Hei and Bai walked shoulder-to-shoulder across the plaza, heading straight toward the narrow alleyway leading to their ruined shack. The crowd parted for them, stepping back as if the two men were suddenly infectious.
As they passed Granny Ma's old stall, the frail old woman stepped out from a darkened doorway. She didn't smile at him, but the bitter disappointment that had crushed him days ago was gone from her eyes.
She reached into the pockets of her flour-dusted apron with a trembling hand and pressed a small package of waxed paper into Hei's large palm. It was warm and it smelled richly of steamed dough, fresh scallions, and savory pork.
"It's a long walk to the sea, boy," Granny Ma whispered. "Don't trip over your own feet."
Hei stopped dead in his tracks. He clutched the warm baozi tightly to his chest, his throat suddenly tightening with an unexpected surge of emotion.
