My stomach was full, but I had traded one problem for another. Panic was a luxury I could not afford. My mind worked fast, focusing and cutting through the disorientation. Survival was a matter of angles, terrain, and initiative. My eyes darted around, no longer as a tourist, the colorful sights and smells fading into the background.

  I spotted a stall selling farming implements, too clumsy, and another with woven baskets. Then, about thirty paces away, I saw it: a shop dealing in simple materials. Stacked against its wall were long, thick poles of cured bamboo, the kind used for construction scaffolding or as carrying poles, a biǎndan, a sturdy pole balanced across the shoulders to carry heavy loads on either end. Five or six feet long, light but strong, they'd be perfect as a staff in a pinch.

  Now for the arena. Across the main thoroughfare, I found what I was looking for: a narrow gap between a tea house and a warehouse. It was a dark slice leading into the city block, and it smelled of damp earth and refuse even from here. Classic.

  I supposed I could have relied on the city guard, or tried to lose them in a crowd. But this was an unfamiliar land to me and not to them. Surprise had to be my advantage.

  Still chewing on the half-eaten húbǐng, a little dry in my mouth, I began to walk a deliberate line toward the bamboo seller. My pace was calm, measured. The thugs exchanged a look and began to follow, thinking I was simply wandering.

  "I need one of these," I said to the harried-looking man at the stall, pointing to the poles.

  "For carrying?" he asked, already losing interest.

  "Something like that."

  "Three coins for a six-foot length."

  It was a small price for my life. I handed over the coins, my pouch feeling perilously light. He grunted and gestured for me to take one. I selected a good piece: six feet long, thick, solid, with no cracks.

  With my new staff in hand, I started across the wide street. I caught the eye of the lead thug and gave him a deliberate wink. Then, I lifted my arm and gave the small pouch at my belt an ostentatious toss before catching it again, ensuring the few remaining coins jingled audibly. It was a clear invitation, a taunt. Surprise flickered on their faces, quickly replaced by a shared look of predatory glee. Good. They thought I was an arrogant, easy mark.

  I reached the mouth of the alley and stepped inside. The market's roar dulled instantly, replaced by the echo of my own footsteps on the grimy flagstones. The air was cool, still, and stank of refuse. The passage was narrow, cluttered with discarded bamboo crates and broken pottery. It was defensible. I walked twenty paces into the shadows, then stopped and turned, planting the butt of the bamboo staff firmly on the ground.

  A moment later, their silhouettes blocked the bright entrance. The leader, a man with a scarred lip, cracked his knuckles as they fanned out, blocking any retreat.

  "Well, well," he sneered, his voice echoing in the confined space. "Looks like a big fish swam into a small net. Just saved us the trouble of finding a quiet spot. Now, be a good boy, drop the stick and the pouch, and we might not have to break your legs."

  I let out a long, theatrical yawn and stretched my neck. Leaning casually against the damp brick wall, I held the staff loosely upright in one hand. My voice, calm and fluent, cut through the tension.

  "What can I do for you two?"

  I paused, then let my eyes glint with menace.

  "Care to help this young master scratch an itch?"

  The term I used, xiǎo yé, was one of pure contempt, more fitting to the declaration of a young, arrogant hooligan placing himself far above them. The scarred thug's face breifly showed confusion before it flushed a deep, blotchy red. "You're courting death!" he roared, pulling a crude but sharp knife from his sash and charging forward.

  He was all rage and forward momentum. My body answered before my mind could catch up.

  I straightened, turned side-on, and my right foot snapped out, striking the base of the bamboo staff. This was a standard opening motion I had practiced many, many times.

  The pole leaped from the ground. It was a little longer than I was used to and surprisingly heavy. Nevertheless, my hands guided the rising pole and my feet took a step forward, using its length as a lever to pivot the tip upward into a simple, vicious arc. His knife was still at least three feet away from me when the end of my staff found its mark.

  There was a sickening, wet thud as the pole connected squarely with his groin. The thug's roar died, replaced by a high-pitched, choked gasp. His eyes bulged in uncomprehending agony as his momentum carried him another pace even after I drew the staff back. He dropped the knife, which clattered on the stones, before his body folded in on itself. He dropped to his knees and pitched face-first onto the filthy ground, out of the fight.

  I breathed out. Not too bad.

  The second thug's grin vanished. His bravado evaporated. I adjusted my grip, letting the bamboo rest easily in one hand and shaking my head with mock disappointment.

  "A pity, the family line is severed."

  I lifted my gaze to the remaining man and offered him a cruel smile.

  "You can join him as a eunuch."

  The vile insult hit his pride like a physical blow. Rage consumed his fear. His gaze darted wildly and fell upon the knife his partner had dropped. He let out a roar and lunged for it.

  I gave him no chance. I had pictured what I wanted to do and now I executed it, two great strides eating up the distance between us. He was still crouched, fingers just brushing the knife's handle, when my staff shot forward. A sharp crack of bamboo on bone echoed as I jabbed his outstretched hand. I put all my strength into changing the staff’s momentum, swinging it in a devastating horizontal arc aimed at the side of his head.

  I deliberately tried to slow myself down, a head injury could be lethal. Still, the solid pole connected with his temple with a thump. His legs gave out beneath him.

  It was just like sparring, but he wasn’t wearing a padded helmet.

  The alley fell silent, save for the pained moans of the first thug. He was already beginning to stir, pushing himself into a sitting position. I couldn't risk him recovering. I stepped over to him, and before he could make a sound, raised the staff and brought it down in a short, sharp, arc. His body went limp. The alley was now completely silent.

  I checked their vitals. Both still breathed, and their pulses were strong. No sign of decerebrate posturing. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Time was short. I knelt, my hands moving quickly. I retrieved the knife from the ground—a crude but serviceable weapon. I patted down the leader, his money pouch heavy with a string of about a hundred copper coins. The second thug had nothing but a few loose coins, which I added to my collection.

  Their desire to rob me had, ironically, given me the means to survive another day in this city. I stood, my work done. The bamboo pole I let drop to the ground, its clatter echoing loudly beside the two men.

  Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my robe and stepped out of the alley's mouth and back into the blinding sun. The river of humanity swallowed me whole. I was free, or so I thought. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still watching me.