Zhuge Liang arrives at Chaisang with Lu Su

The harbour of Chaisang was a glorious sight. White sails lined the shores, the navel vessels neatly lined up next to the docks. The smaller crafts were sailing orderly in and out of the port. Merchants and fisherman were busy unloading their goods at the dock, getting ready for the day’s market.

Zhuge Liang turned to his companion for the mission, and complimented on the fine city.

Lu Su smiled, “Ever since lord Quan arrived with the troops, we had to set up strict regulations to ensure that the livelihood of the people is not affected. Lord Chen Pu is extremely strict about keeping military order, and you will not find strife or discord within our army.

Zhuge Liang nodded and the two exchanged light commentary on the state of Chai sang. In his mind, however, the emissary of Lord Liu was preparing for the upcoming meeting with the lord of Wu. He was very much aware that he would have his work cut out for him. He was young, he did not hold high rank (some would argue that since lord Liu had a low official position, he who had been appointed by lord Liu had no real position at all), or achieve great fame outside of his own commandery. Furthermore, lord Liu had just suffered a major defeat, one which he barely survived, he had little land, and only a small army to bargain with. With the duke Cao pressing down hard, it was reasonable that no lord would want to get in the way of the prime minister.

Still, even against the odds, the sleeping dragon had confidence, for failure was simply not an option. How could one face the world if he can not repay the kindness his lord had shown him? Coming from afar to venture into the wilderness three times just for a chance to meet a reclusive scholar. Kongming was eternally grateful, and would not allow such a great man filled with bravery and aspirations to perish. The alliance with Wu will form, he will personally see to it.

Settling the court disputes and arrive of Zhou Yu

He had presented all his arguments, lord Quan had approved of his stream of thought, and Lu Su had greatly backed him by stating that to surrender or lose, the lord of Wu’s fate will be the same. However, the literary officials were creating an upheaval, and lord Quan remains indecisive.

That was where you entered the picture, my dearest Gongjin. Having played all his other cards, Lu Su withdrew his Ace. A messenger was sent out immediately to recall one Zhou Yu, commander in chief and the person who overseas all external affairs.

You arrived with such a flourish, silver armour shining and a smirk adorning your face. You stride confidently through the crowd of officials, some of them which, after their initial greeting, pushed most urgently for you to back their side of the argument. However, you waved them aside with a smile, as if their concerns were nothing, and you had much better things to do than to discuss such trifling issues with them.

To this day, I am not sure if you realised this, but at first sight, my sentiment followed that of the others, I admired you.

Reception of Zhuge Liang at Zhou Yu's manor

The notes being played on the zither were sharp and clear, a tale of conquer and ambition cutting into the midnight fog. He truly was a brilliant musician, able to pass his emotions on flawlessly to a seasoned listener. I was pleased to find no note of doubt, but a twinge of sorrow piped my curiosity.

Understanding one’s heart, one’s nature and desires is crucial for winning battles, this applies to both enemy and ally. For an ally can easily morph into an enemy once your common enemies are defeated. To the outside world, I merely smiled, but to myself, I set out a goal to find out just what exactly is on the commander’s mind.

Later that night, he invited me to spend the night at the guest house. I was introduced to his wife, the younger of the Qiao sisters. She was an energetic and kind woman, and indeed as the rumours say, her beauty was unparalleled. I was surprised when upon discussion, I find that she is also well versed in literature and the current happenings of politics. Our discussion reminded me much of the ones I would have with my own wife Yue Ying, who while could in no way match the lady Qiao’s beauty, was a woman of great intellect. I silently bereted myself for thinking that the commander would choose a wife who has beauty alone.

The borrowing of the arrows - Part 1

“Time is of the essence,” He said to me, “but it will be too dangerous to confront an army more than three times our size without preparation.

Master Kongming, who do you believe to be the most efficient way of battling on water?”

It was a rather pointless question coming from someone like him. If he did not specifically state my name, I would have assumed it was a rhetorical question. With my suspicion aroused, I answered carefully.
“By the firing of arrows, lord Gongjin.”

