Chapter Text
The summer rain fell earlier than expected, not that anyone was waiting but no one seemed displeased. Up on the northeastern side of China, were fields brimming with crops across the many plains. The air was damp and quite fuzzy as you can imagine, mosquitoes latching onto the skins of potential hosts and then eventually swatted by the base of a wrinkled piece of paper. The fields were accompanied by tacky wooden huts lined across each of the respective properties.
By the porch of one of those homes hung a handcrafted wind chime, elevated high as the breeze brought song to the early morning.
Perched on the steps, a fresh plate piled with peeled longan and seeds spat out on the fertile ground. A fruit was plucked out gently by the hands of a young boy, happily chewing to his heart’s content. The sun’s rays radiated on his tan skin, juice dripping from his chin. While the boy spent his morning out in the front, his brothers, cousins and grandmother would occasionally strut by, carrying tools, sacks of seeds and even their own chickens. The young boy watched the seconds pass by right before him, his fingers intertwining with the small longans. He deeply observed the fence planted on the property, his late Father installed it before he passed away. Ever since then, the farm seemed to be twice as busy and lively than it used to be. Everyday followed the same pattern, predictable but never mundane. The household held many members, the boy certainly thought it was quite crowded at times but never lonely. He had three cousins, two elder brothers and one Grandmother, so you could say he had an upbringing with heavy male influences.
On days like this, the boy would often reflect on the history of this very farm. He'd overheard accounts on the many hands that passed down the ownership, relative after relative, years after years. The previous owners were his parents, but after time took its toll, the role was overtaken by his Grandmother. Speaking of ownership, the boy dreaded the idea of managing, overseeing and even cultivating the entirety of the farm, luckily he was nowhere near the familial line where he could actually overtake the farm. That fear first sprouted at the ripe age of six, roughly four years ago. It was planted by one of his cousins, rambling absolute absurdity into the poor boy's ear. The way he spoke of it was as if the responsibility was an utter, passive-aggressive punishment, paranoia took over and the rest is overblown history. Well the boy did eventually overcome that fear, (being heavily short-lived) but every single family member made sure that he'd NEVER forget that era of his life.
As the boy let his mind wonder, he couldn't help but let his guard down during these types of moods. Whether it be raining, cloudy or sunny, he had a reserved spot by the corner of the porch steps with his scheduled daydreaming.
A hand struck the back of his head.
“Oi! Mùchén, you can’t keep slacking off.” Scolded his Elder Cousin, a firm tone which made the current situation apparent. “Grandmother’s been working all morning y’know? She’s old and plus, you’re old enough to start digging out weeds, eh?” His Elder Cousin was from the southern side, he'd arrived just about a year and a half ago due to prior issues with his living conditions. If you asked Mùchén how he felt on him, he'd give a simple: 'He's okay.' In truth, he wasn't. He was too loud for his liking and would've preferred to be with a pig than him.
Mùchén leaned in as he cradled the back of his head, wincing in pain, he craned his neck up to peer at his Cousin’s face, which there was an absence of. Ever since birth, Mùchén could never distinguish any facial features, all filtered out by his brain and all blurred. He soon learned this wasn't normal behavior and desperately tried to explain himself to his relatives but none seemed to understand his endless rambling. “Eugh.. yeah, yeah. But Grandmother told me we have plenty of hands to help on the fields, besides I did it last week!”
His Elder Cousin only shook his head in discontent as he did a shooing motion with his hand, “I’m just sayin', I’m tired of digging weeds every weekend.”
Mùchén‘s Eldest Brother was a child prodigy, top tier strategist and second to none problem solver. He was the lead in management when it came to the farm’s schedule, shifts and roles. It was common for the other members to express any issues they were dealing with to him, after all, he was an outstanding listener. ”Why don’t you discuss that with Yìzé?”
”Yìzé doesn’t care about schedule changes, y’know how he is?” This was very much a bluff; in the last two weeks, Yìzé had to deal with multiple complaints from him about his line of work, in which he was able to change his schedule four times in a row. He consulted with Yìzé on how it’d be for the better if he’d just restricted his Elder Cousin from ever rescheduling again. Alas, that man is a workaholic and a lost cause.
