Ran was a good child. Ran would sit with Grannie Liu and keep her company, gently patting the old woman's leg.…
Ran was a good child. Ran would sit with Grannie Liu and keep her company, gently patting the old woman's leg. Grannie Liu told her the injury came from when the Khitan soldiers stormed the city, and Ran would frown, muttering curses about the Khitans before carefully tucking her own little quilt over Grannie Liu's knees.
Ran greeted everyone she met, her voice always bright and clear. People loved listening to her chatter. She'd spin tales she'd picked up from her father, like a tiny storyteller wandering the streets. "With Ran around, who needs to waste coin at Jiang's Teahouse for stories?" the folks at the noodle stall often said.
Ran adored lotus pastries, but she never finished the ones her father brought her. She always saved some. She set aside pieces for her beloved father, for Grannie Liu who rarely went out, for Uncle Liu at the butcher's stall who chatted with her, for Uncle Sun who let her taste new dishes, for her story-sharing playmates, for Ren Xiaoping's mother who always took her side, and who else? Oh, Ren Xiaoping! But she'd never give him any, not after he always argued with her. There were too many people she wanted to share with, so her pastries were never enough. So Ran always kept the smallest portion for herself: first three pieces, then two, then just one.
She'd grown up on storybooks, and she lived like a character straight out of one.The world loved storybooks and the stories within them. Everyone deserved to live the life they adored, and that life ought to be just like the tales.