Chapter Text
You were born with no parents, or family to name.
That’s what you’ve been told your entire life. That you were found on the brink of death within the depths of the forest, with no note or semblance of agriculture to be found, just simply there, crying.
You were fortunately brought in before death could get its claim on you, and slowly nursed to health. The clan that took you in had many other children of your age running around, however, you seemed to need excessive attention and nutrition compared to your counterparts. Partly, because you were just so active.
As soon as you learnt how to walk, you began to run, and quickly became a growing problem within your found clan.
The saying that it takes a village to raise a child could easily be used to refer to you.
Because your energy simply did not run out, overly excessive in its entirety. Your clan prides itself on knowledge and patience, however, you seem to avert each expectation, and not in a positive way. To be able to lay still in bed was a hard task, often requiring several laps around the outskirts of the village before you could feel an ounce of tiredness.
You learnt scoldings before praise, as they were shouted at you so often.
You just simply had so much energy, with no place to output it. Which ended multiple accidents over the years, and soon enough, your village elders decided that you could put that ‘talent’ into something more productive.
And so, you had been turned to the corner of the clan’s territory, piled with vigorous training, and regimes, in the form of martial arts. And you had become hooked immediately.
The dojo had soon become your second home, where you could put your enthusiasm into something less destructive than before. Your spare time which escalated into harassing the chickens, or pestering your clan’s members turned into an activity that didn’t get you scolded. Rather, you were praised for just how quickly you learnt, and improved.
However, that came with a drawback, as most things do.
”I’m hungry.” You pout, staring down at the empty bowl in front of you. Just minutes ago, it had a large pile of food upon it, but now, all that’s left is small scraps that couldn’t even be lifted with your chopsticks. And, you’ve tried to. Adamantly.
Unlike your peers, your stomach is a bottomless pit, which has soon become a large problem for your martial siblings. “We’ve only just begun dinner.” One of your shijie’s gasp, frantically looking to see if you’ve simply just dropped your portion, but she’s unsuccessful in her endeavours, as much to the becomingly frequent occurrence, you’ve stuffed your face full.
You use the wooden table and stretch over to peer at the serving station. “More rice?” You inquire, blinking innocently.
”Aiya. Xiao-[Name] it’s been finished already.” Your shibo sighs, massaging his greying hairs upon his head. “Think before you eat. Every grain of rice has come from hard work. If you’d like more than everyone else, you’ll need to work for it.”
”Work for it?” You parrot back, turning to your small hands, clenching them a few times as if testing the waters. “I fight?”
Your shibo frantically waves his hands. “No! No! It’s a long process that requires more than your fists.”
You still tried to fight your food the next time it was served at your table, with the naive belief that it’d somehow grow larger. And after weeks of complaining about being starving, and various over-dramatics during training, you find yourself staring at the rice paddies after being placed there by one of your elders, being told that it’ll teach you something.
You’re yet to know what that something is.
The afternoon sun has settled down with the burning heat and humidity you’ve become accustomed to, and small bugs dance along the water’s surface. You track them with your eyes, before outreaching your hand to grab one. It darts away stubbornly.
You become increasingly agitated. You dart out another hand, and yet, it weaves around your fingers like a dance, where you just can’t seem to clasp the prize. You begin to use both of your hands, the rest of your body laid upon the yellowing grass, as you attempt to grab the bugs. They escape deeper into the rice paddies, and as you shuffle forward, your body tilts.
You expect to fall into the water, and internally apologise to your elders for wrecking yet another one of your outfits today, however, a sturdy hand grasps you by the scruff of your shirt. “Whatcha do here?” They speak in a gruff tone, with broken Chinese, catching your curiosity. You turn your head to face the man, as he gently places you back upon the dirt, your feet grasping gravity once more.
His hair is a dark grey, slightly balding upon the top, with deeply tanned skin that speaks of many years out in the bright sunlight. His clothing is simple, and you can spot hints of mud caking his shoes, and the fabric that adorns his body.
And strangest of all, when you take a closer look, you can spot lean muscles underneath.
And so, like any child with an impulse control of a negative number, you blurt out what first comes to mind. “Old… but big. How?” You poke at his hardened arm curiously.
He stares at you just as incredulously. “You need manners.” He raises a brow. “Name?”
You’re silent for a while, entirely focused on prodding at him like an interesting specimen. “I’m [Name]. Who are you?”
”I who puts food on ya table.” He jerks a thumb towards himself. “Call me Qinyang. You here, why?”
”Shibo.” You answer, frowning as you recall your elder dragging you here forcefully. “I’m hungry.”
