Our fate woven in the sky《Zhanyi》

《XXX》

"Helping one person might not change the world, but it can change the world for one person . . ." 

*** 

The child sat there, unbothered by the rain that poured from heaven like a mockery. 

There he sat, on the stairs that led to nothing. The only imprint indicating traces of existence were the stairs that led to a mansion, now faded to dust. 

Next to the boy lay a white rose, unmoving, as if the ruthless blowing of the wind didn't affect it at all. 

A soft sigh escaped the mouth of the boy as he held his head oblique, the shadow of the moon reflecting through his deep brown eyes that twinkled like stars. 

The boy blinked slowly, his breath shallow as he turned his attention to the rose next to him. 

The boy extended his hand to touch the petal; instead, he cut himself with a sharp thorn. 

The feather-light pain against his skin was enough to hurt and make a tiny cut but not enough to bleed, and the boy continued pressing. 

An old memory swam to the surface as the boy closed his eyes, no longer repressing the memories. 

"A-Ling," a warm voice crooned in his ear, filling every corner of the room with warmth as the said boy, A-Ling, turned around only to face a younger version of himself -still in his old school uniform- running to the woman who called for him. 

Even if the A-Ling from the present could not recall to whom the familiar face belonged, he still trusted the feeling of safety and security blooming in his chest. 

A-Ling took a step forward, following the younger version of himself, their footsteps overlapping. 

A-Ling knew he could bridge the space between himself and his younger version in a step or two, but he didn't. 

Silently A-Ling watched himself sitting down next to the woman, who had turned her body a little, but her face was hidden behind her chestnut brown hair, falling like a curtain. 

The woman hummed a lullaby that A-Ling couldn't hear under her breath as she let her fingers rake through A-Ling's back then still long hair, and he listened to his younger self giggling. 

The sight warmed his heart as A-Ling couldn't remember the last time he had felt like that. 

Something snapped A-Ling out of his trance, and he looked around the room that he remembered from his dreams. 

The ballroom had not changed at all. 

A-Ling looked at the balcony where the doors had been widely thrown open, the wind gushing inside with the moon watching over them. 

Then his eyes went back to looking around, and he noticed the luxurious old traditional Chinese look of the ballroom had at least remained safe in his memories, A-Ling mused as he let his eyes follow the patterns of the red dragons on the wall. Something he had loved doing as a kid. 

Back then, someone would tell him stories, a lady; who always accompanied him when his parents threw lavish balls again. She would hold his hand and tell him stories about how the dragons on the wall had once lived their best life. And how they now hid from humanity, living peacefully in the mountains. 

"A-Ling, do you see those dragons fighting on the decor?" Mm? 

"Many legends say that the dragons on the decor are fighting for their gold, but-" the lady had crouched down, looked him seriously deep into the eyes as if she was going to expose a long lost secret.