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墨書 Inktalez
To raise the fare for my journey to the border, I had to take the risk of going out to deliver a few embroidered pieces I had hurriedly made.
The streets of the town were filled with an unsettling silence.
In the distance, I saw a Liu Family salt caravan slowly making its way through.
The tarpaulins were tightly secured, yet a thick, crimson liquid seeped through the seams, dripping onto the ground, filling the air with a faint smell of blood and decay.
The tracks left by the wheels extended out of town, disappearing down a path leading to a mass grave.
My fingertips felt icy, as if I had touched a sorghum stalk soaked in corpse water.
Upon returning home, Xiao Yan was happily molding a lopsided little horse out of dough.
"Mother, when we reach the border, I want to ride a real horse!"
He lifted his flour-dusted face, his eyes shining with innocence as he spoke of wanting to see the Spring Water mentioned in his books, where the water was sweet enough to brew honey.
In that moment, I seemed to glimpse distant green mountains and clear waters, envisioning a future of stability—hope that I was determined to protect at all costs.
We packed our simple belongings and quietly made our way to the ferry under the cover of night.
The air was damp and cold, and the river lapped against the shore with a dull echo, reminiscent of a death knell.
Just as the boatman was about to untie the ropes, a frail figure stepped in front of the cart.
It was Liu Chu.
His face was as pale as paper, with an unhealthy obsession gleaming in his eyes as he stared directly at me, as if looking through me to see another person.
"Where are you going, Sister?" he asked hoarsely, his voice carrying an eerie, ghostly quality.
He extended his hand, clutching a silk handkerchief embroidered with begonia flowers, a piece I had once stitched for him.
He didn't look at Xiao Yuan, nor did he glance at me; he stubbornly tied the handkerchief around Xiao Yan's small wrist.
"Xiao Yan'er, this is a gift from your godmother... don't take it off."
His fingertips were as cold as if they had been soaked in snowmelt.
Xiao Yan was startled by this sudden gesture and tried to pull away.
The horse seemed to sense the danger as well, suddenly whinnying and raising its front hooves high.
Liu Chu stepped back in fear, and the handkerchief slipped from Xiao Yan's wrist.
In the next moment, the hard hooves of the horse came crashing down with immense force, ruthlessly trampling the begonia silk handkerchief.
As the hoof descended, it carried a determination to crush everything in its path.
That begonia silk handkerchief lay there like a remnant mocked by fate, shattered in the mud.
Liu Chu took a step back, his face paler than moonlight.
He did not pursue any further; he simply stood there like a frostbitten dead tree, staring vacantly in the direction the carriage had departed.
In the end, we could not leave.
The dock was blocked by the Liu Family, leaving us no time to escape.
We had no choice but to return home, where the small courtyard felt like a cage, each corner suffocating us with a sense of oppression.
The next day, when Xiao Yan returned, he held a heavy copper lock in his hand.
The lock was cold to the touch, engraved with the Liu Family's emblem—a fierce dragon with bared fangs and claws.
"Mother, this is from the school," he said carefully as he placed the lock into my hand.
The Liu Family had donated a new school, which was a noble deed, but they required every student to wear a copper lock engraved with their emblem, claiming it was for "recognizing one's roots and not forgetting one's origins."
Innocent children were thus forcibly branded with the Liu Family's mark.
There was much discussion in town; some praised the Liu Family for their benevolence, while others sensed something amiss. This was not an act of kindness but an assertion of ownership, a means to bring the next generation under their control.
That evening, as I tended to the fire in the stove, the flames danced brightly.
Xiao Yuan sat silently beside me, drawing something in the dirt with a fire stick.
The rough stick left uneven marks on the ground, resembling a crude map.
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