He mutters something in a language you don’t understand, before clicking his tongue. “Then, I teach you farm.” He turns his back to you, before gesturing with his head in the direction of a sort of storehouse in the distance. “Follow.”
And so you do. You patter after the old man called Qinyang as he takes you to a small building of wood, where small holes litter its walls, and you can spot a couple spiderwebs just in the entry way. You briefly wonder if you could catch those.
After a moment, your eyes finally adjust to the darkness, and you make out various tools, from sharp curvy blades to large spoon like weapons. “We fight?” You ask, your limbs becoming giddy once more at the prospect.
He shatters your dreams with a shake of his head. “No. More important than fists. Food.”
You huff with a pout. “I don’t see any food.”
”Not yet.” He responds, catching your curiosity.
”But I want food now.” You furrow your brows together. “I’m hungry.”
”Hunger don’t earn food. You do.” He takes the sharp curvy blades off of the hook, and lifts it up and down, assessing its weight. “You small, it small. Try.” He crouches down as he passes you the metal weapon.
Slowly you take it into your hands, your small fingers curling around its wooden handle. “Fight?” You ask, which prompts yet another exhale from the old man.
”I show, you follow.” He takes a larger version of what’s in your grip off the hook and within his hands, then leaves you in the shed, as he walks back into the sunlight towards the rice paddy fields. “You’re in time. We work today.” Qinyang eyes your getup, as he pulls a nearby woven basket onto his back. “Will get dirty.”
You fail to see the problem, taking off your shoes until your bare footed, and promptly following him into the shallow water. Although, at your height, it goes a long way up your legs. You’ll definitely be scolded later once again. “What do I do now?” You ask as you stand side by side with the old man in the paddies.
“This is scythe.” He grabs a handful of rice stems, and then uses the sharp part of the blade to cut near the bottom. “Cut, in basket.” He throws the cut plant into the woven basket. “Follow.”
You tilt your head inquisitively. “Why?”
Qinyang trudges over to another stalk, beckoning you forward, and brings down the head of the plant towards you. “This rice, you eat.” Instinctively you grasp out your hand towards one of the beady like structures, and try to plop it into your mouth greedily, but much to your chagrin, it’s slapped away, and the bead falls into the water. “No eat yet.”
You pull your body into a fighting stance, the murky water splashing against your legs. “You wanna fight?”
”You want cooked food?” He retorts.
You falter.
He walks up and crouches down, soiling his trousers, as he positions your arms. “First form.” That’s martial art talk, you abide instinctively. “Forward arm, slice.”
The stem with its leaves and buds fall off into the muddy paddy water.
He repeats the notion without anything in front of you, then lets go, pulling himself back into a standing position, and gestures to another plant. “Try.”
You stare at the fallen comrade (who could have been your meal). “But the rice…”
”Then hold it.”
You grumble under your breath, and grab the top of the stems, before using a similar saw motion as before, but when the blade hits the stem, it doesn’t budge. “Huh!? But I’m so strong! I can break wood—!”
”Your angle, wrong.”
“Whatcha saying to me?”
”Oi.” He clicks his to tongue, and bends over to adjust your hand. “Try more.”
You do so, with a harsher edge, as if trying to prove him something, but miraculously, it cuts through like butter. “I did it.” You turn to him with a grin. “Did you see it? Did you see it?”
“Good.” He pats your shoulder, then tilts his head towards the rest of the lines of rice planted in rows. “Try more.”
That day, you unconventionally learn how to farm rice, cutting their stems, an endeavour that you’re hopelessly messy at first, and how to tie up bundles of them with rope. While Qinyang does the brunt of the work, you manage to accomplish a portion of it yourself.
And unfortunately, you’re forced to learn that not everything can be done immediately.
”We’re cooking this now?” You ask Qinyang once you’ve finished yet another knot. Your fingers are burning already, but you’re used to self inflicted pain from the lengths you’d often go in your training. Though, your stomach already grumbling after all of the hard work.
“Dry, then thresh.”
You don’t know much of what he’s talking about. ”We cook then?” You mindlessly put your weight upon your heels to toes as you stand to stare at your finished work. Sweat drips from down from your forehead, which you wipe at with your waterlogged sleeve. Surely all of the work you’ve done now earns a meal.
”Dry, and cooked.” He finishes. “We don’t stop now.”
You point at the scythe you’ve left in the corner. “More cutting?”
”Threshing dried rice.”
The stems still look awfully wet to you. “But…”
“Follow.” You’re not given much more of an explanation than that, and you find yourself taken to another portion of the farmland.
…Where more intensive labour ensues.
