The noise in the wooden shed died down little by little.
The boys huddled in small groups, three or four at a time, like animals curling together for warmth on a cold night. They whispered among themselves and, now and then, cast a glance at Wei, as if plotting something.
Minnow watched Wei's hands.
Wei was stroking the little grass dog, slow and careful, as if afraid its thin legs might come apart.
Something in Minnow's eyes softened, as if the sight had struck him.
"You know," he said, not raising his voice, "to them, we're nothing but livestock penned up in a yard."
He paused, then added, "To be exact—food."
Wei's fingers jerked back as if the grass figure had stabbed him.
"What happened? A blade of grass poke you?" Minnow asked.
But his worried look met the fire burning in Wei's eyes.
Wei's voice came out rough, too loud to hold back. He threw the words straight at him.
"Are all of you blind? If this is how it ends, why don't you fight instead of waiting to die?"
The sound hit the room hard, like it slapped the thin air apart.
Minnow's big eyes went wide with alarm. He shot a quick glance toward the door, his shoulders pulled tight like a bowstring.
A few boys nearby turned their heads.
Their eyes fell on him all at once—surprise, mockery, and a faint trace of something else.
They wore the kind of smile you only learned after living too long in a pit. It was cold, knowing and amused by the wild spark in a newcomer.
One boy, already full from supper, leaned against a post and half-dozed. His voice drifted out of the shadow, too lazy even to open his eyes.
"Fight hard," he said, "and you just die today."
He spoke slow, with the dull heaviness of someone half-asleep after chewing too much.
A quiet snicker rose somewhere in Wei's back.
It was a thin sound, like a mouse gnawing at old wood, gnawing at whatever hope was left.
"Besides," the boy went on, "they only take a little of our blood. Feeding the undead-warriors is an honor, isn't it?"
He had a stalk of dry grass in his mouth, chewing it loud enough for everyone to hear. There was a greasy pride in his voice.
"Not everyone's blood is worthy."
He lifted his chin and let his eyes slide over Wei, light as a blade slipping across skin, without a hint of pity.
"Not like you gutter rats," he said. "Your blood's spoiled. Spill it and they've got to clean the floor three days."
He spoke as if telling a funny story.
Around him the boys chuckled one after another, as if someone had given a signal.
"Yeah. Running around causing trouble."
"Never letting the camp stay quiet."
"And in the end? Cornered in some drainage ditch, rotting in the mud. Same fate anyway."
Their laughter was dry and cold, like sparks scraped off a stone in snow winter.
Heat surged through Wei's body, blooming fast, as if fire had been lit inside his bones.
He felt Minnow's hand pressing down on his fist. It was damp, trembling.
But his anger was harder than that hand.
Wei shook off Minnow's hand. His shoulder jerked, like an animal lifting its mane.
He had already taken half a step, only half a breath away from throwing himself forward and choking those laughs out of their throats.
Minnow suddenly pressed himself in front of him, thin as a wind-bent stalk of bamboo, yet standing there as if rooted.
"Can't you see?"
Minnow's voice was low, but tight with panic, ready to snap. "They were sent. They're doing this on purpose. To get at you."
Then he spread himself a little wider, like a small creature with no teeth left, still trying to shield its own. He faced the boys closing in, their eyes bright with the easy hunger of hunters.
"We're the ones at the bottom," Minnow said, lifting his chin, steady and clear. "And you still want to tear each other apart?"
The air froze for a moment.
Someone nearby gave a short, sharp laugh.
The lazy boy hadn't expected it.
A newcomer, still carrying the smell of the woods, dared to strike first.
He clutched his eye and staggered back.
Five or six of his friends moved in at once, drawn by the scent of blood. They closed the exit tight, like dogs circling a wounded thing.
The lazy boy stood at the front. His voice came sharp and high, like a torn bellows.
"You pretty-faced brat! First day here and you're already bad-mouthing the high ones? Without them guarding us, you'd be stripped to the bone by now!"
Another boy joined in the shouting."Been sick of you country rats since the start! Why should you eat what we eat and sleep where we sleep?"
A third boy shoved his way forward, a thin, dirty grin on his face."And you two sticking together all day… what are you, huh?"
The air flared—quick and hot—like someone had lit powder.
Wei's anger, just barely held down, surged up again. His muscles drew tight, one by one.
"Say that again," he said.
The words came low, like something rising from under the earth.
The lazy boy lifted his chin and pushed aside the boys near him.
"Oh? Mad now? Look, I'm so scared. Sorry, I apologize."
Then his tone flipped, sharp as a knife's edge.
"What I really mean is… Iron-Throat's been looking for boys who'll 'open the back door,' right? Heard the higher-ups just love that sort. You two look clean and sweet. Behave, and maybe you'll earn yourselves a few extra meals. Hahaha!"
The air went sour with that laugh.
Wei's face flushed in a burst of heat.
His ears burned.
Something in him felt ready to split.
In Wei's eyes, thin lines of red began to rise.
It was the look a hunting beast has a moment before it lifts its head.
The boy across from him seemed to change in Wei's eyes, the top of his head and his chest burned bright, hot and fast, like a fire with too much air.
But the flame around his nose and jaw was thin, weak, like a lamp running out of oil.
A weak point.
A target.
Wei's body leaned forward, ready to strike.
But before he could move, a thin shadow slid in front of him again.
Minnow.
His arm was skinny, but it held out like a nail driven deep.
He stood straight, planted firm, blocking Wei's chest with shoulders that were narrow but braced like he carried a wall.