Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 61

“My brother Zexu, you have my word on that.” The man with the scar exclaimed and roared with laughter. “Now, let us
drink to this beautiful night full of –“
The large oil barrel gave a loud clang as it fell onto the floor. I had just knocked over a barrel whilst trying to climb out of a
window. Perfect stealth, Qiao.
“Who’s there?” Lin Zexu yelled as he stood up abruptly from his seat.
I swung myself out of the closest wooden window I could find and dashed straight towards the first thing I could see in the
already darkened night – the woods. Suddenly, I heard a thundering sound and felt a sharp pain shoot up my shoulder. I
groaned as I touched the wound. I had been shot. For the second time in the day. But I was still up on my feet, running. I
didn’t black out, I just kept on running.
After a few stops and wrapping my hand with a bandanna from my precious motorcycle jacket, I finally saw light ahead.
Land ahoy! I sprinted towards the light.
I had already lost my chasers when I reached it. It was the nearest town from that isolated cottage. There were lots of men
dressed in big cloaks and women in tight dresses with slits at the side. The streets were filled with the noise of chattering
customers in the market streets.
I looked around once again, just to confirm my suspicions. The streets were filled with signs that had large red Chinese
characters on them.
I sighed. I was back in old Shanghai.
III
The wet sting of blood pulled me back into reality. I groaned when I felt my legs weaken, immediately pressing on the
wound harder. I needed a hospital, if not, a clinic of some sort. I might travel back in time again if I faint because of this.
I gritted my teeth and walked into the nearest hospital-like structure that had a huge sign written:
Liang Apothecary: Consultation, Selling and Healing!
“Sorry, we’re closed for – “ The voice of a friendly female answered as I staggered in, stopping abruptly.
I looked at her awed face as her eyes trailed to the dripping trail of blood.
“Help me, please.” My voice came out as a rasp.
The young girl rushed towards her stock of bandages as she gestured me to sit down near a table. Her hands were shaking
as she took the bullet out of my wound.
“When, when did you get shot?” The girl asked as she dipped alcohol on my wound.
“20 – 30 minutes ago?” I wheezed breathlessly. Ah, thank the heavens I had worked hard in my classical Chinese when I
was still in school 5 years ago, or I wouldn’t be able to understand what she had said.