By the time you come back for dinner, your boundless energy has died down somewhat, a large surprise for your martial siblings. “A-[Name], are you sick?” One asks tentatively as you sit down without your leg bouncing up and down every couple seconds.
You’ve changed out of your muddy caked outfit, in exchange for a cleaner pair, and much like you expected, a scolding met you once they noticed the state of your clothes. Unexpectedly, Qinyang had stood up for you, as his calloused hand sat upon your shoulder, and you didn’t end with such harsh glares as you went to change.
You suppose that when your actions end up being useful for your peers, it’s more acceptable.
When a bowl of rice is served in front of you, rather than stuffing your face full per usual, you slow down your approach, as you recall the hard work put into preparing it. The unusual behaviour causing your martial siblings to all begin to flounder you with concern, which you wave off with a prideful speech about the work you’ve done that day.
Although, when you finish your portion, you’re still hungry, like always.
Your routine of training every second of every day slowly begins to shift, as you find yourself seeking the company of Qinyang more and more often. He doesn’t criticise you for your boundless energy, nor your lack of knowledge in comparison to your peers. You’re free to use your fists and legs to your full content, from helping on the farm, to moving large bundles of food.
So you can admit, it’s quite a lot of fun.
You begin a balance of labour each day that keeps your endless energy under control, and your elders sighing with relief.
It’s during a day when you’re returning from the farmland to the sleeping quarters that you share, when one of your shixiongs tap you on the shoulder to gain your attention. You’re still snickering about a small prank you pulled on the old man, but once you notice him, its wiped off, in fear that you might be reprimanded.
”Whatcha want?” You ask, mindlessly tapping your foot on the ground.
It’s a cloudy day, as the sun begins to set, making your surroundings rather dim.
“I was told to tell you that you’ll be starting proper classes soon.” He explains.
Your brows furrow together. “Oh.”
You shouldn’t be that surprised, your clan is known for their knowledge, so it’d be an insult for a child to go uneducated no matter how low they may be in status. And even if said child was a troublemaker with bigger fists than brains.
“You’re already starting later than everyone else, so you’ll have to work twice as hard, alright? The elders made the decision last night.”
You’re admittedly a little wary, considering how you know how snarky the other children your age that were brought up in the main territory are. A handful of times, you have helped to carry large bundles of food to the more populated parts, and been met with crude remarks from them as you went down the streets.
Then you’d get in trouble for dropping the food to beat them up in retaliation. You still have some pride, and refuse to let people step over you.
And after spending practically your entire life in the clan’s territory, you know that they don’t have schools built up everywhere. You’d be most likely sharing your classes with those same kids. There’ll surely be stricter punishments than before in place for if you get too violent, if anything is to go by the old man’s words.
You click your tongue, a habit picked up slowly from spending time with the farmer for so long. “Tch, I don’t wanna.” You cross your arms together stubbornly.
You’d much rather spend your time practicing your forms and destroying your martial siblings years above you than go to some snobby place like that.
“If you don’t, you’ll be punished.” You wince at the harsh glare that your shixiong gives you. “Wake up at dawn tomorrow, I’ll show you where to go. Don’t be a brat.”
In other words, it’s a threat.
You exhale dramatically. “Okayyy.” You can’t very well say no to your elders without repercussion. Your shixiong disappears off to someplace else, while you stay standing, staring at the ground angrily. You hate being told to do things that you don’t want to.
That night, you don’t get much sleep.
As the sky begins to lighten, you’re sat on the wooden porch outside of your sleeping quarters, staring at the bugs flying around the lit up lamp. Your foot taps incessantly against the floor, and without warning, you stand up. “I can’t stand sitting for too long.” You grumble. Qinyang had been trying to drill into your head to practice staying in place for longer than ten seconds, but it’s gone about as well as you first expected.
Your eyes find their way back to the lingering bugs.
Impulse strikes you. As you’re about to jump up and attempt to catch one in your palms, the door to your quarters is slammed open, stopping you. “Geez [Name], I thought you had ran off again like last time. Get ready, we’ll be leaving soon. The others will catch up with us in a bit.” Your shixiong says, the same one whom gave you the news yesterday.
Ran off again? You’ve done that act way too many times to think of a particular occurrence. You shrug it off, and decide to focus on the latter half of his words.
You share a lot—if not all of your wardrobe with your martial siblings, borrowing and using things from each other isn’t that uncommon, so you don’t worry about grabbing a spare uniform in your size, as pointed at by your shixiong, to put on, albeit begrudgingly.
The first thing you notice, is just how stiff it all is. You can’t move freely at all.
Experimentally, you go to do one of your more complicated stretches, and immediately get scolded by your shixiong. “Don’t do that in these clothes! They’re not for training, they’re for practicality.”
