"See what else he's got on him."
Before the words even finished, Wei's body was slammed down from hight.
His back hit the ground with a hard thud. The last breath in his lungs was crushed out of him. A metallic sweetness surged up his throat and into his nose.
At almost the same instant, a pair of hands caked in black mud pinned his shoulders. Green plant juice smeared across his clothes. Another pair of hands was already searching him.
Cold palms. Knuckles like stone. They fumbled roughly inside his robe. The fabric tore. A book, scraps of cloth, a flint stone spilled from his chest and scattered onto the ground.
"There's a book here…"
"Let me see."
"Boss, can you even read?"
A snort."If I can't read, I can't sell it? Give it here."
The book was yanked away.
Wei forced his eyes open.
His eyelids felt frozen together, heavy as frost. He pried them apart by sheer will.
His vision swayed.
A thin, vulgar face loomed close. Sharp chin. Flat nose. A pale string of saliva at the corner of his mouth. His eyes gleamed.
The skinny man jerked back suddenly.
"San'er, this one's still alive—"
"Call me Boss."
Another voice, rougher.
Then a fat face lowered over him.
The flesh on the man's cheeks trembled slightly. His eyes were cold, as if he were looking at a slab of meat that had already gone cold.
"He won't live. Strip him."
The skinny man hesitated."Boss… he'll freeze to death soon…"
The fat man paused.
His mouth moved.
And Wei suddenly realized—
He could not hear.
Not muffled.
Nothing at all.
The world had been stuffed with thick cotton. Wind, breathing, footsteps—gone.
Only blankness.
The fat man's lips kept moving.
The skinny man spoke beside him.
They were saying something.
Wei heard none of it.
I'm deaf.
The thought stabbed into his mind like ice.
Fear exploded inside him.
He forced his mouth open. Broken air scraped out of his throat.
"Ah… ngh…"
He could not hear his own voice.
Not even himself.
The skinny man leaned closer, watching his lips.
"Boss, he's mute too."
The fat man shot him a cold glance.
"Even more useless."
He tore open Wei's robe. Even the belt was ripped away.
Cold wind pressed against his bare skin.
Wei tried to struggle.
His body felt nailed to the ground. His limbs were weak. His strength drained away.
The cold did not start at the skin.
It rose from inside his bones.
As if something were crawling up along his spine.
His blood slowed.
His vision paled.
The fat man's mouth moved again. His face came very close. The movement of his lips was slow.
For a moment, Wei felt that face did not look human.
It looked like a piece of meat that could talk.
He saw the man pick up the fallen flint stone.
Then he stood.
The footsteps should have been heavy.
Wei heard nothing.
Nothing at all.
Dusk pressed down slowly. The last light in the sky was snuffed out.
Their figures grew smaller and smaller.
Wei lay on the ground.
Completely naked.
The wind cut across his skin.
Still no sound.
He tried to lift his hand.
His fingers trembled slightly.
Then stopped.
His thoughts began to split apart, as if someone were cutting them into pieces and tossing them into the cold wind.
The world drifted farther away.
Only gray remained in his sight.
Suddenly—
A shadow fell across his face.
Someone had come back.
The skinny one.
Alone.
He stood over Wei, looking down. His lips moved.
Wei could not see his expression clearly, only the shape of his mouth.
The man muttered something.
Then he crouched.
He grabbed dry grass from the ground and threw it over Wei, handful after handful.
The grass was dry, but it scratched his skin.
The skinny man moved quickly.
Like a thief.
Like he was afraid of being seen.
He tied Wei up with a grass rope, then rolled him toward the rock wall like a stone.
Even wrapped in dry grass, Wei's back scraped against the rocks, leaving a dark streak behind.
The man shoved him into a crack in the rock.
The gap was narrow.
Less wind there.
He stuffed more grass in front of him.
His lips moved again.
Wei could not understand.
The man stared at him for a moment, then pressed his palms together, as if praying to a Buddha.
Then he turned and left.
His footsteps faded.
Completely gone.
Darkness fell.
No insects.
No wind.
No heartbeat.
For the first time, Wei understood—
The loss of sound was more terrifying than death.
He opened his mouth again.
Tried to make another sound.
His throat vibrated.
It felt like being underwater.
Everything separated from him by something thick and heavy.
The world had cut him off.
The cold crept deeper.
He began to shake.
His teeth chattered—
He could see his jaw moving.
He heard nothing.
His body stiffened.
His mind was like an oil lamp, its flame shrinking little by little in the wind.
In that darkness, just before it went out—
He felt pain.
Not the surface cold.
Deeper.
In his chest.
The arrow.
The short arrow lodged in his bone.
Something was moving inside it.
Very light.
Very slow.
An icy hand groped deep inside his wound.
He tried to lift his hand.
He couldn't.
He tried to scream.
No sound came.
His vision blurred.
He saw—
A shadow crouching in front of him,
and behind it, the night, thicker and heavier still.
The knife was still lodged in his chest.
That hand gripped the hilt and slowly twisted it inside.
From deep within his bones came a fine, shuddering tremor,
as if something were being pried open by force.
Warm blood welled up and ran down along his ribs.
In the next instant, a clump of bitter-smelling herbs was shoved roughly into the wound.
Blood and crushed herbs mingled together.
The shadow lingered for a moment.
Then withdrew.
It vanished into the night.
Everything returned to stillness.
Wei's consciousness sank completely.
Like falling into a bottomless well.
He did not even know if he was still alive.