Curlan was a city situated between several mountain ranges crossing each other just fifty kilometers to the north of the Crescent Ocean. Air currents formed atop these mountains that did not know any heaven were rough. They did not have any warmth to them; they rose from the iced crowns of many peaks and blew down south and up north at the same time, and they descended on the small plains Curland and its fellow villages occupied.

They had few days worth of Sun throughout the year, most in summer, so the city never got rid of its dark countenance that brewed crime. Crime, indeed, for which alley Zhang walked around he saw no lamp or torch. They did not build those wonders in this city, or in these parts.

Most nobles found it a waste to spend. Why would the lives of random pilgrims and vagrants and beggars matter to them? If they felt like doing some charity, and almost none did feel that small wonder, they would give it to a buddhist monastery that in plain sight squandered themselves.

Many a time the same fellows of those monasteries would pull the few beggars they found and give them meat from their storehouses. Meat that they were forbidden to eat. Zhang laughed thinking of that.

He kept trekking through the rough city and greeted a few older men that kept these parts safe. Not the strong kind, but the steel-nerved kind. They were the people who would stay brave against blades and spells and would not forgive you for even nipping at the tiniest corner of their nail.

One of them, leaning against the black and brown beam of his house, stopped Zhang. He was also named Zhang. Many in the streets were named Zhang. He never heard a particular reason except some nobles talking about bows and such. It seemed not that respectable of a name, though.

‘’What’s the matter, lil Zhang?’’ Old Zhang said. He held a lamp of his own in his wrinkled hand. Expensive stuff, hard to light, hard to snuff out. The kind that burned on oil. But it had been chiseled and the man himself did not burn oil; he put candles inside them of the cheapest kind that lit up but did not warm.

’’Nothing.’’ He said. He peeked at the man’s thick linen robes all buttoned up. Two straps of a linen cloak tied around his shoulders and wrapped him round. Zhang found his look cozy, and the faint flush on the old man’s face told enough so. He felt no inch of cold, unlike him.

’’Nothing, eh?’’ Old Zhang snickered and put his lantern beside his house’s door. His shack was more than a simple one, though its sturdy wood door had rot and the metal lock that could not be lockpicked carried rust on it. ’’Is that really true?’’

’’...I am searching for two thugs.’’

’’Thugs, aye? I might have seen them. Not many thugs live here, after all.’’

’’Can you tell me where they went?’’

The old man crossed his arms. A sneer spread to his lips. ’’I might. What are you lookin them for?’’

’’That does not concern you.’’

’’That does concern me, lad.’’ He said and fell silent as if he needed no more words to explain.

Zhang looked at him for some time, and the old man shut his eyes and laid his head right to stray his gaze. This kind of disparity carved a chunk of his heart away.

’’Those bastards beat up my brothers.’’ Zhang said. ’’I need to pay them back.’’

’’No need to swear on me, aight? Look, I’ll tell you where they went. Even better!’’ Here he put a finger up and smiled wide. ’’I’ll even tell you where they live and where they hangout.’’

Zhang took a step away from the man. ’’But?’’

’’But I heard you have something on you...that should not be.’’ Now the old Zhang had a glare so sharp Zhang felt his heart beat faster.

’’I know...’’ Zhang muttered. Beggars could not have such things on them. Just the way it was.

’’I will make an exception for ya, aight?’’ Old Zhang slid his fingers across his throat. ’’You do away with them and come right back at me to deliver that knife, aight? Nothin complicated for you.’’

Zhang gazed at him, and Old Zhang glared back.

’’I am not messing around, kid.'' He slammed a fist to the beam at his back. ''Once you kill them, you will come here and give that dirk to me. If small ones like you were to arm up as well, how will the other folk travel safe and sound from those pesky ones among you? You might not understand but there is a balance to all matters in the streets. You need to-’’

’’I know! I know!’’ Zhang took out the dirk and showed it to him. ’’Look at it now. Don’t tell me I gave you another one later on.’’

Old Zhang gazed at the white blade and its serpent decorated hilt. ’’May I?’’ He asked and extended his wrinkled palm.

’’No.’’