”Practicality?” You tilt your head.
”They’ll break if you do anything you usually do.” He sighs. “C’mon, let’s not wake up the younger ones.” He ushers you out of the building.
Once the rest of your martial siblings, students, gather, you all head down the dirt road. It’s journey that goes on for a couple miles at least, and lets you let out some of the energy you’ve been building up, even when you only got an hour or two of sleep tops. You try to run and play a game of tag as you journey, but it’s quickly put to a stop.
You notice that your martial siblings are a lot more serious than they usually are in your fighting classes, making you a bit irritated.
When you arrive, sun has finally broke over the border, and it graces you in golden and amber beams of light. The area is densely populated with people of your age, and higher. Some look like they’re pampered to their hearts content, with golden brooches and well made leather bound books, which holds a stark contrast to your own robes.
Other’s fit in with your attire more, not shiny or flashy, just there to learn without the need to show off.
Everyone here reeks of stingy.
You grimace. “Can I go home? I don’t like these people.”
“The day hasn’t even started yet. You must at least give it a try.” Your shijie mutters, patting you on the shoulder in an attempt at a comforting gesture. “If you go home, one of us will have to accompany you too.”
”Like that ever stopped me.” You huff.
”[Name]!” She exclaims.
”Stop being a stubborn brat.” Your shixiong adds in, which earns an extra stinky glower from you.
You grit your teeth. “You wanna fight!?”
The escalating argument is calmed down but a couple other more rational members of your group, as soon enough, you find yourself led into a classroom filled with loads of people your age in.
Desks are neatly arranged, with chairs without their occupant neatly tucked in, and at the front stands a chalk board, and a desk to the far right side of the room. One covered in various things that makes you wonder if it belongs to the teachers. “Please welcome [Name]. She’ll be staying with us from now on.”
As every child in your clan practically has the same surname outside of a small handful, it’s no use using last names to refer to one another, unlike in the other parts of the world you’ve heard about. Sometimes it can be a curse or a blessing.
Where you are, you either use honourifics or simply their given name.
Everyone stares expectantly at you, as you shift your weight from your heels to your toes. Are you meant to say something? “Uhm, hello.” Your assigned teacher nods encouraging at you—what are they encouraging??? “I like fighting…” From the glint in your teacher’s eyes, you have to assume that you’re going in the correct path. “And sometimes farming, I hate stingy people, so if you try and insult me I’ll punch—“
Your teacher clasps their hands together. “Well, I think that’s enough of an introduction! You can sit near the front over there.” They beckon you to a desk, with one seat unoccupied.
”I’ll be sitting down?” You ask with dawning horror.
”Well of course, look at everyone else? Or were you not taught that way where you’re from?” That hits like a jab to the chest. You bite back curses and doing anything rash.
Qinyang’s strange task comes back to the forefront of your mind. Sitting still, staying in one place for long periods of time… did he know that this was coming?
Considering that your teacher is of a lot more superiority than you, it’s clear you won’t be allowed to do anything violent. Lest you’re punished for it. So, you take your teachings from your shijie’s and shimei’s to good use.
“No, I was just surprised. Since in my martial lessons, it usually means you’ve lost when you’re on the ground, sitting. I guess you don’t have those customs here.” You put on an unbothered facade, as you silently press your nails into the palms of your hands.
Often getting insulted by people of your age with higher rankings has accustomed you to the sharp quips given by superiority. Your second weapon into battle if your fists don’t work well enough.
You go to the empty table and sit down, trying to hide the reluctance that presents in your subtle actions.
Your teacher narrows their eyes. “It’s a good thing we have chairs then.”
”Hm.”
The kid next to you shifts away as you get yourself comfortable.
But that comfort doesn’t last for long, as you feel the familiar buzz of energy wriggle its way up your legs and arms. Unconsciously to let out extra stimuli, your leg begins to bounce up and down upon the spot, which irks the student next to you.
As time goes on, you struggle more and more to concentrate up on the board and what the teacher is explaining, eager to leave the classroom to do anything else but sit and listen to boring explanations. It’s torturous.
The kid beside you suddenly shoots up his hand, even though no question has been asked. “What is it?” The teacher inquires.
”[Name] won’t stop bouncing her leg, and it’s moving the table. I’ve told her to stop a few times already, but she’s refused to.”
You gape incredulously at him. “You haven’t asked me to stop once! And I can’t help—!”
”Don't raise your voice young lady.” You freeze at the commanding voice of your teacher. “Stop doing that. You’re disrupting the class, it’s extremely rude. I suppose you haven’t been properly taught by anyone the concept on manners, so I’ll drill it into you now.” She steps up to your desk, while the students around begin to gasp and giggle in a chorus.
