Why Xiao Ying was given a pen now by the divine Gods above was a question that he would never get an answer to.
He sighed, slinking back down into his chair again, pulling the computer monitor back to facing him.
He couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep.
But he was beginning to feel tired.
Watching Ming Cheng go on with his work, nothing was making any sense.
Ming Cheng was sat at the side, in front of the door as he did before yesterday as he washed all those lentils. He was tasked today with washing the bags upon bags of rice carted into the palace today.
He was to fetch his own water to wash the rice this time, with all the information that he already knew from watching Lan Chang yesterday.
He heard kitchen staff around him panicking and running around in the room off to the side.
The head cook was a large, red faced woman, who was slightly on the shorter side, and held a stern expression that seemed to have been etched into her face as if her skin was stone. She wielded her great, shining ladle at any of her slacking employees that sliced through the air with a resounding rush that increased in pitch, higher and higher, each time she swung it.
There were several teams of cooks and servants, all specialising in their own dishes and types of food from dishes filled with vegetables and lentils, dishes filled with meat and lentils, pastry dishes filled with lentils, savoury dishes filled with lentils, sweet dishes filled with lentils, plain dishes filled with lentils, spicy dishes with lentils, and all other types of dishes with lentils.
Ming Cheng had to wonder why there were so many lentils in the kitchen.
"Work faster!" she called out to the rest of the kitchen," Team One, why haven't the vegetables been chopped up! Team Two, the meat hasn't been cleaned! Team Three, the batters hasn't even been mixed yet! Team Children, why haven't those dumplings been folded yet? Team Boy, wash that rice faster!"
Team Boy.
He wasn't even given a name.
Ming Cheng supressed whatever roiling, angry feeling that rose up and bubbled in his chest at how he had cast alone. He was separate to everybody else.
All the other servant's children huddled together in their little group at the opposite end of the room, whispering to each other as they sat on the floor with their flowered hands, primping up the pastries into their proper shapes as they worked together as a unit to make the best food that they could.
They were an immaculate team, one little boy unsticking the edges of the dough from the tray that they arrived in, another little boy picking out the right amount of filling and the final little girl folding up the dumpling and flowering it up to sit on another tray.
Ming Cheng sat away from them, leaning down to focus on his own work, but still hyper aware of all their snide glances towards him.
There was no place for him in there.
He had to force himself to remember the words of the ghost that had visited him the night before and again with his appointment with the physician.
She told him to not show his pain and his weaknesses to all the others.
He understood why she had said such a thing and understood the use for it, but it still hurt him a little bit. She had spoken of how she would support him through the palace, surely meaning that he was eventually going to leave the role of washing grains for the kitchens.
Having a reputation was important after all.
He had seen the large boys who had successfully fought off anyone and everyone who wanted their food be offered coin by adult men for their services, their names famous and important with tales of their strength widely known. Those were the boys who weren't messed with.
There were other reputations that one could acquire as well.
There was once a little girl who everyone was warned about as well. She was known to be the best thief in the area. She allegedly hid within plain sight and robbed the nobles who walked down the area blind of their money pouches, vanishing before they even realised that they had parted from their wealth.
That story was a few years old and Ming Cheng eventually learned the truth that there was no great, mystical thief. A beggar girl had simply gotten lucky when an idiotic magistrate passed through, trying to ascertain the poverty in the city. She had the good sense to keep her mouth shut and she promptly left before anyone knew what she had done.
If she was smart, then she would be at least a contributing member of the community now, if not fabulously rich.
Reputations were a good thing, Ming Cheng conceded to himself, but it hurt him that he wasn't allowed to let loose and let himself be a child.
A ghost had spoken to him. A ghost had ordained that he follow her instructions for success in the palace. Even if the ghost was a slow speaker, Ming Cheng couldn't disregard its presence.
Supernatural forces were supposed to be obeyed and feared.
And Ming Cheng, as much as he wanted to, couldn't shake away the hollowness of those eyes, and the emptiness inside of them. He would be sucked into them if he did not follow the ghost's instructions.
He thought that last night was a dream and was overconfident in it, firmly believing that despite what the priests believed, ghosts weren't real.
If ghosts were real, then people would be much happier about them.
If ghosts were real, then Ming Cheng would be able to see his grandmother and grandfather again. He would be able to talk to them, sing with them, and make flower crowns with them again.
If ghosts were real then...
then...