Weaves of Ink and Song

Another Path (Part 2)

Weeks passed.

Mengzhang healed quickly, bloody wounds knitting into a criss-cross of scars on his back. The splint had come off his right hand and he could now flex his wrist slowly, though wielding a sabre was a challenge. Not that he had any weapon at hand.

The Ba'yens had come thrice, wanting to transport him to their main camp, but they left empty-handed every time, after Junmo declared him unfit for travel. So the Ba'yens watched their hostage like hawks, confining him to the yurt most of the time. They only granted him access to the rest of the refugee compound yesterday, after Junmo's countless appeals that a wider range of movement would speed up recovery.

"I don't get it. You're Liaotian, why would the Ba'yens even heed you?" Mengzhang strolled across the refugee compound, Junmo by his side. He was half a head taller than the frail physician, and almost twice as wide, youthful soldier's physique mostly unchanged despite recent injuries. "And what are you doing in a Ba'yen refugee camp?"

"Technically, I'm half-Liaotian. Though I was born in the Liao Kingdom."

"Half- You were born in Tian'ping?"

"During the Ba'yen Occupation. Many half-breeds were born when the Ba'yens sacked the city and raped our women. I was one of those." Junmo's tone was mild.

"Hey, I never said you were a half-breed."

Junmo smiled. His brown eyes never showed anything other than calm acceptance, though Mengzhang occasionally detected a faint hollowness behind them, like a question unanswered. "I know," Junmo said quietly. "But others say it. And that's fine too. It's just words."

Mengzhang followed Junmo across a line of dingy yurts, entrance flaps raised to reveal the families within. Thin faces peered out from dim interiors, the sound of wailing children and weeping women intermingling with the sour smell of fermented milk.

A young girl tumbled out of her yurt, tears streaking down her dirt-strewn face.

"Uncle Junmo!" She raced to Junmo, wrapping her small arms around his lower leg.

"What is it, Tuya?" Junmo unwrapped the girl's arms, crouching to look her in the eye.

"Mama, she's sick again." She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, looking angrily at the soldiers who trailed at a distance, watching their every move. "The soldiers skipped our rations last night. Again." Her lips trembled. "Mama has been giving all her food to me. She needs to eat something."

"I'll go take a look at her." Junmo shot a look at Mengzhang. "Wait here."

"Nah, I'll come too."

Tuya's mother was coughing violently as they entered. She was lying on a thin rug set upon a hard pellet, her dark brown hair matted across sweat-soaked face. It was a warm and humid day, but she was shivering.

Mengzhang cast a glance at the stove in the yurt. The fire had almost burnt out. There was no firewood left, only a few cakes of dried sheep dung packed neatly by the side. He threw a few dung cakes into the stove, then squatted down to stoke the fire while watching Junmo attend to his patient.

"Yargui," Junmo stepped to her side.

"I'm fine. Really." Yargui shook her head at her daughter. "Tuya shouldn't have disturbed you. There are others who are worse off in this compound." She coughed again.

"You know I'm here to help. Give me your hand." Junmo placed two fingers on Yargui's boney wrist, cocking his head as he tracked her pulse. Yargui's drawn countenance relaxed slowly, her pale face taking on a healthier colour. She stopped shivering.