“I told you it wasn’t on purpose!” You seethe, your foot tapping the floor gradually becoming faster.
The teacher grabs you by the collar, and as they open their mouth to say something, feeling cornered and threatened, you do the only thing you know how to.
You punch them in the face.
The teacher’s grip on your clothes loosens, as their hand falls upon the forming bruise in shock, taking a couple steps back.
The class is silent for a while, as they process the scene.
The teacher glowers at you with the same kind of contempt you’re used to seeing. “Go outside and reflect on your actions for a while, next time you act up like this, the punishment will be a lot worse. I’m being merciful today because you’re new, but this won’t happen again.”
The next week is hell, for both the teachers and yourself alike.
You cannot sit for long periods of time, no matter how long you’ve trained under Qinyang, your leg won’t stop bouncing, and you can’t help the need to do something active. It’s like being forced into restraints and then shoved into a coffin, suffocating.
You get into fights with kids that call you barbaric, and constantly interrupt the class with your boundless energy. You’ve been slapped on the wrist with wooden rulers more than you’d like to admit, to a point that the impacted skin had begun to bleed at some point.
You were fed up with school, and they were fed up with you.
One day, after a lot of fighting with your shijie, she takes you to the door of your classroom, but you’re rejected from coming in. “[Name] is no longer a student in this class.” Your teacher answers plainly when your martial sister asks.
She even kowtows in apology, begging for you to be let back in, but to no avail, you’re left to wonder the gardens until the school day is up.
When you go home, you’re scolded, with harsh reprimands, and harsher punishments. You blankly stare throughout it all, everyone knows you. They know that you can’t help it, so why are they so mean?
Your older martial siblings avoid you, or straight up insult you for your actions, and how you’ve impacted their own reputations. The younger ones, as they haven’t attended the school, aren’t as blatantly rude, but they shy away from your gaze, as if they’re mimicking their elders.
You’ve begun to be shunned in a community which you’re meant to be apart of.
Martial art lessons are still taught at your dojo every day, which you vigorously still attend, even if you aren’t treated as kindly by your peers. Your passion mixes with spite, and you stop pulling back your punches, leaving dark purple bruises on who you once saw as your dear friends.
Even if you don’t technically go to class, you’re still taken to the school each day, put in a stuffy uniform, and forced to bear witness to everyone’s distain for you. You’ve begun to bring a change of clothes, even if your siblings try to stop you, you fight and bare your teeth as much as you need until they back down.
Over several weeks, you spend the hours meant for learning to practice your strikes and kicks, becoming bitter at the world, as how it has to you.
As school and training has taken up so much of your time, your visits to the farm dull, until they aren’t there at all. You almost forget about Qinyang, being so caught up in your resentment.
It’s late in the evening, as you harshly beat down another training dummy, and go onto destroying wooden planks lined up beside you, when the farmer appears.
”You no come to farm.”
You stop, as your hardened fists lose their vigour, and you turn to face the old man you’ve almost forgotten about. Shamefully, you avert your gaze from his. Is he mad? Did he hear the rumours? “Sorry, I’ve been busy with starting school and…”
”No need apologise.” He rubs the back of his greying hairs guilty. “I sorry for not coming faster.” He looks upon your sorry state, and deep eye-bags. “You… want to prod chicken?”
You stare at him blankly. “I thought you hated me doing that.”
”It makes you happy.”
Your lips tug upwards, small enough to be unnoticeable, but not to Qinyang. “Do you want to prod chickens with me?” You hide a small giggle behind your hand.
“I don’t want scratch.” He crosses his arms, and clicks his tongue. “But I will. Today. No day else.”
“No day else? We’ll see about that.” You smirk, your playful edge coming back without you able to stop it. The realisation makes you falter for the briefest moment, but as you begin to regret it, a loud bountiful laughter echoes through the training grounds.
It’s deep and hearty, and you wonder when was the last time you made someone happy with your criticised attitude. When you made someone happy full-stop.
”You not too tired from training?” He asks.
”You know that I never run out of energy, besides, even so, I’m not gonna let tiredness stop me from poking chickens.” You proudly tilt your head upwards with your eyes closed, and crossed arms. There’s no response after a beat, and as your gaze falls back down, you notice Qinyang has his back towards you, beckoning you to hop on it. “Old man, your bones are gonna crack.” You deadpan.
“In prime, strongest.” He flexes.
“Uh-huh. Let’s walk.”
You still end up getting carried all the way to the farm anyways. As you’re held in that warm embrace, even if you’re the one technically clinging to him, your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears from everything you’ve gone through in the last month. You never wanted to disrupt the classroom, nor hurt the teachers, you just couldn’t help it.
