Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 47

The girl scrambled to her feet. “ Po po? Granny? Are you okay?” Kneeling, she patted the old woman's shoulder. “I'm
sorry...” There was no response. “Granny?”
Xiwang slowed, panting, in front of a large crowd. He squinted. “Has that stupid little Mosquito gone through here?”
he wondered out loud. He nudged a nearby stall keeper. “Hey, man, what's going on?”
The stall keeper, a grumpy looking old fart with a wispy goatee, muttered something about a girl “knocking over the
old Yang widow” and something else about “medicine” before turning moodily back into his stall.
Xiwang's blood ran cold. What's she done?
He wrestled through, stepping on a few feet and pulling someone's hair along the way. She was a girl; if she ended up
doing anything, well, bad , he… knew how the punishments worked around here. They were not pleasant.
She’s probably crying her eyes out, he grimaces. Either that, or she’s been scared into submission . Or maybe she’s-
As he emerged into the centre of the crowd, her voice reached his ears. “Ah, you! Come over here!”
He gaped at the scene in front of him. The girl was not crying. Nor was she in submission. She was kneeling on the
stone slabs over an unconscious old woman. Her hanfu had been torn away at the knees; the cloth had been used to
prop the po po ’s head up like a pillow.
She turned around, hair ribbons flying. “You! I told you to come over!”
Slack-jawed, he stared at her. “Uh, wait, me?!”
“Yes!” she snapped, tone authoritative. “Get me some ginseng!”
He scurried over. “Ginseng, ma’am?”
“ Yes! ” she growled. “And hurry, idiot! We need to revive her breathing as soon as possible!”
Xiwang ran faster in that moment than he had ever done in his life. They had passed a herbs shop in their chase, and it
was from one of the baskets there that he grabbed a few stalks of the ginger root. “Hey, man, sorry, I’ll pay later,” he
explained breathlessly to the flabbergasted shopkeeper, and with that he sprinted back. Obediently, the people parted
for him.
She took the ginseng from him wordlessly and with one straight, experienced motion cracked it in half. Stunned into
silence, Xiwang and the crowd watched on helplessly as she tore off a thin piece with her teeth. “Hold her mouth
open,” she ordered, and he hastily pulled the old woman’s jaw back. The girl slipped the ginseng piece below the old
woman’s tongue with deft fingers, not hesitating in the slightest.
As he sat back on his heels, he looked at the young girl beside him with fresh eyes. At first he had dismissed her as
simply one of the many homeless struggling to make a living off the black market. But now, she emitted an aura of
intense concentration. Her message was clear: This woman will wake up. I’ll make sure of it .
All of a sudden, the jigsaw pieces in his mind seemed to come together. This stealing, cheating, fast-footed little
dragonfly had a mind of her own, a will of her own, a heart of her own. She had made a mistake and had injured
someone. Now here she was, owning up, willing to do whatever it took to make the situation better. Here she was,
doing her best to heal others.
He realized he could probably trust this girl.
A hacking cough rattled its way out of the old woman’s throat. The crowd gave a hushed shout, and everyone leaned
forward, craning to get a look. The Little Dragonfly swatted them away. “Oh, give her some space, will you? Let her