Even inside the comfort of his family carriage, Ling Feng could hear the disdainful remarks from the street.
"Did you see that?"
"He accused a child of stealing his own pouch."
"And he kicked him. A child."
Ling Feng's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists against his thighs. Since the day he was born, no one had ever humiliated him like this. No one had dared.
A cup of tea sat untouched on the small table beside him. He grabbed it—porcelain and steaming—and hurled it toward his attendants.
The cup shattered against the wall. Tea splattered across their robes. The two young men shrank back, pressing themselves into the corners of the carriage, trembling.
"Useless!" Ling Feng roared. His eyes blazed hot enough to leave visible holes if he stared long enough. "All of you! Useless!"
The attendants lowered their heads. Neither dared to breathe.
Ling Feng turned to the window. Through the gap in the curtain, he could still see the crowd dispersing—and among them, the hooded figure walking away without a backward glance.
"Follow him," Ling Feng said through gritted teeth. "I want to know everything about him. Where he lives. Who he serves. What he fears."
One of the guards bowed and slipped out of the carriage, merging into the crowd.
Ling Feng leaned back against the cushions. He closed his eyes and imagined, in vivid detail, all the ways he would make that mysterious man suffer. How dare he interfere in the Ling family's business?
The fantasy was so satisfying that Ling Feng almost smiled.
Almost.
---
Wei Lin stared at the coins in his palm.
They were still warm from the stranger's hand. Silver. More money than he had seen in months.
*I can't keep this," he thought. "I didn't earn it."
He blinked. The world around him slowly came back into focus—the murmuring crowd, the fading light, the ache in his chest where the nobleman's kick had landed.
He looked up.
The hooded figure was gone.
Wei Lin's heart lurched. He spun around, scanning the faces in the crowd. Nothing. No dark robes. No quiet stride. No shadow.
"Wait—" he whispered.
He pushed forward, weaving through the legs of adults who barely noticed him. He checked the entrance of the tea house. Empty. He ran to the left alley. A dead end. He doubled back and sprinted toward the main road, his lungs burning.
Nothing.
The stranger had vanished as if he had never been there at all.
Wei Lin stopped in the middle of the street, panting. His shoulders sagged. The coins were still clutched in his fist, pressing crescents into his palm.
"I didn't even thank him properly."
He turned in a slow circle, hoping for a miracle. But there was only the indifferent crowd, the setting sun, and the long shadows stretching across the cobblestones.
No hood. No kindness. No shadow.
Wei Lin bowed low in the direction where he had last seen the stranger—east, toward the old city gate.
"Thank you," he said quietly. His voice cracked. "I'll find you. I'll pay you back. I swear it."
Then he turned and ran toward home.
---
He passed through the main street, ducked into an alley, then another. His worn shoes slapped against wet stone. The smell of rotting vegetables and old incense filled his lungs. He knew this path by heart—every crack in the wall, every loose brick, every shadow that hid him from the guards.
Finally, he stopped in front of a building that had once been a shop. The paint had long since peeled away. The windows were boarded. The door leaned slightly off its frame.
His home.
He raised his hand to knock—
But the door swung open before his knuckles touched the wood.
A pair of thin arms wrapped around him and pulled him inside. He struggled at first, panic flaring in his chest. "A stranger? A kidnapper?"
Then he heard the voice.
"Little Wei." Soft. Shaking. Familiar. "Where did you go?"
Wei Lin froze.
"Jie jie?" he whispered.
His sister held him tighter. Her chin rested on top of his head. She was trembling—not from cold, but from fear.
"I woke up and you were gone," she said. Her voice broke. "I thought—I thought something had happened to you."
Wei Lin closed his eyes. He let himself be held.
"I'm okay," he said quietly. "I'm okay, Jie jie."
He didn't tell her about the nobleman. Or the kick. Or the hooded stranger who had caught him before he hit the ground.
Not yet.
Instead, he pressed the silver coins into her hand.
"For the medicine," he said. "And for food."
She looked down at the coins. Then back at his face. Her eyes were wet.
"Wei Lin," she whispered. "What did you do?"
He shook his head and leaned into her embrace.
"Nothing," he lied. "I just... met someone kind."