A Forgotten Friend

Qinghe and Wei Xiang, led by Jing Shui, quickly went to the receiving hall where guests were usually seated.

As the three pushed the door open and entered, they saw a man looking to be in his late thirties sitting inside with apparent nervousness.

His body was skinny, his brown hair fastened with a simple, almost crude, hair ornament, and his clothes were equally as unimpressive. But his light-colored eyes held deep wells of kindness and maturity that showed through despite his anxiety as he looked up to study the people who had suddenly entered.

The middle-aged man's gaze fixed on a certain person, his expression showing surprise, warmth, and relief as he called in a hesitant tone, "Qinghe?"

For a moment, Qinghe felt stunned.

Then, as if in reaction to the man's voice, something within him seemed to shatter.

Qinghe felt like a spike was being driven through his brain as memories tried to break free. The sudden, sharp pain blooming in his skull caused him to grip his head as he tried to keep from staggering due to the agony.

"Qinghe!" a voice shouted out, alarmed.

Qinghe felt Wei Xiang's arms close around him and Jing Shui calling out in worry. He felt his control over his spiritual energy slipping as wind began blasting around him in violent gusts.

He felt as if some psychological barrier was being torn apart in his mind.

Amid the waves of excruciating pain, Qinghe's consciousness thankfully faded into darkness.

Then he began dreaming of long lost memories.

Like tightly wound threads unraveling, the images and impressions filtered into his befuddled mind, taking over and leaving Qinghe no choice but to witness that which he had thought was better forgotten.

The darkness gave way to the familiar feeling of lying curled on a cold, rough floor, with a heavy metal collar weighing around his throat. The sounds of being hit echoed through the dingy surroundings.

The blows rocked through Qinghe, but none impacted him. A thinner but taller body covered Qinghe completely, receiving the kicks instead. He could feel bones rattling as the blows thudded through the person protecting him.

Qinghe tried to struggle free. No! This wasn't right! He wasn't the one who should be protected right now! But his efforts were futile and the boy wrapped around him didn't loosen his hold at all.

"Yan Lin, let me go! Let me fight them!" Qinghe said to the frowning boy who was using himself as a shield.

Gasping as the hits kept coming, Yan Lin shook his head.

"But I can beat them!"

Yan Lin shook his head again and held Qinghe tightly, unwilling to let him go.

Qinghe knew that Yan Lin didn't like to hurt others or see them being hurt. He would rather take the pain of being hit rather than hit back. Being considered weak for his kindness, the other kids and even the wardens bullied him. It frustrated Qinghe to no end that Yan Lin wouldn't let Qinghe fight on his behalf.

By the time Qinghe had been brought to the orphanage, Yan Lin was already in a very bad condition. He had barely said two words to Qinghe before he stopped speaking completely, his heart too wounded in this wretched place where hurting each other meant survival.

After Qinghe arrived, he tried to protect Yan Lin. But thinking of himself as a burden, Yan Lin never let his little friend help.

"Hmph, this is boring," one of their attackers said in a childish voice, landing a few more perfunctory kicks before he strutted away. The rest of his pals followed, muttering things like 'useless', 'too soft', and 'weak'.

Occurrences like this, where the many ganged up on the few, were hardly a novelty in this place.

Uncaring of the consequences and infuriated for his friend, Qinghe wanted to rise up and kick their attackers' butts till it was swollen purple. But his sudden movement caused Yan Lin to exhale in pain. Worried, Qinghe bent down and easily lifted the older kid up, moving towards the corner in the orphanage that they used most often. It was more important to let Yan Lin rest now, taking revenge could wait.

"You should really let me beat them up once or twice. Then they wouldn't dare come to cause you trouble ever again," Qinghe said, his child-like voice tinted with impetuous arrogance and anger. There was still a trace of nobility in his speech, remnants of his time before he fell from the sky and was dragged into this place.

Yan Lin smiled despite the pain and patted Qinghe on the head to show that he appreciated the offer.

Huffing, the little boy complained, "You never let me have any fun."

Soft chuffs of soundless laughter escaped Yan Lin. He reached his hands over and pinched Qinghe's chubby little cheeks and the little boy obediently let him. Yan Lin was the only point of warmth in this desolate place overflowing with greed and desperation.

He was the one person worth protecting in this farce of an orphanage packed with human filth.

Time flowed and Qinghe relived his childhood days. The events he normally remembered seemed hazy and distant, while these newly recovered memories of Yan Lin felt clear and defined, more real than anything else.

And so the days passed, turning into weeks, then months, and finally years, and Yan Lin's condition grew worse and worse.

One day, a man came in, led by one of the wardens. He wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent of unwashed bodies as his eyes looked over the children crammed into the grimy little room.

