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“I used to chase you away,” Fengxian broke the uneasy silence, her voice raspy and hushed. But still, it managed to send a mangled, overlapping jolt of memories through Maomao. Piercing through something deep in her.
She swallowed, regaining her composure. She wouldn’t allow herself to be swept up by the past. This woman wasn’t a friend, a sister, and she especially wasn’t a mother.
She was just Lady Fengxian, a terminal patient in need of final comforts.
Truly, there was no point in growing melancholy, but before she could think of her next words properly, Maomao spoke, “You did.”
She set the medicines down on the bedside table, the little silver cups clinking delicately. They were a mere placebo now, more so meant to grant the mind comfort over the body. Lady Fengxian drew a rattling breath in, allowing Maomao to prop her up against her pillows. Fengxian turned towards the open windows, the sunset glowing brilliantly against the horizon.
“I was…” Fengxian began, her weak voice trailing off, “...scared, I suppose.”
“Of a little girl?” Maomao bit back at the bitterness that billowed through her. She’d often try to act detached, but pretending didn't erase the years of wondering if she could’ve ever been Fengxian’s daughter, had things been different.
Fengxian sounded almost motherly, her voice soft. “Of what you meant.”
Because when Maomao drew her very first breath, she’d been utterly alone. Just like Lady Fengxian. It was odd, the only connection between them.
When they were born, they weren’t simply infants, nor were they important. Both Maomao and Fengxian had been born hindrances. From the moment they each opened their eyes, they’d both been symbols of ruination.
Because women in the pleasure district didn’t have mothers, and that meant they couldn’t be mothers, “I understand.”
Fengxian’s voice was a rattling thing, “You're angry.”
“I am,” There was no point in honeying her words in an attempt for final reparations. They were far beyond that point, now.
Lady Fengxian quieted for a moment, the room going almost completely still. For a moment, Maomao thought she’d drifted off, but finally, and with more resolve than Maomao had ever heard her use, “Good.”
Maomao gave her the medicine, and left with little decorum.
She hadn’t expected to get emotional, but her chest was tight when she closed the door and she turned her back on the door, Lady Fengxian’s voice turning over in her mind, good.
Stay angry. It might’ve been immature, a final snub, but somehow Maomao knew it wasn’t.
Good. Use it.
Just like the color of balsam, the word was a gift. Fengxian wasn’t a mother, not now and not ever, just like how Maomao wasn’t her daughter. But it was at that moment, they understood each other.
Good. Stay angry. Use it.
Fengxian was bitter, scorned by a world that’d embraced her gingerly and then let her fall, and Maomao had been the final weight to send her plummeting.
Fengxian had given Maomao her anger, and Maomao was to use it. Good. Stay angry, and use it. Scorn the world back.
They’d both been captives, they’d both been pawns. They’d both been left and lost. But it wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be so long as Maomao kept that anger close to her heart, melting and reshaping it into something new, something that was hers.
Good. Stay Angry. Use it. Be better than me, but don’t forget me. Don’t forget where you come from.