The cicadas sang in steady chorus, their voices rising with the hush of the wind. Golden light spilled through swaying trees, casting slow-dancing shadows on the earth. A lone cloud drifted lazily across the pale sky, while leaves rustled like soft whispers, and the scent of sun-warmed grass hung gently in the air.
A little girl rested beneath the shade of an old tree, savoring each moment as the breeze kissed her cheeks and danced through her hair.
"Xiaolan, Xiaolan," came a soft voice, calling like a bell in the warm afternoon air.
The girl opened her eyes, blinking lazily.
"Hmmm?" she murmured.
"Xiaolan," the voice called again. "The sisters are looking for you already."
"Oh, okay! Thank you, Gela," she said with a smile, brushing grass from her dress as she took off running—laughter trailing behind her as she headed back toward the orphanage.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling grounds of the orphanage. Birds flitted between the trees, and the faint hum of cicadas could be heard, blending with the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. To any passerby, the orphanage seemed like a peaceful sanctuary—a haven for orphaned girls. Yet beneath the tranquil surface, the true nature of the place was far from innocent.
Inside, the girls were playing in the garden, their laughter and chatter filling the air. They were free to run, to laugh, to forget the world for a moment. But even in these moments of joy, the subtle, unspoken truth weighed heavily on them—a truth they had long been conditioned to accept.
The orphanage was not a mere refuge. It was a carefully constructed front—an elaborate training ground designed to groom the girls for a singular purpose: to marry Lord Frings.
The Training:
In the heart of the orphanage, a large, well-appointed room served as the classroom. It was here that the girls, from a young age, learned the essential skills that would one day secure their place at Lord Frings's side. The lessons were not just about reading, writing, or history. Those were secondary. The true focus was on training the girls to be the ideal wives and concubines—tools of power, influence, and obedience.
Xiaolan and the others sat in a neatly arranged circle on the soft rugs, their faces serene, their eyes bright with the eager anticipation that had been instilled in them over the years. The instructor, a poised woman with sharp eyes and an air of unquestioned authority, stood before them. She smiled—an expression that held no warmth but was instead a calculated mask of encouragement.
"Today," she began, her voice smooth and controlled, "we will review the skills that will make each of you desirable, worthy of Lord Frings's favor. Do you all understand?"
"Yes, Instructor," the girls responded in unison, their voices soft but full of conviction.
Xiaolan nodded along with the others, but in her heart, there was no doubt. She had been raised to believe that marrying Lord Frings was the ultimate aspiration, the highest honor. Every lesson, every word spoken by the tutors, every moment spent in the garden or practicing courtly dance—everything was a step toward that goal.
The Etiquette Lessons:
The instructor clapped her hands sharply, signaling the start of their daily practice. "Now, remember, posture is everything," she said, pacing back and forth in front of the girls. "When you stand before a nobleman, your body must convey grace, strength, and submission. You must be the perfect balance—firm, yet pliable."
Xiaolan straightened her back, lifting her chin just so, the way they had been taught. It had become second nature by now. She was proud of her posture, proud of her ability to hold herself with dignity. This was her future. She had been taught that every little movement, every glance, every smile could change the course of her life. And it was Lord Frings who would decide her fate.
"Excellent, Xiaolan. Your form is perfect," the instructor said, her eyes lingering on the girl with the slightest approval.
Xiaolan smiled softly to herself, the praise soothing her. She had worked hard for this moment. Every day spent in the orphanage, every lesson, every gesture had been for this—to make her worthy of the future she was promised.
The instructor continued, "Now, we will practice the art of conversation. Remember, it's not just about what you say, but how you say it. You must be able to speak with humility, yet assert yourself when necessary. Lord Frings values intelligence, but more importantly, he values those who know how to listen. You must be patient, attentive, and, above all, respectful."
Xiaolan sat quietly, absorbing the words, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had always admired Lord Frings, from the stories the tutors told to the way he'd sometimes walk through the halls of the orphanage, his presence commanding attention without a word.
"Remember," the instructor added, her voice growing slightly colder, "Lord Frings is a man of great power. His choice is final. A woman must never argue with his decisions. If you cannot bring him joy, if you fail to please him, you will be cast aside. It is better to be adored than to be ignored. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Instructor," the girls responded as one, their voices filled with quiet certainty.
The golden light of the setting sun bathed the garden, and Xiaolan remained seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas filled the air, soothing her restless thoughts. Nearby, Gela continued to tend to the flowers with careful precision, her fingers moving delicately as she arranged the petals in a perfect line. But Xiaolan couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about her today—an unease in her demeanor that wasn't there before.
Gela paused, glancing up from the flowers, her expression unreadable. She met Xiaolan's eyes, the usual calm that defined her giving way to something deeper—something almost bitter.
"You know, Xiaolan," Gela said softly, her voice low and contemplative, "sometimes I think they expect us to forget we're more than just... this. More than just tools for a man's pleasure." She gave a small, almost bitter smile, her eyes distant. "We're being trained to be nothing more than wives, concubines. But what if that's not all we want to be?"
Xiaolan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Gela's tone. "But Gela," she began, confused, "isn't that what we're meant for? To marry Lord Frings? To be chosen and live a life of honor?"
Gela's smile faded, and she slowly shook her head. "I don't want that. I never did."
Xiaolan's eyes widened, uncertainty creeping into her mind. "But... what are you saying, Gela? You've been with us, training, learning how to be perfect for him... I thought this was the life you wanted."
Gela let out a quiet laugh, but it was hollow, tinged with sadness. "You don't understand, do you? I don't want to be a part of that. I don't want to be just a decoration on his arm, or another of his concubines who fades into the background." She paused, her voice stronger now, as if the weight of her words had finally found a way out. "I want to live my life, Xiaolan. To decide for myself what I do with my future, not to be someone's possession."
Xiaolan stared at her, a heavy silence hanging between them. "But where will you go? What will you do?"
Gela looked up at the sky, her gaze far away, as if searching for something beyond the walls of the orphanage, beyond the future that had been mapped out for them. "I don't know. But I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to live in a gilded cage, pretending I'm happy when I'm not." She stood up suddenly, brushing the dirt off her hands. "Maybe I'll escape. Maybe I'll find somewhere where I can be free."
Xiaolan felt a knot form in her chest, a mix of confusion and fear. "You can't just leave! Where will you go? What if something happens to you?"
"I'll take my chances," Gela said, her tone resolute. "But I can't stay here, trapped in this life. Not anymore."
There was a long pause before Xiaolan spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "But if you leave, what about the others? What about me? Won't we all end up the same way, whether we want it or not?"
Gela's gaze softened, and for the first time, her smile felt real—a quiet, sad understanding between them. "Maybe. But at least I'll be choosing it for myself, Xiaolan. I won't let them decide for me."
"You are your own Person, Xiaolan"