Zhang A'man's hands had always trembled. As a child, he couldn't hold the coins his parents gave him, nor catc…
Zhang A'man's hands had always trembled.
As a child, he couldn't hold the coins his parents gave him, nor catch the candied treats his friends tossed his way. Anything placed in his palm would inevitably slip free and roll across the ground.
People laughed. Zhang A'man laughed with them.
Then he met her, and the laughter stopped. For the first time, he loathed his affliction.
The bouquet he offered fell apart at her feet. The sugar cakes he carried shattered along with the bowl. Crystals of white glaze splashed onto the hem of her skirt, and shame sent his trembling completely out of control.
She laughed instead. With a soft chuckle, she took out a small needle case. With slender, jade-like fingers, she drew a few silver needles and told him to close his eyes.
The needle tips pricked his hand, light, painless. A tingling warmth spread from his fingertips, all the way into his chest.
When the needles were gone, she had already stepped back, her faint fragrance lingering in the air.
It felt like a dream. When he woke, his hands were steady.