Falling Dreams of Fang Hua ✔

Chapter 001: A Single Rancid Mantou

A temple.

A dilapidated temple.

A dilapidated temple with no scent of incense, or the sign of worshippers.

The lighting in the temple was heavy and hazy, its four corners completely wrecked. The body of the Buddha statue in the center was completely covered in dust and shattered, though it still looked dignified. A dilapidated templed like this couldn't shield from the wind or rain, but destitute people frequently used it as a place to hide.

There was no fire burning within the temple, so it was a bit chilly.

On the side, a few people dressed in rags who resembled beggars hugged rolls of dry grass, claiming the warmest, driest places for themselves.

As for me.

I used my sleeve to wipe my face and spat once.

I scanned each corner of the area while undoing my waist band, squatting in the forest in front of the temple. Pretending to go to the bathroom, I waited until no one was looking before digging in te dirt...

To do such a thing at this time of day was a big risk, so I had to be quick and precise.

The old, long robe I was wearing didn't fit my body at all. I knew this outfit made me look ridiculous... ...this ash-green colored cloth robe was even stolen off a dead person.

I didn't know what my name was.

An old beggar at the temple said I was delivered here by my mother on a windy, snowy day. She was a woman with a teardrop birthmark at the corner of her eye, a peerless youth whose beauty was unlike a mortal's. Whenever the old smelly beggar got to this point, he'd look at me with a turbid eye and shake his head hopelessly. And then I'd know he say, you're not even equal to one-tenth of your mother's looks.

Pah!

This old beggar was already at death's door, but still so lecherous.

Though I say this, he was my only protector within the rundown temple. Even when hunger struck, he never forgot to leave a mouthful of soup for this little beggar.

"During the chaotic years of war, when the soldiers mutinied and troops rebelled, families were inevitably wrenched apart and starving corpses displayed excessively." These were the last words the old man left me before he died. I thought they were the most educated things he ever said, because I couldn't understand a word.

But as a little beggar, I didn't need things like inner meaning and self-cultivation. No matter how many words I learned, it couldn't find me food.

For me to live on this crappy piece of land for five years without starving to death was nothing short of a miracle.

I once had a major illness whose fever muddled my head... ...I had no idea how old I was exactly. Looking at myself, I appeared to be seven or eight, like a child, but I don't think I was only that old, because I understood a lot of things. Maybe I just didn't grow well.

Up until he died, the old beggar firmly believed I still had things to settle. He said back then, the temple wasn't so rundown, and I wore very good clothes, as if I was the child of a rich family.

He told me I had a mother, and she'd definitely come back to pick me up.

But, none of what he said to me left an impression... ...

This old beggar used to be a storyteller, who knew if all the things he used to tell me were just wild tales.

This was a place where a man-eat-man philosophy was forced to exist.