One can find wild eggs and stranded fish along the riverbanks. But A-fen had never seen a riverbank where book…
One can find wild eggs and stranded fish along the riverbanks. But A-fen had never seen a riverbank where books grew.
These books were soaked and wouldn't light.
These books were too thin to fill a stomach.
...
A-fen shook her head and was about to toss them into the river when she heard faint footsteps in the reeds.
Was it foreign invaders again? Or a deserter? In her haste, A-fen grabbed a thick book, ready to throw it.
The footsteps drew closer, pausing with every step. A-fen held the book higher, not daring to move.
The man pushed aside the reed curtain and revealed himself.
Don't be afraid, don't be afraid! Child, that book in your hand—could I have a look?
The newcomer appeared to be a cripple, walking with a heavy limp. He carried a bundle of books in his arms, looking much like the ones A-fen held.
Can these books... be sold for money?
A-fen stared at him suspiciously.
They can't be sold, the man shook his head. "But they must be kept. If they are kept, they become the most precious things of all."
A-fen only understood the word "precious." This book-picking business seemed worth doing; if he was doing it, she would too!
One large and one small shadow thus walked slowly along the riverbank—one picking up books, the other wiping them clean.
Both their faces were so stained with mud that their features were unrecognizable, yet those books were spotless, wiped so bright they looked like the moon in the sky.