Chapter 4: A "Prison Break" In The Snowy Night

Night fell. The snow came down harder and harder, great goose-feather flakes painting the whole world white.

The mountain road was treacherous. Scarface, to avoid the checkpoints on the main roads, deliberately took the wild trails through the deep mountain forest. The wind howled like a pack of beasts roaring.

Scarface had been hauling the sack on his shoulder for over two hours and was getting tired. Up ahead was a ruined mountain shrine—just half a wall and a half-collapsed roof. Scarface ducked inside and tossed the sack off his shoulder into the corner.

THUD.

Tuan Tuan's head cracked against the freezing ground. She let out a muffled whimper of pain. But she didn't make another sound. She was playing dead. It was the first skill she'd learned in the darkness along the way.

Scarface gathered some dry branches and built a fire. The flickering light pushed back a fraction of the cold. He pulled a bottle of erguotou liquor from his coat and unwrapped a piece of oil-paper-covered beef jerky.

Glug, glug.

The harsh liquor went down. Scarface sighed contentedly. "Cold as hell."

The smell of meat drifted through the air. Into the sack. Tuan Tuan's stomach traitorously growled.

Grrrrl…

So hungry. She hadn't eaten in two days. That moldy cornbread bun was still back in the cowshed—she hadn't brought it with her.

Scarface heard the sound but didn't bother. In his eyes, this was just cargo. A few missed meals wouldn't kill it. If he fed it and it got its strength back, that would be trouble.

Tuan Tuan peered through a small hole in the sack—chewed open by rats. In the firelight, Scarface's face was a slab of flesh, grease running down his chin as he ate.

Tuan Tuan swallowed hard. She fought the hunger. Those big eyes of hers, in the darkness, were terrifyingly bright. She was watching. She saw the dagger hanging at Scarface's waist. Very sharp—the scabbard was worn shiny from use.

Strange images suddenly flashed through Tuan Tuan's mind. Schematic diagrams of the dagger. Blade length, blood groove depth, optimal grip angles for maximum force… This knowledge was just… there. In her head. As if it had always existed. Whenever she saw a weapon, the information would surface automatically.

That was the gift Daddy had left her.

Scarface drank half the bottle. The alcohol hit him. He leaned against the wall, eyelids getting heavy. Before long, snores rumbled out of him. Earth-shaking snores.

Tuan Tuan knew—her chance had come.

She flexed her bound wrists. The ox-hide rope was too tight. She couldn't break free. And this knot only tightened the more you struggled.

What to do?

Tuan Tuan bit down on her lower lip. She tasted blood. She suddenly remembered watching the village hunter butcher rabbits. To skin a rabbit, you had to dislocate its bones first.

Dislocate bones…

Tuan Tuan looked at her own thin wrists. If she didn't dislocate the bone, her hand couldn't slip through. It would hurt. It would hurt so, so much. But if she didn't escape, she'd be sold. She'd never see Daddy again.

Tuan Tuan wasn't afraid of pain. Tuan Tuan was afraid of not having a home.

The little girl took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, her small face tight. Then—she forced it.

Click.

An extremely faint crack. The sound of a bone popping out of its socket.

Agony exploded through her instantly—like a red-hot iron tong searing her nerves. Tuan Tuan's whole body convulsed. Cold sweat soaked through her padded jacket instantly. She opened her mouth wide to scream—But she swallowed it. She bit down on her own collar, forcing the scream back down into her stomach.

Can't scream. Screaming wakes the bad man.

Tears streamed down, cutting two clean trails through the coal dust on her face.

Trembling, Tuan Tuan used her dislocated, floppy left hand to slowly, slowly pull free from the rope. Her hand was out! The pain was piercing, her wrist swollen like a steamed bun, completely useless for gripping. But one hand was free.

Tuan Tuan couldn't waste time resetting the bone. She fumbled at her chest with her right hand. She found the necklace. It was strung from bullet shells. One of them was a sharp rifle bullet tip.

Tuan Tuan gripped that bullet tip. Like gripping a legendary weapon.

She began cutting the sack. The sack was tough—woven plastic. The bullet tip was sharp, but it wasn't a knife. Tuan Tuan could only saw at it, stroke by stroke.

Szzz… szzz…

The sound was tiny, swallowed by the wind and snow outside. Tuan Tuan's fingers were rubbed raw, blood staining the bullet tip. But she didn't stop.

One stroke. Two strokes. A hundred strokes.

Finally. Several threads of the sack snapped. A slit opened. Cold wind rushed in. Tuan Tuan thought it was the warmest wind in the world. The wind of freedom.

Like a kitten that had learned to hunt in this cruel world, she poked her head out, silent as a ghost.

Scarface was still sleeping. Dead as a pig. The dagger hung at his waist, rising and falling with his breath.

Tuan Tuan stared at the dagger. Then at Scarface's thick, meaty neck. She didn't rush to run. Slowly, slowly, she crawled out of the sack. Her left hand dangled, numb from pain. She braced herself with her right. Like a little ghost, she crept toward Scarface.

She needed that knife. With a knife, she could protect herself. With a knife, she could go find Daddy.

Tuan Tuan held her breath. Less than half a meter from Scarface now. She could smell the nauseating stench of alcohol on him.

Suddenly, she accidentally touched a wine bottle.