Rustle
The plastic bag crinkled as Arvin walked through the unfamiliar city night. The store's bright lights faded behind him, leaving only streetlights to guide his way. His fingers tightened around the bag, its contents—evidence of unexpected kindness—feeling precious in this strange place.
A cool wind slipped between buildings, making Arvin wrinkle his nose as understanding hit him. (Ah, so that's why he gave these for free), he thought, his face warming as he realized his unwashed state had prompted the clerk's hasty behavior. Not just suspicious-looking, but smelly too.
TapTap
His footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk, each step careful to avoid straining his hurt ankle. The city towers rose around him—massive steel and glass giants that made him feel smaller.
(So quiet), Arvin noted, the silence feeling wrong. No insects, no leaves, no animal sounds. Just wind between buildings, making the empty city feel like it was holding its breath.
His eyes tracked every detail as he walked. (Remember the landmarks), he reminded himself, noting building shapes and streetlight patterns that could help him find his way later.
At the crossroad, Arvin paused before turning left, trusting his gut. The tall buildings suddenly opened to a small park. Through the darkness, he made out playground equipment, their metal frames shining dimly under streetlights. A swing set moved gently in the wind, its chains making a sound that reminded him of his childhood. In the center stood a dome-shaped structure with a slide, its purpose unclear in the dim light.
A wooden bench near the playground looked dry despite the earlier dampness. Arvin limped toward it, setting down his plastic bag. He arranged his small feast neatly: four bread packages lined up beside two large water bottles.
(Chinese) "Thank you for this blessing," Arvin whispered, bowing his head. Even thousands of miles from home, the familiar ritual brought comfort.
Crinkle
The plastic wrapper crackled as he opened the first bread package, fighting his body's urge to devour it whole. Instead, he took small, measured bites, chewing each one thoroughly as his mother had taught him. Between bites, he sipped water, cooling his dry throat.
The second package had bread with bright blue filling. (This taste...), Arvin thought as the flavor spread across his tongue. (Like those wild mountain grapes Master and I would gather during morning training.)
Grumble
His stomach complained even after finishing all four bread packages and most of the water. (Not enough), he knew, but it would do. Finding real meals would be hard without any way to talk to people or understand their money.
RustleShuffle
Arvin gathered every scrap of wrapper and the empty bottle. He walked to the nearby trash bin, carefully throwing away his garbage. This simple act of cleanliness, drilled into him by his parents and master, felt like holding onto a piece of home.
Creak
Back at the bench, Arvin weighed his options. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, yet the disciplined part of him—shaped by years of training—urged him to meditate first. (Sleep can wait. One hour of meditation, then rest.)
ShuffleRustle
Arvin arranged himself on the bench, crossing his legs despite his ankle's protest. His hands found their positions naturally as he closed his eyes. His familiar breathing pattern began: in through his nose, hold for four counts, out through his mouth.
InhaleHoldExhale
One cycle done. Then another. By the fifth, Arvin's breathing had found its rhythm, each breath cycle lasting exactly twelve seconds.
The hard bench seemed to fade as Arvin sank deeper into meditation. His ankle's pain receded. In this peaceful state, caught between his old life and new reality, Arvin found one thing that stayed the same no matter where he was - this exact practice.
Whoosh
A light breeze moved his hair, but Arvin didn't stir. To anyone passing by, he might have looked like a statue on the park bench. Yet beneath that calm surface, his mind worked hard, seeking balance in this foreign place.
The night deepened around him as Arvin meditated, streetlights casting a steady glow across the empty playground. In this peaceful moment, he was both here in this strange city and connected to his distant training grounds—a bridge between two worlds.
***
Phew
Arvin released a long breath as his eyes slowly opened. The park remained quiet except for the gentle wind. His trained eyes found the moon's position—exactly one hour had passed, marked by three hundred breathing cycles he had done.
(Good), he thought, accepting the small victory quietly. Even in this strange place, his training held firm.
Turning his attention inward, Arvin checked his chi levels. The increase was minimal—barely noticeable compared to his earlier meditation in the alley. His forehead wrinkled as he remembered his master's teachings about how different places affected chi gathering.
(Just as Master said), Arvin thought. (The chi here feels thinner than in the mountains. The alley near the port had more, proving his theory about natural large bodies of water too.)
Drip
A cold drop hit his cheek, interrupting his thoughts. Arvin touched the wet spot as more drops began falling around him.
Pitter-patter
(Rain? Now?) His eyes scanned the park with new urgency. The open space that felt peaceful moments ago now seemed to be exposed. (I need shelter, quickly.)
DripDrop
Arvin's survival instincts kicked in as he looked at his options. The buildings were too far away, and the scattered trees would offer little protection. His eyes then settled on the dome structure attached to the slide.
(That might work), he thought, pushing himself up from the bench. Pain shot through his injured leg. (No time to be gentle about this.)
Gritting his teeth, Arvin hurried toward the dome. Each step sent jolts of pain through his ankle, but he pushed forward as the drops fell heavier. His clothes began to get wet, sticking to his skin.
His knees sank into the wet grass as he reached the dome, checking its entrance. The tunnel-like opening reminded him of crawling through tight mountain passages during training. But unlike those rough stone tunnels, this one was smooth plastic, almost shiny in the streetlight.
(Not ideal), Arvin thought, carefully moving inside, (but better than nothing.)
The inside surprised him—roomier than it looked from outside, though still tight for his teenage body. Arvin quickly checked the space, pulling his legs in to avoid the rain. He positioned himself carefully for maximum protection.
