Ding Xiao

When word came that his father and brother had been condemned for fearing the enemy and shirking battle, Ding Xiao was briefly stunned. But part of him believed it. He thought back to when he was young and once secretly watched his father teaching his elder brother how to use a blade. His father turned the blade sideways and said a blade was not like a sword. A blade was for guarding. The person should stay behind the blade. "You two brothers, one takes the blade, one takes the brush. One guards, one attacks. That works out just right." Back then, Ding Xiao did not understand why the one holding the blade had to hide, while the brush in his own hand was supposed to count as a weapon. Later the city fell, the family was torn apart, and he too was dragged into prison. Looking back, he thought it was all because his father and brother had been too timid, hiding themselves too well. On cold nights in prison, he would be beaten for no reason at all. Curled up on the ground, he watched moonlight spill across the floor, pale and clear like powdered frost. It reminded him of the sweet cakes he had eaten not long before. He could not help reaching out to touch it, only to feel cold at his fingertips. By then, life seemed to hold nothing but bitterness. And that bitterness made him decide he would live a different kind of life from his father and brother. After he got out of prison, the first thing he learned was how to smile. Then he learned to bow before speaking to people, and to lace every word with just the right amount of respect. Later on, he learned how to round out his handwriting until it looked smooth and agreeable. The brush really did become a weapon. Much as he hated to admit it, maybe his father had not been entirely wrong. And once he learned all that, the narrow road in front of him quickly began to widen. Some sent him money. Some called him brother. And he himself won a seat in the command tent. He went back to living better than most people. Every day he bought half a packet of sweet cakes and ate them slowly, bite by bite. That lasted until the man named Meng Kuan appeared and brought him the truth of how his father and brother had died. Just three words: Reinforcements never came. So his father and brother had not hidden behind the blade after all. They had been used as one. After learning the truth, Ding Xiao tried once more to write for Du Qiyin. But perhaps because his mind would not settle, the ink kept spreading across the page. All these years, had he himself not also been a blade? Hidden behind a smiling bow. Hidden inside obedient brushstrokes. But when a person stays behind the blade, it is to block first, wait for the right opening, and then strike back when the moment comes. So his father had been right. He had only understood it too late, and he had hidden long enough. If he was going to strike now, it had to be now. That night, there was no moon outside the window. And yet for the first time since his father and brother died, Ding Xiao could taste the sweetness in the cakes again. Perhaps when all this was over, he could finally share that sweetness, the sweetness he had never been willing to give anyone before.