Zhao Lun clenched his fist, exerting all his strength, and finally managed to move a finger.
As he regained some sensation, Zhao Lun exhaled in relief. The tension gradually ebbed away from his body as he relaxed, patiently awaiting his full recovery.
Despite the waiting, his mind was consumed by the strange state he was in. It reminded him of the sensation one experiences during sleep paralysis, a feeling of being unable to move, and the harder he tried, the worse it became. The best way to handle such a situation, he knew, was to breathe gently and relax, allowing his body to naturally escape the paralyzing grip.
Gradually, his bodily control returned, and with it, his senses.
"Hiss! It hurts so much!" Could it be that he had been attacked? As his senses came back, it wasn't just pain that he felt but also a biting cold, an all-encompassing chill that made him shiver uncontrollably.
"Humph."
He tried to speak, but his throat felt dry and parched, rendering him voiceless. Only a faint grunt escaped his lips. Still unable to adjust to the pain, a soft voice reached his ears, followed by the sensation of something pressing against him, its hands wandering over his face. From the sounds and movements, it seemed the figure was agitated. He could tell it was a pair of small hands, warm to the touch.
"Water..."
The warmth of the water filled his throat. It was sweet, like honey, and unlike any water he had ever tasted before. The sensation brought him comfort.
Not enough! He wanted more!
He drank again, one gulp after another, until his thirst was quenched. Gradually, his body warmed, and strength returned to his limbs. He glanced around, and the unfamiliar environment made him uneasy. His gaze fell on the girl beside him, the one who had offered him the water. She seemed both strange and oddly familiar.
What's going on? Zhao Lun's mind raced. "Hiss!" His head throbbed painfully, a sharp, soul-ripping agony that he could hardly endure.
"Brother!——"
The cry before he slipped into the darkness.
"Brother? Are you calling me?"
The last thought he had before succumbing to the abyss of unconsciousness.
In the darkness, Zhao Lun dreamt, a vivid and strange dream. He dreamed of his mother, though peculiarly, she was foreign. He also saw his father, who, while not foreign, felt strangely distant. His father was a powerful figure, often seen practicing some martial art, his movements fierce and precise. His mother stood by, watching him practice, occasionally preparing something barely edible. Zhao Lun ran about, imitating his father's actions, filled with joy. After playing for hours, his mother would scoop him into her arms, bringing him sweet treats.
The desserts were divine. Zhao Lun, delighted, forgot about everything else.
But soon, strangers came to their house—both foreign and native. Their faces were filled with hostility. They insulted his mother and attacked his father. In the midst of the chaos, they not only hurt his mother, but he was also caught up in the violence. His father, enraged, fought back. Zhao Lun sat helplessly on a rickety chair, crying in frustration. No one stopped. The anger he felt was overwhelming, but there was nothing he could do.
After that, no more strangers appeared. The house seemed to settle, but an eerie silence crept in.
At some point, the smiles in the house vanished. The sweet treats disappeared, and all that remained were loaves of bread. His father often went away, returning only after months, and when he did, it was only for a fleeting moment before he disappeared again for long stretches. His mother began to spend more and more time away, leaving only bread for him. Eventually, the house was empty, save for him. The food ran out, and his mother never returned. Left to his own devices, he had to scavenge for food.
Before long, thieves had raided their home. Anything of value was stolen, and eventually, bolder criminals came, robbing the entire house. They took everything that could be used, leaving nothing behind. Zhao Lun had cried for help, but it was in vain. Instead, he received a severe beating.
To survive, he resorted to begging and scavenging from the trash. Without his parents, no one offered him assistance. Even discarded food was rarely given to him.
The house was cold, desolate, and empty...
In the dream, despite having forgotten who he was, Zhao Lun still burned with anger. The flame of rage consumed him, and he longed to roar, yet no sound came from his throat.
He spent a year living in such dire conditions, adapting to the hardship. Hunger did not break him, nor did sickness or loneliness. He managed to survive, barely.
Days passed in this manner. Each day was a struggle for food. On good days, he could fill his belly, but on bad days, hunger tormented him, and sometimes, he was injured. Some of the older children took pleasure in tormenting him. They were crueler than demons at times, deriving their amusement from his suffering. For them, there was no pity, only unabashed malice.
Dream-Zhao Lun, like a fool, always thought they were just joking. His heart was filled with inexplicable fury, torn between two conflicting emotions.
The greatest hardship of his days came from their cruelty. The wounds on his body were their doing. The toll it took on him was unimaginable. At such a young age, he felt as though he bore the weariness of an old man. Life, to him, had no color. Just when he thought things would never improve, a small twist of fate brought some color into his life. One day, while scavenging through the garbage, he found a little girl, and his life began to change.
The girl was younger than him. She neither cried nor made a sound. She was quiet, exuding a strange aura. But most striking were her eyes—eyes that conveyed an array of emotions: helplessness, abandonment, hope, timidity, despair, serenity, and maybe even indifference, or perhaps, a strange sense of release.
Her eyes were a puzzle, full of complexity, enough to break one's heart.
What could have happened to a girl so young that her eyes reflected such turmoil?
He brought her home, and though his burden grew heavier, with many nights he barely had enough food to eat, he was happier than ever.
He was resilient, like a small cockroach, struggling every day to find food. When he did, he would split it in half, giving her one portion, keeping the other for himself. Though life was grueling, he was no longer alone. Even though the days were tiring, he found comfort in them.
Soon, they became family, in every sense of the word.
Word spread that he had taken in the little girl, and opposition mounted. From the adults to the older children who used to torment him, all of them threatened him, warning him not to harbor the girl, as she would bring bad luck.
"Bad luck? And so what? Is there anything worse than this life?"
A group of people came to threaten him, but he stood firm. They left, defeated and empty-handed.
"You're not getting another bite of our food!"
"You better watch yourself!"
"You'd better get rid of her, or you'll regret it!"
"Aik never makes empty threats. He means what he says."
Before they left, they spat their venomous words. He wanted to ask, What have you ever given me to eat? Watch myself? You've been beating me every day; what else could happen? Is there anything worse than being beaten every day?
Their threats weren't empty, though. The very next day, they followed through. First, the older children cornered him and gave him another beating. When he went out looking for food, he found nothing. He only managed to scrounge up some wild vegetables and berries from the forest—barely enough to stave off hunger. The days that followed grew even harder. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape their watchful eyes. Their attacks grew stronger with each passing day, forcing him to flee under the cover of darkness.
He and the girl sought refuge in a small shack by the sea, where they survived for over six months.
Without bread, the sea provided. He learned how to gather shells and fish, crafting meals from what the ocean offered. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Over time, he grew better at it. Though he had once been repelled by seafood, hunger drove him to make it his staple.
After months of survival, he ventured out to the garbage heap again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he might find something more. To his joy, he found loaves of bread—stale, discarded, but edible. It had been months since anyone had touched it. The sight made his heart leap with joy.
Though the bread was spoiled, he no longer cared. Filling his stomach was the priority. What he had once rejected, he now welcomed, for he had learned to survive. Even when it wasn't ideal, it was enough.
As the days passed, Zhao Lun grew more confident. He began to let the girl leave the shack, though he worried about her safety. But when she came to him one day, asking to play, he relented. They ventured out together—only to be intercepted by the very people who had tormented him. They attacked him again, sending him into another bout of darkness.
And so, the cycle continued...