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What's good and what's evil?
Who's a villain and who's a hero?
These were the questions that filled Liu Xian's head. Questions that should've had simple answers—answers that adults threw around like they understood the world better than him. But no matter how much he thought about it, no matter how many nights he spent staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him away from this hell, he couldn't find an answer.
Because if being good meant following the rules, why did the bad people never follow them? If being a hero meant protecting others, why had nobody ever protected him? And if being a villain meant hurting people, why did his father get to hurt him and still be considered a man worthy of respect?
"You little bastard! Stop right there!"
The voice behind him boomed through the dark alleyway, bouncing off the wet brick walls. His little feet smacked against the pavement, sending up sprays of rainwater as he ran. His thin, oversized shirt clung to his tiny frame, soaked through from the earlier downpour. The cold bit at his skin, but the fear pushing him forward burned hotter than anything else.
"Are you ignoring me?! You little shit!"
Liu Xian didn't stop. He didn't even look back.
He just ran.
The city streets were empty, lit only by the glow of flickering streetlights. Puddles reflected the dull, dirty light, stretching like mirrors on the ground. His legs ached, his breath came in short, sharp gasps, but he couldn't stop.
"When I get you, I'll kill you just the way you killed your mother, you fucking monster!"
His father's voice stabbed through the air, raw and hateful, each word sharper than the last.
Liu Xian's steps faltered.
Monster.
That word.
He had heard it so many times that he sometimes wondered if it was his real name. Liu Xian? No, that was the name his mother gave him. Monster was the name his father carved into his skin with every slap, every punch, every glare that made him feel like he shouldn't have been born.
He came to a stop, panting, his small hands gripping his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. His chest ached. His lungs felt like they were on fire. The world around him spun for a second, the exhaustion weighing him down like chains.
Then—
Drip.
Something warm hit the ground near his feet.
Drip.
Another drop. Then another.
His vision blurred as he wiped at his nose, pulling his hand away to see red smeared across his fingers.
Blood.
He sniffled, tilting his head back slightly as he stared up at the sky.
Dark clouds loomed overhead, hiding the stars from view.
When he was more younger—when he still believed in good things—he used to make wishes on stars. He would clasp his tiny hands together, shut his eyes tight, and whisper to the sky.
"I wish for Mama to come back."
"I wish for Baba to stop being mad all the time."
"I wish I wasn't a monster."
But he had long since given up on wishes.
If wishes worked, his mother wouldn't be dead.
If wishes worked, he wouldn't be running for his life every other night.
If wishes worked, his father wouldn't hate him so much.
So he stopped wishing.
He wiped at his nose again, smearing more blood across his sleeve. His hands were shaking, but he wasn't sure if it was from fear, exhaustion, or just the cold that had sunk deep into his bones.
Then a heavy hand clamped down on his hair. "Got you, you little shit."
A sharp yank sent him tumbling backward, and suddenly, he was on the ground, his back slamming against the wet pavement. A choked noise left his throat as pain shot up his spine. Before he could scramble to his feet, another yank had him crying out, his small fingers clawing at his father's hand to ease the pain.
His father stood over him, his face twisted in pure rage. The stench of alcohol clung to him. His breath was too hot, foul, and close to Liu Xian's face as he sneered down at him.
"Why the fuck did you run?" he spat.
Liu Xian opened his mouth, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say? That he didn't want to be beaten again? That he didn't want to feel his father's fists against his ribs, his back, his face? That he didn't want to cry himself to sleep on a cold, hard floor with bruises painting his skin?
His silence only seemed to anger his father more.
A fist crashed against his cheek.
White-hot pain exploded in his skull, his head snapping to the side. His vision went blurry for a second, but before he could recover, another punch came. And another.
His father was shouting. Screaming. Saying things he had heard a thousand times before.
"You're useless!"
"You should've died instead of her!"
"You think you can run from me?!"
The blows kept coming, each one knocking more air out of his lungs. He curled in on himself, hands weakly covering his head, but it didn't matter. His father was stronger. Bigger. And he was nothing but a nine-year-old boy who had nowhere to go.
Eventually, the punches stopped.
Liu Xian wasn't sure how long it had lasted. Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. Time always blurred together when pain was involved.
He could taste blood in his mouth. His body was sore, his skin burning with fresh bruises. His ears were ringing.
His father let out a breath, shaking his hand as if he were the one who had suffered. Then, with a sneer, he kicked Liu Xian's curled-up body, sending him rolling onto his back.
"Fucking weak," he muttered before turning and walking away, leaving him there.
Liu Xian stayed on the ground.
The rain started falling again. Light at first, then heavier, soaking him further. Cold water mixed with the blood on his face, making it drip onto the pavement like watercolors bleeding into paper.
He closed his eyes.
What's good and what's evil?
Who's a villain and who's a hero?
Liu Xian didn't know.