’’Figured.’’ He laughed out loud. ’’Go up to the clay street. There is but one tavern there. They’ve been drinkin there since they’ve arrived in this town. Their house is down the southern edge. It is a dreary place even for our folks here, so watch your feet, lil Zhang.’’

Zhang nodded and kicked the ground. He cast a single glance at the man and saw him glare his way, not bothering to hide, yet smiling all the same. The folks here were all the same kind. Helplessly greedy, violent. Impatient to most things.

He no longer cared about the old man and walked up the hills of Curlan until the dirt path beneath his feet turned gravel and he saw the wooden houses turn to clay and stone. They all had great chimneys spewing dark fumes and solid doors. They had windows too, mostly a slide-type locker, and strong beams supporting the tiled roofs. Across the street he smelled burning chark.

For a few minutes he found himself a stranger in a foreign place until he recognized the familiar signs. Between muddy patches carved around the gravel slabs were sharp pikes spread all around, triangular boards at their heads. Some carried painted pagodas and inns and taverns and some had carved brothels and shops. Zhang followed the tavern sign, took a left, and walked through the empty streets until he came upon a two-floor building spewing sickly-gray fumes out of its roof.

He walked to its door and peeked through the entrance. He spotted two familiar figures waving a pouch around, shouting and boasting to fellows of all kinds very much the same in temperament. Before anyone took notice of him he left and waited between the alleys until he heard the thugs move.

Peeking from the corner of a clay tavern, Zhang watched two ragged men stagger through the empty street. Their backs remained open as his own was, revealing starved muscles typical of most thugs that fought to live.

Zhang clenched the dirk in his pocket. The hilt trembled. He let out a sigh.

‘’Huh?‘’

He hid behind the corner and held his breath.

A few seconds later the steps went away and he snuck after them.

The path went up and down, for the city had uneven terrain and rampant expansion throughout the years that no one planned for. Those stone and clay wonders of handiwork disappeared as they descended down and down, as if a flight of stairs rounded the entire city in its steps. In time all that laid before his path were wooden shacks and cabins on roads carved by their residents, who did not live beyond a few years before departing for the True North.

Zhang, unfamiliar to these parts where foulest lived, peeked inside some huts in vain. He hoped to find, perhaps, a small cloth or a patch of strong wood through those ripped rotten gates, so that he might secure Liu‘s arm strong enough to keep it alive. But he found none, and he grasped that small dirk tighter than ever until his fist popped.

His grip held its strength as he tailed the drunken fellows to their residence. He hid behind an abandoned cartwheel with its wheels rotten and watched the thugs survey their area. After a while, one of them took out of his linen robe a pouch made of deer-skin. Zhang recognized it.

They went inside. Zhang waited some more. He listened to the wind holler and he watched the shack until no one came out. Cold kept his mind clear. When he heard laughters he let the hilt go and hid behind the shack, listening the chatter going inside.

‘’Aye! Aye! Those kids are treasures, I tell you! Look at this, sixty silver!‘’

‘’Sixty! Twats, for what shite are they hoardin them for?‘’

‘’Must think they some hot shit, talking about adventures an stuff. Crackheads, I tell you! They not know the deal up north.‘’

Zhang crouched and laid his back to the wooden cabin, head down. Glancing at his bare feet with its thick soles at eleven years of age, the fury in him died. These feet that worked so hard that they had thicker skin than adults—why should he let himself that worked such feet go down the dungeons to rot?

No, nobles or the common folk indeed did not enquire about anything here. But the militia did, and many of them did so because they wanted a share of all the begging the children and the cripples had. Even if he killed them now, and thinking that he took out the Dirk to look at his small face, he would not be able to escape far with their shouts.

Those dull eyes of his widened for a moment.

‘’Aye! We should pay 'em a visit every once a while. Whatcha say?‘’

‘’Aye! Where the drinks?‘’

‘’That chest, we‘ll drink today and morrow. We have generous patrons, eh?‘’

‘’Today and tomorrow.‘’

Zhang glared at the dirk and rubbed his feet together. He listened to the rumble and the thumps inside, and he heard a loud pop and the pour of the poor rice wine, and he smelled their foul stench that churned his stomach. For a while he pinched his nose, then came the delicious smell of porridge.

