the ground. The basket of desert onions flew forward, scattering across the road.
Shang hurried forward to help him. “Bad, this is bad, really bad,” the kid was muttering when
Shang drew close. Bending down to pick up one of the onions, he handed it to the kid. The kid
jumped, as if he just realized Shang’s existence.
After hesitating, the kid reached forward and snatched the desert onion from Shang’s hand.
Scrambling to his feet, the kid started gathering the fallen onions frantically, muttering “bad, bad,
really bad” over and over again.
Handing the kid the basket, Shang had watched when the kid rearranged the onions carefully,
as if they were as precious as jewels.
Shang remembered how Ling had gasped out, “You shouldn’t stay out. The sandstorm is
coming.” before rushing into a house nearby.
By then the sandstorm was fast approaching, Shang settled down beside his camel, ready for a
hard night.
Shang was dozing when someone poked him awake. Peeking one eye open, Shang was
immediately blinded by the sand that whipped around in the wind.
Someone had grabbed him by a patch of his tunic and was dragging him up. “Come,” the boy’s
small voice drifted in the wind. Snatching the reins of his camel, Shang allowed the little hand to
guide him.
After a few minutes of struggling in the storm, Shang was led into a shed. The boy was
panting by the door. Shang thanked him, brushing the sand from his skin.
Handing a tattered rucksack to Shang, the boy continued, “This is for you. I’ve put in a few
desert onions. We don’t have much at home. Food is hard to come by.”
Shang had studied the boy as he spoke. The boy’s bones seemed to stick out from his skin. His
legs were unbelievably thin.
And there were lash marks all over them.
Someone had taken a whip to the boy. The fresh red, boiling marks weren’t over the old
bruised whip marks when Shang first saw him. Someone had beaten the boy in that short period
of time.
Ling tossed in his dreams.
Come here…
A voice echoed softly in the wind. Woken up by the sound, Ling turned in his blankets,
willing for sleep to return.
Come here…
I’m here…
Come here…
Ling looked up. The gentle, sing-song voice washed over him. The voice reminded him of
something… someone. He closed his eyes and smiled as the sound filled the air.
Come here…
I’m here…
Come here…
Ling…
* * *