“Ah, but duke Cao’s army is better supplied than ours. Could you, with all your brilliance, come up with a way to remedy that?”

I smiled at him then, and it was only slightly strained.
“If it’s the commander’s order, then Liang will do his best.”

If he admired my courage for accepting a difficult military order, then there was little sign of it. Something did flash through his eyes, but it was too quick for me to catch it.

“How many days and what materials do you think you will need?”

So the noose pulls tighter, a time and resource restriction too. However, I was always one who rose to a challenge, provided that the challenge was possible, as this one should be. With the beginning of the plan already forming in my mind, I sat back slightly, and calmly fanned myself.

Gongjin smiled at me, seemingly patient to wait for my answer, but there was a new predatory light now in his eyes.

This drabble will be continued ^^

Attempt at translation of Japanese lyrics XD
Some I couldn't find the equivelent words, or in other cases, I found them but was unable to make them work. The chorus is mising, I am just unable to compact them to fit the rhythem of the song T_T

Cruel Angel's Thesis - Neon Genesis Evangelion
Phase one
Like an angel who has no sense of mercy
Rise young boy and become the legend

Cold winds, as blue as the sea
Tears opens the door to your heart, I see
Through your loss and pain, for nobody’s gain
A battle stretched to eternity

Desperate, for someone’s touch
A moment of kindness like that in a dream
Your innocent eyes, have yet no idea
Of the blood shed by you and me

Dark is the blood that fills the seashore
Waters set fire by you
What you have done and what you may do
The world spread for you to chew

Phase two
Sleeping, in the cradle of love
Embraced by the end of passage of time
It’s time to rise, to release and shine
The messenger of dreams awaits you

Moonlight, the mirror of
Your eyes and the inner light of your soul
Did you know, walking to your doom
Is the price you are having to pay

So if we are bound by fate in the future
Let us bloom and not fall
Together we will create a bible
Yearning for lost freedom

Phase three
Here we are creating a new chapter of history
Stringing pieces of love
Maybe someday the truth will be shown
This world no longer a fool

The Old Man - Attempt at a horror ficlet

"Would you like some more orange juice, honey?" asked Christina her aunt.
"Oh, no it's ok. I'm full," said Amanda trying very hard not to offend her aunt.
But the fact is she is very hungry but the juice tasted sour and disgusting. The juice at home tasted much better. Oh home, she thought, home sweet home. She had to come to the country to stay with her aunt for two weeks because her parents went to Hawaii for a holiday to celebrate their wedding anniversary. So she had to stay with her aunt and cousin Fiona.
*
"Wake up Amanda," shouted Fiona, "it's 9:30 already, we have overslept."
"I know, hey, does your aunt stay up till midnight every night? She was walking all over the house and I can't sleep with noise like that."
"What noise? I didn't hear anything at all."
"A noise like some one stomping their feet, I'm surprised that you didn't hear it, it was pretty loud." Said Amanda thoughtfully.
I only been here for one day and I can't even go to sleep, hope mum and dad are having fun in Hawaii!
She looked across the room. It was tidy and clean, above the fireplace hang an oil painting of a tall man staring straight ahead.
What are you looking at? She thought bitterly. But looking at the painting gave her an eerie felling. A chill ran down her spine, she looked away.
"Did you girls sleep well," asked her aunt suddenly disturbed her daydream.
"Yes, aunt Christina what time did you go to sleep last night?" Amanda felt uncomfortable asking. After all it was none of her business.
"10:30, didn't we all?" Fiona butted in.
"What's the matter? You don't have to hold anything back Amanda."
"Oh, it's nothing.' Said Amanda quickly. Not wanting to go to deeply into this conversation.
"Ok, then. Everybody happy? Fiona, why don't you make your self useful and show Amanda around and maybe go for a swim in the pool."

