A blizzard, the worst in ten years, descended upon Maoxi Village, nestled against the mountain, as the north wind howled into the winter month.

In the morning, wisps of smoke curled from the mud chimneys of each house, merging into a smoky haze that drifted along the icy, snowy path, dissipating before reaching the foot of the mountain.

Few people ventured into the mountains once the snowy season arrived. A flurry of anxious, hurried footsteps crunching through the snow seemed to disturb something, as the sharp cries of crows echoed across the vast, empty mountain.

In the biting wind and heavy snow, a small boy, clutching a small clay pot tightly, ran stumbling and crying in fear.

The boy’s name was Guanguan. He didn’t know why he was called Guanguan, nor why he was here. He only knew that the small clay pot in his arms was incredibly important to him.

…

Wei Cheng, suppressing a cough, had been waiting near a rabbit burrow for nearly half an hour. Just as the trap of twigs and branches was about to snare a grey rabbit that poked its head out, a sound of footsteps from somewhere startled the rabbit back into its hole.

Wei Cheng could no longer hold back; he knelt down and coughed violently, several large drops of blood staining the snow.

He looked back and saw a small, dusty boy standing not far away, staring at him blankly.

Wei Cheng was momentarily stunned.

He wiped the blood from his mouth, feeling a little annoyed. If it weren’t for this child, he might have already gotten his medicine.

He had been ill for a long time, but no one cared for him, and he had no money to buy medicine. He planned to catch a rabbit to trade with the village herbalist for some medicine to treat his cold.

Coughing, Wei Cheng approached the child, calling out, “Whose child are you? What are you doing here?”

As he drew closer, Wei Cheng felt a pang of sympathy. The child was small, about four or five years old, with a round face. His cheeks, reddened by the wind, bore traces of dried tears. His eyes were large and endearing, but his little feet were bare and raw, his clothes more like a ragged piece of cloth than actual clothing, leaving his shoulders and legs exposed and purple with cold. His small hands clutched a dirty clay pot tightly.

Wei Cheng asked again, “Whose child are you? Why are you in the mountains? Where are your father and mother?”

Guanguan understood these simple words; he should be able to speak, but he didn’t know what to say.

So he shook his head, eyes downcast.

“They’re… gone?”

Wei Cheng coughed again, “You’re an orphan too…”

Guanguan looked bewildered.

Wei Cheng: “Children without parents, without anyone to care for them, are orphans. I’m an orphan.”

Guanguan took a long time to process this. He tentatively nodded.

Wei Cheng asked, “How old are you? Haven’t you learned to speak yet, or can’t you speak?”

Guanguan shook his head again.

“You don’t have parents… what about your relatives?”

He shook his head.

“Which village are you from? Are you from Maoxi Village?”

Wei Cheng asked several questions, and the child continued to shake his head.

Suddenly, a high-pitched yelp, like a puppy in pain, came from behind. Wei Cheng turned to see that… a rabbit was caught in the trap!

He forgot about questioning the child, quickly running to the trap. He carefully gathered the few grains of corn, quickly tying up the grey rabbit’s legs. The rabbit was heavy; it seemed his medicine was secured.

With the heavy snow sealing the mountains, few people would enter. This area was only at the foot of Mount Mao, and villagers often came here to hunt, so most burrows were empty. Wei Cheng had spent several days before finding this rabbit hole. They say rabbits have three burrows; to scare one away and still find another was truly extraordinary!

Wei Cheng tossed the rabbit into his backpack, covering it with dry grass and firewood as camouflage. He looked back at the shivering child.

If he ignored him…

The child wouldn’t survive…

Wei Cheng walked to the child, unable to bear it, “I’ll take you to the village headman. If you stay in the mountains any longer, you’ll freeze to death.”

The word “freeze to death” made Guanguan flinch. He obediently took a step forward, clutching the clay pot. Wei Cheng noticed that his little feet were cracked and bleeding, but the child seemed oblivious to the pain, looking at him with timid fear.

Wei Cheng glanced at his own cotton shoes, worn and patched, with holes all over. They were made by his mother before she remarried, and were now too small, with his heels sticking out.

Wei Cheng took off his backpack and crouched down, “Come on, I’ll carry you down the mountain.”

He looked at the tightly clutched clay pot, “Put your little pot in the backpack.”

At these words, the child shook his head, tears welling up, and stood still.

Wei Cheng examined the pot; it was an ordinary earthenware pot, no different from the broken pots piled up in the village. The child’s attachment to it suggested it might be a memento from his deceased parents?

Wei Cheng coughed heavily, swallowing a mouthful of blood, “Then hold onto it. It’s going to snow again; we need to go down the mountain quickly.”

Guanguan carefully climbed onto Wei Cheng’s back. The older boy’s back was thin and bony, but warm and comforting. He sniffed his frozen nose and hugged the older boy’s neck tightly.

Carrying a child was strenuous for Wei Cheng. He was only eight years old, his thin frame a result of constant hunger, yet he was tall, even taller than his eleven-year-old cousin. Villagers often said he resembled his deceased hunter father.

The village herbalist lived in the first house at the foot of the mountain. Wei Cheng, fearing discovery of his rabbit, went to the herbalist instead of the village headman.

The herbalist’s husband opened the door, saying, “It’s Cheng, isn’t it?” Then he saw something and exclaimed, “Who’s this child?”

Wei Cheng entered, saying, “I found him in the mountains.”

The herbalist also came out, “Found him? In this freezing weather, someone abandoned a child…?”

Their eyes fell on the child’s purple skin and bleeding feet. They frowned, “This… this is too…”

“Quickly, bring him here, I’ll apply some frostbite ointment.”

Guanguan hid behind Wei Cheng, timidly clutching his clothes.

“It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Wei Cheng carried Guanguan to a warm bed, “Uncle Herbalist is a good man.”

The herbalist brought a basin of warm water, added some fresh snow from the yard, and gently wiped the child’s feet with a wet cloth. He opened a small porcelain bottle, scraped a layer of ointment resembling pig fat, and carefully applied it to the child’s cracked feet.