All The Gods We Can Touch

一 Over Fear and Into Freedom

It was a festive night.

Cold snowflakes tumbled from the dark skies, shimmering like stars as they blessed the people dancing under the lantern lights. Crimson banners fluttered in the breeze, adorned with blessings of prosperity and good fortune. The rhythm of drums and flutes sang in the streets as colourful robes swirled in the wind like paint strokes on a canvas. Pedestrians weaved through the throngs of people, their voices merging into a symphony of laughter and chatter. The delicious sticky smell of skewers and yóutiáo grilling at the vendors' stalls made them salivate and indulge.

The bustling streets were alive with energy, vibrant and dynamic under the soft glow of the city. Some children were running around with handheld fireworks, dodging adult legs and screaming in delight, their laughter ringing like bells.

A commotion broke. Whispers erupted and the crowd parted. Their eyes strayed, heavy and shining with curiosity.

The pudgy hand of a merchant was wrapped around a struggling child's arm, roughly shaking him and spitting in his face. The young one immediately stuffed his cheeks full of the steaming dumpling he was holding, mindless of the burning pain. His hazel eyes were wide and afraid. "You filthy rat!" Belowed the man. Grabbing the child's bulging cheeks in one wide hand, he gripped tightly in an effort to open the full mouth. "Spit that out!" The kid immediately swallowed around the food, eyes burning from the scalding heat and the adult shaking him violently.

A vein popped in the man's eye and he straightened up, grabbing the kid by his long hair and dragging him out to a guardpost. Seeing them leave, the small crowd that gathered around them disinterested themselves and turned back to their songs.

Much arguing was held between the soldiers and the furious vendor, and all the while the child was clawing at the hands holding him. Little white puffs of scared breaths were breaking off his body and yet, he said nothing.

The arguing stopped, and the man handed him to the guards who took out some thin ropes and tied his hands together. As he was dragged away, protestingly dragging his naked feet against the ground, he heard the vendor's laughter. His gut twisted, and a wet feeling started to overwhelm his throat.

They passed by a crowd of dancers, and the spectator's cheers stabbed him in the heart. The snow was cold.

He felt tugging on his bound hands and looked back up at the man holding him, who was tightly wrapping a string around the base of his pinkie, cutting off the blood circulation. The kid immediately tried camping his bleeding feet on the ground, renewing his efforts to break free. He was however too small to do much but graze the pavements, and quickly resorted to kicking the guards' chin. He was promptly hoisted up by his tied hands, shoulders straining uncomfortably and tearing a grunt from his stinging throat. "We take no pleasure from this, child. But this is the law."

Tears pearled up in his eyes, cascading down his cheeks and washing away months-old grime on its path down his face.

A hand shot out from the dark to stop the guards' walks, long fingers holding a heavy pouch against one's chest plate. "This one will pay," said the hooded figure.

The guards looked at each other, then smirked and thrust the young one onto the third man. "We are pleased to see there are still honourable people around these parts. We wish you much fun with it!" They jeered, walking off with the money.

As they left, the other man lowered his hood and knelt in front of the child, revealing long shiny hair pulled into a ponytail and upturned, smiling eyes. He didn't look a day older than sixteen, barely an adult. He gently held out his hand. "Would you let me look at this?" He asked, looking pointedly to the hands the kid was desperately trying to free. Looking suspicious but desperate, the small one held out his arms. The man took his right hand in his and started unwinding the string cutting off his finger's circulation. Gently massaging off the flesh with one hand, he searched around in his sleeve with the other and brought out a half-eaten roasted sweet potato. He put it in the child's hand.