Bloomed In Vain

Fate's First Whisper

         The morning sun cast a hazy golden glow over Yunhe Village, a place where time seemed to move both too fast and too slow. The gentle chirping of birds wove a melody through the air, blending with the rhythmic creak of wooden carts and the distant laughter of children playing in the dirt. The scent of fresh bread and steaming dumplings drifted through the narrow streets, mingling with the pungent aroma of livestock and the sweat of laborers bent over the rice fields.

"Steamed buns! Freshly made, soft and warm!" a vendor bellowed, waving a bamboo tray stacked high with fluffy white buns. 

The market was a cacophony of life—merchants haggling, women gossiping, and barefoot children weaving through the crowd in search of scraps. But beneath the surface, Yunhe was a village of struggles, its beauty masking a harsh reality. Wealth was a rare luxury, and many did whatever it took to survive. Some men turned to theft, smuggling, or gambling in the dimly lit back rooms of teahouses, while women—some young, some far too young—sold their bodies to passing travelers, hoping for a few taels to bring home.

Amidst this restless hum of life, a loud crack echoed from one of the rundown homes near the outskirts. The thin walls barely muffled the familiar sound of shouting.

Inside, a small boy stirred. Xian Yu, a frail child with tangled black hair, shifted on his makeshift bed—a pilef dry leaves spread thin over the hard wooden floor. He blinked awake, the rough morning air biting at his skin. The shouting from outside was nothing new; it was the same song played every night and every morning, one he wished would finally end. His father, Xian Rong, was home again. That could only mean two things—he had lost all his money gambling, or he was drunk. Maybe both. "You lying whore! Give me the money!" his father’s voice slurred, thick with rage.

"Money? What money?! You already drank and gambled everything away!" his mother, Mei Lian, snapped back. Xian Yu sat up, his small hands trembling as he hugged his knees to his chest. He knew how this would end. He always did. Shuffling to the door, he peered through the cracks, just in time to see his father raise a hand. Smack. The sharp sound rang through the tiny house. Mei Lian stumbled back, clutching her cheek. But instead of backing down, she hurled a vase at Xian Rong, missing him by inches. It shattered against the door. "Bastard!" she screamed, her chest heaving with fury. 

Xian Yu flinched. His father laughed bitterly, flipping her the middle finger before storming toward the exit. "Rot in hell." The door slammed shut behind him.

Silence.

Xian Yu hesitated before stepping closer to his mother. "Niáng… I'm hungry," he whispered. His stomach had been aching since last night. Mei Lian turned sharply, eyes wild with frustration. "Hungry? Do I look like I have food?!" she spat. Her hand came down fast, striking his cheek. The same spot his father had hit the night before. He staggered but didn't cry out. His mother scoffed, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him toward the door. "Go steal something if you're so hungry! You're useless here!"

The door slammed shut in his face. Xian Yu stood there, fists clenched at his sides, his face stinging. He swallowed back his tears, lifting a bruised hand to wipe his eyes.

The world was cold. Unforgiving. And he had no place in it.

From a young age, Xian Yu had always been mistreated—whether by his own parents or the children in the village, who saw him as nothing more than a weirdo.

Weak from hunger after his mother refused to give him food, he wandered through the village streets in his torn, dirt-streaked clothes, hoping to find something to eat. As he walked past a familiar group of children, the ones who always tormented him, he heard their mocking voices. "Hey, weirdo!" one of them called, laughing. Xian Yu lowered his head and quickened his pace, trying to ignore them, but before he could escape, a sharp yank pulled him backward by his hair.