"Choose any one of these brats. We'll clean 'em up and prepare 'em for you," the warden said and left.

The children all stared vigilantly at this adult who looked at them like he was choosing prey.

"Come now kids, which one of you wants to enter the playroom with me? We can have tons of fun~" the man said, malicious intent belying his words.

None of the kids responded.

But hearing the man's words, Qinghe frowned in thought. What was this 'playroom'? Did it have toys?

Though he didn't remember his past, his memories having been lost when he fell to the ground, his body shattered, Qinghe still remembered that toys were fun things that he liked.

Just as he was considering, a pale-faced Yan Lin suddenly pushed Qinghe behind himself.

The man had been taking in the place and was carefully studying the dirty faces of the starved children, trying to see which one of them was the best-looking.

Because Qinghe was hidden by Yan Lin, the man couldn't see him, but his gaze nevertheless fixed in their direction eventually.

Throwing contemptuous looks at the piled up kids in his way, the man mercilessly stomped on them as he walked towards Yan Lin and the concealed Qinghe. Crunches of fragile bones being broken and pitiful cries of pain sounded out continuously. The children scrambled to get out of the man's way to avoid getting stepped on, and with his path cleared, the man quickly arrived in front of Yan Lin.

The man peered into the thin child's face as if assessing something. He pinched Yan Lin's jaw between his fingers and twisted his head this way and that as if observing his face from all angles. Letting go, the man then slid his hands up and down the child's body, pinching and rubbing intrusively.

Hidden behind Yan Lin and pressed between his friend and the wall, Qinghe could feel the shudders of revulsion vibrating through his friend's body, though he didn't understand the emotion behind the trembling at this point.

Despite being touched and groped by the man's ungentle hands, Yan Lin didn't dare move lest Qinghe be found out.

The man stepped back and finally said, "You have a good face and body, a bit too skinny, but so delicate and pretty. You'll do."

Saying so, he gripped Yan Lin's upper arm and dragged him towards the door, not even looking back to see the now-exposed Qinghe.

As Qinghe watched with wide eyes, trying to follow Yan Lin as he was being led out, Yan Lin looked back and smiled at him, shaking his head. Hesitantly, Qinghe stopped. Since Yan Lin was telling him not to worry, it must be okay.

But Qinghe still worried.

From that day on, Yan Lin would be led out by various men, all taking him to the playroom. Each time, Yan Lin would make Qinghe hide, as if afraid the men would find him.

Qinghe didn't understand what went on in the playroom and Yan Lin never told him. But every time Yan Lin returned from there, he would look miserable and in pain, the light in his eyes almost drained. His face and body would always be littered with vicious bruises and he slowly started avoiding the touch of everyone except Qinghe.

Qinghe asked him if the wardens were beating him up again, but Yan Lin would merely look at Qinghe and try to smile reassuringly.

This only made Qinghe curious to know more, since he didn't understand or recognize the complex emotions of hate, terror, and disgust that saturated Yan Lin's gaze every time he brought it up.

"Does that room have toys to play with?" Qinghe tried to guess, though he knew it wasn't likely by now. But he couldn't for the life of him deduce what was in this 'playroom'.

For a second, Yan Lin's face turned pale as if remembering something horrible, then he composed himself. He tried to smile and nodded at the other child to appease him, since the little one's eyes were burning with such anticipation at the thought of toys, along with the intense need to know.

"It really has toys?! Then is it fun? I think playing with toys is supposed to be fun. Maybe I should sneak in and take a look," Qinghe said excitedly.

"No!" Yan Lin whispered suddenly, horror and desperation coloring his voice that had gotten hoarse from disuse, his thin body trembling fiercely.

Before Qinghe could react to hearing his friend's voice after such a long time, Yan Lin had already leapt forward to hug Qinghe hard, his arms wrapping around him so tightly that Qinghe felt the creak of his bones. Yan Lin's thin body, having only gotten thinner over these months of abuse, shuddered violently as silent sobs wracked him.

Qinghe felt panic and worry as he stroked his hand over his friend's back. He didn't understand this sudden outburst of emotion at all. "Y-Yan Lin? What happened? Did someone hurt you? Tell me and I'll beat them up, okay?"

Yan Lin shook his head, still clinging onto Qinghe desperately.

"T-Then…is it about the playroom? Do you not want to share the toys? It's okay, I won't play with them. I won't even look at them or try to find them! You can keep them to yourself, I promise! Now it's okay, right?"

But Yan Lin didn't respond, only crying soundlessly without tears.

Qinghe was mired in abject helplessness, not knowing what to do. However, this sense of helplessness and loss of control would only get worse.