There it is again, a kind of a shuffling sound. Amanda looked at Fiona who was sound asleep and didn't show any sign of waking up.
Oh well, I'll just check it out no big deal. Gosh it gets cold at nighttime.
Shivering she stepped out of her bed and reached for the light. But for some reason she couldn't find the switches to it.
She could also fell that as if something was different as if the house itself was changing and the atmosphere changes with it.
Amanda stepped back and tried to get back into her bed but to her horror she found that the room was empty! It didn't even looked like a room any more! It was shaped like a tunnel and it had cave rocks instead of walls.
Amanda was sweating because of fear and the humidity in the cave. She saw a shadow at the other end and it disappeared all of a sudden. Her throat dried up just as quickly.
Suddenly a figure appeared beside her, it was a tall bony man. He was ghastly pale and had worn ripped old fashioned clothes.
Amanda screamed, the high pitched sound blurred her senses. The caves seemed to be caving in on her as rocks all around her were falling. She was struggling to breath, her chest felt like it was carrying the weight of a mountain. Then she realised that the tall bony figure was covering her mouth to stop her from screaming.
"Be quiet," the bony figure said," they can't hear you."
"Who are you?" Amanda managed to gasp.
"A good question, I suppose you don't remember your own grandfather?"
Amanda's mind was now blank. So much happened to her that her mind completely froze, like a dream…

The birds were already awake and singing happily. As for Amanda her dream was mysterious and she remembers little of it. She turned in her bed, Fiona was still asleep. She felt something hard on her bed it was a necklace heavy and shining in the early morning sun. It gave off a brilliant yellow ray. Amanda looked at it more closely and then everything came back to her. Her dream, the painting, the tall bony figure was the man in the painting. The things he told her in her dream, the family treasure, how he was murdered and how her aunt, the old mans daughter murdered him because she didn't want to share the family treasure with her mum.
Could it be that the old man's ghost somehow communicated with her through her dream and told her the dark family secret?
She looked down at the necklace, how could she have got it? She had often read in books about third dimensions. But she's not willing to believe the fact. The old man had told her the necklace was a key to the treasure. And the treasure is right in front of their eyes.
She looked at the necklace again, it was funny shaped. She slowly walked into the living room in front of the painting. The eyes of the painting were no longer staring at her. They were staring down at the fireplace.
She remembered the old man's words: the treasure is right before your eyes.
Amanda looked at the fireplace. She thought
Could it be…

Fin~

What A Day! - A parody story of my friends XD

Once upon a day, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and a little girl called Sharon Swaron went to a school called Redwich girls high. Sharon was very rich because her mum was a lawyer and her dada a businessmen.
Sharon went to a private rich primary school and she was naturally smart. She was awarded the smartest 12-year-old girl in the whole of the state when she graduated from primary, but because of this and the fact that she was popular, she became a very stuck up kind of person.
When Sharon first went to Redwich girls high she though she'll still be popular and the one loved by all the teachers, but she couldn't have been more wrong. In thinking this. Because Sharon was rich and smart and stuck up everyone at Redwich girls either hated her, disliked her or wanted nothing to do with her.
She had only 1 friend called Lily who was like a total opposite of Sharon. Lily was poor, dull but most people don't mind her. The reason that she was Sharon's friend was that at the beginning of the year the teacher made Lily show Sharon around the school and Sharon proved to be a very useful person to have around. As when Lily needed new clothes but couldn't afford it then Sharon would buy it for her instead. If Lily didn't know how to do her homework then Sharon would do it for her.
Sharon didn't want to go to Redwich girls high, but it's the closest school to her home and her parents don't want her to go to another school so far away.

But there was something different about today. As Sharon walked to school today there was a buzzing sound behind her. As she turned around she saw a little creature smaller than the size of a normal kitten floating above her. It was black and red and had wings, Sharon thought it looked rather evil.
'Hi', said the creature.' I'm here to help you make some decent friends, I'm Emily the devil.'
Sharon didn't trust strangers, especially devil-looking creatures. But she was desperate for real friends. So she signed a secret deal with the devil and continued to walk to school.
As she got there, the whole class came to meet her at the gate. They were shouting and waving and smiling at her. At first Sharon though that this can't be real but soon she got used to it. Everyone wants to be her friend!!!
Sharon felt happier than she ever had been before. She didn't need friends like Lily who used her anymore. She had real friends! Everyone wanted to sit next to her in class and everyone wanted to sit next to her at lunch. Sharon was getting to quiet enjoy all the attention.
When she went to the toilet the devil appeared again. This time it was carrying a trident. It said,
'Well Sharon, it's time to pay the price of being popular.'
'What price?' whispered Sharon in a scared voice.
'You signed the contract, now you must pay the price. You must give me your soul!' said the devil with an evil laugh.
'What I said no such thing!' but when she checked her contract it was clear that she now must give her soul to the devil for 1 hour of being popular. 'Hey, the contact changed! It didn't say that before!' Screamed Sharon.
'No it didn't change!' Crackled the devil. 'Now you must give me your soul or you'll pay!
'No I won't!' Shouted Sharon. "No way!'

