"Your name is Li Kuo?" Guanyu asked, mildly confused.
Zhuang quickly rolled up a paper napkin and threw it across the table, smacking Guanyu right in the face. "Not all of us are born Songs, Mister Vogue China." Zhuang rolled his eyes.
Haoran's widened. "You were on Vogue China... with your sister! Oh my God! I literally saw that issue on the shelves at the 7/11 where I'd steal cigarettes after school!"
"What were you doing stealing cigarettes?" Guanyu interjected.
"No, no..." Zhuang raised a finger and shook it at him accusingly. "Don't try to change the subject, you godforsaken prince."
Guanyu whined a noise that somehow rumbled from the chest and yet screeched through the air all the same, as he buried himself in his oversized t-shirt.
"Whatever." He grumbled, "Fuck you all, I miss my sister."
He really did miss Huian. Sometimes the memory of her nagging seemed preferable to Hoaran's incessant screaming. Huian taught him pretty much everything — their age gap was notable, and their parents were always far too preoccupied with efforts of clearing their reputations and making themselves respectable individuals. Guanyu wasn't mad about that — it was essential to them to reflect their integrity and principles, with a family name bearing attached negative connotations which were difficult to overcome.
He shrugged, unknowing how exactly to begin. "I don't like talking about me." He said. Even that simple declaration seemed to echo hollowly in his stomach. It sounded like something someone who very much wanted to talk about themselves would say.
But the truth is, Guanyu felt that he had very little to share. That is, until he remembered.
"None of you were Presented to Amah, right?"
The others' eyes darted across the table at one another, puzzled but intrigued. Haoran's mouth formed a small o once he realized precisely what Guanyu was talking about.
"The rest of us got here before the age of eighteen. So we couldn't have been." Haoran raised a brow, searching for affirmation.
Guanyu nodded. "Exactly. Presentation rounds up all the eighteen-year-old Songs and brings them here, to Amah, so she can meet them face-to-face. There were so many of us."
He remembered that day vividly, from selecting a suit, to the constant fumbling with his cuff links at the house, to Huian reassuringly clutching his fingers on the plane, to the room where about a hundred fresh adults crammed themselves together. Guanyu didn't have to chatter darkly amongst them, he liked keeping quiet and staying relatively unnoticed.
But the doors opened and there she was, Amah in her favorite red Cheongsam, her eyes somehow immediately on him.
"She met everyone there, exchanged a few words with her children, asked some lighthearted questions, but she deliberately skipped me in line. I thought it was because she'd taken offense at how my parents spent their lives building a wall between us and other Songs." He recalled, almost scoffing, now. "I thought I was of no value to her. I was well off, with everything figured out for me. Hell, Huian was managing the company, preparing things me for my responsibilities. There was an arranged marriage, my fiancée was this shallow-minded heiress who only ever stared at my wallet and never once spared a glance at my face. I thought all that was fixed. I thought I was exempt — that things were great and I therefore couldn't be destined for anything greater."
"But what they say is true..." He laughed, stealing another gulp of Zhuang's beer, wincing slightly as the bubbles danced down his throat. "Amah sees each and every one of us, and so clearly."
She'd called his name, at the very end of the Presentation. Song Guanyu, she'd said, so loudly that it echoed well past the chamber walls. Guanyu remembered the feeling of his heart stopping in his chest. The crowd parted, they all looked to him.
He thought that he'd done something wrong. Instead she turned and met his gaze and simply asked, "How much time do you require, child?" Her eyes spoke to him more than her lips.
"They always say Amah calls us home..." He reflected out loud, "But I've never felt anything like that."
The one question hung in the air, rang through his memory. Amah's eyes pierced through his consciousness and unlocked a series of psychological responses, triggered by a bond in that held gaze which reverberated through his blood, hitting him straight in the soul. In that single moment, she hadn't just asked how much time he required, but how much time he needed to make peace with himself, let go of his family, and devote himself to her service.
But most importantly, with that simple utterance, she'd asked how much time he needed to say goodbye to Jiayi.
A whole childhood spent growing with her, fighting for her — the housemaid's daughter he couldn't help but fall for. Their stolen moments after his engagement were made sweeter with longing and more passionate with patience. All gone to waste, left behind, and he could never tell her the truth, lest his duties place her in any kind of danger. They hadn't spoken since he left. About a year, now.
"I used to dream of falling..." His eyes wandered towards the muted television, which flashed photographs of this year's Cade Gala, of which he was once an annual guest. "Because at the top, a collapse feels inevitable."
He thought of Jiayi and the plum blossoms — how he'd pick one for her and the rest of the bunch would cascade gently downwards as she laughed from below, rolling her eyes, whispering, If only you could flutter down to my place without fearing a crash, my love.
"I was there." He mumbled. "No purpose, aimless, empty."
Zhuang looked up at him and scrunched his thick brows together in sympathy. Haoran leaned his head on Guanyu's shoulder. Michio nodded, curtly, understanding. Now they all had purpose, together.
"Do you still dream?" Kuo asked.
"Of course." Guanyu tilted his head, then couldn't help but smile, adding shyly,
"But Amah taught me to fly."
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