Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 199

afternoon sun sieving its knowing rays through it as though it had expected me too. I knew that not reporting
this hole that protected the city from pirates and outsiders would cost my father his job and risk myself being
captured by the authorities, but I would lose this hideout from the city bustle, so I kept my mouth shut about it.
I climbed through the wall into the overgrown grass outside of the city, the breath I didn’t know I was holding
soothed out of my lungs. The view of the moat was obscured, but the drafts of wind that brought me its
moisture already gave me an eerily strange sense of calm. The sun danced through the unkempt grass, tinging
everything into a bright gold, turning the little wildflowers into inferior beings as its might warmed the land and
the top of my head and tips of my fingers and everything within sight.
I was finally out of the confines of the wall that trapped me inside along with the painful memories and the noise
and shapes of people pushing me against an invisible wall every single second, and the relief of it made me slide
down the wall into a crouching position, arms hanging limply over each respective knee as I took in the scenery
of my sanctuary.
My reverie was broken once again by another snap of shoe to twig, and I turned, jumping up and leaning against
the wall and thrusting a hand over my mouth to muffle any utterances.
To my horror and utter exasperation, I found myself staring as a black-heel-clad foot extending in through the
crack, along with its owner- a slender leg and a cream-colored cheongsam bound body, and finally, the head,
with rigidly set curls bouncing and pearl earrings swaying dangerously as the girl who came through balanced
herself against the wall with a pale plump hand.
“And you are?” I asked, eyebrows threatening to disappear above my bangs.
“I’m Xiaolian! Remember me?” the girl steadied herself and peered at me through the long lashes that framed
her large almond shaped eyes.
Realization hit.
She was one of the girls who lived in the manor.
I recognized her instantly.
“You live in the manor do you?”
“Yeah, and today I decided to follow you,” she said matter-of-factly.
I crossed my arms.
“Leave.
This is no place for people like you.”
“I saw you by the Chans’ stall.
The buns were too- expensive were they?”
The way she said expensive was no way rude. It was only a mere utterance of curiosity of a child saying a word
it didn’t understand, a dipping of toes in water by a person who did not know how to swim.
She held out a brown packet, a grin pulling at the corners of her carefully drawn-over mouth. I was hit with
the scent of fresh buns that almost brought my hand upward to accept it, but instead, glared at it, feeling pathetic.
“No thank you.
Now leave.”
Xiaolian looked at me imploringly and stepped forward, with the packet still extended.
“I said NO!” I said angrily.
“Now leave!”
The girl looked a little disappointed as her hand retracted, along with the mouth-watering scent, and took a step
back.
“At least tell me your name before I go,” Xiaolian said, perfect brows knitted.
“I’m Yangzi,” I told her my name just to shut her up.
She turned, satisfied, and slid through the wall.
The next couple of days, to my anger and disbelief, Xiaolian turned up at my safe haven every single time I went
there, her hand extended with a packet of hot buns in them. And every time I pushed her away, stifling the
sense of guilt that came with it.
I didn’t need friends, especially not friends like her, these rich people being good for nothing but behaving like
stuck-up brats who tried stuffing poor people with food and act like they did something kind and generous.
However, as the days passed by, I started realizing that this Xiaolian was unexpectedly lonely. Being that rich
pushed away people I supposed. The poor despised them and the rich made friends just to liaise. I mean, who
would want to make a friend and stay true to the richest in the city right? People got close just for the money.
But still, her being lonely was no means for me to make a friend. Losing Mother was already a blow. I didn’t
need to make friends just to lose them all over again. I simply couldn’t afford that. So after a few weeks of her