'No you won't? Well then you'll pay for this!' And the devil disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Sharon returned to the classroom 10 minutes late because of her meeting with the devil. When she got to class she tried to sit next to Anna. Who Sharon wanted to be friends with. But as soon as Sharon sat down Anna moved away again to another table. And the teacher Miss Jenny rounded on Sharon and said,
'Sharon, you're late. You'll be getting detention this afternoon' I'll see you after the class too.
Sharon moved to sit next to Lily, thinking that Lily at least won't reject her if the devil made her unpopular again But as soon as she sat down for the second time Lily stood up and went to sit next to Anna. They whispered to each other, looked at Sharon and cracked up laughing. The whole class laughed with them and even the teacher Miss Jenny joined in.
Sharon couldn't stand it any more, this was worth than hell. She ran out of the classroom bursting with tears and headed for the toilets. As soon as she got in she found that something else was already waiting for her. It was another little creature but unlike the devil it was yellow and white and it was holding a wand.

'Hi, this is Mandy the angel, I'm going to help you get your life on track and stop Emily the devil doing those horrible things to you.' Said the angel.
'No, I will not trust anyone anymore' Sobbed Sharon
'No, I can't make you popular but I can give you your old life back' said the angel sweetly.
'Yeah, and take my soul.' Sharon continued to sob.
'No I will not do such a thing, look, why do people hate you?'
'Because the devil made them do it.' *sob* sob*
'No, I mean before the devil made you sign the contract' the angel said
'Because I'm stuck-up?' Sharon had stopped sobbing
'Yup, be nice to people and people will be nice to you. Try it.' Encouraged the angel.
'Oh really! Well I'll try it and see if I can get some friends" Smiled Sharon.
'Just kidding, you can't remove the curse from the devil, but I can help you get out of this mess if you let me.' Asked the angel
'Oh, all right. What's the use? My life is at rock bottom anyways'
The angel waved her wand and Sharon became very sleepy. She suddenly found herself lying on her bed at home. She looked at her clock. It was 7:30pm there were flowers and get well cards for her. She looked at one closely, it said
'I heard that you passed out today, I'm sorry that I ever made fun of you. Hope you get better. Love Anna.' Wow, thought Sharon, they didn't really hate her at all. She opened all the cards, it contained cards and gifts from everyone! Sharon lay back and smiled to herself. Today is a weird day, that's for sure. What a day!

Fin ~

Okay, I lied, Trail wasn't the most morbid story I wrote, this one has to take that award. Originally written in Chinese, and then translated.

eXistence

It is a sunny day. J wandered around in the hair salon, finally sat still on a chair. There would be a directorate meeting for him to attend later in the afternoon; he had to watch the time. The air conditioning was too strong, so he went to the small room at the back of the salon. It was designed as a manger office when the salon was built, but he never used it once.
J was a successful young IT manger. Among his numerous sub-industries, the hair salon wasn’t much associated to his profession. It was built solely for the will of Master when he past away from lung cancer.
The salon was fashionable and hygienic, containing every element the youths of today seek for. It soon became famous and profitable. But J did not like it. He missed the past, the barbershops on streets big and small in the old city site, the obsolete style. They were his childhood memory. Master in his short gowns, black iron scissors, and the power puff used to wipe out the remaining cut out hair. A whitewood tall chair, a six-month out-of-dated newspaper, and a small cart containing three layers of plastic curl clippers.

