Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 61

The next days were a flurry for Zhang. At first, he mostly felt a frustrating regret, having
entered school knowing that he would not be able to see any of his best friends anymore,
all while not being able to tell them about it for fear of letting his father know.
However, it turned out that Tang had set up a clever scheme, involving a letter
supposedly sent from the Ministry of Agriculture, summoning him to the nearby Lanzhou
for a supposed lecture on improved farmland nourishment methods (“I had to rack my
brains around for that onel!”, Tang had chuckled.)
Tang was also generous enough to share village supplies to aid his journey. Zhang
received ample rice, vegetables, and mutton, along with a big vat of water. Aside from the
human necessities, Tang gave him a “life-saving” map which conveniently lined out all
the oases along his path through the desert.
Stunned at first with the load a skinny boy like himself was apparently meant to carry, he
was relieved when two hours before departure, Tang knocked upon his doorstep,
accompanied by a robust camel, dubbed Xiao Luo.
The journey started off really well. He and Xiao Luo worked together seamlessly. By the
time they had reached halfway at the Xiangbin Oasis, only a third of their supplies had
been used up. Zhang slept like an infant.
When he woke up, his world collapsed.
Xiao Luo was lying on the floor, his body broken. Bandits had clearly came overnight and
raided the supplies, leaving nothing but a few shredded piles of clothing, meager stalks of
vegetables and the water vat.
***
The next few weeks were a struggle. Zhang had to eat whatever he found along the way,
and more often than not, he had to beg for food. Soon, he had become mere skin and
bones.
Six months into the journey, each step felt like a trial. The rain started to pour down now,
followed by a savage wind which tossed him around. Even as he slipped in and out of
consciousness, doubts drifted between his mind. His feet slogged like lead; his hair
drenched under the smattering of rain; his thoughts hi t him harder and harder with the
apparent reality. This is it, he thought. I have failed.
He reflected on his ambitions, which now indeed seemed fruitless. He yearned of the
comfort and the warmth of his home. He thought of his father, undoubtedly returned to
the village empty-handed and predictably devastated. And then his thoughts drifted to
that of his village leader, Tang, of all the faith he put in him, and all the village resources
invested in him, and how he was about to let him down. The death of Xiao Luo took
root in his head. Tears streamed down his tired face, but subconsciously, he knew he
could not afford to stop and weep.