Chapter 2

Before Fang Yuan stood the group of children, a ragtag gathering with faces marked by survival. The leader, an eleven-year-old girl named Mei, stood in the center. Her hair, black as coal, formed an unruly mass around her angular face. Her dark eyes, with a determined glow, devoured the world with an insatiable curiosity. She moved with a feline grace, every muscle tense and ready to react. She wore an old shirt that was too big for her, its torn sleeves fluttering around her thin arms like tired banners. The smell of sweat and mud rose from her, a testament to her effort and determination.

To her right, the oldest boy in the group, Yang, aged twelve, stood out for his imposing build despite his thinness. His tousled hair, like crow feathers, framed a face marked by battle and deprivation. He moved with brute force, his movements marked by a precision born of necessity. The knuckles of his fists were white with exertion, and his dark eyes reflected a fierce determination.

To Mei's left, a younger child, perhaps eight years old, stared at Fang Yuan curiously. His brown hair, cut irregularly as if hastily trimmed with a knife, fell in untidy locks. His large, expressive, deep green eyes seemed to absorb every detail of the scene with an intensity that was almost palpable. He wore an old wool sweater, threadbare at the elbows, and pants with holes in the knees, the worn fabric whispering stories of games and falls. His hands, thin and nimble, were constantly in motion.

Two other children completed the group. A little girl of eight years old, with dark skin and hair braided in thin braids that cascaded over her shoulders like a veil of black silk. Her clothes, although worn, were clean, indicating a concern to maintain a certain dignity despite the circumstances. Her eyes, large and bright, scrutinized Fang Yuan.

The last child, a frail and sickly boy also eight years old, stood slightly behind. His blond hair, dirty and tangled, fell in front of his blue eyes ringed with fatigue, like a protective veil. He wore a jacket too big for him, the sleeves of which hung almost to the ground, covering his thin and trembling hands. His feet were wrapped in rags to protect them from the cold and mud, each step producing a slight squeak. Each breath seemed to be an effort for him, but his eyes, despite their fatigue, shone with an indomitable determination.

The younger ones, clumsy and hesitant, tried to replicate the movements with intense concentration, their small hands often trembling with the effort. The air echoed with their gasps, their murmurs of encouragement, and Fang Yuan's rigorous instructions. The other children struggled to keep up, but it was obvious that Mei and Yan stood out.

He approached Mei, placing a firm but encouraging hand on her shoulder. The texture of her worn shirt under his fingers was a tactile reminder of the harshness of their existence. "Well done, Mei," he murmured, his voice low and soft like a whisper on the wind. She didn't notice him concentrating on his movements.

Then, he turned his attention to Yan, fixing him with his piercing eyes. "Remember, strength must be guided by precision," he said, his voice ringing with authority. Yan nodded, his fists unclenching slightly as he absorbed the advice.

Under Fang Yuan's watchful eye, the children struggled to follow the movements he was teaching them. Their ragged breaths created an almost hypnotic rhythm, punctuated by the thud of feet hitting the cobblestones. The air echoed with their gasps, murmurs of encouragement, and Fang Yuan's exacting instructions.

Suddenly, the sound of a church bell rang through the city, its clear ringing cutting through the cold morning air. The sound echoed, vibrating in their ears, reminding Mei to stop training for today.

"That's enough for today," Mei announced firmly, straightening up with the natural authority of a leader. The children, panting and strained, straightened up, wiping the sweat from their foreheads with dirty sleeves, transforming the fabric into canvases stained with their devotion.

Yan exhaled deeply, his cheeks reddened by the effort, a triumphant smile lighting up his earthy face. "Ah! I feel stronger already!" he exclaimed, raising his skinny arms to show off his still frail but firm biceps. His infectious enthusiasm shook off the ambient fatigue.

Mei looked at him with a smirk. "Maybe tomorrow you'll finally be able to beat me," she teased, her voice soft.

Yan, still full of life. "One day, I will be the strongest of all," he declared, his eyes shining with dreams and aspirations.

Lila, dark-skinned and with her hair braided into thin braids, wiped the sweat from her forehead with an earthy hand, laughed softly. "You say that every day, Yan." She said, her soft voice echoing like a song in the cool evening air.

Fang Yuan, still serious, moved closer to the group, his dark eyes observing each of them with calculated attention. "Strength is important, but never forget the spirit. It's our spirit that sets us apart, not just our muscles."

The others nodded silently, absorbing Yuan's words like valuable lessons.

Mei looked at Fang Yuan, grateful. "Thank you, Fang Yuan for the advice." His voice was filled with respect and determination. "It's time to go get some food."

The others nodded, and she led them to their refuge, a dilapidated house that was close to collapse. As they approached the dwelling, the smell of rotting wood and mold grew stronger, a pungent scent that clung to their clothes. The windows, mostly broken, let in icy drafts, adding to the oppressive atmosphere of the place.

Inside, the house was shrouded in semi-darkness, the few rays of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the dirty walls and windows, casting erratic patterns of light and shadow on the dusty surfaces. Dust, ever-present, hung in the air, collecting on every surface, every object. Cobwebs stretched from the corners, their silvery filaments catching the light with a morbid beauty.

The floor, littered with debris and dirt, creaked under their feet, each movement raising clouds of dust that stung the eyes and irritated the throat. On the floor lay six battered mattresses, their springs often protruding and their padding largely gone. The blankets, thin and threadbare, were arranged neatly despite their condition, an attempt to create some semblance of comfort in this desolate place.

Mei then moved to a corner of the room and opened a hidden trapdoor. The trapdoor door emitted a high-pitched whine as it lifted, revealing a dark space beneath. She then pulled out a wooden crate, her thin but strong fingers gripping the rough handles. The crate was heavy, filled to the brim with trinkets, things and stuff that both had value and not. The only thing she and the others cared about was the food they would receive in exchange for these finds.

She placed the crate on a rickety table, the wood creaking under the weight. The children gathered around it, their eyes shining with hope and anticipation. Mei began to rummage through the crate, pulling out the items they had salvaged one by one: a broken watch, a book with yellowed pages, an old wooden toy. Each of these items was examined carefully before being placed back in the crate.

"We should have enough for a few days," she said finally, her eyes meeting Fang Yuan's.

Fang Yuan, still serious, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We have a nice stock. Let's see how much we can make at the church."

Lila, holding a wooden crate tightly, felt the roughness of the wood against her palms. Her fingers dug into the grooves, seeking a stable hold. Each step echoed in the silence of the deserted street, the soles of her worn shoes scraping against the uneven cobblestones. Beside her, Tom and Ming were also carrying crates, their faces tense with effort.

Tom, with his hair cut erratically and his eyes sharp, glanced around quickly, ready to signal any danger. Ming, more focused, kept his eyes fixed in front of him, his muscles tense under the weight of the crate.

Yan and Mei, in guard positions, scanned the surroundings vigilantly. Yan, still imposing despite his young age, advanced with a sure step, his fists clenched ready to retaliate at the slightest threat. Mei, with her feline grace, moved silently, her senses on alert.

Fang Yuan brought up the rear. The group advanced like this, united in their mission.