Fifteen or sixteen-year-old Liu Xian was so thin she was practically skin and bones, the kind that poked at yo…
Fifteen or sixteen-year-old Liu Xian was so thin she was practically skin and bones, the kind that poked at you.
And so was her personality, or so said the women who worked alongside her. "She might smile a little, but she won't lift a finger to help anyone. Won't touch work that isn't hers! And what a temper, like she's afraid everyone's out to get her. Oh, and don't forget how she's always sucking up to the foreman."
After muttering among themselves, they'd add: "Well, it's not like she's got anywhere else to go. What choice does she have? These days, only the rich live well."
And with that, the huddle would disperse.
Because she was like this, they said, "She's afraid everyone's out to get her."
If she weren't, they'd say, "Serves her right if people bully her."
She'd take the first over the second. She'd tried the second before. It hurt too much. It made her cry.
Later, as time passed and they crossed paths more, the gossipers started asking her questions directly as they chewed on their steamed buns.
"Where's your father?"
"Ran off."
"Your mother?"
"Dead."
She said it so sharply that it left them stunned, their pity unable to keep up with her bluntness.
"Died early. I don't remember her." Every time she said this, their eyes would flicker with understanding. Ah, no wonder.
And in those moments, she'd remember that night, the only fragment she could recall...
The woman who'd never been kind to her stared at her weeping, babbling incoherently. Liu Xian couldn't understand a word, just watched her fish-like lips open and close without sound.
She clutched Liu Xian's hand until her grip went limp. Finally, Liu Xian touched that gaunt face and felt only a single damp trail from her eye. A final tear. Why cry? she wondered. Death must hurt.