Footsteps in the Snow

Qingqing slipped quietly into the crowd milling around the entrance of the hostel, unnoticed. People were talking excitedly and telling the newcomers what had happened. It was all she could do not to blast these people aside and get out of here as fast as she could. But she knew that, when everyone was standing around, someone leaving so quickly and directly might draw attention. So she slowly moved towards the edge of the crowd--now slipping behind someone, now standing still pretending to be listening, but all the time her eyes slid to and fro uneasily, watching for an opening she could worm her way into, and get a step closer to the open street.

"He must have been drunk, a big fellow like that falling out of a window!"

"Drunk! Not that simple. Someone said they saw a face at the window looking out after he fell. A woman's face, too."

"A woman! A lover's quarrel, then?"

Qingqing tried not to gag. "Lovers?" she thought furiously to herself. "Obviously they didn't see my face clearly, then, that's a comfort. Because would the likes of me bother breaking my heart over the likes of him?"

She clung to the petty rage, glad for anything to distract herself from the uneasiness that tightened her throat.

"A woman, they said." the whispers repeated.

"A crime of passion," said a young man solemnly, with a significant expression. He repeated this several times until people paid him attention.

"They must have quarrelled," he added importantly, visibly swelling as everyone quietened down slightly and turned to look at him. "They fought, and in a moment of passion she pushed him out of the window!"

There was a murmur of agreement, and faces turned respectfully to him. "Yes, that's likely."

Qingqing seized the temporary distraction to slip out of the crowd, darting down the alley as a cart rumbled past. She was nervous. More nervous than she would have liked. These stupid humans, she repeated shakily to herself.

The young man looked very wise and mysterious until a lazy drawl cut short the buzz of admiration surrounding him. "Nonsense. A woman, you say? Did you see the size of him? Some of the men I know, even, wouldn't be able to push him out of a window easily."

A beggar slouching comfortably against the street, idly playing with the loose threads of his tattered shirt, glanced keenly at the important young man as he said this. He scratched his neck and sighed. "What an impressive woman she'd have to be. A veritable ox, I'd imagine."

There was a low titter of laughter and the important young man turned red. Pleased that the crowd was listening to him, the beggar yawned leisurely and sat up a little straighter.

"If anyone bothered to ask my humble opinion, he jumped out himself."

"A suicide!" gasped a young girl with pigtails, louder than she meant to, and retreated immediately looking embarrassed as heads turned towards her.

The beggar nodded nonchalantly. "A suicide, I say."

The crowd digested this new thought eagerly, while Qingqing hurried down the alley, drawing a shaky breath of relief. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the crowd around the body, and averted her eyes quickly. She kept her hood well over her face as she rapidly walked away from it.

The sound of her heart pounding in her chest rang in her ears, so that at first she did not notice the running footsteps at a distance behind her. As she drew further away from the main street they continued after her, an lopsided, rather clumsy gait.

Qingqing walked faster without looking back. The footsteps continued doggedly.

She turned a corner sharply and impulsively went down a small lane where there was no one else in sight, hoping they would fade away. But they didn't.

Qingqing sped up, feeling her nerves tightening, and had the satisfaction of hearing the footsteps start to lag further behind her. She was losing them, then.

She pushed herself on, walking so quickly the cloak whipped about her legs, and her hot, uneven breath stung against her cheeks.

"Excuse me, Miss. Miss!" called out a breathless voice.

Swallowing hard, Qingqing broke into a run. She had to lose them. If she couldn't lose them, she would kill them.

"Miss!" The voice was urgent. "You dropped something!"

She slowed down, confused. Uncertainly she turned around, eyes sharp and wary.

Qingqing immediately recognized the red-cheeked woman at the motel. She had donned a torn cloak that was slipping off one shoulder, and flapped comically around her legs when she ran. The same baby was still balancing on her hip, except now he looked rather disheveled after being bounced up and down unceremoniously when his mother had started running. He scowled as he looked at Qingqing and put his thumb into his mouth with a dark expression.

Standing her ground, Qingqing felt her heart give a jolt of terror. So she had seen, then. Perhaps the door had been open. Or she had heard the commotion and guessed. Stupid woman, thought she would get a reward maybe, for dragging back a murder suspect. She'd been in such a hurry she even brought her brat along. Well, it was a pity. Qingqing had never killed children before, but if she had to in order to cover her tracks, she would. She steeled herself with this thought, and looked coldly up.

Her fingers flickered inside their sleeves and she measured the distance between them silently as the woman came more slowly towards her, still struggling to catch her breath. Her cheeks were even redder now, and the freckles on them could only be seen faintly.

"You dropped this," the woman said finally, holding out one hand.

A jade hairpin glinted on her palm, shaped like a peony.

Qingqing's hand went up instinctively to her hair and felt behind her head. She recoiled as she realized it was missing. It must have fallen out during the scuffle of her fight with Ah Gui, and she hadn't noticed it in her hurry to leave the room.

Her eyes jerked up, startled, to meet the woman's. The woman brushed a wisp of hair back from her face with the back of her hand. It was a strong, capable looking hand, roughened by work and chapped from washing clothes in the cold water of winter. Her gaze met Qingqing's, as level and calm as they had been in their first encounter.

"Did he deserve it?" she said briefly. Her voice was low and steady.

The words hung in the crisp air like the faint mist of her warm breath. They stung Qingqing's ears and for one of the first times in her life she did not know what to say.

Ever so slightly, she nodded. The woman nodded too, slowly, and then plunked the hairpin onto her palm. "Hurry up, then." was all she said, and smoothed the baby's hair. Then she turned around and trudged away without once looking back.

Qingqing watched her walking in the snow for a moment, at a loss what to say.

Her fingers tightened around the hairpin.