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notaturnipIn his dreams, Yuan remembers.
He dreams of kind faces, playful teasing and being buried in the radish patch. He dreams of being poor but happy, of people who love him, of a cousin who shares soup and a visiting man in blue who buys him paper butterflies. He dreams of a life he barely recalls when he's awake.
When he's awake, he doesn't want to remember, because it's hard to think of paper butterflies and people who love you when you're just trying to get through the day - and the night.
It's only been a few months since the Madame of the Golden Hare saw his face and encouraged him to swap begging for something more profitable - he'd been reluctant at first, but two miserable, hungry nights in the rain later he decided he really would do anything for a good meal and a night in a warm bed.
At first, he really had appreciated it - he'd been given a bath, combed his hair for the first time in months (or more), eaten well and slept. The next day Madame gave him fine robes and he finally felt like a human being.
The feeling hadn't lasted, of course it hadn't. Madame's offer had been the essence of be careful what you wish for...
The day everything changes, Yuan wakes the same as he always does, he breakfasts with the other boys and girls of the house as usual, and the only hint that anything is going to be different is the briefest of conversations over the breakfast table.
"Ay, Yuan, is it true your surname's Wen?"
No matter how many years have passed since the Sunshot campaign and still he has to be careful about letting that information get out. He hates it. He was just a child at the time, how can anybody hold a grudge against him just because he is, however distantly, related to the Qishan Wen sect?
"Who told you that?" he answers with a question of his own.
"Doesn't matter, is it true?"
"Of course it is, or he would have just said no!"
"I want to hear hi-"
"Enough." Madame interrupts in a firm tone and Yuan feels himself breathe a sigh of relief. He knows that probably won't be the end of it, but it's the end for now, and that's enough. They all fall silent as they continue their meal, though some of the others still shoot furtive glances his way, which he ignores.
He doesn't think anything of the servants who had overheard the conversation as well, or the way they might gossip amongst themselves, the way that gossip might travel through people until, that afternoon, two men in a wine house across town happen to share a crucial piece of information out loud, where just anyone might overhear-
"I heard the new boy over at the Golden Hare is a Wen"
He dreams of kind faces, playful teasing and being buried in the radish patch. He dreams of being poor but happy, of people who love him, of a cousin who shares soup and a visiting man in blue who buys him paper butterflies. He dreams of a life he barely recalls when he's awake.
When he's awake, he doesn't want to remember, because it's hard to think of paper butterflies and people who love you when you're just trying to get through the day - and the night.
It's only been a few months since the Madame of the Golden Hare saw his face and encouraged him to swap begging for something more profitable - he'd been reluctant at first, but two miserable, hungry nights in the rain later he decided he really would do anything for a good meal and a night in a warm bed.
At first, he really had appreciated it - he'd been given a bath, combed his hair for the first time in months (or more), eaten well and slept. The next day Madame gave him fine robes and he finally felt like a human being.
The feeling hadn't lasted, of course it hadn't. Madame's offer had been the essence of be careful what you wish for...
The day everything changes, Yuan wakes the same as he always does, he breakfasts with the other boys and girls of the house as usual, and the only hint that anything is going to be different is the briefest of conversations over the breakfast table.
"Ay, Yuan, is it true your surname's Wen?"
No matter how many years have passed since the Sunshot campaign and still he has to be careful about letting that information get out. He hates it. He was just a child at the time, how can anybody hold a grudge against him just because he is, however distantly, related to the Qishan Wen sect?
"Who told you that?" he answers with a question of his own.
"Doesn't matter, is it true?"
"Of course it is, or he would have just said no!"
"I want to hear hi-"
"Enough." Madame interrupts in a firm tone and Yuan feels himself breathe a sigh of relief. He knows that probably won't be the end of it, but it's the end for now, and that's enough. They all fall silent as they continue their meal, though some of the others still shoot furtive glances his way, which he ignores.
He doesn't think anything of the servants who had overheard the conversation as well, or the way they might gossip amongst themselves, the way that gossip might travel through people until, that afternoon, two men in a wine house across town happen to share a crucial piece of information out loud, where just anyone might overhear-
"I heard the new boy over at the Golden Hare is a Wen"
