Second Year of Dali.
Early Summer Full Moon.
In the side courtyard of the Shangguan Family’s estate in the Capital City of the Lixun Ancient Kingdom.
A barefoot girl was lightly swinging on a swing.
Behind her stood a boy dressed in patched clothing.
“‘The body is like frost on a leaf, like a candle in the wind.’ Xiaomu, what does that line of poetry you recited earlier mean?”
Her deep indigo hair swayed gently with the breeze, like a flowing waterfall brushing against the boy’s bare arms, occasionally scattering into the cool air, swirling together with the withered fallen leaves.
The pair of silver bells wrapped around her ankles chimed with every leap she took, the delicate tinkling shattering into fragments.
The sound of the bells floated to the ears of the gaunt boy behind the swing, who let out a nearly inaudible sigh.
“Miss Qiu Yue, that’s just Yun Mu’s pointless moaning. You don’t need to take it seriously.”
“But… you looked really sad when you said it,”
Shangguan Qiu Yue leaned back, nearly hanging upside down from the swing ropes.
“And I want to understand more. Isn’t that okay?”
The girl looked at Yun Mu’s face with an unreserved innocence, her peach-colored eyes seeming to pierce through the boy’s tangled, weed-like hair and through the invisible river of flowing time.
The swing continued to climb higher, yet the boy’s silent heart was suddenly gripped by an invisible hand.
Like some supernatural force, a sharp pain originating from the depths of his soul stabbed him suddenly.
His hands clenched tightly, the swing surged upward with even greater force.
“Thud—”
The sound of the girl falling to the ground rang out, but Yun Mu remained frozen, his body trembling uncontrollably until the soft sobbing reached his ears and jolted him back to reality.
Shangguan Qiu Yue had collapsed onto the cold, hard bluestone floor, her small hand covering the injured temple, tears flooding down her cheeks like a torrent.
“Sorry… Miss… it’s my fault.”
Yun Mu said the apology, but his eyes were only filled with the usual weariness, even losing the last bit of sparkle they once held.
His right hand unconsciously gripped the still-swinging ropes tightly.
He bent slightly at the waist, but his left hand instinctively curled over his emaciated chest, offering no sign of help.
He just stared blankly at the sobbing figure on the ground, his body stiff and unmoving.
The girl’s quiet sobs couldn’t withstand the childish sorrow and instinctive fear of pain; after a brief pause, she suddenly burst into a heart-wrenching scream that echoed throughout the courtyard.
Within moments, the Shangguan Family’s servants hurried anxiously toward the cries.
“Qiu Yue! My Miss!”
“Oh dear, did you hurt yourself? Call the Doctor right away!”
Voices full of alarm and concern mingled in a chaotic chorus.
One woman suddenly bent down, swiftly scooping the ten-year-old girl into her arms, gently wiping away tears and dust with her sleeve as she carried her away.
Meanwhile, a burly middle-aged male servant, after watching the girl leave, immediately shed his concerned expression and twisted his face into a hideous sneer.
He lifted his foot high and delivered a heavy kick to Yun Mu’s side, who still stood frozen like a statue.
“Bastard! Get down on your knees right now!”
The frail boy was violently knocked to the ground, a small cloud of dust rising as the curses poured down like a torrential rain.
“Dog bastard! A swine-brained fool! Just because you’re the Miss’s exclusive Servant, you think you’re something special? Have you forgotten which filthy gutter you crawled out from?! Bringing misfortune on your parents and your own Master, you curse! Ptooey!”
As he cursed, a thick glob of spit was suddenly spat onto the boy’s pale, bloodless cheek.
“Beat him! Beat him hard! Teach him his place in the world!”
With that, the oil-soaked whip cut through the air, whistling as it fell.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
The relentless sound drowned out the faint cracks of skin splitting beneath the lash.
The patched, worn cotton cloth garment tore open in places once more, revealing a back covered in layers of old and new scars.