As the days went by, Yan Lin's eyes turned more and more dull. He stopped eating and never moved unless he had to, only lying there in a corner seemingly without life, withdrawing into himself more and more.

And still the men came to drag him away every day.

Every time Qinghe tried to fight them off without care of exposing himself, Yan Lin would interfere and wordlessly make Qinghe let him go.

Qinghe was beside himself with worry. By this time, even he had begun connecting the wounds on Yan Lin and his fading will to live to the playroom. But unless Yan Lin himself cooperated, Qinghe wouldn't know what the exact problem was, and if he didn't know, how could he fix it?

One day, when Qinghe woke up, Yan Lin simply wasn't there anymore.

Soon after, the men that usually came for his friend dragged Qinghe out instead.

As he was being taken to the playroom, Qinghe managed to pry the truth out of the men with a bit of manipulating and wheedling.

The men said that Yan Lin went crazy and tried to fight a few wardens because he'd heard them talking about including Qinghe in their playtime. Since he had injured quite a lot of people when he went berserk, Yan Lin had been beaten badly and thrown off a cliff to die.

And now, Qinghe was supposed to take his friend's place.

A surge of bitterness, fear, panic, and despair welled up in Qinghe's heart, threatening to overflow and wash away his sanity.

So his friend was dead? He had died just like that?

The only light in this hellhole had been extinguished so easily, so meaninglessly…

…all because Yan Lin had tried to protect him?

And now, despite Yan Lin's efforts, Qinghe was being taken to that blasted playroom which had caused his friend such misfortune.

Carefully, Qinghe pushed down his gushing emotions that threatened to tear him apart at the seams. Determination and resolution firmed his gaze.

Though he knew it was going to be terrible, though he knew it would be painful, Qinghe still thought he could take whatever was going to happen.

He had come to a conjecture that the playroom was where the wardens brought people to hit and vent their violence on the kids. Though it sounded somewhat improbable, Qinghe thought it at least explained how Yan Lin got his bruises.

Since Qinghe had good pain tolerance, he thought it wouldn't be as terrible for him as it had been for Yan Lin. And since what got Yan Lin killed was his care for him, Qinghe decided that he should at least experience what Yan Lin had had to go through these past few months.

But the reality had been more terrible and incomprehensible than his inexperienced twelve-year-old self could have imagined.

The short time he had spent in the playroom had scarred him beyond compare. He couldn't even imagine how Yan Lin had survived months of this torment.

And to Qinghe's fortune, the sect master had arrived shortly after he entered the playroom for the first time. He had been rescued before the worst could happen.

But there had been no one who had come for Yan Lin.

Remembering the cluelessly insensitive questions he had asked Yan Lin about the playroom, Qinghe's chest felt like it would explode with pain and regret.

He remembered the frail body suddenly embracing him as his friend had trembled, unable to speak of what was being done to him, trying to protect the innocence of Qinghe's mind even then.

He remembered the life in those eyes dulling, the warmth in that thin body cooling as the days passed, as if Yan Lin's vitality was unable to keep up with his despair.

Even if nothing had happened, he would still have died eventually. Qinghe was certain of that.

All these images played and played and finally ground to a halt.

Now, Qinghe finally understood why he had so desperately blocked these memories. The crushing weight of the guilt and remorse was too unbearable for him to carry…

Qinghe felt his consciousness slowly returning. He almost wished it didn't.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Wei Xiang's worried face. Without assessing the situation at all, Qinghe leapt up and hugged his lover, silently asking for comfort.

Wei Xiang startled at the suddenness of the embrace, but dutifully rubbed his hand up and down along Qinghe's spine, attempting to soothe him. Though he hadn't had the chance to see his awakened lover's expression, he instinctively knew that he was beyond upset.

He was surprised, however, to find that Qinghe's body had started shuddering with quiet sobs. He could feel a telltale wetness spreading on his shoulder where Qinghe had buried his face.

Alarmed, Wei Xiang spoke, "Qinghe? Love? What's wrong? Did you regain your memories?"

Qinghe silently nodded.

Thinking that he shouldn't avoid it anymore, Qinghe sat up, tears still wetting his cheeks, the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose red.

"It's all my fault, he almost died because of me. I should apologize to him."

Wei Xiang raised his eyebrows. He had never seen his lover so distraught before and he didn't like it one bit. Though he didn't know what Qinghe had seen in his memories, Wei Xiang still gave him a reasonable suggestion. "Rather than blaming yourself, you should go and talk to this Yan Lin. I'm sure he doesn't hold you accountable."

Unconvinced, Qinghe tried to protest, "B-But, I―"

Wei Xiang interrupted with a firm order. "Talk to him before you think any further."

While still looking conflicted, Qinghe nodded.