BAO JI
AGE 7
I woke with a soft gasp, clutching my thin silk blanket to my chest. The lantern hanging outside my paper window flickered with the morning wind, making shadows tremble across my small room.
I had dreamed about a strange girl.
She looked almost identical to me — same eyes, same face — but her hair was a lighter brown, and her clothes were… strange. Soft, colorful fabrics I had never seen before. Too bright. Too foreign. Too unreal for my world.
In the dream, I sat at my wooden table, crying quietly. Maybe I cried because Father scolded me earlier. Or maybe because Mother made me practice etiquette for hours, repeating:
"A girl must learn early. Proper posture. Proper speech."
But the girl only stood there, watching me silently.
I asked her who she was.
She didn't answer.
When I woke up, fear sat in my chest like a cold stone. I could feel fear — but I couldn't tell if it was mine… or someone else's. That frightened me more than the dream itself.
I waited for Mother to come, to comfort me, to check on me… but she never did.
So I curled back beneath my blanket and forced myself to breathe.
It was only a dream.
A lie I desperately needed to believe.
AGE 9
By the time I was nine, I stopped telling Mother about my dreams. She always dismissed them with a wave of her hand.
One afternoon, my cousin Bao Si and I practiced holding the writing brush correctly. She always looked perfect — graceful, precise. Everyone praised her. I was almost as good, but I made a small mistake. Barely anything.
Mother wouldn't have noticed it —
if Bao Si hadn't leaned over me, trying to "fix" my hand position.
Mother turned, frowned sharply.
"Bao Ji, you are not concentrating."
Before I could defend myself:
"Go to the ancestral hall and kneel."
She took the ruler with her. Once we arrived, she told me to hold out my hand. I obeyed quietly.
I always obeyed.
The ruler struck my palm — one sharp hit. I inhaled at the sting, but I could handle it.
But then—
My breath hitched.
A sudden, overwhelming feeling crashed into me. My chest tightened painfully. Panic — but not mine. Terror — but not mine.
It was the girl from my dreams?
Earlier, when Mother hit my hand, she must have felt me panic… and now I felt her panic slamming back into me like a wave. It was the strangest, most terrifying feeling I had ever experienced — like two storms colliding in my chest.
Her panic attack became mine.
My fear became hers.
Two hours later, everything faded.
I couldn't feel her anymore.
But something inside me whispered that things would never be normal again.
As I walked out, shaken, my eyes fell on the mark on my wrist — the mark I'd had since birth.
A pale, soft-white crescent shape.
Some relatives said it meant luck.
Others said misfortune.
I didn't know what to believe.
I knew only one thing:
Something was happening.
Something I couldn't understand.
AGE 11
At eleven, the dreams became clearer than ever.
The room became bright, modern, filled with strange objects — looked as vivid as my own. Lights that did not come from lanterns. Soft clothes. A tall, fluffy bed. And her face…
The girl who looked exactly like me.
This time, I stepped toward her in the dream. She stared back, wide-eyed, as if she recognised me too.
Quietly, I said:
"Wǒ jiào Bǎo Jí."
My name is Bao Ji.
And she understood.
She whispered back:
"Lia… my name is Lia."
Her name felt strange and warm on my tongue.
"Li-ya."
She smiled.
And I smiled too.
For the first time, it didn't feel like a dream.
It felt like meeting someone real. Someone is waiting for me.
When I woke the next morning, I felt strangely happy. Light. As if a weight had been lifted.
But a few days later, I sensed something… off. Lia felt strange. Something in her emotions shifted, like something heavy pressed on her chest. I couldn't pinpoint it, but I knew something was wrong.
AGE 14
By fourteen, our connection was undeniable.
We no longer needed dreams to speak. Her voice appeared in my mind whenever my emotions flared.
I felt her anger — sudden and sharp, like sparks jumping onto dry grass.
She felt my sadness — deep and quiet, enough to make her cry.
We somehow learned each other's languages.
She spoke Chinese.
I understood Romanian and English.
Words were unnecessary most of the time.
Our emotions were louder anyway.
Lia lived freely — laughing, walking outside alone, speaking whenever she wanted.
I lived surrounded by rules.
Mother's expectations.
Grandmother's sharp voice.
Father's stern silence.
And Bao Si… perfect, admired Bao Si.
I always defended her.
I thought I knew her.
But the day of the broken golden statue changed everything.
"Bao Ji!"
Father's voice echoed through the corridors.
I hurried into the meeting room. Everyone was there:
Father
Mother
Grandmother
My uncle and aunt
And Bao Si — quiet, blank-faced.
Father threw a broken gold statue onto the floor.
"Did you break this?"
I shook my head, shocked.
"No, Father. I didn't even go near it."
Grandmother's voice was cold:
"You must not lie."
I turned to my cousin.
"You saw me — tell them I didn't touch it!"
Bao Si lowered her gaze.
"Uncle… I did see her near it. But I don't think she meant to—"
Her words sliced right through me.
Father didn't let me speak.
He grabbed my wrist and dragged me through the courtyard.
"Father—please—!"
I faintly heard my cousin say, "Uncle, maybe she really didn't—"
The door of the storage room slammed shut behind me.
Dark.
Cold.
Silent.
Only a thin strip of light under the door.
I hugged my knees, trying not to cry.
Trying not to let Lia feel anything.
But fear escaped anyway.
And instantly—
her panic crashed into me.
"Bao Ji!! What happened?! Answer me!!"
Her voice shook inside my mind.
Her panic fueled mine.
My fear fueled hers.
We were spiraling together, unable to stop.
"It… it's dark…" I whispered, trembling. "So dark in here…"
"Dark where?! Bao Ji, answer me!! Tell me where you are!!"
Her desperation made my chest twist painfully.
Our fear blended — so tightly I couldn't tell where hers ended and mine began.
Then, gathering every bit of strength I had, I whispered:
"Hey… I'm not dead. Yet."
Her relief slammed into me like a wave.
"Don't you EVER do that again!" Lia snapped in Chinese. "Your feelings scared the hell out of me!"
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped my lips.
Her anger — because she cared — warmed me.
"It's not funny!!" she yelled. "Our sadness combined is literally the WORST feeling ever!"
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She calmed, then asked:
"What happened?"
"My father locked me up," I said quietly. "Because of something I didn't do."
I hesitated, then added:
"I think Bao Si lied. But… we're close as sisters. She would never—"
"Maybe you don't know your cousin as well as you think," Lia said gently.
Her words stung.
Because deep down…
I knew she might be right.
After a long pause, I whispered:
"I'm okay now. Don't worry. When I felt your happiness earlier today… it made my day."
Her emotions flared again — fiery, strong.
"It's okay, Lia," I soothed her. "Calm down."
"I am calm," she argued.
"You're lying," I said softly. "I can feel it, remember?"
She went quiet.
Then I saw a faint image — Lia speaking with a friend who cared deeply for her.
"You're lucky," I murmured. "If I told anyone here about us, they'd think I was possessed."
Guilt rose from her side immediately.
"Don't feel bad about me," I told her quickly. "I'm happy for you. I still have you."
Her emotions softened — warm, gentle.
Yes.
You have me.
Her voice trembled with relief.
I smiled through the darkness.
"Good," I whispered. "Now go talk to your friend. Don't be stubborn."
I didn't know for sure if she listened…
But something inside me told me she did, even if she is the opposite of me – stubborn, fiery, and not afraid to talk her mind. I really envied her for that.