He forced himself to attend the Village School for another two days, fighting drowsiness all day long and barely managing to keep his head from knocking against his desk.
Classes ended on the last day before the New Year holiday.
For once, the teacher wore a gentle expression as he offered earnest advice.
"Paper is expensive. In winter, the snowy ground can serve as white paper, and a broken branch can be your brush. Practice your writing whenever you have time. Don't let it fall by the wayside."
Jin Si cupped his hands and bowed.
"I'll remember, teacher."
Then he packed up his books, slung his cloth bag over his shoulder, and left the schoolroom with his departing classmates.
Once out of the alley, he wandered about until the sky had gone completely dark.
Under cover of night, he leaped onto a rooftop, cleared the city wall in a few bounds, and raced over the snow toward the Medicine King Temple.
The myriad lights of the city gradually blurred behind him.
He stopped while passing a village. His vertical pupils peered through the swirling snow toward a low thatched hut. It was silent inside, without a single source of warmth. The door stood open, revealing three bodies covered with every scrap of cloth and dry grass they could find.
The rice jar was empty, the hearth long cold, and the cooking pot bare.
They had frozen and starved to death. Such things were all too common; he saw them every winter.
The window was broken. Wind and snow poured through the gap and settled over the family's bodies, as though laying a white shroud over them.
Jin Si stood there a moment, then continued on his way.
He vaulted the courtyard wall with practiced ease. At the kitchen door, Huang