You wanted to learn. You didn’t want to be belittled by those smarter than you, you wanted to be an equal. You wanted to be loved, and accepted in an environment you could thrive in.
Your eyes sting.
But instead, you got kicked out of your class, scorned by the school, and by your martial siblings, and left to be shunned by those who you once thought cared about you.
That strange tickle in your noise bites at you.
Except; your grip around the shirt the old man is wearing tightens, and it’s soft in your grasp. Qinyang hasn’t turned his back on you yet.
Your vision blurs.
Chocked sobs escape you before you can stop them. You wail loudly into his shirt, you cry, and sniffle in the warmth of his body heat. He doesn’t say anything, but acts as an anchor in this wave of emotion.
You don’t go back to your shared sleeping quarters that night, you sit beside the rice paddies, staring at the insects drifting across the water, and tell Qinyang everything that has happened during the past month. He lends you an embroidered handkerchief, and wipes your tears, sympathising with you.
Words roll out of your mouth, one after another, even with how hesitant you were at the beginning to open up about your experiences, lest he insult you like your martial siblings, but Qinyang stood like a stubborn rock, and promised that he’d be on your side no matter what.
Ironically, his broken Chinese helped you feel more confident, as you didn’t feel like you were lesser than him, it was comforting to hear that broken pattern of speech that you’ve come to familiarise yourself with.
You slept under the stars on yellowing grass, and humid summer weather, and yet it was infinitely more comfortable than the bed you shared in the quarters with your martial siblings.
When morning came, and you began to open up your eyes, a blanket was laid on your figure, and you had been transported into a small bedroom with few possessions in it. It wasn’t your own, but from the collection of old photographs in frames, you conclude that it’s the old man’s own, as you recall last nights events.
Day has broken through the small window, which fills you with an odd relief that school must’ve started already, and you won’t be dragged there now that your martial siblings have already left.
You slowly throw your legs over the mattress, and jump down onto the ground. As you take a few steps, the handkerchief from earlier falls out from your pocket. As you go to pick it up, you finally acknowledge the embroidery on it. The water bugs that you’ve taken a fondness of, and a couple chickens are stitched onto the sides, alongside the flowers you once pointed out to Qinyang because you thought they were pretty.
Alongside the left of it, you see something particular, and from the written characters that you had seen at school, you discern that it’s a message or name.
You’ll have to ask what it says, and maybe, beg a little to keep it yourself. You’ll don’t have many personal possessions, most things are community owned, and you’ve never had much of an interest in things outside of fighting, where all the tools are shared.
You were found crying on a rock with nothing, and you were born with nothing. No semblance of who your mother might’ve been, or anything to remember parents you’ve never met by.
But, it would be nice to hold something personal.
Though, you doubt he’d let you keep it. As much as Qinyang is kind, he can also be strict, and would probably mutter something under the pretence that if he gives you one thing, you’ll come back asking for everything.
Nonetheless, you leave the room to find the old man with the handkerchief in your grip, and pleas on your lips.
You find him in the hallway on his way to the room you woke up in, and any words that you were planning to say, dies on your lips. “Old ma—Qin—uhm.” You awkwardly clear your throat. “Thank you…?”
He nods. “Breakfast.” Qinyang cocks his head down towards where he’s come from. “Cry makes hungry.”
”Right.” You breathe in, tucking the handkerchief back into your pocket nervously. “Right.” You follow after him, and arrive at a table covered in dishes. “Do you usually eat so much?” You question unbashfully. *note: the italics here are not in Japanese, just for emphasis.
“No.” He doesn’t elaborate any further, using his chopsticks to put pieces of meat onto your portion of rice. “Eat lots.”
You snicker. “Am I dreaming?”
Qinyang stays stoic for the rest of the meal, as is his personality. And as take the last bite of your food, and begin to get up to put the plates away, he speaks up. “I will talk to the school.” He says suddenly, which makes you almost choke on the rice you were swallowing. “You no need go if no learning. I can teach.”
That is possibly the worst argument you’ve ver heard come out of that old man’s mouth. Is he finally going senile? “But your broken Chinese…”
”I still able read and write. You need no worry.”
His words make you remember the handkerchief you had stuffed in your pocket once you saw him. Your hand hovers indecisively over the pocket’s opening, before you suck it up and pull it out. “Then what does it say on here?”
“‘Don’t stop fighting, [Name].’” He answers.
”Okay?” You cock up a judgemental brow. “But what’s written on here?”
”That’s what it says. It is a gift for you, to make you feel better. I knew school would be hard, but I not expect so bad.”
