Jiang Mian · Chat

The snow started falling in the small hours of the night — first a few tentative flakes testing the waters, then coming down with reckless abandon, hammering the ground. Jiang Mian huddled in the deepest corner of the underpass, his back against the concrete wall, knees drawn up to his chest, both hands tucked under his armpits — and still cold. Cold like someone was pouring ice water into the cracks of his bones, drop by drop, slow and unhurried. His cardboard bed had long since soaked through, sagging limply beneath him, useless as ever. Wind poured in from both ends of the underpass, swirling into his collar and cuffs. He had only three layers in total — a picked-up thermal shirt with more holes than fabric; a thin jacket of some indeterminate color with a long-broken zipper; and over that, an army coat, also scavenged, its padding mostly gone. The rubber soles of his shoes had split open, and snowmelt seeped in. Jiang Mian felt like his toes weren't his anymore — frozen numb, like he was stepping on two blocks of wood. He felt like he'd turned into an ice pop. Back at the orphanage, the aunties used to hand out ice pops to the kids in summer. He never understood back then why anyone would love eating those things — the moment the popsicle touched his tongue it hurt. Now he understood. He was that ice pop himself, frozen solid from the inside out. He pushed himself up against the underpass wall, his legs trembling several times before he could stand. Outside the underpass, everything was a vast stretch of white. The streetlights stained the snow a warm yellow, and it somehow looked almost cozy, so he followed his instinct toward the light. Out of the alley, around the street corner, Jiang Mian saw a row of shops. One convenience store's door wasn't fully closed, and warm yellow light squeezed through the gap, carrying the smell of oden. Jiang Mian stood outside the door for a long time. The smell crept into his nose, piping hot... On instinct, he pushed open the glass door, and a wave of warmth hit his face like spring. He stepped half a foot inside. "Hey, hey, hey — what do you think you're doing? Out, out!" A man behind the counter stood up and waved him off from across the room, like shooing away a stray dog. "This isn't a shelter! Look how filthy you are!" Jiang Mian flinched back in fright, but his feet were a beat too slow. The man had already come around the counter, a mop in hand, and jabbed it at the floor in front of him a couple of times: "Are you leaving or not? I'll call security!" Jiang Mian had no choice. He stumbled back out, and the glass door swung shut in front of him, the electronic "Welcome!" voice cut off mid-syllable. He stood on the steps outside, snow landing on his head and shoulders. The warmth had lasted only a few seconds, and now the cold hit even harder — like someone had thrown him into an ice hole, dragged him out, and left him wet in the wind. He circled around to the alley beside the shop. It was narrow, and the buildings on both sides blocked some of the wind and snow, but a stream of filthy water ran along the ground, snow and mud churned together. He picked a sheltered corner and squatted down. Against the base of the wall was an air-conditioning unit, humming away and blowing out a little warm air — barely there, like a person's breath. He pressed his face close, but the faint warmth was like a tickle — nowhere near enough. His hands were numb. His feet were numb. Every inch of him was numb. His eyelids were too heavy to lift, drooping like lead weights were tied to them. He thought, if he just slept, it would be fine. When he woke up, maybe the snow would have stopped, maybe the sky would be light, and he could go dig through the trash bins — maybe he'd find something warm that someone had thrown away. He closed his eyes. The snow kept falling. A few flakes landed on his lashes, and he didn't bother to brush them off. His mind began to play a blurry reel of memories — one moment his mother humming, the next the older kid at the orphanage who used to hit him, all tangled up together, then slowly dissolving, like sugar melting in water, until no color was left. Jiang Mian was just sleepy. So, so sleepy. He didn't know what this meant — he'd stopped learning new things at five years old, and no one had ever taught him that when you get cold enough, you fall asleep, and if you sleep long enough, you never wake up.