That evening, with the urgent business of the possible ambush in hand so far as it can be until morning, he is walking through the camp when he passes by a large group of children, crowded around a campfire, most of them playing or talking amongst themselves. He thinks he recognises one or two, and in any case so many little ones - the eldest look no older than the twins, safely back home, he realises - can only be some of the Bei Ye children. Poor things. It is good to see them playing, though, in spite of all they have been through. At least the other officers are helping with the job of teaching them now. Baozi would like to help himself, he really would. But the thought of standing up before so many faces, all watching and listening to him and depending on what he says...
He shakes his head and is about to pass by when one small figure catches his eye. He is sat a little way apart from his peers with his back half-turned to them, away from the warmth of the fire. A blanket is thrown around his shoulders and he sits huddled up with his head down, scratching in the dirt with a stick - drawing.
Baozi alters course to pass closer to him. At his footsteps the boy looks up, sees him watching, and freezes. He wasn't drawing a picture, Baozi sees, but scratching characters. He dashes them out with one grubby hand. Baozi smiles, hoping to put the child at his ease, but if anything it seems to make him more anxious. He looks away, and asks quietly "What were you writing?"
"'s wrong," the boy replies in a very small voice.
Baozi comes a step closer and crouches beside him, still avoiding eye contact. "What was it? Perhaps I can help." He reaches for the stick and the boy allows him to take it.
"Li Yu," he whispers.
"Li," Baozi repeats, drawing the character as he says it, "Yu. Is that you, Li Yu?" The boy nods, wordlessly. "I am Mao Xu." He hands the stick back, and Yu begins earnestly copying the words, perhaps only to avoid looking at him. He cannot be older than eight or so - still amongst the older of Dewang's young charges. "You're a very good student to be practising so late, but don't you want to play with your friends?"
His brief, nervous glance towards the other children is much more eloquent than his mumbled reply that "Mister Du says we must work hard."
Baozi almost reaches out to tousle the little boy's hair affectionately, but he is afraid of startling him. "Perhaps we will speak again soon, Yu," he says, straightening up, "I can help you with your studies again."