The three copper coins were like branding irons, burning three dazzling points of light into Li Feng's blurred vision.
The lingering clang still echoed in the deathly silent alley, drilling into his frozen ears.
Survive.
The suffocating sensation of being crushed into the mud had not yet faded. The dark red stain where his parents lay upon the bluestone surged up again in his mind. The filth from the Black Tiger Gang's boots still smeared his face.
That crisp metallic sound was like a rusty key, ramming open the heavy door named Despair.
Behind it was no light only a deeper, thicker darkness.
His body moved before his frozen mind could react.
He did not pounce, nor did not reach out.
Like a true maggot long accustomed to burrowing in filth, Li Feng shrank himself even tighter, burying his head lower, pressing his entire body against the dirt wall that reeked of urine and decay, as if he wished to melt into it.
Only his eyes, peering through gaps in his mud-caked hair, were fixed on the three copper coins.
The Old Beggar's snores rose and fell, thick with alcohol, like a broken bellows. He rolled slightly, his tattered jacket slipping open further to reveal equally filthy inner clothes, completely unaware of the coins that had spilled from him.
The three copper coins lay half a foot from his side, resting on the cold, dirty ground. Their polished edges caught the faint light from the alley mouth.
Li Feng held his breath.
Only snores and the faint rustling of rats rummaging through garbage remained. Time stretched and every breath felt like wading through mud.
At last, the Old Beggar's breathing deepened, his body slackening into true drunken stupor.
Li Feng moved.
He did not stand, he crawled.
Knees and elbows slid soundlessly over the frozen ground. Each movement sent needle-like pain through his stiff limbs, but it was swallowed by something else twisting in his chest.
He moved slowly, agonizingly so.
Like a hyena inching toward a carrion.
The cold wind poured down his collar, carrying the sour stench of the alley. He controlled every motion, lowering even his breathing until it was shallow enough to vanish.
He crawled past dried vomit, then past the edge of the rotting garbage heap.
Closer.
A fat rat suddenly darted out, beady eyes flashing.
Li Feng froze instantly, curling into himself, head buried in his arms, as lifeless as a stone.
The rat stared for a moment, then lost interest and vanished back into the trash.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
He raised his head again. The last stretch of distance vanished beneath his gaze.
He swallowed and his throat burned.
His hand extended with fingers purple with cold, cracked, filthy, scabbed from frostbite.
One inch.
The Old Beggar suddenly grunted. His body shifted.
Li Feng recoiled, rolling backward, his back slamming into the wall with a dull thud that stole his breath and blackened his vision. He bit down hard, choking back a cry, only a sharp gasp escaping his nostrils.
The Old Beggar merely smacked his lips and resumed snoring.
Cold sweat streamed down Li Feng's temples, mixing with mud. He pressed against the wall, breathing silently, chest heaving. That instant of terror was like ice water poured through his bones.
He stared at the Old Beggar's slack, drunken face.
And for the first time, something dark unfurled in his heart.
This old man… should die.
The thought slithered in like a venomous snake, coiling tight.
If he died, the coins would be ownerless.
If he died, no one would want them back.
If he died…
Li Feng's gaze slid to the loose, filthy skin of the Old Beggar's neck. Then to his own frozen, trembling hands.
Strangle him? Too weak.
Smash him? Too loud.
His eyes shifted to the garbage heap. Among the refuse lay broken wooden sticks, one end charred black.
Li Feng moved again.
This time, his target was not the coins.
He rummaged carefully through the rot, avoiding sticky filth. His fingers closed around a hard wooden stick, thin, jagged and splintered at one end.
Pain stabbed his palm.
The pain cleared his fogged mind.
Gripping it like his final lifeline, he crawled back into shadow a few steps from the Old Beggar.
His gaze locked onto the coins, and the slack throat above them.
Waiting.
The cold worsened and sensation faded from his limbs. Only the hand clutching the stick remained painfully alive, knuckles bleached white.
The light at the alley mouth brightened slightly, hazy gray like a filthy shroud.
Then…
The Old Beggar's snoring halted. A choking gurgle rose. His eyelids twitched.
Now.
Li Feng exploded forward.
All fear, hunger, and cold compressed into a single savage motion. He sprang up, knees crashing onto the Old Beggar's chest.
The stench of alcohol and decay assaulted him.
The Old Beggar's eyes snapped open. "Huh..?!"
Li Feng gave him no time.
With all his strength, despair, and will to survive, he drove the jagged stick downward, straight into the Old Beggar's open mouth.
Pfft!
A dull, sickening sound.
The wood punched through gums and flesh, plunging deep.
The scream died into a wet, choking whimper. The body convulsed beneath him, thrashing weakly like a fish nailed to a board.
Li Feng pressed down with his full weight. He felt the spasms. Heard the muffled choking. The clawing at his back weakened… then stopped.
Blood flooded the air
He yanked the stick free and flung it away.
Then he crawled, shaking, to the copper coins and snatched them up.
Cold metal bit into his palm.
The gray light washed over his mud and blood splattered face, illuminating hollow eyes devoid of fear or sorrow, only numbness, and a bottomless obsession to live.
Survive.
Like a maggot crawling through filth, he must survive.
He staggered to his feet and walked toward the alley's light.
The bluestone beneath him was cold.