Gulping, he switched the dirk in his hands left and right. He listened to the laughs and shouts, and soon felt a cool breeze pierce his chest. He rubbed his feet faster and faster, and he remained seated beside that dark alley for hours. The jubilant mood tightened his heart, and his face twisted by each hour more that he stood there in the cold.

Once, when he heard faint snoring from inside, he raised his head and saw a single speck of white falling on him. He did not recognize what it was, but his body acted first. His feet sprung forth and he stabbed up with a scream. The dirk went through it and melted the snow.

’’Fuck!’’

‘’Huh?‘’

‘’What was that?‘’

His chest heaved up and down. Zhang checked the surroundings and heard the door unhinged from its lock. Someone came out to the street, Zhang saw, and right after sprinted deeper into the alley at the approaching footsteps. He ran through many broken and starven men and women, and children younger than him. All bare bones, some standing, some helpless, lying on the cold dirt and cracked shacks called a home. Few gave him glances that he did not understand, and the rest minded their own suffering. Zhang ran.

When the dirt underneath his feet turned to stone and the road took an up incline he slowed down. Few steps at a time, hasty at first and steady at the end, he stopped and cast a look back. Down from where he looked a dancing chorus of white rained upon the gloomy brown shacks. Clouds so white and soft he felt their taste in his mouth and their texture on his teeth. For a moment, the dirk hanging from his weakened fingers, he thought of going back. That he did not need to kill anyone. His brothers needed him more than some petty revenge.

After all, those men did what any other did as always. They beat them and took their money, and surely would not bother them back, if they could, until they spent it. And for them to spend all their adventure funds would be impossible. There were always others who were greedy, and that amount of money would not be laid to rest in the hands of two ruffians out of town. Old Zhang’s attitude was one testament to it.

But again, he thought of his brothers. Little Zhang, whom he named himself, and Liu who named him. And Big Zhang named Liu, who died two years ago to a noble‘s spell. Big Zhang never retreated from fights or arguments, fought for their sake and died for them to thrive. And Big Zhang’s big sister Liu, who named Big Zhang, whom he never got to meet, for she died to a vagrant that tried to steal their money.

There were many more names he could count that he heard. Those older Zhangs and younger Zhangs, those big Lius and Zhous and Wangs that were all too common street names. Big sisters and brothers and little sisters and brothers whom he never got to meet or whom he did not spend a long time with. At every corner of his life, there was a life snuffed out that died for his own fire.

There were also many people before him who were left nameless, and gained their own names in the slums through the grace of the same nameless. So many people who, like the storm of snow before his eyes, danced with death for the sake of others. Zhang did not think of them as fools, nor himself one for thinking as such. Old Zhang had said so himself.

There was a balance to all matters in the streets. For each pesky ones there were the sacrificial ones. For the thugs there were Old Zhangs. Now that he stood here against thugs that Old Zhangs would not trouble themselves with, with no other except him to protect his brothers, what else was there to do?

He who grew away from his homeland without parents had no values except those he inherited. If he were to throw them away as well, what would be left to him except his name Zhang, which whenever uttered he would remember this exact moment and bury his head in shame? What would he have?

‘’I will kill them,‘’ he said out loud.

‘’I will save my brothers.‘’

One step downward he descended.

He walked down that hill across gravel paths and delved into the alleys no right-minded fellow would walk even in daylight. He brushed shoulders with beggars that he knew and beggars that he did not, and he walked over bodies ambiguous about their death.

He felt a soft wind at his back in each step, assuring him of his choice, and a warm touch from it that pushed him forward. For a moment he was not Zhang the brother of Liu and Little Zhang, but Zhang that was the bow released from its string. An arrow let loose that would not come back, but would hit its target and go in it expecting to be broken.

On the way he rounded many shacks and cabins and broken down sites, and at last he arrived at that particular house that had no gaps on its wood and a proper door that kept cold at bay. Tiptoeing around the entrance Zhang put his ear to the door and listened. Two loud snores he heard: one heavy, the other fast.

He took a deep breath, retreated a step, and put the dirk in front of him.

With his left hand he pushed the door and it did not budge but let out a squeak. He winced, afraid, and retreated to the alley at the right. But the snores did not die and no one woke. Zhang waited a few seconds, then approached again and pulled the door towards himself. It came at him without a sound, unlocked.