Every season, J would come around to the salon, examining the environment and checking up the account. On that day, the salon would close for an afternoon. He had to be responsible for the Master. He was always responsible.
He pushed the door of the room and stepped in. On the wall contrary to the window where the sunlight could reach, hung an enlarged black and white photo, embedded in a golden glass frame. Apparently it was taken in the early 90s, with heavy texture and vivid strong colors.
The pretty girl in the photo was smiling innocently, with very beautiful hair fell to her waist, sitting on a chair in the barbershop. A boy of her age stood in the background holding a scissor, fingers on her head, fixing her hair.
It had been a long time not seeing this photo. So long that he could not remember. It was brought here from the old barbershop when the salon was first opened.
She liked where the sun shone.
J wanted to turn around and leave, but stayed. He walked over, looking at the photo. He held out his right hand hesitantly, touching the girl’s face on the photo. The glass frame was too cold.
The middle finger, ring finger and small finger were missing on that hand. The palm was distorted with half of it gone.
Maybe it was because of this hand, J who had nearly everything a 25-yr-old guy can wish for had not had any girlfriends or women as one might thought he would.
Maybe it was because of the girl in the photo.

It’s her. Her eyes and hair.
He smelt her scent. Soft and warm. He breathed slowly, painfully.
For many years the air around him smelt of blood and broken fiber. He dared not breathe too hard. Or else his chest would be ripped apart, torn through.


J’s father was a factory worker. From his earliest memories, father was a painful and worn-out middle-aged man. His wife died on the night J was born from his birth. That day the factory offered him to work overtime and though he could reject the offer, he stayed. And his nine-month pregnant wife stayed at home alone.
It was the time of inefficient communication. By the time he came back from work, he had already delayed his wife’s chance of going to the hospital for emergency treatments. From then on he lived in deep guilt and remorse. The pain of widowing at mid-age made him numb and heavy.
He never blamed J. He only blamed himself.
Seven years later, the rolling mill that accompanied him for years caused an accident. He was rolled on to the automatic scroll strip, and was scrunched by the machine. A horrific death.
J was not allowed to see his father’s corpse.

From that day, J moved from the suburban area into the flourishing city. He became a prentice in a barbershop in one of those large residential courtyards. The Master was a skillful barber, being the cousin of J’s mother. He saw great potential in J and decided to forester him as his inheritor. Therefore he never thought of sending him to school. But J liked to study, and he often sneaked to the close-by primary school, leaning outside the window of classrooms on the first floor and listen to the classes.
Grandpa S from the neighborhood was an old friend of the Master’s and he taught J lessons. Grandpa was a teacher back when he was young and had had a daughter. After his retirement, his son-in-law was abroad so his daughter, granddaughter lived together with the old couple.
His granddaughter’s name was N. She was two years younger than J, a clever pretty girl favored by everyone, with extremely beautiful hair.

As J’s skills improved rapidly, he could cut the hair for kids or customers who don’t really care. Every time N came to the barbershop, her always-smiling grandma accompanied her, and Master would do her hair by himself.
When J turned thirteen. Master went out shopping for barber tools one day, and J was looking after the shop by himself. N came alone. She stood below the stairs outside the barbershop and rang the bell.
It was a very sunny day, with a sun from decade ago shining merrily down her dark black hair, casting ripples of light.
J looked at her smile. Her dress shifted and flew in the air. He suddenly felt an enormous fear crawling up his back, and twisted his hands behind his back with all his effort. He was worried about whether he could cut N’s hair properly. She would be sad for sure if that happens.
He wished he would never see her hurt or cry.

She sat down; J wrapped the plastic protecting sheet around her shoulders. He held the scissor and put his hand slightly on her head. He was shaking. He could feel her body temperature and her scent. Soft and warm.
He dared not to look at her face in the mirror.
Eventually he fixed her hair to a perfect shape with great prudence, and whisked off the cut off hair. She stood up, flipped her hair a bit and said that she liked the power puff and bath powder used in the shop. He looked into her eyes, bit down his lips and remained silent. She took out a handful of coins from the pocket on her dress, waiting for him to open his right hand doubtfully. She put the coins in his hand, one by one.
She smiled and said, when you cut my hair for me, I felt your fingers are really warm.