”Oh.” Your fingers graze the soft fabric that wiped your tears. “That’s good cause I was gonna ask for it anyways.”
“…” He snorts. “Greedy girl.”
You both laugh.
You stop going to school after that day, and instead, Qinyang has taken you under his wing for education.
And rather than stifling uniforms, and sitting still in front of a chalk board for hours, you play games. He quizzes you while you rally up the the chickens, you learn how to apply scientific knowledge into your daily life, you prod at things curiously, and learn about their history while analysing different components of it.
You learn to use maps and compasses, and grow an encyclopaedia of knowledge that branches to fauna and regional plants.
However, the one thing that you’ve been struggling with most, is reading and writing. You work better through conversation, and activities, but you can’t ever seem to wrap your head around why you need to learn to write, when you can keep all of the information safe inside of your head.
And so while you have dinner with your martial siblings, a less exclusionary activity than before, as your relationships with them have begun to mend over time, you’ve been able to catch up with them when they talk about subjects that you used to tilt your head at. But, whenever they show you a book, or a certain passage of text, all you can do is pretend that you know what they’re saying.
As all you’re seeing, is a bunch of squiggly lines in complicated patterns.
And it seems that no matter how hard the old man tries to drill it into your head, it just doesn’t sink in, and he’s just had to accept that you may be a walking juxtaposition for knowledge.
Time begins to fly through a series of lessons and practicing your stances, as you’ve dedicated yourself to your goals, with the support of those closest to you.
Two years pass since then.
You’re practising your stretches on the grass that surrounds the farmland one day when you hear Qinyang mumble something you don’t understand. A habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he thinks you’re out of earshot. As your martial artist classes for the day have finished, and your own obscure lessons too, you’ve decided to spend your time acting as a helper for the old man.
Which can vary from simply chatting his ears off, or actually helping with physical labour. Today, it seems to be the former, as you transition into running in the spot. “What are you saying? It’s weird. I don’t understand.” You shout out to him.
Qinyang jolts upon the spot once he hears your voice. “Japanese.” He glances towards you. “My mother tongue.”
”Mother tongue?” You inquire, slowing down your pace.
He takes a beat to contemplate on how to explain. “I speak Japanese more clearly. I learn as child. My Chinese, no good.”
You cock up an eyebrow. “Aren’t you my teacher? Bit stupid to have a someone who can’t speak my language well as my mentor, huh?”
He clicks his tongue. “Not good as Japanese I mean. Cheeky.”
You shrug, sticking a playful tongue out at him. “But if you speak Japanese better, why are you here then? Not in Japan?”
“My wife.” A small smile spreads across his lips, something you rarely see. As usually his face is in a permanent scowl or deadpan.
Then the second shock is that you’ve never heard of his supposed wife before. Nor seen any old woman roaming around the farmlands. Since the first day you met him, you’ve only ever seen him alone. He seems to be the backbone of your portion of the village with no semblance of help. The only time he has company is from you, or other clan members arriving to pick up his produce.
“Where’s your wife? Are you lyinggg?” You interrogate with a smirk.
“So rude. You need manner.” He clicks his tongue, but after spending so many years alongside him, you’ve learnt that it holds no real aggression. “She has gone elsewhere.” Qinyang finally admits in a sombre tone.
”Found someone stronger?” You hum unapologetically. You’ve become accustomed to your clan’s ways of courtship, inspired by various other tribal customs nearby, and when it involves outsiders, a man who beats a woman of your clan, they must be wed, and a woman whom defeats another woman of your clan must be killed.
And sometimes, problems arrive with that rule. As if another man may seek your fiancée, then you must defeat one another in battle, and whomever is the winner, can wed the chosen woman of your clan.
So you’re on the assumption that a similar situation happened to the old man.
”Tch. Watch your mouth. She in heaven.” He scratches at his chin, looking away. “Used to be strongest before age.” He twists his body towards you, only to find that you’ve already left, distracted with the roaming chickens that have caught your sight. Qinyang shakes his head, and follows after you. “No pester chickens.”
As your arm is pulled away so that you’d no longer prod and poke at the bird, you glance up at him. “Hey, then what is ‘chicken’ in Japanese?” You ask. “I wanna know. You’re my teacher too, so you’re obligated to tell me. Heh.”
Qinyang blinks in surprise. “You want know? It is ‘chicken’.”
”Chicken.” You test the words on your tongue. “Hey, alongside my other lessons, can I also learn Japanese? We can speak it like a secret language only we know! It won’t be too hard to fit into our classes, right? I might even make my martial siblings jealous.” You grin childishly. “It’s not often that I know something they don’t.”
