It isn’t long before others begin filing in to the center. Some appear to be people out on their normal morning errands. Others arrive in haste, and I suspect they have heard the lamplighter’s story. Word is spreading quickly, and when I see the elders and artist apprentices hurrying in ahead of their normal time, I know that my presence and unexpected creation have completely thrown the village off its schedule. Zhang Jing stands with the other servants behind the apprentices, and much to my relief, no one seems to be paying her any special attention.

The crowd swells, and soon I’m fairly certain the entire village is here. This isn’t the first time I’ve stood on the dais, facing them all beside a completed record. But this is the first time that I’m as much of the draw as what’s on the canvas. I meet their gazes as impassively as I can, proud of what I’ve done—both in ink and in my recent journey. I stand by my actions and what I must do to help these people.

For a long time, the gathering crowd simply takes me and my story in. A few brief signed conversations flutter, but for the most part, everyone seems to be coming to terms with what I’m telling them. This emboldens me enough to step forward and address the crowd. I’d originally thought I would let my work speak for me. But now I realize I must add my own plea to it. Facing all these people is terrifying, but I remind myself I can be no less brave than Li Wei, trapped somewhere in the township. I don’t know what happened after the soldiers seized him, but I refuse to believe he’s in some horrible prison—or dead. It strengthens me to think he’s just waiting in one of those tents with Nuan, waiting for me to come join them with our people. Or maybe he’s escaped, run far away, already planning a new life free of all this. It is the memory of his face, of the strength in his eyes, that pushes me as I speak.

Everything you see here is true, I sign to the crowd. This is what Li Wei and I have learned over the last few days, what we have risked our lives for. The township is deceiving you. We need to come together and think of a way to save ourselves and our future. I know it is difficult to hear. I know how overwhelming it must seem. We can’t let fear—or the township—rule us any longer. It may seem impossible, but it’s not—not if we unite and work together.

My hands slowly return to my side, and my heart aches as I recall Li Wei’s brave, handsome face telling me: We’re pretty good at the impossible. I have to force myself to remain calm and serious as I regard my people.

No one responds right away. Mostly they seem to again be processing what I’ve told them. Hope rises in me, and I dare to believe that my people are taking heed and will believe me so that we can all find a reasonable course to save ourselves.

As it turns out, I am wrong.

CHAPTER 16

A MAN I DISTANTLY KNOW, an older miner, is the first to act. He storms up onto the dais and tears down a section of my painting, hurling it to the ground. Tension has been building and swelling in the crowd as I speak, and it’s as though that one defiant action spurs everyone to action. Chaos breaks out.

People storm the stage, attacking the rest of my record. Some simply want it down, others furiously work to destroy it, tearing it into unrecognizable pieces. And some people aren’t interested in the painting at all—they come for me. Suddenly, getting my message across is no longer my primary goal. Staying alive is.

Angry faces loom in my vision as hands reach for me, clawing and groping. I never would have expected to fear attack from my own people, but the world as I’ve known it has drastically changed in a matter of days. Someone tears the sleeve of my shirt, and I feel nails gauge my cheek. Fearing worse, I hastily back up until there’s no more surface on the stage left. My attackers move with me, and I only just escape them by hopping down, though a few bold ones do the same. On the ground, I am plunged into the chaos of the mob and soon lose those who are pursuing me as the crowd in the village’s center becomes even more frenzied.

Many, not realizing that most of my paintings are gone and that I’ve left the stage, are still trying to get to the dais. Others are turning on one another. Conversations are flying fast and furious, too difficult for me to follow all the signs. But I see certain things repeated over and over—lies, death, and food. It’s clear the majority of the people around me don’t believe what I’ve told them. They seem to think I concocted all this to save myself, and my heart sinks—not because they’d think so little of me but because they’ve become so enslaved by this system that they are terrified of breaking out of it.

There are a few, however, who seem to think there’s some truth to what I’ve said—but their support is almost detrimental. Some are those who’ve spoken out against the township before and are already angry and looking for a fight. They begin arguing with those who think I’m lying, and I am aghast to see actual physical altercations break out. I try to tell myself it’s all because my people are hungry and scared, that the uncertainty of the last day’s events has left them panicked and unsettled. But it’s still hard to see them degenerate into this madness, turning on one another when it’s imperative we stand together against the township.

Through the chaos, I see Zhang Jing at the back of the crowd, mostly out of the way of any danger. She is standing there wide-eyed, rooted to the spot with fear. Her gaze meets mine, and I quickly tell her, Wait, I’m coming. I don’t know if she understands, as two people in a shoving match stumble into me, knocking me to the ground. My body, already sore, hurts more than it should from the impact, but I manage to scramble to my feet before I get trampled. I’ve lost sight of Zhang Jing, but I nonetheless doggedly head in the direction I last spotted her.

Stop, stop! I sign frantically when I come across two apprentices I know from the school fighting with each other. They don’t even notice me, and without thinking, I force myself in between them to break up the fight. Don’t do this! We must unite!

They stare, astonished to find me there in their midst. I have no idea what they were fighting over, but suddenly they are united—in their hatred for me. Snarls fill their faces, and they both lunge for me, forcing me to jump back. I run into a tall man I don’t know who at first dismisses me and then does a double take when he recognizes who I am. Anger fills his face, and then he reaches for me too—

—just as a sound of unimaginable magnitude rips through our village.

Instinctively, I put my hands to my ears. Up until this point, the loudest sound I’d ever heard was the priest’s gong. No longer. This new noise reminds me of that boom a bit, but it is much, much more intense. In fact, the sound is so big, so powerful, that the very ground beneath us shakes, causing many people—including my current assailants—to pause and look around curiously. A few even glance up, and I don’t blame them. That kind of trembling is sometimes felt with thunder, but today the early morning sky is clear and full of sun.

A few shrug it off and immediately return to their squabbling. For others, it is a much-needed slap in the face, and I am relieved to see them step back from their conflict. But my relief is short-lived when I hear a new sound—an impossible sound, at least in our village. But there can be no question as the sound grows louder and louder: It is the noise made by horse hooves striking the earth, the very noise Li Wei and I were running from down below.