Having only a vague notion of the local justice system, Zhang Min didn’t dare cause a scene inside the tavern and he didn’t want to spend coin on compensation either. He had to wait, and to kill time he taught the children the few characters he knew. Sitting cross-legged, Zhang Min drew them with a twig on the ground while the kids tried to copy.

  Time slipped by unnoticed and night fell over the city. Stallkeepers folded up their booths, beggars went off to find lodgings, and the street soon emptied, broken only by the occasional late passer’s footfall, the clatter of hooves, or a drunk’s stray shout. The tavern regulars began to leave, one after another melting into the dark alleys.

  “He’s out!” — vigilant Xue spotted the thieving vagabond first.

  “Let’s go,” Zhang Min rose to his feet.

  The girls’ assailant stepped out with two companions. Though they didn’t look particularly dangerous, Zhang Min prepared to draw his sword just in case. Striding up to the three tramps, he grabbed one by the scruff of the neck and threw a punch at his jaw. He missed a little. A wave of pain ran down his arm — the skull was tougher and bonier than he’d expected.

  Fists need training too, the thought flashed through him.

  “What are you doing! Murder! Murder!” the thief screeched, trying to cover his face with his hand. “Ki… kill…! Why are you standing there?” he cried to his companions, but they flinched and stepped back, wincing.

  “Shut up,” Zhang Min hissed, shaking him like a rag. “Stand up one more time — I’ll kill you!”

  Suddenly the pilfering vagabond noticed the two girls behind the attacker. They stood there, eyes flaming with anger, tiny fists clenched. Fear flickered in his eyes, but before he could answer the slaps began, one after another. The world wavered. The ground rushed up and struck his body with a painful blow.

  “Ugh-a-a-a!” the thief screamed.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Remember well! If I find you pester my daughters again,” thundered Zhang Min’s voice above him, “I’ll gut you!”

  In the beaten beggar’s blurred vision, a blade of the sword glinted, making him tremble with fear. A few bystanders watched the humiliation, but no one intervened — especially once Zhang Min held a weapon in his hand. The thief’s companions froze where they stood, silent statues, afraid to draw the attention of the furious father.

  “Xue, Minzhu! Kick him in turn,” ordered Zhang Min.

  “Yes!” the younger didn’t hesitate and stomped on the attacker several times with all her might.

  “Mm-hmm,” nodded Xue with a very serious face, then kicked the thief in the ribs.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Zhang Min walked away with measured calm, as if he had done nothing special, and behind him followed two small girls. Soon they vanished among the dark alleys. Bystanders came to themselves and began noisy discussion; the thief’s two companions lifted him from the ground.

  “I told you not to mess with them!” — croaked one. “He was wild. Nearly killed you. Where’d he get so much strength? Oh! Look at you.”

  “I won’t forgive this,” whispered the man through broken lips.

  “Forget it. Why do you seek trouble? Spit. You always get it rough. Right?”

  On the way home Zhang Min pretended to be unshaken, but his heart pounded in his chest like mad. The fight stirred not only his blood but memories. Images from the recent battle with bandits — the ambush, the fight, flying arrows, cries and distorted faces of enemies — surged over him. He stopped, leaned with one hand against a house wall, and ran his palm over his sweaty face.

  “I need to train harder,” he concluded, looking at his bloodied hands. “Nearly broke my fists on his dumb skull. How to make hands like two hammers …”

  Behind him walked Xue and Minzhu silently, admiring his broad back. They didn’t understand why, but felt happy. A strange feeling of protection enveloped them from head to toe like a warm blanket, granting peace of heart. For the first time in their lives someone stood up for them, and they weren’t yet certain whether to cry or laugh. The younger one, just in case, grabbed the hem of father’s clothes and didn’t let go until home. The hurt, fear, the worries of recent days faded with every step.

  Little tails. What do I do with them? Zhang Min stroked the girl’s head without meaning to, then looked up at the cloudless sky. Tomorrow I’ll continue training. Only because of the training I’m still alive. All that effort wasn't wasted.

  The night cast the shadows of a father and his two daughters upon the dusty, dirt-strewn road. The wind whispered between the rooftops, and only the faint echo of distant footsteps drifted through the streets.