Inside was a warm fire kept at bay by rough stones of the mountains, lit with burning green rags. The charcoal-marked triangle on the burning fabric was a sign he knew well. He had one drawn on his own rags which he caressed, and Liu‘s and Little Zhang‘s had as well. But he did not see them wearing those back there.

He felt something wince in his heart.

Glaring daggers at the two that laid on soft straw mats with linen cloaks, Zhang took three silent steps. He came before one with the large build and stared him down. For a minute, before their snores and the chirps of the dying flames his hands trembled. The dirk he clenched shook and shook and he could not stop it.

‘’I will kill them.‘’

He thought of Liu‘s crippled arm and Little Zhang‘s resolute face. Then he looked at the bottles of rice wine scattered around and smelled its horrid smell. Then he cast a hungry glance at the iron sticks above the fire, carrying pots of porridge yet to be eaten.

‘’I will kill you!‘’

He stabbed with all his might.

The dirk went through the throat of the big bastard and came out from the right side. Zhang Cai took it out, blood gushed. A terrible tear went through the windpipes attempting to expand to the thug’s right shoulder spewing foul dark crimson. The man lurched, eyes bloodshot, and stared at him with shivering dark pupils.

‘’You? Broth—!‘’

Zhang stabbed once more. The dirk punctured the man‘s nose and cut into his mouth. His teeth and gum torn apart, the thug vomited blood. His body convulsed and kicked the fire.

The sticks supporting the porridge fell, and the pots thundered across the room. The rice and soup flowed to the head of the thin thug that scrambled up.

‘’Ow! Ow! Huh?’’ His eyes attempted to understand the situation. ’’Huh-‘’

Zhang threw himself on the other thug and stabbed through his ear into the head. The scarlet dirk cut his ear and his cheeks; one more swing up tore his features and the flesh fell crisp on the floor.

‘’Wha-h-hwh-‘’

Zhang stabbed again. He screamed aloud, then struck at the man‘s nape.

Something severed in the thug. He let out a faint ’’Ma...’’ and the body fell flat, lame. It bled like a pig.

Zhang took several steps back and looked at the men painting lotuses across the shed. Their blood snuffed the fire and dyed the pots crimson. The porridge smelled horrid.

‘’I...I did it...‘’

He fell on the floor as well. He looked at them. He saw them lying on the floor, one eyes wide and as bloody as their guts and the other crying through the torn eyelid.

He looked at them again.

‘’I did it.‘’

The pair‘s blood pooled together into a puddle before his feet. Zhang stared at the bodies still. Both pair of eyes stared at his own pupils.

‘’I...I...‘’

‘’I killed them! I fucking killed them! I fucking killed those bastards!‘’

‘’I killed them!‘’

He stared down at the puddle and saw his miserable self. His face seemed so small and chubby, yet also thin from eating little food. He saw a pair of sparkling dark eyes and another pair of hollow brown pupils. He saw himself twice, and he saw himself scarlet in both forms, all from the reflection of the lives he squeezed within his own palms.

‘’I KILLED THEM!‘’

Zhang cried. He cried his heart out. His hands let go of the dirk and still did not stop their trembling. Across the embers of that fire, snug between two lives he snuffed out, he saw bits of his brothers‘ clothes still laying. As if it was his brothers laying there, not two teenager thugs at most fourteen or fifteen. But thugs they were, who hurt his brothers!

But they were so far, those two thugs, and so thin. Why had he done so? His heart tore inside him. Something clawed at his heart, his conscience. He wished this had not happened. When he felt his own eyes heat up, Zhang smashed his chest. He wept and wiped his face, but the tears did not stop. He dyed his cheeks red as well and then saw the blood on his own clothes drenched from head to toe.

‘’I...I!‘’

I!

He cried again and again, shouting almost, until he heard a schlop in front. He looked up and saw an old man kneeling beside two bodies. The geezer looked at the corpses, holding white eyes devoid of pupils, and he pat the bloody heads of the pair.

