The Fire Stick Boy

The Fire Stick Boy: An Untamed Fairytale

A long time ago I promised a Wangian Fairytale to our writing group, the one requirement was that it also had to be a Wangxian interpretation of an existing,  traditional fairtale. I chose The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson...

700CE. Chang'An, China...

The storm outside was fierce, and the small family sat huddled near a stove whose meager flames barely heated the room. The last remaining generation of the once great Jiang Clan, whose roots had been sown in the beautiful lakes and a quaint enclave called Lotus Pier, many miles southeast of the Tang Dynasty's capitol city, were facing their last attempt at survival. Poverty had forced them to the crowded city and necessity had compelled them to the opium slums since the father had become addicted several years before. The group was ruled by their domineering matriarch, Madame Yu, an imposing and terrifying woman, who still owned the last remaining vestige of status retained at all cost by her, the dreaded purple whip, Zidian. She used it to exert her will on the children under her care, her son Cheng, her daughter Yanli, and, most unfortunately, the homeless street urchin her husband had dragged back with him from an opium-laced outing one year.

Wei Ying had not asked to join this cursed family and had suffered agonizing strikes from Zidian far too often. However, once he had arrived, he had bonded strongly with Cheng and Yanli and did not want to leave them. His love for them became so strong, that he loathed the thought of them being left alone to take the brunt of their mother's resentment and anger. He had many scars that proved the poor boy's devotion, and they loved him back just as strongly.

On this blustery day, the three children had been binding bundles of sulfur-soaked pine sticks to sell to townspeople, who dared to venture out to find food and buy gifts for the smaller upcoming festivals that would eventually lead to the bigger and more important New Year's celebrations. Their meager annual income barely bought rations and wood for the stove. The fire stick money would pay for their father's next stumbling visit to the opium dens. These binges only added to Madam Yu's ire, and she was furious this day as her husband began to come out of his stupor, and she knew he would need his euphoric fix in a day or two.

"About finished? We are going to need them sold soon. Your father is going to be up and about by tomorrow. Jiang Cheng, your turn to go out today. Start dressing for it."

"Yes, Mother." The youngest Jiang pulled on the first of the only pair out felted boots shared by the children and was hit by a paroxysm of deep coughing. He wiped his nose with his hand.

"Please, Madam, no..." Wei Ying was on his knees before her, and she reacted swiftly, bringing Zidian's purple lash down across his thin back. It wracked the fourteen-year-old badly, and he bit through his lip.

"You dare object?"

"No, never. But Cheng has been so sick lately...Please, allow me to take his place." 

"Ying, so are you! No, I will go!" Objected his brother.

"Oh, shut up, Jiang Cheng. You will be Sect leader soon, so let this thing take your place. It is what a leader needs to get used to. You, guttersnipe, go if you want to. But do not bring a single bundle back. Sell them all, or I will make that last strike from Zidian seem like a feather's touch to you. It will take you a week to heal up. Understand me?"

"Yes, Madam. Thank you."

He walked over to his younger brother and began to slip on the felted boots. Jiang Cheng mouthed a soft 'thank you' to the silver-eyed boy, who smiled cheerfully back. Cheng forced Ying to wear his heavier coat and used his own hand wrappings on Ying's thin hands. Yanli brought her worn scarf over and wrapped it around the boy's pale face and neck.