Later that day, the official who led me to the training camp takes me back to the house. He tells me that this is the first and last time he is going to help me out, and that since I was injured, I am an exception to his personal rules. He bids me to turn in to the camp by morning, and then he leaves me at the front stoop of the strangers’ house, where I stand nursing the ache in my stomach before I raise a fist to knock on the door.

The mother opens the door. Her eyes travel from my dirt-smeared face to the bandage around my torso. She ushers me inside, and then she commands me to lie down on the bed.

“What on earth did you let them do to you?” She whispers. She leaves the room and comes back with a bundle of clothes. “Wear these for now. I’ll have your clothes ready in the morning. Rest up. It’s late, and you’re going to need your strength.” She pats me on the shoulder, and then she sighs. “Don’t be too talented or too useless. It will be worse for you if you are.” With a tight smile, she closes the door. I change into my new clothes, squinting as I peel off the white t-shirt from my back. My previous wounds are healing, but the new ones caused by that insensate boy and his rod hinder me from returning to the untouched body that I had.

Positioning my body to face the door, I cautiously lie down and fall asleep.

-----

In the early morning, the mother brings me soup to eat. I change into the clothes I wore yesterday, which have been permanently dyed a brown-grey. “I tried to wash it out,” she tells me. “Do you know how to get to the camp? Do you – “

I look at her, and she closes . She pats her hair and glances at the ground. “Endure it for a bit. I’m sure … I’m sure you’ll find a way to leave this place soon.”

I nod, and then I head towards the training camp. I join group four in running around the field again, which looks to be our first exercise of every day. I expect the official to purposely irritate me, but he ignores me as if my existence has been forgotten since yesterday’s incident. It’s good for me; I can pretend to start over.

Chen isn’t here today. He is probably recuperating at home. I don’t plan on making friends during my stay in Shin, but it’s my responsibility to apologize to him when he returns. I can only hope he won’t take that as an affirmation that he can speak to me again.

After lunch, group four throws knives. To dispel any doubt towards me, I intentionally vary my accuracy in throwing the knives. The official laughs, saying that I had a bout of luck yesterday, and proceeds to haughtily teach me how to properly throw a knife. I humor him by listening.

My head begins to throb when we join group one for a martial arts lesson. I try to follow the sequences of poise and structure that group one’s official teaches us, but my pulsating head hinders me from focusing. More than once, vertigo hands me the urge to fall, but I fight the impulse and concentrate on my feet. As long as I do an average job of following orders, I won’t receive negative attention like last time.

Just as Ada informed me, I toil in the training camp from dawn until dusk. I am used to work – as a Night, we trained frequently. I would say that Shin is more vicious in training its men, but that statement only comes from the reason that I was recently injured. If I hadn’t been, training at this camp would be easier.

When I get to the house, the mother has prepared a bath for me. I’ve never had a warm bath before. We Nights would always bathe in any lake or river we found. Sometimes, we would go days unwashed, which was a bother for me since I liked being clean. Having her treat me to a proper bath makes me feel like a king, if only for the duration of the time that the water stays warm.

I wipe myself dry and wrap the towel around my waist. The mirror, which is clouded by condensation, shows me my rugged face. Besides having cuts on my cheek and a slight bruise on my jaw, I also have hints of black circles beginning to dimple my eyes. I gaze at the layered scars on my chest and allow myself to miss, if only for a moment, the black stamp that labeled me.

The door opens. It’s Ada with a towel draped over her arm. When she sees me, her eyes flash with surprise and embarrassment. She comments wryly, “Sorry. I forgot you were in here.” She starts to close the door, but then she sees the scar. “That’s different, isn’t it?” She switches the towel from one hand to another. “It isn’t like your other scars.”

“I’m busy,” I say. She shrugs and closes the door. I exhale, and the mirror fogs up. I hastily change into my clothes, and then I burst out of the bathroom. Ada is waiting in the hall. She brushes by me without a word, and I retreat to my room, where I know I won’t be bothered unintentionally.

While each day at the training camp is like taking one step forward and two steps back, the time comes when my injuries are no longer a handicap. I still have evidence of Cain’s beatings on my body, but they are much less conspicuous. By the time I’ve healed, Chen returns to the camp. He has a crude sling around his arm, but he runs the pace with the rest of us. I watch him the whole morning and observe that he mostly keeps to himself. It’s strange that a naturally solitary boy such as he is approached a new guy like me.

During lunch, I carry my food to where he is sitting. When my shadow darkens his soup, he looks up.

“I’m going to sit here,” I say and fold my legs beneath me. We eat quietly until I ask, “How’s your arm?”

“It hurts,” he says so tersely that I start to believe he hates me for it. But then he smiles and punches my shoulder, causing some of my soup to slop. “I’m kidding! It’s fine, don’t look so glum.”

“You spilled my soup,” I mumble.

