The Price of Freedom

When Fu woke up in the mornings, Ma would already be gone. Every day, she would leave for the mountains before the sun could find their little hut, and returned when the only light remaining was the faint shine of the moon and the stars. Initially, Fu had insisted on coming with her, but he would always fall asleep, and fleet-footed Ma would slip out without so much as a tremor in the wind. He had gotten used to it now, but he still felt a pang of guilt when he woke up alone in their small hut. 

Ma, once famed for being the loveliest girl in Shamen, had turned unrecognisable. She had always been slender, but now when Fu curled up against her at night, he could feel ribs poking through skin. Her ebony hair, once sleeker than raven feathers, was thinning into white and grey. Her wrists and neck, once adorned with gold and jade and pearls, grew bare, each precious stone traded for rice or a place to sleep. Even her silk robes were worn into a muddy grey, their luxury little more than a distant memory. The only reminder of their former prosperity was the sparkling, vibrant green of Ma’s butterfly earrings. Once, the beauty of the wearer reflected the perfect jade, but in just a few months, Ma had succumbed to grief, poverty and hunger. The earrings, however, never lost their gleam. In fact, they seemed even more brilliant against Ma’s dullness, their green wings looking so alive that they might just fly away. Neighbors chided Ma to hide them, to sell them, to bury them, anything to avoid suspicion from the Guards, but Ma refused. This was the only piece of Ba she had left, she would say. They were an engagement gift, and Ma promised Fu that someday, when he found a girl he loved as much as Ba had loved Ma, when he was ready to leave home and start his own family, she would give him the earrings too.

After sweeping the dirt floor and cleaning the straw mattress the best he could, Fu would meet Xin at the gate of the farm. Xin’s father, Jian, used to tend the gardens of Ba’s great estate, but now that both Ba and the estate were both gone, Jian had been kind enough to let Ma and Fu live in the hut of his own vegetable farm. In exchange, Ma would travel across the mountains with Jian to sell the vegetables, and Fu would pick out all the worms and weeds and cabbage loopers from the prized cabbages that Ma and Jian would sell. Jian still called Fu “Little Master”, a title Fu felt he no longer deserved. The only thing that hadn’t really changed since the Guards had come was the way Xin and Fu would laugh and play and squabble.

During the day, Xin and Fu would fetch water, tend to the farms, and deliver chives, onions and cabbages to the chicken stew restaurant two miles away. After all their chores, if they still had daylight, they would go to the woods. They used to fear that thick cluster of dark, bristling trees, brimming with rumors of wild boars, poison roots and the ghosts of jilted brides, but when Jian and Ma were away and there was nothing to eat, Xin and Fu had learnt to chew on soft tree bark and wild dandelions. 

Today, Fu’s small, sturdy hands were unusually clumsy as he packed chives and onions with a blundering speed. Jian’s rice supply had just been exhausted, leaving them all hungry, and Fu was desperate to quell the pain in his stomach. His dreams were his only refuge, overflowing with roast goose, fried tofu, and creamy oysters on a bed of pearl white rice, but in reality, bark would have to do. After their chores, Fu dragged Xin to the oak clearing, each step carrying a brisk and desperate exhaustion. Clawing at the trees, Fu’s complete focus was on accessing the edible inner bark. 

“Xin, if you don’t help me, I’m going to eat it all myself.”

“...”

“Hey, Xin, are you alright?”

Xin pursed her lips and a small crease appeared on her forehead. Still scraping at the trees, Fu barely had to glance at Xin to recognise that look, and smiled knowingly.

“What’s your secret?”

Hesitating for a second, Xin plumped down onto the grass and patted the ground, beckoning Fu to lean in for a whisper. Obedient as a needle to its pole, Fu sat down next to her and waited for Xin’s next words.

“Fu, do you ever dream?”

“Of course. I dream every night.”

“What do you dream about?”

He hums. “I guess it depends. My good dreams are mainly about food, you know. And my dad.”

“What about your bad dreams?”

“Nothing is as bad as your breath.”

“Be serious!”

Fu laughed, but the sound was hollow. Xin sat with wide and patient eyes, waiting for her answer. Fu had settled into a crestfallen silence before mumbling, “I dream about that day. But only sometimes.”

The furrow on Xin’s brow deepened, and she put a gentle hand on Xin’s shoulder.

“It’s only sometimes,” Fu repeated, reassuring himself more than Xin. 

“Is it scary?”

Fu thought about the way when he closed his eyes, he could still smell the smoke, taste all the ashes.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Fu nodded slowly. A thoughtful silence blanketed them, and Fu thought maybe the conversation was over. Fu got up to turn back to his tree, but with a sudden tug at his sleeve, Xin pulled him back down and burst out, “My worst dream is staying here. Except it’s not a dream. I don’t want to be hungry or scared or motherless anymore. I just, I can’t! Fu, you mustn't tell anyone, but my father is taking us to the Seafarer tonight. This will be my last day in Shanmen.”

Fu froze. Suddenly, his hunger didn’t seem so important.

“Fu?”

“You’re leaving?” Fu croaked out. “But, where?” 

“To freedom.”

“Where’s that?”

“Father says it’s across the sea. Somewhere away from the Guards.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t really know either. Father said he had to give the Seafarer 20 bags of rice, so it must be wonderful.”

“20 bags? Your father could feed the whole neighborhood!”

“It’s everything we had, but Father said that once we get to Freedom, we’ll never have to worry about going hungry again.”

Fu felt like he had just swallowed the hardest, bitterest bark. Xin looked at him with wide, expectant eyes, and Fu knew she wanted a reassuring answer. The kind of reassurance they had always given each other, even in the darkest of times. Taking a deep breath, the lump in his throat swelled.

“Goodbye Xin. I hope Freedom has mouthwash. I… I’ll miss you.”

Xin’s lower lip quivered, and Fu turned away. It took all his will to hold back his own tears, and Fu knew if he saw Xin cry it would only make it harder to let go of her, of the dream of the jade butterfly.

“Fu, I’m not trying to leave you behind. If I had a choice, I would never give you up.”

A lightning surge of anger overtook Fu. “Yeah well, you did make a choice. And it wasn’t me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s alright. I guess that’s just the price of Freedom.” Fu shrugged coldly, standing up. 

What Fu really wanted to do was howl obscenities and yell betrayal and beg Xin to stay, but he knew she didn’t truly deserve that. He left before her first tear could hit the soft grass. Daylight had begun to fade, and the sky burst with the red and yellow yolk of the sun. Fu knew that if Xin was here, they would have raced home, chasing the last golden embers of sunset. But today, as darkness settled over Shanmen, Fu walked alone.