Remembering You For Eternity

2.32 A Flower That Grows On Mud

She was born in an impoverished village. The village had been ravaged by a long-forgotten war, leaving helpless elders, women, and children after all the able-bodied men had been recruited into the army.

It took the new Emperor, who was an Enlightened hailing from Wu Shan sect, more than a decade after he took the throne to placate the warring states in the continent. Finally, peace was granted onto the Zuo Dynasty and its many territories, even years before she was born. But the village, like many others that the glitter and glamor of the new Imperial City could not reach, was still forgotten. Time seemed to have stopped in that village for her, and for everyone else still living there. For the rest of the world, they did not exist.

She was a rape baby. Her mother never failed to remind her of that fact, calling her filthy and disgusting. However, sometimes she was not sure if her mother had actually ever been forced into sex, because she saw many unfamiliar men visiting her decrepit house at times. During those times, her mother's repulsive moans did not sound like she was being laboured to do something against her will.

Given the state of her mother physique, emaciated and skeletal thin, she wondered how she could ever be born out of such a small body. It would make more sense if she was to perish in the womb, never seeing the light of day. Perhaps heavens just wanted her to be born in this forsaken world, so she could suffer further.

Her childhood was non-existent in between her mother's curses. Most of the time, she would rather sleep outside, under dried twigs and rotten leaves as her meagre source of warmth.

She did not like pain. If she was to stay inside the house, chances were, she would become her mother's kicking bag. No one in the village had ever paid attention as well; by instinct, all they wanted was to live one day longer, no longer caring of their fellow humans.

Those men that visited her mother were criminals, bandits, or whatever else people might call them as. However, when they were in good mood, after tasting the women in the village, they shared some grains. Those grains, that had to be cooked in substantial amount of dirty water from their well, could prolong the villagers' life if only for a few months, maybe more.

She was not the only child born of this so-called 'rape' either, although by chance, she was the only female. Other children also only knew how to survive by taking from others. When the bandits visited, they disappeared inside the female villagers' houses, leaving the children to their own devices. Whatever grains bestowed by the visiting men to her, were taken by other children. She could only let them take it without a fight. If she fought, she would get beaten. She did not like pain.

Perhaps her mother was one of the favorites for the men, she was not sure. There was nothing remotely beautiful for her in the village, nor did she understand the meaning. But finally, she learnt of the word 'beautiful', when she overheard the men chatting amongst each other, comparing the women in the village they had bedded.

"Small mouth, big eyes, willowy waist. If you ignore the ribs that I can count when I shag her and the empty sacks you normally call as breasts, she is actually a beauty." One man laughed boisterously, his breath reeking of something rotten.

The men sat around a fire, one they had made earlier to fight the night's bitter frost. The villagers, including her mother, stayed indoors, consuming the grains that had been gifted to them by the bandits. However, although her hunger had subsided from her meal, she still felt cold. Therefore, she subconsciously walked closer unsteadily towards the warmth.

"Isn't that your whore's child?" One man exclaimed, noticing her small frame walking towards them.

She was older than what she looked physically, but she still walked in a slight limp. In her toddler years, not even her mother had taught her how to walk properly. The fabric that clung to her skeletal frame was not even a proper piece of clothing. It was tattered and filthy, exposing her frail arms and legs.