”I guess, but.. I don’t see how I got anything to do with it.”
”Because you barely get any work. You get twelve hours every week while I get twenty-six!” He paused for a second. “Now do you understand?” He threw his arms dramatically to the side, swaying from the momentum.
Mùchén was the youngest, now you would expect he would get special treatment but in truth, his elder cousins and brothers would pick on him. Cousins and siblings are known to poke fun at one another but the daily berating eventually got under his skin. He was way too sensitive to bond with his brothers and a bit too serious to bond with his cousins. All his life he spent either alone on the porch or frolicking in the patches of vegetation, some life that was.
”Whatever. Stop bothering me over things I don’t even schedule.” His voice etched with a blunt ring to it.
His Elder Cousin only clicked his tongue, feet firm against the ground as he leapt up towards the fields, propelling the dust right into his eyes. Galloping across the grasslands, his blaring voice exclaimed out to Mùchén from what felt like yards away, “Get up you lousy slacker!”
His face grew a deep shade of red, his eyebrow furrowed and arched heavily. ‘Yes, of course! Shout out to the entire three properties on this hill about this nonsense. Yes!’ Nether-less, he tightly clenched his fist and shot up from his perched seat. “I’m not a slacker!” He declared with a full chest which was later followed along with soundless pants.
By the time his grandmother had called each and every one inside for lunch, Mùchén was by the back corner of the property, far from any disturbances, far from home. He sat cross-legged on the cold, wet earth, hands seeping in the mush. He tilted towards the lush abundance of leaves, gently caressing the paper-thin edges. As he did so, small drops of dew plunged into the dry skin of his fingers. That sensation felt cooling amidst the graining summer rays, Mùchén gave a giddy grin while he raised another hand to brush against dozens of leaves. The boy was known to be quite fond of certain aspects of life that always seemed to be just a speck in his daily life, but oh how he cherished those moments.
Mùchén never stepped foot out of the property, the countryside was all he knew. But occasionally he would venture to the nearest village with Yìzé, handling carrying poles over their shoulders, goods wrapped jaggedly around the outlined core. For hours, they'd spend dragging their feet through the mud just to reach their destination, it takes as long as twenty minutes there and the rest of the day would be trailing all the way back. There'd be days where Yìzé had to carry Mùchén on his back. Despite him being nine years younger, Mùchén would desperately beg to come. Now the real question was if he could even manage the weight back home, he was a scrawny little kid after all, but he was always persistent and always got his way.
Those long hikes were filled with nothing but awkward silence and the inevitable inquiries from his elder brother. 'How's the weather?' or 'You've been getting taller.' were remarks Mùchén was all too familiar with, frankly, he was getting sick of those same repetitive words.
He remembered an instant where he hauled two entire buckets of mixed-mashed morsel, Yìzé was to blame for this since he thought it was a marvelous idea to carry all the livestock flesh in two buckets instead of four. The smell was nothing but atrocious, Mùchén gagged out the fumes the whole way down and spewed all over the market ground. That was second-most embarrassing moment of his life, and coincidentally both caused by his family members for the sake of it. God, he could still see it, mushed, wet and slimy meat all pulped together in a cluster. Completely unseeable and undoubtably unbearable.
"Mùchén, child." The young boy twisted 'round and spotted the obscured features of his grandmother, he always knew that it was her because of her treasured pendant she wore and her frizzy dark hair. She patted his shoulder lovingly as she gestured him to stand straight, his sore legs staggered up as he held the sturdy bush for leverage. 'Wait, if I'm in the the edge of the property and grandmother called for me from the house, how long has she been walking to here?' It'd been two hours since she yelled his name and all the meals she cooked were cold and nothing but mashed together scrap. Mùchén just knew in his heart that his cousins and brothers gobbled all the bowls and plates as soon as they picked up the very soundwaves of their names. He promptly wiped a few salty tears since there was no real point crying over spilled milk, or rather.. spilled tea.