Ping was in trouble. He knew it, and yet he did not panic. One reason was that it was too beautiful a night to worry about his family being dishonored, or getting his own head shot though with an arrow during a battle, or his father stoning him to death. Instead, he sat by his lonesome outside of the camp (past regulated hours), and watched the unmoving, cold stars.
He blamed Fuu.
Growing up, Ping was shy, quiet, and insecure about his size. The other boys—and even the girls his age and older—teased him and left him out of every game they played. The boys would throw sticks and stones at him, and call him names. This was how Ping attained his climbing skills; he would simply scurry up the nearest tree, perching so high up the others dare not try to reach him.
One day he was chased to a large pear tree in full bloom and clawed his way to a comfortable fork in the thick branches where he waited out the boys' teasing and abusing fists. Usually he would sit (or lay or lean or stand/lean) quietly and study the clouds, or pick various leaves and debris to make is own birdnest or crown.
Even after this particular group of boys had long since left, Ping stayed in the tree, sulking. He watched a pair of sparrows interact before flying off into the very blue sky.
"Hey, kid."
His entire body jumped and he just barely caught himself from falling. He looked behind him and up towards the top to see a slightly older boy staring down at him. The first thing Ping noticed were his foreign green eyes and curly black hair, giving him an alien appearance (at least to Ping he looked like an alien). The second was the squirrel on his shoulder, fidgeting with a nut.
The alien crossed his arms defiantly. "This is my tree. No one else is allowed up here but Tintin." Ping assumed the squirrel was Tintin.
"I-I'm sorry," Ping stammered out. "I—"
It was then that he saw the large book tucked under the alien's arm and the ink smudges on his fingers. Ping tilted his head to the side. "Were you drawing?"
The strange boy narrowed his eyes warily. "Yes….so?"
Ping fidgeted uncomfortably. "What were you drawing?"
The alien pursed his lips and slowly lowered himself to Ping's level, just a branch away. "Why do you care?"
"Uh…no reason….I just like art, I guess."
The boy let out a thoughtful hum and handed Ping the book. Ping nervously took it and opened it to the first page.
Fuu was a fantastic artist. Sketching, drawing and painting were his strong suits. He enjoyed drawing streams and puddles the most, but also captured many animals—mostly birds and dogs—on paper.
He took Ping to all his favorite spots to sit and draw; they were usually secluded and out of town, and Ping realized that he must be alone a lot. Just like him.
Ping found out that his real name was Fuujin Toji, but he made his parents call him Fuu. His parents were craftsman that could make or fix anything from a shoe sole to a horseshoe to a prized teapot. They moved around annually, and found Fuu one cloudy morning while in Mongolia, in the remainders of a raid on a village. They wagered that by now Fuu was about thirteen years of age—just two more than Ping.
Fuu was very talkative—he even got Ping to talk about his fascination with animals and puzzles, and watched in wonder whilst Ping solved a tangram puzzle in just a few minutes. He then provoked Ping to laugh when he threw the rings down in frustration and stalked away.
One summer evening, while they were relaxing after a day of swimming, Ping asked Fuu why he seemed so sad. Fuu didn't answer, just slowly turned his head towards Ping and gave his eyes a searching, quizzical stare.
In an instant his lips connected with Ping's, his hands on Ping's shoulders. Ping was frozen, and didn't move or breathe. After a few seconds Fuu drew back and studied the younger boy's face. He moved in to do it again.
Ping snapped out of his trance and whipped his fist back, slapping it across
Fuu's face, hard. In that heartbeat he felt both awful about striking his friend but also relieved that he had a chance to stand, spin on his heels, and run away. He heard Fuu calling his name, but confusion made him run straight home and to bed, where he declined any dinner on account of a bad stomachache.
The next three days Fuu came to his house every morning and evening, but Ping always managed to avoid him by climbing out the window and hiding. He didn't dare tell his mother or grandmother what had happened.
One day, Fuu didn't come. Ping felt strangely disappointed and walked to his house to peek in the window.
It was completely empty. No tables, no mats, no tools or work benches. He found out later that they had moved to another town were business was better. After Fuu left, Ping tried to draw the same stream Fuu always did.
His tears kept making the lines all runny.
YOU ARE READING
Sunset Illusions ( Fa Ping x Li Shang )
Romance(This is a BL) To save his father's life and prove his worth Fa Ping takes his father's place and joins the army. This was a choice that would bring many difficulties and perhaps, even death. Fa Ping expected that, but what he didn't expect was to...
