Chapter 1 (2/2)

“Get closer! He has mantou.” A few pairs of dirty hands searched everywhere until they fished out the paper package in the dirt.

“It’s already a little rancid.”

“It’s still edible, leave me some.”

“His granny[3]…stupid lowlife, you actually learned how to sneak off and eat by yourself, just watch me beat you to death, thief.”

A rain of fists fell upon my body. Everything, even my organs, hurt. This kind of burning sensation was more severe than stomach pains after a few days with no food. Either way, it spelled death.

“All of you beggars bullying me–your mom, I’m going to beat you up!” I crawled atop a person and grabbed their leg, biting viciously past the stinky, dirty trousers.

“That hurts, you b***ch sp.a.w.n!”

Dust rose and blinded me for a second, before the fists fell like a storm of jade plates. My small and broken body was beat forwards step by step, but my trembling hands stretched forwards to pick up the mantou that had fallen on the dirt. I wrenched myself free to stuff it in my mouth and start chewing furiously. The moist dirt had the flavor of raw fish and mantou, and was a little stifling.

My eyes were damp. This was called, ‘Even if I die, I can’t become a hungry ghost!’

I think the bullies were pretty angered by my heroics. Every one of them jabbed me as they grabbed my collar and shook.

Even while being shaken, do not spit out the bird![4]

The mantou was rancid, but it was still a mantou, a scarce commodity.

Just as I closed my eyes to prepare myself for another round of trampling, silence fell around the area. The strange atmosphere really made a person’s heart uneasy.

My body bent a few times and I crawled forwards, hand fumbling for that rancid mantou so I could prepare to take another bite. But then a pair of boots, so white they couldn’t have appeared in a rundown temple like this, showed up before my eyes to step on my last piece of food. This kind of white…was even more snow-white than my mantou.

I was flabbergasted.

A white, crescent-moon robe slowly lowered itself to the ground in folds, the cloth made from an unknown, high-quality material. I don’t know what kind of thing its owner tossed out, but the urchins who were beating me up broke up into a hubbub and started looting amongst themselves.

I remained stubbornly on the ground, unmoving, still cradling that piece of rancid mantou.

“This is still edible?” a voice rang out like the tinkling of jade, yet it was filled with strength, the intonation gentle and refined like a clear spring of cold water pouring into my entire being. Even the pain wracking my body had lessened.

“If I don’t eat, I’ll starve to death.”

“If you agree to come home with me, I’ll give you three meals a day and promise you’ll eat until you’re full.”

A jade-like hand, beautiful and slender, gently reached over to prop me up, as if afraid to hurt me. The motion made me look up at the person, surprised. Even after many years and events had pa.s.sed, I would never be able to accurately describe that moment or the soul-stirring profundity of its beauty.

Early spring of that year was my fifth season at the dilapidated temple.

I met Fang Hua for the first time.

-o-

[1] mantou (馒头) －steamed bun made with flour.

[2] white clay (观音土) －guanyin tu, literally translated as Bodhisattva Guanyin (G.o.ddess of Mercy) earth, a type of white clay eaten by famine victims in China.

[3] his granny （他奶奶的）－ta nainai de, a form of cursing. Think of it as the Chinese version of your mom, or similar.

[4] even while being shaken, do not spit out the bird! (晃也不吐鸟) －huang ye butu niao, metaphor for not giving up even under duress.