He fell in love with her because of her hair.
She fell in love with him because of his fingers.

From then on, N replaced her grandpa, visiting J after schools and on weekends; teaching him and doing homework with him. Sometimes J’s speed and accuracy exceeded N who was always academically outstanding.
He cut her hair for her. They chat while he did so. He put his fingers lightly on her head; she smiled at him in the mirror. He felt the touch of her hair an incredible tactility.
Such a simple felicity.

N went to a selective high school when she was twelve. Her grandpa persuaded Master to give J an education, and promised to support him financially. Soon afterwards, J got into the same high school. The teachers were shocked by his abilities and agreed to let him jump a grade. He was then one year higher than N.
But J despised the school. He loved learning new knowledge, but couldn’t get use to the schooling mode and school rules. Even though teachers never favored him, his performances at school could not be underestimated. There were always girls from lower years waiting outside his classroom building to peek at him.
He would only cut N’s hair with that special prudence.
Later on, a photographer from a hair product company passed by the barbershop. He saw J cutting N’s hair, and took a photo of them as one of a series of advertisements. Master liked it a lot, enlarged it and hung it in the barbershop. He told Grandpa S that it would be the perfect signboard for the shop.

Thereupon the moment was made eternal. Only if it could stay forever.

J became more indolent at school. He would jig the classes he disliked, wandering under the sun outside the school, or sneaking back to the barbershop watching Master and other prentices working.
He just didn’t like being bounded to the classroom like a lifeless puppet, listening to someone else’s orders no matter what. The teachers were not like Master. Master might be harsh, but he never scolded a prentice unreasonably with only pieces of information on him. It was hard work as a barber, but a perfect project always brought fulfillment. Unlike doing some pointless things at school, mostly suffocating the students’ creativity and their free spirits.
Maybe the school did not suit him.

J’s truanting behavior was increasingly obvious, and he had a bad attitude towards the teachers. But since he remained the top of the year, teachers had to just let him go. The Master was too busy to care his school life.
But the gangster people around the school area had noticed J wandering constantly during school time. This sort of pointless high school students were the best type they hunted to join the gang. Out of boredom, J started hanging around with them. They often appeared at the once popular game worlds and underground discos. To J, it wasn’t a matter of principles.
He did not tell this to N like he always did with other things. N could understand his truants. But he knew she wouldn’t like those people he hung around with.
He just didn’t want to worry her.

J soon found out these people were far beyond the simple definition of “not going to schools”. They stopped students after schools to “borrow money”, sold cigarettes to students, and had constant fights with another gang. J knew what they did was wrong. He wasn’t a kid without a sense of justice. But he did establish some true friendship in the gang, and never involved himself in any sort of activities. He was soon disliked by some of the members because of this. But he didn’t care.
Until N became involved.

J dragged on to year 11. It was a winter day; the night fell when the school finished. Several people from J’s gang whom he was not familiar were in need of some cash. They went to the small labyrinthic path in a deserted residential area near the school, where many students used as a shortcut. They stopped a girl on the path, asked her for money and started to insult her.
N took that way home that day, and ran into the scene. The girl was crying silently, and N recognized her as her classmate. Her way was not blocked completely, but she was paralyzed by fear.
Because of the desolated position, it would be useless to call out for help. N decided to walk close as slight as possible, grabbed the girl’s hand and led her to run. After seconds of confusion, the guys chased after them and N knew their speed was too slow to escape. So she asked her friend to run off and get help fast, she herself stopped to let the guys catch up with her.
But the girl never came back for N.

