Once, in the crowded halls of a sweatshop, there toiled a short fat smiling man in an orange robe and a wide straw hat. The workers were treated cruelly, yet they named him SHIFU, for that word means master and because he stood between them and harm like a true teacher. On a quiet night the little father walked out the door, robe open over his great belly, and never returned. The company kept his name anyway and stamped SHIFU across the stock market as if the escaped master still owned the place. Now he rests somewhere under that hat, still grinning, while packages travel the earth in honor of the master who set himself free.