Severing Ties

Song Qinglin spotted a small handmade object beside the corpse: a crude wooden Peace Knot threaded with red cord, its edges worn smooth and bright.

He had made that Peace Knot from scrap wood when he was eight. He had carved a lopsided circle and even drilled the hole crooked. It was the first thing he had ever managed to make.

Overjoyed, he had found his father, held out the Peace Knot, and said, "I made this myself!"

Song Qinglin had lifted his head and held the Peace Knot high before his father, his eyes so bright they seemed to reflect all the sunlight in the courtyard. Wood shavings still clung to his hands, and splinters had scraped his skin raw, but he had not cared. Being able to give his father the Peace Knot had made it all worthwhile.

His father had crouched down, taken the Peace Knot, and stroked his head. "Our Ah Qing is so capable. You did a fine job."

Song Qinglin remembered how his father had tied the Peace Knot at his waist that day and worn it for so long that Song Qinglin thought he would wear it forever... He had been eight that year. He had not yet known that some things, once put on, would never be taken off, or that some people were waiting to catch what you offered them before you even spoke.

The dark red light in the cave had faded completely. Song Qinglin crouched beside the corpse, clutching the Peace Knot whose edges had been worn bright. He held it for a long time, as though he could still feel the warmth of the moment his father had tied it on.

He did not cry. The Peace Knot's edges dug into his palm. The tighter he gripped it,