Having carved out three weeks for training, Zhang Min drew up a strict daily schedule, even scoring it into a splintered board with a charred twig, and made himself stick to it every damn day. Besides the physical drills, he rigged up a frugal but nourishing diet — eggs, meat, fruit, vegetables, though he fretted constantly over how fast his savings were melting.

  His mornings began with washing up, a hearty breakfast, and a long run. At first he used the broad city streets, but people started staring, clutching their purses, some even shouting for the guards. Since then Zhang Min slipped out past the city gates and ran along the dirt road outside, or along the riverbank where the water had pulled back, leaving a flush of small pebbles.

  Each passing day he went farther downstream from the city, through picturesque wheat fields where he paused to catch his breath and drink in the view, then jogged back home lightly. Returning from the run, he grabbed a small bite, rested well, then moved on to strength training. After that he ate again, allowed himself an afternoon nap to recover, then practiced the complicated movements from the scroll.

  The girls no longer ran away from him; they were always hovering around, watching with curiosity while he trained. Sometimes, in a rare mood, Zhang Min spoiled them with a tasty new dish. To replenish strength after hard exercise he bought a little meat and, of course, cooked for the three of them. The girls spent long minutes scraping every bone, afterward licking their fingers and the plates clean. Within just a week their hollow cheeks began to plump, looked more like children’s.

  Why are they so happy with just the same porridge every day? he wondered. I'd kill for a whole chicken, roasted with spices... maybe someday…

  They still wore filthy sacks instead of clothes, tied with rope around the middle. Their grimy faces and tangled hair, crawling with critters, haunted Zhang Min’s mind. Waiting for the moment when the children would stop being terrified of him, he prepared a new set of clothes for them, and for the sake of the grand cause, far from prying eyes at the river’s bank, he boiled soap from ash and vegetable oil, a process that took an entire week, while a large vat for bathing had long sat idle, waiting its hour.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  One fine morning, Zhang Min heated water, called over the neighbor Hong Shu and told Xue and Minzhu to wash. The two dirt-balls did not expect such cruelty from him, eyed him like a traitor. Hurt, helpless, tears brimmed in their eyes. Minzhu pouted her lips, clenched her fists bravely and dropped her head; older Xue frowned more fiercely than usual. With an air of resignation they, one by one, walked to the vat, steam rising above it like a sentence of execution.

  “Oy,” Hong Shu rolled her eyes, “Hurry up! It’s just a bath! No one ever died of one.”

  “Please wash their clothes too. They’re full of lice and bugs,” Zhang Min reminded, passing her the hefty chunk of soap, “And I’ll take care of their bedding. We need to shake and clean everything. Should dry by end of day.”

  “What’s this?” the woman asked.

  “Soap… like soap-nuts, only better.”

  “O!”

  “What’re you standing there for? Climb into the vat, quick!” Zhang Min ordered the children.

  An hour later the house admitted two flushed Xue and Minzhu, still full of rancor. The neighbor had earned her silver coin honestly: she’d combed the girls’ hair, braided them, dressed them in clean plain garments. Unused to anything clean, they scratched, squirmed in place, but even in simple gray clothes they looked sweet.

  Hong Shu is a serious, caring woman. It’d be better to leave the girls with her. I can’t carry these two little ones forever. Sooner or later our paths must diverge, he thought. I’ll pay for them, then say goodbye.

  The room smelled of meat broth with vegetables and bean porridge. Xue and Minzhu rolled suspicious glances at the hearth where the soup simmered, and above the beans pot rose fragrant steam. Pretending he didn’t notice their arrival, Zhang Min took two deep bowls and slowly ladled the soup into them, then stole a glance at the two girls. If they had tails, in that moment, they would’ve been wagging them with all their might.

  “Are you upset with father?” he asked slyly.

  “No,” the girls shook their heads, eyes wide opened.

  “Ready to wash whenever I say?”

  “Uh-huh,” the girls nodded.

  “Well, since you’ve generously forgiven me,” he said, “go eat. And don’t spill anything or I’ll send you back to bathe.”

  Given permission, the girls sat on the floor before a low table, like a tea‐table, and rolled up their sleeves, then began eating the soup. From their serious, concentrated faces it was clear they tried not to let a single drop fall. Zhang Min watched them, barely holding back a smile.

  Just a miracle that from such an ugly bastard could come such sweet kids, he thought. Probably took after their mother. Too bad no one knows what became of her, not even Hong Shu... I could’ve foisted the little ones on her. Seems she’s somewhere alive, but vanished mysteriously. Zhang Min's memory is a hollow mess, as if he tried too hard to forget his wife.