Li Feng was curled up in the mud, like a frozen maggot.
The Black Tiger Gang ruffians stepped on his head, grinding it into the mire. His parents' blood flowed along the cracks in the bluestone slabs at the alley's mouth, reaching his eyes. He stared fixedly at that dark red stain, teeth grinding the mud in his mouth.
Live. Live like a maggot.
Until the drunken Old Beggar at the alley's end dropped three shiny copper coins from his embrace. They clinked crisply, like knives stabbing into Li Feng's eyes.
⸻———x——————
Cold. A cold that pierced into his bones.
Li Feng curled himself tighter, pressing his back hard against the earthen wall that reeked of urine and decay. A dark, wet stain spread at the wall's base, it was his tattered, colorless linen tunic, stiff and heavy from the night's chill, clinging to him like a shroud.
His legs were curled up, feet bare and black with mud, toes frozen purple and numb, caked with dirt and cracked scabs. He had been huddled there like a stone at the alley's dead end for an entire night, or maybe longer. Dawn was breaking.
The narrow sliver of grayish-white sky above, cut between the tall, crumbling eaves, grudgingly cast down a faint, pale light.
The alley reeked of sourness, rotting vegetables, cheap liquor vomit, and the slow decay of something else. Fat rats rustled through a pile of indeterminate garbage, their small green eyes darting lazily at him before turning away.
Li Feng's gaze fell to the alley floor. A few steps ahead was the entrance, paved with uneven bluestone slabs, their cracks filled with years of black mud.
Near the alley mouth, a patch of unusually dark stain caught his eye. Not water, not mud, it was congealed, almost black blood, seeping into the stone's cracks like an ugly scar.
His father's blood.
His mother's blood.
The scene replayed like a blade in his mind. His father, stooped, carefully handing his mother the half-piece of hard, stone-like coarse grain cake he had kept warm all day. Before she could take it, the light at the alley entrance was blocked by several tall, dark figures.
The Black Tiger Gang ruffians, moving mountains of flesh reeking of sweat and alcohol.
The one with the scar, leading them, kicked his father in the kidney. His father flew like a withered leaf, hitting the wall with a dull thud, then silence. His mother rushed forward, screaming, only to be grabbed by her hair and slammed against the sharp bluestone edge. A dull impact and the crisp sound of bone shattering. Her final, abruptly cut-off sob…
A low, hoarse, almost inaudible "ho-ho" escaped Li Feng's throat, like a broken bellows leaking air. He closed his eyes, lips pressed pale, jaw clenched.
Metallic blood filled his mouth as he bit through his cheek, mixing with mud from earlier. His fingernails dug into frozen palms, leaving purplish-black crescents.
Live.
Those two words branded his mind like a red-hot iron. When his parents fell, the Scarface ruffian's gaze had been colder than the alley wind, more piercing than hunger. He had curled up in this exact spot, like a maggot, paralyzed with fear.
From the depths of the alley came shuffling footsteps, crude laughter, and drunken burps.
Li Feng tensed, then relaxed, burying himself deeper into the wall's shadow, head almost tucked into his knees. He controlled his breathing, light and slow, his chest barely moved, as if dead.
Three Black Tiger Gang lackeys stumbled forward. Greasy jackets open, hairy chests exposed, short clubs and daggers dangling. They smelled of cheap liquor and stale sweat, clearly fresh from gambling dens or taverns.
One short, stout man stepped on frozen vomit, cursing. "Damn it, this hellhole stinks I'm gonna puke up last night's dinner!"
"Heh, you think it stinks?" A tall, thin man with a grayish-green face chuckled. "Weren't you having fun here yesterday? Beating those two old folks…"
"Shut your damn mouth!" The short man shoved him, gaze sweeping the alley's end, landing on the huddled Li Feng. "Tsk, where'd this little beggar come from? Bad luck!" He raised his foot to kick Li Feng's shoulder.
Li Feng didn't dodge. The kick landed squarely, throwing him sideways. His cheek scraped against the cold, damp wall, tearing into his skin, stinging painfully. The smell of mud and mold rushed into his nostrils.
"Like a dead dog!" the man spat, phlegm landing barely an inch from the dark red bloodstain. "Blocking my way! Get lost!" His boot lifted, pressing down on Li Feng's head.
The rough sole pressed with all its filth and weight. Half of Li Feng's face was buried in cold, sticky mud. Muddy water filled his nostrils and ears, suffocating him.
"Just crush him, he's an eyesore!" The tall man's voice drifted over.
"Why bother with a maggot? Boss is waiting," another urged.
The foot ground down twice more, almost crushing his facial bones, before lifting with curses. The footsteps and foul voices faded.
Li Feng lay motionless, chest heaving, half his face still in the mud. Each breath burned. Cold and suffocation enveloped him, but deeper still, a chill froze his blood. His parents' blood lay dark and silent at the alley entrance.
Live. Like a maggot. Just live.
Slowly, he lifted his head. Mud streamed down his hair and cheeks, icy streaks on his bluish chin. He wiped his face. One eye opened, blurred and red-stained.
From a dark recess nearby came a rustling, accompanied by grumbles of alcohol.
The Old Beggar lay curled in rotten straw and tattered sacks. Sparse gray hair clumped greasy, jacket blackened and stained. His chipped earthenware wine jug rested between his hands.
He shifted.
Clang…
Three copper coins slipped from his jacket, sliding across the cold ground. Their edges caught the faint pale light.
Clink.
The sound stabbed into Li Feng's eyes like poisoned knives.