He Ran

His cornbread was always robbed, half of it, every time. He never said a word. Just held the half that was left, ran to a distant corner, and stuffed it into his mouth. Eat faster, and there would be nothing left to steal. He heard them laugh behind his back, saying he was useless, good at nothing except running away. He didn't dare talk back. After all, even half a cornbread could keep you alive. And if you could live, what was the point of fighting? So they called him a coward. A soft-bellied coward. Someone like that shouldn't have ended up in the army. The first time his sword sank into a man's chest, he saw those eyes full of hatred. The tears came faster than the blood. His hands were shaking so badly as he sawed off the man's ear. The cut was jagged, uneven. When he got back to camp, "Hey, the one on that bed, is he dead or what? Hasn't moved in ages." "First time seeing blood. Bet he's scared shitless. If I ever get a medal, I'm heading home. No way I'm staying here." "Not everyone here's like us. That General Wang Qing's adopted son, that one's born lucky. Doesn't have to live on a knife's edge." "Used to be a nobody too, I heard. Now he's all swagger and wine, causing trouble day in, day out. Nobody dares stop him." "Hey! You dead or what? Holy shit! He just sat up without a sound. What's your name? Hey, You deaf? I said, what's your name? How old are you?" "...Thirteen. He—He Ran." "Tch. Such a fancy name. Your parents must be scholars or something!" "I have no parents." "Well damn. Someone still gave you a proper name? That's rare." He didn't answer. Just licked his lips and muttered, "Yeah... someone did. The General." He heard them snort. "The general? What, you dreaming now? Which muddy patch of dirt did you see that cricket of a general in—Hey?! You dare hit me?" "...A general is a general." The sneering soldier looked up and saw a pair of eyes, crazed and intent. For a moment, he flinched. "...Psycho. I'm not messing with a lunatic."

The closest He Ran ever came to General Wang Qing was the day they met. A group of beggar kids stumbled into the path of a general's procession, horses tall and gleaming. Back then, they were all more or less the same. One might be half a head taller, another had a few extra bites of steamed bun. Jiang Yan was just one of them, a hot-tempered boy, maybe a bit shorter than the rest. But when Jiang Yan stepped forward, clutching his wooden sword, brash and proud, he seemed the sort least likely to survive in this world. Yet the general, seated high on his horse, favored him. Years later, He Ran would chew on Jiang Yan's words over and over again. In dreams, he returned to that day. But this time, he was the one who stepped forward, said those words, stood before the crowd. This way, he would've become the boy chosen by the general, instead of Jiang Yan, wouldn't he? He would've stood at the general's side. And unlike Jiang Yan, he wouldn't chase cats around the courtyard and come back filthy. He'd be the obedient one. He wouldn't drink. Wouldn't cause trouble. Wouldn't leave the general frowning at constant complaints, helpless to defend him. He would've done much better than Jiang Yan. He knew it. In the dream, he looked up, and the general was smiling at him, calling his name. He smiled back, instinctively, about to answer... Rain fell from the eaves, and the dream shattered. He woke up, leaning against the wall of a ruined temple. The puddle on the ground mirrored a blood-smeared face. A long sword in his grip, one that cut off a head today. A gunny sack by his feet, with that head in it. He stared blankly at the drying blood on the blade. Yes... it was one of the men who killed the general. He remembered now. Three days ago, his general had died. He leaned on his sword and stepped outside. The rain was still falling. Inside the ruined temple, rain dripped silently from the roof. Each bead of red-streaked water splashing against the floor like tears from the earth. He knew dreams couldn't change fate. He just didn't understand why even the sky, full of rain, refused to let him keep a single dream whole.