Curled up on the ground, the boy buried his face deep in his dust-stained arms, his gaunt frame convulsing sharply with each strike.
Yet aside from muffled groans and coughs born of pain from deep in his throat, there was no other sound.
The whipping and the curses continued for an indeterminate length of time.
Until the male servant’s arm grew sore and sweat formed on his brow, he finally panted heavily and slammed the whip onto the ground.
“Bastard! Next time you don’t watch where you’re going, it won’t be this easy!”
Before leaving, he delivered one last spiteful kick to the boy’s still-unfolded bent knee.
Then the courtyard fell silent again.
The setting sun dyed the horizon a mournful orange-red.
The shadow of the lone Old Peach Tree standing in the corner stretched long and far, covering the boy.
Yun Mu clenched his teeth, digging his fingers into the ground, the jagged stones piercing his palms.
After several attempts, he managed to prop himself up halfway.
He wiped the saliva from his face with his trembling right hand, while his other hand clutched his agonizing abdomen.
He staggered step by step toward the tree, finally collapsing heavily beside its roots.
His frail body struck the hard trunk with little force and no loud sound, only causing a few of the petals from the unnaturally pink Peach Blossoms—already late to fall—to tremble slightly and flutter down.
“Ugh… Though I don’t want to admit it… it does hurt a bit… ahh… luckily…”
Leaning against the rough bark, looking up at the sky, he forced a smile onto his contorted face,
“…this time, my ribs… don’t seem to be broken…”
Before the words had left his mouth, two full, pink Peach Blossom petals floated down gently as if guided by an invisible hand, lightly covering his tightly closed eyes.
The boy no longer had the strength to brush off this “blindfold,” simply letting it rest there.
The cool petals on his burning eyelids brought a strange and soothing calm.
In the haze of his fading consciousness,
he seemed to smell a faint, warm fragrance from the depths of memory, see a gentle, spring breeze smile, and—
hear the soft parting words of his white-haired Master from the day he was six years old.
“Mu’er, I’m leaving too. Not being able to take care of you until you were fourteen is Master’s failing.”
From his cracked, chapped lips came a few broken murmurs.
“…Master… is that you…?”
Faint, milky-white specks of light, barely visible to the naked eye, quietly emerged from beneath the petals covering his eyes, like scattered fireflies sinking beneath his furrowed brows and pale skin.
A warm current slowly enveloped his entire body, layer by layer dispelling the sharp pain and biting cold.
After only a few breaths, Yun Mu’s tense body gradually relaxed, his consciousness sinking deeper into darkness until, at last, he fell into a dreamless, gentle sleep.
Some unknown time later.
The boy’s consciousness floated up like driftwood.
The heavy, pungent smell of horse manure mixed with the rot of old hay and the musky scent of livestock forcefully invaded his nostrils.
Beside him, the sound of horses rudely chewing their fodder came from the adjacent feeding trough.
In a corner, a spider proudly crawled on its newly woven web, with the carcass of a small flying insect beneath its feet.
Yun Mu struggled to open his heavy eyelids.
What met his gaze was the dim daylight filtering through holes in the thatched roof, and beneath him, a familiar, musty pile of hay in the stable’s corner.
He instinctively clenched his empty palm, where only a few curled, brown remnants of withered Peach Blossoms remained.
On either side of him, a White Horse and a Black Horse occasionally lowered their heads to feed, then lifted their necks to neigh and snort.
He closed his eyes weakly and sank back into the hay bed heavy with the scent of livestock.
His mind churned with chaotic thoughts, unable to grasp a single clear thread.
Next to him lay a piece of Cotton Cloth, its edges frayed but still clean, quietly resting there.
Not far away on the dirt floor were several small, hurriedly pressed footprints of embroidered shoes, stretching all the way to the broken, low wooden door of the shed.
Yun Mu’s left hand lightly grasped the cloth.
After a long moment—
his Adam’s apple silently bobbed once.
He knew.
He was still alive, lingering in this world, barely holding on.