Drinking all this in, I could see Shu everywhere. She would have loved that light green outfit worn by a young noblewoman perusing a brush stall, the color reminiscent of the first buds of spring. Instead of lingering by the calligraphy shop, her interest would have been in the embroidery stretched over frames, depicting cranes perched on top of thick boughs of white pine. She would have marveled over the shimmer of the feathers and the tiny details of the pine needles. I am determined to one day bring her here, so that she can see it for herself.
I turn my head away from a stall selling embroidered flowers and realize I’ve lost Lian in the crowd, and a sudden panic grips me.
I’m alone, in this massive city.
The silver pieces weigh heavily in the pouch hidden in my skirt. It is the most money I have ever had on me, and I remember Father’s lectures about the capital being full of thieves and degenerates, looking to take advantage of young women. But I take in a deep breath and force my racing heart to settle. I got to Jia on my own, and I can prove to those boys and myself I am not some t? bāo zi from Sù.
I walk past residences with imposing gates and try not to gawk at the ornate rafters that hold up their rooftops. Passing through a small stone gate, I enter a market consisting of different fruit vendors. Large baskets sit stacked high with mounds of fruit: pink-skinned dragon fruit, golden kumquats, green and purple plums. The scents of the fruits ripening in the warm afternoon sun is intoxicating, and one of them may be the ingredient I’m looking for to complement my dish.
I have a soft plum from a basket in hand when I notice a young boy dart forward and pick up a piece of fruit that has fallen to the ground. He shoves it into his mouth and chews so eagerly that the juices dribble down his chin. I can’t help but smile at his exuberance.
“Thief!” A guard grabs the boy by his shoulders and shakes him, attracting the attention of others around us.
“It fell on the ground!” the boy cries. He tries to run, but the guard knees him in the back and he falls in the dirt.
My amusement quickly dissipates. I’ve seen the sorts of punishments soldiers are capable of. I’ve seen grown men with their backs reduced to bloody pulp. This is just a child, and my father isn’t here to step in. I must help him on my own.
I grab the boy’s arm and haul him up to his feet, wanting to make a run for it. The guard’s reaction is quicker than I anticipated and he grabs the child’s other arm, so the boy is trapped between the two of us.
“Who are you?” the guard demands.
“This is my brother!” In my desperation, the lie rolls easily from my tongue. “What did he do now?”
“He stole fruit from my stand!” The merchant sweeps in, shaking his fist. “He’s lucky I don’t demand that his hand be chopped off!”
I almost choke at the absurdity of such a claim, imagining the Ministry of Justice jumping at the whim of a common fruit seller. But I compose myself, remembering I have to return to my task for the competition.
“We’ve been traveling, good sirs, from the Sù countryside. My brother is only tired and hungry, but we can pay!” With my free hand, I dig in my pocket for a coin.
“Is this true?” The guard shakes the boy again, demanding a response. I tighten my grip and dig my nails in as well, until the boy is forced to meet my eyes.
Follow my lead, I try to say with only my gaze.
He nods in terror, tears spilling from his eyes now.
“Oh, come off him!” one of the more sympathetic men in the crowd calls out. “He’s just a child.” Other market-goers nod in agreement. The mood of the audience turns from savoring the spectacle to pity for the sobbing boy, and they start throwing coppers at the fruit seller in disgust.
I can’t help but smile as the merchant’s face turns bright red, but he’s not embarrassed enough to counter his greed for the shining coins. He waves the guard off while his fingers reach eagerly for the gleam of coppers in the dirt.
I pull the young boy aside and speak to him quietly, pressing a few of my own coppers into his hand. “Leave the market as fast as you can and don’t get into any more trouble.” He nods and wipes the tears and snot off his face with his sleeve before running away.
I remind myself I should listen to my own advice and leave here before I make another mistake. As I move to leave the marketplace, I catch another boy—this one older, about my age—smirking at me. He looks wealthy, from the trim on his cloak—a merchant’s son, perhaps, or even someone who is noble-born. He smiles at me knowingly, like we are in on the same joke. I feel a twinge of annoyance and turn away. We couldn’t be any more different, he and I, yet he pretends like he understands.