A man - no, a boy, Feng corrected herself - was staring at her, about her height. But something about her automatically clicked, and in her mind's eye, she saw Jie, at the age of seven, crying and miserable and alone. And then another painful memory that endured her: her brother waiting for her after she'd spend all day looking for money and work so that she could come home to him with something. This boy reminded her of them. But she was wary, wary enough that her fist curled around the polearm and her eyes darkened.

I'm not feeling well, boy, Feng wanted to say. Fucking karmic debt and the overuse and overwork. But that was all on her. But she opted to shut her mouth. And take in everything: the friendliness, the way he held his hands behind his back.

"I need to buy something from the stalls." There. She said it, quick and sharp, like a knife. I've had a long day. "I was going to ask you if you wanted something from me." She side-glanced the crowd, then back to him, her stare piercing. "I don't like crowds, so make it quick."