Han Lian Village: The Spring Festival
The moonlight blended warmly with the festival lanterns. Laughter and music filled the air, enlivening the event. Everyone seemed to be truly enjoying themselves. Children ran around clutching lanterns, while adults feasted on rice wine—songs and applause erupted loudly from the magnificent stage in the center of the town.
"Step right up, gentlemen, get your tanghulu!"
The tanghulu vendor called out to a few young children passing by with their parents, hoping they would buy his candied fruit.
"Father, I want that one!"
"Well, little one, do you want the big one or the small one?"
The vendor's face lit up with joy as someone finally stopped to buy his wares. He picked up two types—one large and one small—and offered them to the buyers.
"Just the small one, old man," the father replied, his face showing a hint of annoyance.
"But Father, I want the big one!"
"You've had enough, just take the small one," the father insisted.
WAHHH!
The child began to wail loudly, sitting down on the asphalt and kicking his legs, drawing stares from the nearby festival-goers.
"Sir, please, just give him the big one instead of causing a scene in the middle of a festival like this," the vendor suggested.
"Fine, then. I'll buy the big one."
"Seriously, Father? Yay! Awesome!"
A bright smile returned to the child's face; he was so overjoyed that he began to jump up and down.
"How much for one large tanghulu, old man?"
"It's not expensive, only three silver zhang."
"That's incredibly expensive just for one tanghulu!"
The father paid, though his expression remained sour. They continued walking, taking in the sights of the lavish festival.
"Even nobles get angry over three silver zhang... stingy beyond belief!" the vendor grumbled under his breath. He tossed the money into his drawer with a rough shove.
While he was still busy complaining, a small hand reached out and snatched a tanghulu. The child bolted, running fast to get away. The vendor didn't notice at first, but by the time he realized what had happened, the boy was already quite a distance away.
"Hey, you brat!" the vendor's raspy voice thundered. He began chasing the small child, who looked to be about six years old.
"Stop, you damn little thief!" He panted as he ran; despite his large and stout frame, he was still quite agile.
"I'm sorry! I only took one—it's for my sister!" the little thief shouted back. He glanced over his shoulder and nearly collided with people enjoying the festival.
A man felt a surge of irritation as his body was nearly shoved by the small thief.
"Hey! You damn kid, watch where you're going!" Under the influence of alcohol, the man swayed drunkenly and almost struck the boy.
Fortunately, the drunk man's friend held him back. "Let it go, he's just a kid."
"You're lucky, brat," the drunkard muttered between hiccups, his face flushed deep red from the alcohol.
"I'm sorry," the little thief whispered, bowing his head and bracing for a blow that never came.
The drunkard ignored him. Moments later, the vendor's voice grew closer.
"Hey you! Stop, damn it!"
Panicked, the little thief sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him.
"What did you say?! I'm a damn what?!" The drunkard accidentally overheard the vendor's shout and took offense.
"Uh—no, sorry sir! I wasn't talking to you. I was trying to catch that little thief!" the vendor explained, raising both hands to calm the man down.
"Don't lie! You clearly said 'damn' to mock me, didn't you?!"
"If you're a man, come and fight me!"
The drunkard was on the verge of brawling with the vendor.
"Enough, we're here to party, don't mind the rest," his friend intervened.
The vendor didn't want the trouble to escalate, so he immediately left the drunkard behind to resume his chase. "Excuse me, sir."
The drunkard only nodded and went back to partying.
"Damn it, where did that kid go? I lost sight of him in just a second."
The vendor searched the narrow residential alleys for the little thief.
"There you are, you damn little thief!" He spotted the boy walking casually, trying to blend in with other children.
Seeing he had been caught, the little thief immediately bolted toward the harbor.
'Damn it, the vendor is still chasing me,' the boy whispered to himself.
They ran for a long time, eventually leaving the vendor completely exhausted. He stopped, gasping for air.
"Ah—you brat! If only I were young and strong like I used to be, I would've beaten you until I was satisfied." He turned back toward his stall, still cursing the child. "Damn it! Consider it a charity for you!"
"What a rotten day. I only sold one and then got robbed. I hope the rest of my stock is safe."
The little thief panted, looking back to ensure the vendor was no longer following.
"Haa, finally safe." He let out a sigh of relief, dropping his shoulders.
'Xiao Mei must be waiting and worried. I have to get home quickly,' he whispered, looking at the tanghulu which had started to melt slightly.
The boy walked past the harbor, which was filled with countless massive ships. This village was famous for producing the highest quality ships in the Qin Empire. Despite that, the economy was unstable; twenty percent of the population still lived in extreme poverty.
The little thief gazed at the moon and stars for a moment on his way home. He passed through several slum alleys filled with scavengers near the harbor. He did his best to hide the tanghulu inside his shirt and stayed as far away from the scavengers as possible.
Glinting eyes watched the boy; hunger and greed filled the minds of those lurking there. It felt as if they would do anything to get what they wanted.
The boy's heart hammered in his chest as he clutched the tanghulu tightly under his clothes. Hidden. His hands trembled, but his resolve did not waver. He quickened his pace; this was the fastest way home.
Without warning, he became a target. A middle-aged scavenger spotted him and began to approach slowly.
"Hey, Xiaojun. What are you hiding there?" His eyes bulged, his body slick with sweat.
Xiaojun felt he shouldn't linger there any longer.
"W-what do you mean, Pak Ming? I'm not hiding anything." Xiaojun swallowed hard. Pak Ming stared at him with a face that was pale and cold—the face of a man who didn't know how much longer he would live.
"Don't lie, Xiaojun. I saw you lying to your mother many times before she died three months ago."