Pitter-patterDrum
Outside, the light rain turned into a downpour, drumming against the plastic dome. Arvin watched water streaming down the sides, creating curtains around his shelter. (I hope this place doesn't flood), he thought, eyeing the ground below him.
(At least it's keeping me dry), Arvin tried to find comfort. (Please don't last until morning.)
DrumDrum
The rhythm of rain began calming Arvin. It reminded him of nights in the mountain cabin, listening to storms while safe in bed. But something was missing.
(It's different here), he realized. (No frogs calling through the rain. No wind in the trees. Just... rain and silence.)
Thump
His heart ached with homesickness, but Arvin pushed the feeling aside. His body needed rest, and his energy needed time to recover. As his eyes grew heavy, he focused on the gentle drumming above, letting the familiar sound of rain guide him toward sleep.
(Tomorrow), he promised himself as consciousness began to fade, (I'll find a way home. But first, rest...)
Pitter-patter
With that final thought, Arvin drifted off to sleep, curled up in his small shelter while raindrops played their lonely song in this foreign place.
_______________________
DripDrip
The first light of dawn crept across the playground, catching raindrops still falling from the equipment. Arvin stirred inside the plastic dome, his muscles complaining from the night spent in the tight space. The rich smell of wet earth filled his nose, reminding him of the mountain air his body remembered.
Arvin peeked cautiously from the dome's entrance. Morning light changed the park, turning puddles into mirrors that reflected the pink sky. A cold breeze touched his skin, making him aware of how exposed he was.
(This place feels completely foreign), Arvin thought, his trained eyes carefully scanning the unfamiliar landscape. (Even the air tastes different here.)
RumbleClank
In the distance, a large green garbage truck caught his eye. Workers wearing bright yellow vests emptied trash bins into the back. For Arvin, this ordinary scene was his first glimpse of normal city life since his mysterious arrival.
Arvin climbed out of the dome, carefully testing his ability to stand. Relief washed over him as his injured leg held firm—the pain had decreased a lot overnight. Following his master's training, he tested his mobility: first taking a few careful steps, then trying a light jog, and finally risking a small hop.
(Not bad), he thought, pleased with his body's natural healing. (The pain is still there, but manageable now.)
InhaleExhale
Closing his eyes, Arvin performed his routine internal check. His chi was around thirty percent—better than yesterday but far from good. His inner energy barely reached ten percent, explaining the persistent hunger in his stomach.
Looking at the sky, Arvin used the time-telling techniques his master had drilled into him. The sun's position and the light told him everything he needed to know. (Between six and seven in the morning), he calculated. (I haven't slept this late since...) His mind flashed to memories of his first year of training, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away.
RumbleClank
The garbage truck's steady progress caught his attention again. Making a quick decision, Arvin grabbed his remaining water bottle and set off after the vehicle, hoping it might lead him to more populated areas.
(This might be my best chance to understand where I am), he thought, keeping a steady jog behind the slow-moving truck.
Arvin maintained his distance, his improved condition allowing him to keep pace without strain. The vehicle led him through empty streets for one and a half kilometers, a journey that took nearly thirty minutes due to frequent stops. Finally, the truck turned onto a side street, but Arvin stopped—he'd reached what appeared to be a busier part of the city.
ChatterBustle
The sudden wave of people nearly overwhelmed his senses. For someone who'd spent years seeing only fellow Asians, the diversity before him was shocking. Dark-skinned people walked alongside those with pale complexions, some much taller than others, their features varying in ways Arvin had never imagined.
(So many different kinds of people), he thought, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. (Is this what the outside world is truly like?)
RumbleGrowl
His stomach's growl cut through his amazement. The smell of grilling meat drew him to a food truck parked nearby. Hope rose in his chest as he approached, only to fade as other customers stepped away, their faces wrinkling at his smell.
Still determined, Arvin reached the counter. (Chinese) "Excuse me," he began politely, pointing at a picture of food on the menu board. (Chinese) "I would like to order..."
The owner's face changed as he noticed customers stepping away. His welcoming smile turned into a frown, then his eyes narrowed as he saw potential business walking off. Finally, his face twisted with frustration.
"English only, kid!" The owner snapped. "And for cryin' out loud, take a shower! You're drivin' my customers away! Get outta here!"
Though Arvin couldn't understand the words, the angry tone and dismissive hand gestures needed no translation. His face burned with shame as he backed away, the owner's continued shouting following him down the street.
ChatterBuzz
The noise of strange languages surrounded him as he walked away, each word he couldn't understand making him feel more alone. (I can't even buy food), he thought, his heart heavy. (No one understands me, and I don't understand them. What am I supposed to do?)
Taking a deep breath, Arvin steadied himself. His master's voice echoed in his memory: standing still solved nothing. He needed to keep moving, keep trying, no matter how many rejections came his way.
For the next several hours, Arvin explored the city streets, carefully noting each turn and landmark in his mind. He tracked time by looking at clocks visible through store windows, watching as morning stretched into afternoon. His stomach's complaints grew louder as the hours passed.
During his wandering, he passed what looked like restaurants, but each time he approached, guards waved him away before he could even reach the door. The pattern repeated itself again and again, his dirty appearance and inability to talk blocking every attempt.
(I need to focus on what's important), Arvin thought, using his training to stay calm. (Food and finding a place to clean up—those are the priorities right now. I won't let these setbacks defeat me.)
His master's teachings echoed in his mind: "Adaptation is key to survival." Setting his jaw with fresh determination, Arvin continued his search. Even with all these obstacles, giving up wasn't an option. He had to find a way forward, one step at a time.