Fu Chen and the Journey to Macau - Part 2

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Days had passed as Fu Chen continued down the river, yet the memory of his home was a distant memory to him now. The jungle was his home. It was there he hunted for fish and foraged fruit, until he was ample and continued down the river. He slept on his boat – it's sturdiness was not good for sleep, but it felt somehow loving and warm-welcoming. It's wet surface reminded him of the rain, and the moon was a guideful presence.

One day as Fu Chen was foraging, he found an old man. He had a tall, straw hat and a bamboo cane, but his face seemed different. His blue eyes sparkled like the river itself was in them, and he had short trimmed blonde hair that Fu Chen had never seen before. When he found him, the man was peacefully eating some berries. Curious, Fu Chen walked to him.

“Why are you so far from your home, stranger?” the boy softly asked.

The man stood up, casting his shadow over the boy. “Why are you so far from yours?”

“What?”

The man moved, the crane guiding him. He chuckled. “My young friend, a home is not defined by an abode. It is not defined by a pile of bricks or logs neatly stacked together. It is not defined by a soft glow of a hearth. No, your home is where you feel at home – a home is a place you find welcoming no matter what circumstance. It is a place where you feel protected from all dangers, that you finally are at rest. It can be an abode, but it can also be a tree. A bed. It can be as small as your own heart-” The man faced Fu Chen, his wrinkled face grinning at him, “-or as big as a boat.”

The boy was surprised. They were too far off shore for the old man to see the boat – so how was he able to find it out?

He asked the man as they both continued down the grassy path of the bamboo forest. “Does it matter where you came from? Besides, boys are not born from rivers. You originated somewhere – where did you come from?”

The boy hesitated, but found the friendliness of the old man enough to trust him. “Far down the river, in the town of Daulong.”

“And why did you run from your home?”

“My people always move,” Fu Chen nervously held the fish he had caught in his hand, “It was just my turn to.”

“Is that true? Are you sure?”

Chen shifted some more. The man caught notice of this – or perhaps he already did – and smiled. “Surely there is something else?”

“Well, yes-” the boy started, nervously staring into the heart of the man's ocean eyes. “The monsters came.”

The man's smile faded, but he looked sternly at the boy in understanding, then nodded.

“Do you know where you plan to go?”

“Wherever the stars guide me.”

“Before you go, I must beg a task from you.” At his side, he carried a bag Chen had only just noticed. He reached in, and out came a rough, leather book. It was locked together with steel, but a keyhole clearly indicated on the metal. The old man handed it to Fu Chen. “If you follow the stars, they will lead you to Macau. Please, bring this book to my brother. He will be looking for you.”

Before the boy knew it, the man had left. He walked back to his raft to find all his supplies still there, with the sky beginning to darken. The boy tried to open the leather covered book to see what was inside, but the lock was strong, and he failed to see even the top of one of the pages by peeking out at it. Slightly disappointed but incredibly determined, Fu Chen pushed his raft back out into the river and began his journey to Macau.

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