Pak Ming and Xiaojun were once close neighbors. Initially, Pak Ming was kind, but that was only while Xiaojun's mother was alive. After she passed, Pak Ming showed his true colors, exploiting Xiaojun and Xiao Mei, forcing them to beg and steal just to collect money for himself.
'I feel so guilty for always troubling Mother with my behavior,' Xiaojun thought, bowing his head as he reflected on the past.
SMACK!!
A heavy, rough hand struck Xiaojun squarely in the face. He went stiff, staring at the ground from the force of the slap—hard and brutal. Tears began to fall down his face.
"Hey, you little bastard, don't you dare lie to me."
"I—I wouldn't dare, Pak Ming," Xiaojun stammered in fear. He lowered his hand to grip the tanghulu, trying to keep it hidden.
Pak Ming glared at Xiaojun's hand and grabbed it with a crushing force.
"Heh! I thought you were hiding something valuable, but it's just a tanghulu?" A sneer of frustrated rage appeared on Pak Ming's face.
Pak Ming yanked the tanghulu away, but Xiaojun held on with all his might.
"Kid, let go of this!"
Even though his face was burning and his ears were ringing, Xiaojun refused to let go; it was as if his body had locked in place.
"Since you chose this, don't blame me for being rough."
Pak Ming pulled Xiaojun's arm with such force that the boy was lifted thirty centimeters off the ground. A sound like snapping wood echoed.
CRACK!
"AAKH!" Xiaojun screamed in agony. His eyes bulged and his body began to thrash—a human's natural reflex to intense pain.
"Boy, you're going to this extreme for a piece of candy?" Pak Ming looked at Xiaojun's face, which was twisted in pain and fear. "If you want it that badly, take it!"
Pak Ming hurled Xiaojun toward the south, underneath the Yue Ming Bridge.
HUAKH!
Xiaojun's body flew through the air and slammed hard against a wall. The tanghulu he was holding was thrown from his grip.
The back of his head suffered a serious impact, causing a crack and making it bleed. His nose was bleeding, and his eyes were starting to lose their focus, yet he still struggled to reach for the tanghulu that was now soiled by the dirt.
"It hurts so much. Cough!" He spat out a significant amount of blood.
"Xiao Mei... w-wait for me to come home," he whispered, dragging his body with his one remaining functional hand. He endured the pain for the sake of a small sweet for his sister.
"I finally got it—Xiao Mei's gift."
Xiaojun bit the tanghulu stick in his mouth, hoping it wouldn't get any dirtier. He crawled away.
'Strange kid, willing to end up like that for a single tanghulu,' Pak Ming muttered, looking at Xiaojun with disgust. "It'll be so delicious to have rice wine and warm buns tonight."
Pak Ming left Xiaojun to struggle alone. He preferred to drink in the city center rather than help him.
"Why should I help that kid? He has no parents anyway; what's the point of letting him live?" Pak Ming walked away, leaving Xiaojun behind.
Other scavengers seemed blind and indifferent to the scene. They chose to forget as if nothing had happened, rather than bother being witnesses for a stranger.
Xiaojun's face turned a sickly blue and began to grow cold; he had lost too much blood. If he wasn't treated soon, he would be gone. He shivered violently; sweat mixed with blood dripped and pooled on the ground.
"Don't die here yet... not before Xiao Mei receives my gift," he said, his voice faint and weak.
The sound of footsteps vibrated the ground beneath the bridge. Someone was passing nearby.
"Poor child."
Xiaojun's eyes began to lose their light, but he could still feel someone approaching him. His breathing became ragged and shallow; his body was losing its warmth.
Only fifty meters away—Xiao Mei was still waiting.
The sounds of festive explosions could be heard from her tattered tent. An innocent humming came from inside.
"Brother will definitely bring me a birthday gift." Her feet kicked back and forth as she swayed her head gently. 'I'm so excited,' her heart felt as bright as a flower blooming in the morning.
"I hope Brother arrives on time and is okay." She couldn't hide her joy; it was etched in her wide smile.
Sadly, that happiness was being snatched away. The night that was supposed to be a celebration had turned into a complete tragedy.
Minutes passed, then hours, but there was no sign of Xiaojun. Xiao Mei drifted off to sleep for a moment, but woke up when her head slumped forward. She fell.
Rubbing her eyes, she murmured, "When will Brother come back?" She yawned, exhausted. "Maybe Brother is in trouble... I hope he comes home soon and is safe out there."
Rain began to fall, turning the ground into mud.
"Why is it raining? I'm getting even more worried about Brother. Should I look for him? If I do, he'll be angry if he finds out I left the camp. I have to wait for him to come home."
Xiao Mei steeled her resolve, clenching her fists with hope. But unfortunately, that resolve was defeated by drowsiness and the scent of the petrichor surrounding her. The atmosphere was so cozy that anyone would have fallen asleep.
Time moved quickly; without realizing it, the rain had carried the night toward midnight. The rain slowly stopped, but Xiaojun still hadn't returned.
Woof! Woof!
The sound of barking woke Xiao Mei from her sleep.
"What's that sound?" Xiao Mei rubbed her eyes, still groggy. Dimly, she saw a lost puppy.
The little puppy approached Xiao Mei, nudging her hand. It seemed very happy to meet her. But Xiao Mei felt the opposite. She was worried.
"Whose puppy is this? There's no way Brother gave me this as a gift."
Xiao Mei began to stroke the puppy. The middle of the night felt truly silent, save for this small companion. Xiao Mei's expression shifted; her eyes began to well with tears.
"Gods and Goddesses, please don't let me be alone."
Xiao Mei clenched her hands against her chest, offering a prayer. Everything was silent; no one knew if the heavens heard her plea.