Empty. A gnawing, relentless emptiness. His last coin spent, he couldn't even afford a scrap of coarse bread. …
Empty. A gnawing, relentless emptiness. His last coin spent, he couldn't even afford a scrap of coarse bread.
Only two options remained: beg in the streets or fight stray dogs for scraps.
At a roadside stall, steam rose from freshly steamed buns. The vendor's cheerful hawking grated on his ears. He stared at the fragrant mist, pride and hunger warring within him, and in the end, he couldn't bring himself to stretch out a hand.
Defeated, he retreated to a dilapidated temple, hoping sleep might dull the ache. Half-conscious, he heard someone ask if they might share the space. He grunted assent and turned away. It wasn't as if he owned the place.
When he woke at dusk, the stranger was still there, a young man who'd lit a fire in the crumbling hall. Handsome, with an air of upright dignity, the youth didn't so much as blink at his tattered clothes, instead beckoning him warmly to the flames. The mountain evening carried a biting chill, so he didn't refuse.
The boy chattered freely, introducing himself as a tea merchant who traveled across the country. He glanced at his own threadbare sleeves and stayed silent. But the youth seemed to read his shame, nodding toward the books strewn nearby.
"You must be a scholar. I've always admired scholars."
"Scholars are useless." Bitter words. Better to be seen as a beggar.
"Why say that?" The youth doubted.
"Burying my head in books, blind to the world, and now I sleep in ruins."
"No," the youth said firmly. "An unjust world needs scholars like you to change it. How can you settle for this?"
As they spoke, the youth pulled out his last piece of flatbread and broke it in half.
He devoured his share ravenously. Was it the food or the youth's words that stirred him so?
"My surname is Chai. And yours?"
"...Wei Daoji."