They took N to a deserted workshop of a nearby factory and planned to blackmail her parents for ransom. The factory was where the gang usually met. J and two of his close mates also went.
N’s dress was ripped and she dropped her bag while running with her friend; her long silky hair a mess. They bounded her wrists and ankles and blindfolded her. N kept her silence wisely.
Then J saw her.
He said, I know this girl. Let her go.
Arguments. Conflicts. Pushing and tussles.
N heard J’s voice, tried to break the ropes by rubbing them against the old rolling mill behind her. But she only struggled out of the black blindfold that covered her eyes.
J shouted at his friends to get N and run. But they were all involved in fights against the other group of people. Seeing N’s effort of escaping, a guy grabbed her and pushed her down on the rolling mill. J was forced to retreat beside the machine as well. He had had several bruises and cuts on his face and arms.
All of a sudden, someone turned on the machine during the fight accidentally. After deserted for years, the machine started to operate, creating a tremendous noise.
The scrolling strip carrying N started to scroll towards the rolling mill. Bounded by the ropes, N could not balance on herself to stand up.
J rushed towards her. He tried to use his own hands to stop the scroll strip from taking N into the mill.
N struggled free.
J’s right hand was rolled into the machine.

The sound of bone grinding filled people’s ears. All fights stopped and the time froze. One of J’s friends ran over to the machine, found the hidden switch and turned it off.
So much blood. The air was suffused with the sweet iron smell of blood. N was kneeling beside the rolling mill the moment she escaped. She stayed at that position and looked at J emotionlessly. The corners of her mouth twisted a distorted fragile smile.
J took his hand out calmly. It was no longer a hand. Deformed by the remains and pieces of blood, flesh and bones. Blood spewed out from the wound that seemed to be everywhere on his hand. There were blood’s redness, mud’s blackness, N’s white dress stained by white and black, splattered everywhere in front of his eyes.
He grabbed N’s hand with his left hand and ran out of the factory with his friends.
They stopped a taxi and rushed to the nearby hospital.

The blood could not be stopped. On the car, N and J sat at the backseats. She was still holding his left hand. Both hands were freezing cold, unable to comfort each other. Pain started to spread. It was an indescribably frightening sensation.
J used all his strength not to grasp tight on his left hand to make her ache.
Scrunching the bone into pieces, tearing the flesh apart. J glimpsed at his supposed right hand. The bone on his palm was exposed, and the cracked blood vessels could be seen clearly. It was not possible to distinguish the figures of the fingers.
He just looked at her. She remained smiling, tears flooding from her eyes uncontrollably, but not affecting her merry expression.
It was the first time he saw her cry. And she was smiling.
Lost the ability to speak.

The car drove upon a crossroad. The sky was pitch black without stars, streetlamps beside the road shone brightly as the car drove by fast. Dark, light, dark, light. The reddish light appeared momentarily and perished, until the next came by in an instant, casting dancing shadows on human bodies. N suddenly turned around, leaned over and kissed J’s lips lightly. Paled face. Cold and soft.
The incredible tactility similar to the touch of her hair. Is it her lips or her tears.
Then she bent down, held his shaking right hand and kissed his remaining thumb and index finger. She lay down quietly, resting her head on his legs. Her long hair stained by his blood and her own tears, fell down around her shoulders and hid her face. His left hand was on her hair.
It is the blood of love, running along my hair. J likes my hair. The way I like his fingers.
Tears continued to run, this time horizontally across her face. She wore blood as the most beautiful lipstick. With those pretty lips she smiled happily.

J’s fingers were incurable. Three of them needed immediate amputation; a third of his palm was gone. The other two had difficulties moving.
He soon quitted school.
N’s family insisted to move and changed her school.
Such a simple deprivation.

J’s right hand became disabled, unable to continue his career as a barber for life. While sinking in deep sorrow, Master decided to give him more freedom of his own choice of life. J bought back textbooks and exercises for self-study, and got into university. After graduation, he opened his own company and gained the success others could not expected nor dreamed of.
Master also felt proud for J. The barbershop was losing its businesses. It lacked new technologies and the decorations the majority of people seek after. The old style could only gain the aged customers living in the courtyard. And it wasn’t uncommon receiving the death news of some faithful old customers. The income was going down, and most of the workers left. J supported Master all the time, both emotionally and financially. He provided aids to let the barbershop continued.
Until the year before last year, the Master was found with lung cancer, and was at the last stage already. On his deathbed, his only wish was to let J open a barbershop and inherit his business.
Because of Master’s will, J opened up this new barbershop—no, it’s called “the beauty salon”. The business continued, but it could never be the same again. Maybe Master wouldn’t like this kind of place…neither did J. but this is the only way to survive in the new society.