He rolls his eyes affectionately. ”Tch, I not think any other reason why you want to learn.”
As your clan prioritises knowledge over physical strength, where you’ve been learning martial arts is in a more secluded part of your clan’s territory, and there’s always been a noticeable divide between your martial siblings and the rest of your clan.
And you formed a community there, a kind of divide between the richer areas, and your own, which only worsened your reaction to when they started to exclude you those years ago when you had become rebellious at school, since you had no one else to turn to. The constant comparisons have driven your siblings to often put more pride into their ability to recall information, than the fists that they use to punch.
And so in fear of having their hard work thrown away with their reputations due to your actions, they stopped being so kind.
Looking back at that time now, you’re not surprised by the way they acted. If Qinyang never took you under his wing for education, you doubt that your relationship with them would have ever been fixed.
As you’ve always put more effort in your martial arts rather than learning, even in a community you’re meant to be apart of, you’ve always been deemed more of an oddball.
It’s gotten better these past couple years, where you won’t feel so alone when they’ll pass around references that used to go right over your head. Times when inferiority used to spark, and you would find it too embarrassing to ask just what they mean.
However, even if you’re catching up to them, there’s never been a time when you could say something they don’t already know.
If you can learn a whole other language, then you’ll at least have something you can brag about outside of your strength.
“It is hard work. You need years of effort.” Qinyang speaks. “If you truly motivated—“
”I am! I am!” You jump up and down on the spot, excitement dancing in your expression.
”Then we start basic.”
Turns out learning a whole new language, even if it’s just through speech, isn’t as fun as you first imagined. The first words you learn of are the ones that hold the structure of conversation. And then slowly, it evolves into farm tools and animals.
And unfortunately, much like your Chinese, you’re still simply helpless when it came to reading and writing Japanese characters, so you’ve been learning through speech. Replacing your everyday words with their equivalent Japanese ones when you’re around Qinyang, although, sometimes the habit slips out around your martial siblings and they stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.
Currently, you’re in the dojo, sparring with your shixiong, and taunting him. “You’ve lost your edge! I thought you were stronger than this!” You grin, as you catch one of his fists, and throw your body weight onto it, as if jumping over a vault box, flipping over, and landing a harsh kick to his face.
The force throws your shixiong backwards and as he falls to the ground, you shift your body weight, leaping off his body, and landing safely on your feet. “Stop insulting me in a language I don’t know!” He clutches at his redding face.
A chorus of cheers and whoops come from your other martial siblings who were watching the spectacle, while you grin triumphantly. “I can’t help that I’m just so talented in everything.”
Your shimei uses her hands to surround her mouth as an amplifier, and shouts towards you. “Yeah, like reading!” Your eyebrow twitches. Gah, has your mischievous nature rubbed off on her?
You spin on your heel, and half-heartedly glare at her. ”You wanna fight!?” You smirk sardonically.
She yelps, hiding behind one of your shijie’s. ”I’m too young to die!”
”That’s what I thought.” You hum, and walk forward, offering a hand towards your shixiong. He takes it, and you pull him back up to his feet. “It seems the student becomes the teacher.”
”You’ve become so cocky recently.” He nudges you with his elbow, chuckling. “Humble yourself.”
”Wow…” You over-dramatically gasp. “As if I’m not the humblest person in the world!” He deadpans, and you burst into a fit of laughter. “Geez! You know I’m joking right?”
Your shixiong whistles. “Can’t say I do…”
”Okay now you’re just messing with me.” You retort, before turning to the group of spectators. “Anyone else wanna spar with me? Practice for the festival?”
”Not all of us have unlimited energy.” Your shijie answers. Everyone in the dojo has just finished your evening martial arts session, and taking a break before heading home, however you usually use this time to do a few final spares with those who aren’t sweating bullets.
And since you’ve all been told of a festival coming up for the peace treaty between your clan and the tribe of woman hero's—Nǚjié zú, you’ve all been putting more effort into your training than ever, as there’ll be a martial arts competition held then; and the prize is said to be massive, and you can’t say you don’t have your eyes on it either.
Since the other clan are well known for their fighting ability, rather than intellect like your own, you do wonder just how much stronger they’ll be, making you more excited than ever.
And it’s been making you a lot more vigorous in your training regime. Much to the horror of your martial siblings, as to them, your normal one is hard enough.
“Your loss.” You stick out your tongue. “Guess I’ll be who wins that massive prize then.”
Unknown to you, the day of the festival will inevitably change the course of your life, where you’ll have to overcome challenges that you’ll never have anticipated, and forced to face the suffocating grips of love that will be your inescapable downfall.