“Have some of mine,” he says, so we eat from his bowl of soup.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” He pauses.

“Your arm,” I nod at the sling. “It looks bad.”

“It’s okay. It’ll heal. Hey, finish this, okay?” He says. He pushes the bowl of soup to me, but I deny his offer. Accepting that would mean accepting his friendship, and as a Night in Shin, I need a minimum amount of relational ties.

“I don’t want it.” I tear off a piece of bread with my teeth and demand, “Tell me about wushu.”

“What’s there to tell?” He says as he gulps down the rest of the soup. “Haven’t you been practicing it while I’ve been gone?”

“Yeah. But it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?”

“All this,” I say, waving my arms. “We form all these poses, but we don’t even fight.”

“Why would they let you fight?” He laughs. “Our group just started learning. You’re not … planning to get back at the 2A kid, are you?”

I pull a tuft of grass from the ground and answer, “The official is more important.”

“Officials don’t fight with trainers,” he says. “That’s why he asked 2A to get you.”

“And that’s his name? 2A?”

“The official of group one doesn’t bother learning his trainees’ names. Oh, and 2A? He’s the second best at wushu in that group.”

I scoff. “I can beat him.”

Chen looks at me doubtfully, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I can,” I insist. “Once I learn wushu.”

“It’s not that easy,” he says. “It takes years to perfect.”

I don’t have years. I have as long as Han decides to give me, which could be a short amount of time. “I’ll perfect it.”

Around me, members of group four start to assemble. Chen and I stand up to join them, and then we go through the wushu lesson.

I absorb as much information as possible as the official teaches us more moves. I’m itching to fight someone and test out all these forms we have been repeating, but I know I have to wait. Perfection is attainable if I have patience. Perfection is possible if I have dedication.

That night, a warm bath is ready for me once more. The mother seems intent to make this a routine. I don’t complain; it’s rare for me to receive this sort of treatment. I make sure to lock the door before getting undressed.

I’ve been expecting Ada and her mom to kick me out since I’ve gotten better, but they haven’t even suggested the topic. They must be naturally kind-hearted people to accept a ruined stranger and nurse him until he gets better. I can’t stay with people like this for too long. Their generosity will rub off on me.

I wake up in the middle of the night, shivering. The window is closed and I’m dressed warmly, yet for some reason the cold beckoned me out of sleep. I decide to stand up and get a glass of water. When I roam the hallway toward the kitchen, I hear a faint clicking sound. I search for where I think the sound originated until I reach a closed door. I listen for five seconds, and then I turn around, but the floorboard underneath me squeaks and the door opens.

It’s Ada. Her eyes are alight with panic. She glares at me. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a glass of water,” I answer. “See you.”

“Wait,” she says. I notice that she’s hiding something behind her back. “I was just …”

“Sorry for disrupting you.” I walk back to my room, my sudden thirst depleted.

-----

My favorite part of group four’s training schedule is the wushu lesson. It’s the only part of the day that draws my passion. Wushu, from what I can comprehend, is far more intricate and graceful than the fighting tactics that the Nights are taught. Often I am badgered for not maintaining my weight lightly, which was never a problem when I practiced throwing knives with Han. Sure, we practiced hand-to-hand combat, but not like this. Wushu mentally debilitates me.

Due to this, my mind sometimes forgets Han and the Nights. I train for days forgetting that my objective is to watch the people of Shin and wait for Han’s signal, whatever it may be. I know they’ll come back for me, but my faith in that knowledge fades with each silent day that passes when I don’t hear a thing from the Nights.

I consider escaping Shin, but since I am a registered trainee, that may be close to impossible. I still don’t know the layout of Shin. I know nothing beyond the scope of the house to the camp. There are even parts of the house that I haven’t been yet. The mother, although tender, draws a clear line between who I am and who they are. Despite our differences and the mystery that purposely shrouds both my and her past, she treats me as equally as she treats Ada.

Ada who, since that night I almost knocked on her door, hasn’t spoken to me since.

On an evening when I walk to the house and expect the usual warm bath, the door to the bathroom is closed. I rap the door and wait.

“Hold on.” It’s Ada. “Zee. Is that you?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

The door opens, and I see behind her that the tub is ready, just as it should be.

“Sorry,” she says, ducking her head and moving away. “I had to – “

“You have something on your face.”

“I know,” she says, irritated.

“Let me see it.”

“No.”

“Let me see it.”

She shakes her head, but she looks at me anyway. I see a red and purple bruise on her cheek. “I hit it while I was cleaning,” she shrugs. “I’m clumsy.”

I know what kind of bruise that is, and I know that it didn’t come from cleaning anything. I start to ask her who did it, but I stop myself in time. I shouldn’t question her. If I do that, it only proves that I care. I walk into the bathroom and close the door. As I lean over the sink and stare at my image in the mirror, I whisper, “Come on, Tao. You’re a Night. Remember that.”