There was no information on N all these years. He had learnt not to miss her.
But J still missed her. Wanted to know where she was, what she was doing, how was her life. Even if there were only bits and pieces about her...
Because he loved her. And was still loving her. He missed the mere moment when her lips touched his skin, many broken tenderness, nowhere to abreact.
It was the most painful moment in his entire life. The happiest moment.

The doorbell suddenly rang violently. J walked over to the front calmly. With the specious frosty he always wore.
The salon’s frequenters would definitely know that it would not be opened on this day. Even if the person had never been here before, they should’ve known from the empty look inside and the “closed” sign hanging on the front door.
He walked to the door. The sun shone merrily through the huge glass doors, casting warm and stinging aura in his eyes. He thought he felt pain and tears. But he didn’t.
Such a shockingly similar weather.
Below the several steps outside, a girl in a short dress was waiting.
J opened the door and said, sorry but we’re closed this afternoon. There are no hair designers working right now. You’re welcomed tomorrow morning.
The girl walked up and said, then can you please cut my hair? I only need a little fix on the brim. I have to catch a plane later this afternoon and I really can’t wait any longer.
It was not possible to distinguish her face clearly from the shady direction. But he could see it was a pretty girl with a matching bandana wrapped around her hair. Her voice was soft, but the tune determined.

J suddenly decided to agree.
He let her in, and she sat down on the farthest chair from the door. J wrapped plastic protection sheet around her shoulders, twisted and relaxed his wrists and held up a scissor with his left hand. After years of practicing and experiences, J could cut people’s hair with his left hand, only that it has to be easy tasks like fixing the brims.
He took off the girl’s bandana.
Her hair quality was silky and soft. Dark black hair didn’t seem to have been dyed before.
J used his fingers to flipped through her hair lightly; only to find out she had very thin hair. Beneath her hair was an empty scalp, with pieces of uneven bald spots. He felt a bout of sadness and sorrow. A young pretty girl like this without nice hair, it must’ve been painful. Maybe that was why she used a bandana to cover it up.
It was a disability, a disfigurement just like his fingers. He would’ve wanted to hide them away from everyone’s sight. But he couldn’t. They were the ugly scars he had to expose to the world of cruelty and disdain.

He used the remaining two fingers on the right hand to take up locks of hair, cutting and fixing them, trying not to touch the bold spots on her scalp.
Then he felt that sudden fear. The fear that he would hurt her and make her sad. He didn’t want to trigger the girl’s pain because he didn’t want to hurt her. But he wasn’t a man of sympathy. He was offered too less sympathy to give out any.
But right now. He dared not to look at the girl’s face in the mirror.
The girl’s hair was good, and felt nice touching it with his fingers. J looked down at her hair, put his hand lightly on her head, and felt her body temperature and scent.
Such familiarity.
But it can’t be N. It wouldn’t be. N’s hair was not like this.
Probably it was because he hadn’t held that scissor for too long, and the first time he cut someone’s hair in decade was for a girl of N’s age. It was only a delusion.

Half way through, J needed to use the water spray placed on the dresser. He held out his empty right hand and reached for the spray. He felt the girl’s eyes nailed on his fingerless hand.
He was used to it alright. Been despised and discriminated against like a monster. He was a monster.
Many nights he raised his hand under the moonlight and examined them. The fingerless distorted limb cast malformed shapes on the ghastly wall. He wanted to scream, but he just remained silent. The humiliation he bore was way heavier than being stared at. Therefore he wouldn’t care an unknown girl staring at him horrifically.
It was for N. And he never doubted whether the sacrifice was worthy or not.

It was difficult to fix the girl’s hair. Because the hair was too thin, it was impossible to give her a nice style. J couldn’t imagine why her hair became that. It didn’t seem to be caused by any decease or chemical treatments, or else the rest of her hair wouldn’t be as healthy.
Eventually he couldn’t hold his curiosity and asked, what’s with your hair.
The things you’ve said can never be taken back.