‘’My poor sons,‘’ He said. ‘’My poor children.‘’

He rose, and Zhang Cai saw him stand above two meters tall. A giant among men, with cheeks and eyes sunken deep into bone and arms thinner than a serpent. And hair. Hair that flowed several meters after him, silver-white and pristine clear. He saw it slither on the ground but did not see blood paint it. He looked at the geezer‘s clothes and saw them unstained. Almost divine, he thought.

‘’You,‘’ his compassionate eyes struck Zhang.

With one step he came to Zhang‘s feet and with one hand lifted him up.

‘’You.‘’

Zhang withheld his tears. He looked for the Dirk but did not find it. He punched at the old man but his fist did not reach him. He kicked at his arm, but that did not work against him. As if he stamped a stone, pain traveled up his toes to his head.

The man‘s hollow pupils frightened Zhang. For how long he did not know, but so long that he was certain. The old man stared into his soul. Everything about him, from things he knew to things he never would have the chance to know, those gazes seemed to hold all the answers to them.

‘’You.‘’ Old man said again.

’’WHAT DO YOU THINK A HUMAN LIFE IS?‘’

Old man’s voice thundered in his ears. Sound beat and danced inside the pair of small sensory organs until he felt numb in body and mind, and he stared right back at the old man.

Human life. What was a human‘s life anyway? Was the way he lived a life? Or those of his siblings long gone to True North? Why did he have to think about human life? Could he not have lived it? Was that not enough?

Was this immense guilt and regret stabbing at his heart not enough of a punishment!? What was this man trying to do? What was he trying to say? What was the point?

What was the point?

‘’It is nothing.‘’ Zhang answered.

Zhang let himself be free. He did not want to hold his precious tears before this old geezer who thought himself so important. He knew their sort. He looked their sort. Those magical people who lived to tell difficult things and difficult thoughts. Who gave them the best of the money and the worst of the glances.

They were the people who were above those mountains and from the South and North. They were the people that held great power and knowledge that even nobles did not know and covet. They were the kind that lived long and healthy and in comfort even on the freezing peaks and down the burning chasms.

The type that did not know the suffering of life. A cultivator.

He would not understand him anyway. No one understood them. They were not human. They were not people, even. If he was a human, he would not call those two bastards his sons, nor would he hold Zhang hostage like this for...

For what? To ask stupid questions?

‘‘You,‘‘ he spoke after a while. Zhang glanced at him. Though hollow indeed, he looked so compassionate. So merciful.

This kind of look disgusted him. This man had no idea about what he went through and what led to his decision. He felt awful too! Why did he not see that? Why was he intent on making this difficult for him? And he had to get out soon and deliver the dirk to Old Zhang...

When the old man did not answer anymore, Zhang lost his patience. He glared and glared, and when it did not work he opened his lips.

He spat at the man.

A palm grew in his vision so fast he did not recognize it until his nose crushed.

He slammed against the walls of the shed. His back screamed in pain, splinters shot out with him to the empty street. He rolled on the piled snow and left red trails of the remnant blood on his clothes.

For dozens of meters he did not stop and when he did, his burning chest heaving up and down, he saw the man standing above him. Two small, precious children hugged his shoulders.

All three of them had that pitying, fearful look one might have at the sight of some irreversible mistake about to happen. Zhang did not see anything else. Even the figure of the old man turned blurry. Then the world of white he saw, a dancing crowd of silver flakes rushing for the earth. A speck of single snow poked at the tip of his dark-brown nose. Someone called out to him.

‘‘My pitiful son...‘‘

’’Don’t call me your son, you son of a bitch!’’

The old man’s face turned bright, a smile appeared on his face. And those two children gained a pair of faces: those of Liu and Little Zhang, and those of the big and thin thug.

’’Do not beget another slap.’’

Zhang felt his body burn. The snow piled up on him and the old man still watched. His vision turned dark, then blind. He could not perceive any sight, but heard the world clear. He heard the storm pick up in a flurry and winds whistled above him. Freezing snow piled upon his burning chest too warm to the touch.

If he could, he wanted to sleep like this. That contrast of hot and cold, dark and loud seemed to gather everything he hated into one aspect of his life that completed him whole. He felt fulfilled, even. But a pair of voices called out to him.

’’Zhang Cai.’’

’’Caicai.’’

’’Zhang Cai.’’

Then he woke up.