No one can stand against the pain of physical torture.
To be alienated in a foreign land, that, I could endure. But the agony of watching my skin bleed? That wasn't something I could conquer while holding my head high.
A group of men walked toward me with a yellow, rough-looking cloth, frayed and clumsily stitched. I didn't know what they were planning. The bucket of water bouncing in one man's grip reminded me of hunters in Bharat, marching toward a cornered elephant, arrows in hand.
Even though they had power, I was the monster.
But sadness wouldn't help me survive. Fragility would only hasten my end.
If nothing good happens, then I must pretend it will, because that's the only way to stop myself from ending everything.
So, I smiled.
Maybe they were coming to help me. Maybe they were here to clean me up. What else would a bucket of water and cloth be for?
I was wrong.
Painfully, stupidly wrong.
To think these beautiful devils would treat me like anything but a brute, that was the foolishness.
They did want to clean me, yes… but not the dirt on my hands. Not the soot from my cheeks. No, they wanted to scrub the dark off my skin.
I could do nothing but watch as they dropped the bucket, soaked the cloth, and began scrubbing my left forearm. Again. And again.
For over an hour, they rubbed that harsh fabric against me. I felt the sting. The burning. The raw ache. The same skin my mother never let touch the mud, now rubbed until it bled.
Is this how I must live?
Torture after torture, masked as care? Why was I treated like a savage while they called themselves civil?
They laughed as I screamed. They found amusement in my cries. Each passing minute felt like hours of needles stabbing into my skin, except they weren't needles.
They were knives.
They only stopped once my skin finally broke and blood began to gush out.
Only then did one of them ask my name.
I remembered that word in Chinese, mingzi. The same word the man who kidnapped me had once asked when he came to our home. Ironic. I never even learned his name.
"Meilina," I said.
They laughed.
Even after all this, they had not the slightest ounce of sympathy. My name, one I had nearly forgotten, was now another object of mockery. A name once whispered by the dearest person in my life, my mother, now ridiculed by strangers who couldn't see its worth.
It was midday when they finally left, their entertainment spent. The streets around me were full, yet no one helped. Some laughed. Some stared. Most ignored me.
The pain in my arm mattered more than all of them.
I tried to stand, and that's when a child approached me.
I flinched, expecting stones. Mockery. Pain.
But instead, he held out a small piece of bread and placed it into my palm.
My first thought: poison. It was a common tactic. Easier to kill when it seemed like mercy.
But I was starving.
Poison or not, if I didn't eat, I would die either way.
So, I ate.
The boy gently pulled me to sit beside him. I hesitated. Back home, I would never have touched such food, but here, in this place of cruelty, every crumb felt divine.
The boy looked around seven or eight. He said nothing, likely guessing I couldn't understand him. Still, it was strange that he didn't insult me like the others. Even stranger that he let me sit so close.
After I finished eating, the pain in my head dulled, and I could see him more clearly. He was much shorter than me, half my size, perhaps. Most people here were shorter than me. He had tanned skin, not as dark as mine, with narrow eyes and straight hair. His lips were thin, and his expression was unreadable.
He wore clothes similar to the ones I'd stolen. Likely a child servant.
Now that I had finally eaten, after what felt like three days, I realized the food hadn't been poisoned. My body felt steadier. My vision clearer. I dared to speak.
"Name?"
He looked at me and said, "Yichen, Meilina."
So he already knew mine.
The way he said i, so gently, so sincerely, it reminded me of home. The way my mother said it. My brothers.
Not like the ones who laughed at it. Mocked it.
I liked the boy. He was the first person to be kind to me. The first to see me as something other than a beast.
He grabbed my hand and led me toward a road. I felt fear bubble up again. Now that I had something to lose, even if it was just safety beside a child, I was terrified.
Eventually, Yichen brought me to a mansion-like building.
It was unlike anything I'd seen in Bharat. Elegant. Refined. The red-tiled roof reminded me of rubies. The gardens bloomed with hibiscus, roses, and flowers I didn't know the names of.
Its beauty intimidated me. It reminded me of the houses of nobles, with domed ceilings and towering archways.
As I stared, a woman approached. I hadn't noticed her until Yichen called out my name.
She was graceful, beautiful. But I didn't let my guard down. Why had Yichen brought me here? Would I be punished? Why was this stranger looking at me with warmth, not disdain?
Her eyes were kind, too kind. It made no sense.
She gently touched my back, guiding me toward the entrance.
Why? Where was she taking me?
Would she help me?
Or would she finish what the others started?
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Chapter Four teaser:"A glance. A gesture. A shift in the air.Sometimes the quietest chapters are the loudest ones."