Chapter Text
The sound of heavy rain echoed through the halls of Lotus Pier Orphanage. Seven-year-old Wei Ying sat on the cold floor of his room, shivering, as water dripped down his perforated room to his already drenched clothes. There isn’t so much room to move around the small space. His tiny hands gripped a tattered piece of cloth to try and prevent the sting of fresh wounds and bruises on his arms. Madam Yu, the headmistress of the orphanage, had been especially furious today. Something about a vase that got broken. It wasn’t his fault, but of course, for her, it was.
“It’s always you,” she spat, venom dripping from her voice. “Just like your no-good mother—nothing but trouble!”
Wei Ying didn’t cry anymore. He had long realized that tears won’t solve anything. It won’t take the pain away, it won’t stop the punishments from coming either. He simply bowed his head, muttered an apology, and took the hits quietly.
That night, as the other children slept in warm beds, Wei Ying lay awake on a thin mat, staring up at the ceiling. His body ached, his stomach growled, the half-spoiled bread they’d tossed at him earlier was hardly enough to silence his hunger. It was always like this after a punishment, he’s not allowed to eat with the other kids. He thought about his mother—whatever little he could remember of her—and if she would’ve wanted him to live like this. What is so bad about him to be treated like this?
Finally, he made a decision. He could not remain here a moment longer. Any place was better than this place, even if it meant going back to the streets.
Wei Ying snuck out of the orphanage in the dead of night, his small body slipping through the shadows like a ghost. The rain had ceased falling, but the streets remained slick and cold. He didn’t have any shoes, just thin slippers that soaked through in minutes, but he didn’t mind. He needed to move.
It felt, at first, almost like an adventure. He wandered through the narrow alleys of Yiling, his eyes wide as he took in the sights of the city at night. But novelty soon wore off as hunger churned in his stomach.
Days passed. Wei Ying soon learned that the streets offered no refuge. The majority of people passing him ignored him, their eyes sliding over him as if he hadn’t existed. The few who noticed were hardly kind. Business owners directed him to go away when he lingered near their shops, and street vendors swatted at his hands when he asked for some.
The dogs were the worst. Ugly and half-starved like him, they hunted the alleys in packs, growling and snapping at anyone who tried to get too close. Wei Ying learned to steer clear of them—but that wasn’t always possible. On some occasions when he had succeeded in obtaining a discarded bun, only to have a stray dog take it from his hands, its sharp teeth biting his arm. He cried then, but more out of frustration than pain.
After a week on the streets, Wei Ying was drained. His body had been thinner, his face paler, gaunter. His feet were blistered from the walking, and his arms were scratched from another run-in with the dogs.
At night, he slept in an alley he discovered on his first day. It was hidden from the main streets, narrow and damp, but it was quiet. He cowered against the wall, holding himself in a useless effort to keep warm. Most nights, his stomach growled, but he refused to acknowledge it, closing his eyes and commanding himself to sleep.
As the city hummed with life, while bustling in and out of the dens of iniquity, Wei Ying remained sprawled in the darkness, a small figure lost to the shadows.
.
.
.
Three months on the streets taught Wei Ying many things. He learned to ignore the ache in his belly, maneuver the alleys without attracting attention, and sleep lightly enough to stay out of trouble. But most of all, he learned that the streets were cruel, but they were merciful compared to the orphanage that fed him, of course, but so what if the food was accompanied by bruises, insults, and hatred that seemed to weigh down his small shoulders? At least the pain here was predictable.
Wei Ying had also learned a new scheme. He sat on the edge of a busy sidewalk, a small red weathered box in front of him. His clothing was little more than tatters, and a smear of dirt covered his face, but his brown eyes were bright and kind. He smiled at the people who walked past him, even the ones who rushed by, feigning ignorance of his existence.
“Good morning!” he chirped to a passing woman. She stopped, gazing down at him. Her expression softened, and she placed a coin into his box before moving on.
“Thank you!” Wei Ying called after her, his tone cheerful despite the gnawing hunger in his belly.
Sometimes, those people had given him enough for a small bun or a bowl of thin porridge. It wasn’t much, but it sustained him. Days with a bit of luck, he had the time and funds for a sweet treat—a rare luxury that told him there was still goodness in the world.
Wei Ying didn’t beg aloud or harshly like some of the others he had observed. He remained quietly seated, smiling and softly greeting anybody who caught his eye. He knew kindness brought kindness in return. Even when people didn’t give him money, they sometimes would stop and give encouraging words. It wasn’t much, but it warmed a part of him that the orphanage had long extinguished.
One afternoon, a young boy his age walked up to him holding a small bag of chestnuts. The boy looked around for a moment before raising the bag.
“Here,” the boy mumbled, meeting Wei Ying’s brown eyes with his golden ones. “I had extra.”
Wei Ying’s face broke into a smile that could have rivaled the sun. “Thank you!” he said earnestly, receiving the chestnuts as if they were an invaluable special gift.
The boy nodded and then turned and disappeared, but Wei Ying didn’t mind. He perched a chestnut in his mouth, savoring the rare taste of something he doesn't often get.