?"
"And the fight following?"
"I mean the blue-haired girl attacked me first, right? I was just responding to that. Then everyone else got involved. Accept all challenges, you know?" Ranma said.
"I see..." Kě Lún replied. "You claim no ill will, so then you would be amicable to making amends?"
"Amends for- wait. If it was the champion feast, and I beat the champion, doesn't that mean it's mine as the new champion?"
"Not without a proper formal challenge agreeing to those terms, no."
The redhead frowned, thinking, then hitting on a spark. "Ah! Then who do I need to challenge for it to work out that way?"
"At this point... me," the old woman said.
She grinned wide. "Alright, I challenge you, then!"
The crowd gasped. Even Kě Lún looked surprised.
"Are you sure about that, outsider?"
"Hell yeah, when I beat you, then we're square."
"And what if I win?"
"...I dunno, what do you want?" Ranma, getting antsy again, said.
"I think you should tend to the injuries of those hurt in your brawl, and then work off the food you and your 'pet' ate," the old woman said. "Should only take a week or so if you can work as hard as you fight."
Her old man started to flail his arms, barking and bleating. While she didn't speak panda, she knew when her old man didn't want something to happen.
"You're on, old ghoul," she said.
Ranma parried the staff strike to her head and smirked. "Let's go, then."