Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 9

I cast a glance at this thin figure of a man beside me and whisper some “thrilling” suggestions. His eyes squinting from
lustful excitement, he trembled in unspeakable fulfillment of the probable chances of conquering and taming a mixed
beauty with almost foreign features, gaining a queer national pride and confidence of doing, or thinking so.
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Acidic pleasure lined the corner of my lips, coiling them into a predominate snarl . Yet sadly, my joy was short
lived as I stared at the pathetic heap of blood and bruises named Mr Zhang in front of me days later, knowing I’d have to
spend a sum to recover him to shape.
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The attacking Japanese, the swirming mess of communists and the migration of foreign whites. Bombs struck, guns
hit and shrilling screams echoed. The frosting darkness engulfed the hollows inside me. Grasping the bundles of gold and
silver that may provide me a considerable life after the migrating escape, I rushed to the fumbling, panicking crowd of
people, in searching for Zhou Ning with her clean, youthful eyes.
Where’s she?
Where are those eyes?!
There’s a shadow, fighting against the meddling blur of ragged screaming people and rushing heat of shooting guns,
reaching towards me.
Closer.
Closer .
My eyes met with a pair of green, those I hated for a time so long. Those knotted brows of hers unwound slightly at the
sight of my bulking package of silver and my troubled expression. Anxious, my hands clinging to a tighter grasp on the
package, avoiding the probable sudden attack of her snatching claws.
“I heard ya call.” Those green eyes were calm with a look of liquid sorrow and hidden self loathing. With wind
hurling into my face, I found Zhou Ning resting in the arch of my arms.
“ Go to LingQiao District, someone will help ya both to get out of Shanghai. He shall be a man that wears a
Zhongshan suit and a red scarf. Mr Zhang had joined the communist party. He’ ad agreed to provide help.” I caught a
glimpse at the purple red welts imprinted on her neck. At the next moment, I was violently lunged forward, her eyes fixed
into mine with a expression complex, with one of her hands grasping firm tight on my collar. “Take good care of her.”
After a sullen tremble, hardly distinguishable, her lips parted and out drifted a rasping whisper, jagged and broken at its
cackling edges.
Then suddenly, the grip was loosened, and she was lost to the rumbling waves.
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