Chapter 2: Stolen from the streets

Those days have become so blurry. It might just have been another lifetime. Faraway from my reach.

But how could one dream such a ridiculous life?

I never knew my father nor did I knew my mother. In the streets of the capital, such urchins like me weren't as rare as they are today. I used to steal, I used to beg, and I used to do small laborious tasks for food. I recall being in a group, somewhat. I can't recall any faces nor can I remember their names. There was warmth. 

It was also where I was given my name. The eldest knew a few characters, and those few characters were used to create names for the group. Many already had their own names.There were still a few like me. Unnamed and forgotten. 

When winter came though, that warmth would vanish. Leaving a few traces, as if just a dream. When everyone is already worried about themselves not being able to eat, how would they have the leisure to give others food? There were few willing to give jobs for urchins. Who knew whether or not one was ridden with infectious diseases? Even those willing would give a few teals and nothing more. Having to work in thin clothes in such a bad whether and yet not even receiving enough for a piece of bread. It was either this or stealing. Stealing between groups became more common. Even the eldest who had given names would come to rob. Seeing such gentle eyes turn vicious because of hunger, how could anyone forget? But after winter, it would again seem as if the distrust had vanished. Hidden just so they could receive a little warmth. Willingly forgetting those who were lost. 

It was one of these such harsh winters where I was found. Stolen from the streets.

The reason being someone seeing some resemblance between me and a long dead unit commander.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have preferred that life to this.

At least then I had the chance to play pretend.

The unit commander was as kind as to pick up a useless street urchin and put it in a pedestal of gold.

The unit commander was as kind as to send someone with no foundation to war after two years of picking it up.

 

 

I can't say I wasn't scared. I had seen death but never had I seen blood. Yet I stood my ground. How could I falter? Faltering would be death. Everyone was busy trying not to die and trying to kill the other side. How could they take care of a new recruit?

Taking care of someone with no foundation would be like tying a chain to your own ankle. It would make you more likely to die yourself. Even in the streets, this truth we all knew. 

So why would anyone do it?

I wanted to ask this to the stranger being brought back without arms and without breathe.

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It was in my fourth week as an recruit when I received a letter. I was inside the tent then, with many other Duifus and recruits. Everyone was curious about the hawk that landed right in my hands. They had asked if it was from the Unit commander. It was addressed to Duben[讀本]. Alright it was without any address. No name, no place. Nothing. But it was a nice distraction from what was going on. The hawk sending the letter would not return no matter what I did. So before going to the field, I replied to Weizhe Xin [未知信] and sent a letter back. Only then did the hawk take off.

I had wondered whether or not it would come back. Would it place the letter on my dead body or find another Duifu to give it to.

I was surprised when the hawk came back. Injured as I was, I could not help but smile. Many other recruits joked. They said, 'It seems like it prefers you more than the other receiver' I had played with the hawk and replied, 'There is no other receiver then me'

Turns out it was filled with scoldings and threats. Everyone laughed after listening to it. They said I really deserved to be the only receiver. 

The Duizhu said I may have angered a noble lady.

 

So I sent one back again. I addressed her as Chong-er this time. Maybe it would calm her down? Let her think She had an secret admirer from the army. 

 

It was a He.

 

And he really did not like being referred to as Chong-er.

It was clear from the messy writing, thick ink, and the 'Gongzhu's that covered most of the letter.

We had a good laugh. The Duizhu suggested we quit joking. But he also suggested to call him 'Wo ai' next time.

 

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