Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 213

Eastbound
The SMIC Private School Shanghai, Goh, Mavis - 15
E
arly spring arrived on a light breeze, bringing with it the sweet scent of new blooms and the
freshness of new life beginning. In the monasteries of Nalanda, two travellers were busy packing
their bags and assembling their scrolls, which were to be bound together and strapped to the back of
a packhorse.
One of the travellers was a monk. Astonishingly, he was not from the great monasteries of Nalanda;
rather, he had come a great distance and over the flaming desert, all the way from China. He was Sen, and
his traveling partner Wu was similarly far from home.
“Fine weather today,” Wu commented unnecessarily. He reclined in the shade and plucked a
mango off the tree they were resting under, biting into it indelicately. “This tree is especially wonderful. Ha!
I wish we could carry it back to China.” As he talked the mango slowly turned to pulp under his grip, and
mango juice stained his chin and hands.
Sen viewed this blankly. “Soon we will be braving the scorching heat and sands of the desert,” he
said, pointedly looking away until his sharp profile was silhouetted against the bright sun. He gathered his
beige robes and shifted to sit further from Wu. “I want to leave by noon. Bringing these scrolls back to
China will be an arduous task. We should leave as soon as possible.”
Much to the frustration of Sen, they departed two hours behind schedule. Wu, however, was
carefree. He adjusted the scrolls strapped to his back and flicked the reins of their horse a little. As they
navigated out of the bustling marketplace he asked delightedly, “D’you think they’re scared of my sword?”
Sen glanced at those who were eyeing the sword resting at Wu's waist, then turned his gaze to
Wu’s obnoxiously bulky figure, clad in stiff armor. “I don’t think it’s your sword they’re scared of,” he
muttered. When Wu’s attention flicked to a stall selling fruits, Sen hurriedly walked up behind him and said,
“Let’s focus on getting out of here.”
✢
It was yet another two hours before they reached the city walls. “Beyond this,” Wu proclaimed
dramatically, “is a vast sea of sand, waves of dunes rising threateningly over our heroes. The brave spirit of
warrior Wu—”
“Stop talking,” Sen said, annoyed. “If you talk too much your throat will dry up, and water is
limited as it is.”
“At least I have things to say,” Wu sniffed. “You’re really like a grandpa, even though you’re
twenty.”
“And you’re really like a baby, even though you’re twenty six,” Sen replied without missing a beat.
“Our horse is becoming restless. Let us proceed in our journey.” He shrugged a little to secure the straps
holding his scrolls and took the first step into the desert.
Wu called after him, “If you keep treating me like this, see if I carry any more scrolls!” Then he
tugged on the reins and a disgruntled snort, the horse followed after him in catching up to Sen.
Nightfall was like an icy blanket that fell upon them without warning. They tied the horse to a
small shrub, then set up a small cloth tent and huddled inside for warmth. Above them the inky sky glittered
with infinite stars, dreamlike in its endlessness and absurd vacancy, and it enveloped them until they felt they
were in a different world entirely. The chilly air pressed against them and set them shivering. Sleep was
flighty and they slept in bursts, so when morning came they faced it with heavy eyelids and hazy minds.
“We simply need to adapt to this new way of living,” Sen explained optimistically. “Soon we will
become accustomed to such drastic temperature change, and be able to sleep peacefully once again.”
Yet this cycle continued for the next week until they reached the mountain pass, where they were
utterly unable to rest at all. Wu was particularly restless, ru