Act 1
Siyue Town
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"Again?" said an old man. 

He sat next to a decently sized stall, elbow propped on the table, and fist against his cheek. This stall carried a small variety of averagely baked goods, ranging from "okay," to "that's burnt." 

Despite this old geezer being the owner, it wasn't he who manned the stall. 

Behind the counter stood a younger man, well within his twenties. He was busy reorganizing the merchandise and continued doing so until the older man slapped his arms a few times. 

And finally, he'd slowly lift those eyes and join his father in staring at whatever earned the phrase 'again.' 

Another young man! Much younger and more innocent in appearance. He frantically meandered down the market street, his straight black hair fluttering behind, and in the least fashionable way possible, stumbled on every cracked brick in sight.

And there were many…far too many. 

"What do you mean again?" the young man asked, his eyes shifting along, watching the poor lad bump, shove, and trip his way through the street. 

Those white boots of his just couldn't keep up, and yet they still padded along the ground in sheer determination. The son wasn't sure if it was pity cringe he felt. 

"Shouldn't you be used to it already, Father? This isn't anything new." 

His father slammed a hand against the stall surface, and every basket on display shook. The woman ahead took a step back in surprise, while the son placed his hands on every basket in an attempt to station them. 

Mission success! 

"Used to it?! I mean, look at him!" The elder held out his hands, motioning them toward the blue-robed man. He'd been stopped ahead of a large crowd of gossiping women, all tucked together and caught up in this week's prosaic event. 

"Day in and day out, the same thing. Constantly!" shouted the old man, loud enough that even those on the other side of the market street could hear. "Same blue robe, same book, same…that…whatever that is! Blue ribbon or whatever he puts in his hair! Can't he try and look masculine for once?! Is it really that hard?! Do something, child!"

The son passed the customer her goods, mouthing the word "thank you" with a smile, and said, "Fixation isn't healthy." 

"You're too young to understand." 

As if the conversation had ended, the son returned to his work, refilling each basket—placing the new atop the old, in good ol' merchant fashion. But to ask an old man to cease his nonsense? Well, that was nonsense! 

Once more, the son had to reach around the baskets and station them in place. His father had slammed his hand on the stall counter once more, and this time with twice as much force. 

It attracted not only the attention of those around, but the young man in question. 

He was busy bouncing on his heels, hugging a book close to his chest, and trying to speak over the loud, chattering women. To no avail, every beg and plea of his would go unnoticed, and none would even bat an eyelash in his direction. 

When the slam echoed, his eyes widened, and he anxiously turned to find the pair of old eyes glaring at him. 

Yikes! No, thanks! This young man only had so much time to spare on his usual daily activities before he'd have to return home. Why spend it on obnoxious old men? 

"Same path! Every day! Without fail, too!" The old man shouted, just as the blue-robed individual desperately tried to pry his way through the women. "There's something annoying about a man who repeats the same thing every day!" 

The son rolled his eyes, neatly tidying each roll. 

Nose scrunched, the old man added, "We should bet," as he watched one of those women slap the blue-robed man on the hand. 

In an attempt to change the subject—mostly to protect the rolls—the son asked, "Have you spoken to the Headman by chance, Father?" 

"No, I haven't," replied the old man. Regardless of his son's success, he still seemed fixated on the one ahead. "He returned from his trip already?" 

"Just this morning!" The customer from earlier spoke up, tucking her basket into her arms. "At dawn. He was busy with the fishermen all morning—talking about some ice ordeal. You really didn't know?" 

"Why would I?" The elder scowled before puffing away the annoyance. "It's summer, why would there be ice?" 

"Well! The same to you! How in the heavens would you think I'd know the answer to that if the headman hasn't a clue?!" She shook her head. "Why not make use of his son? Gods forbid you've been gawking at him all morning." 

Though it was meant to be an insult, the older man pursed his lips and his entire face seemed to light up, as if he had an epiphany. 

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled, "TAO HUA!" 

Nothing. He was ignored. All his son could do was suck in his lips and try not to laugh. 

But the old man was an old man, and therefore stubborn! Inhaling, he shouted so loudly that no one on that street—from the Southern Gate all the way to the Northern Gate—could ignore him! 

"T-A-O," he began, inhaling more and adding, "H-U-A!" 

"Please—please move!" Tao Hua cried, trying to push through the women. But one just shoved him back with a pinched look of anger on their faces. 

It's right there! Frustratingly gritting his teeth, he peered over the women's head. The exact place he was trying to run to, and his refuge. It's literally right there!

Why couldn't they just let him through?! 

See, most people in that small town were that way. Best said, Siyue Town was brimming with miserable folk, all bored with nothing more than time to gossip. 

And when people were both bored and miserable, well, they typically took it out on anything or anyone they deemed lower. 

That victim was unfortunately Tao Hua. 

He stared down at his hand, blowing against the reddened impact of the woman's slap. Now, one may ask, why deal with such a town? 

It wasn't that simple. 

Siyue Town was a backwater location located deep within the heart of Buzhi Forest. This forest was best known for its folktales and dangerous atmosphere. 

The validity of these stories ranges, but upon reading those tales, Tao Hua didn't dare question them. Each story sent a shiver down his spine, and he declared never to step foot in that forest, even if it meant living a life targeted by misery. 

Given the sturdy walls of Siyue Town, it was somehow safe from the threat of this forest. One glance toward them, and the gawker would see trees taller than the eyes view. 

But Siyue Town was in disrepair, so to have such magnificent and magically endowed walls surround it? That wasn't a mere coincidence, and was said to be a gift from the Imperial Emperor of Zhonglai himself. 

Most citizens worded it as if this man was the very personification of benevolence—a saviour. To grant them such protection under the blessing of his best Daoist. 

How lucky! How lucky…

Tao Hua frowned. He couldn't help but feel those walls were poised in order to keep these citizens trapped, but who was he to argue his own father's reasoning? 

Besides, he'd never dared tiptoe near, as the looming trees often terrified him, only ever filling him with doubt. 

Alas! This young dreamer was trapped within those walls! Twenty years, and still not a soul to save him. That hope dwindled long ago, thus accepting what was his fate, tied in a dirty red string. 

Heaving a sigh, he lowered his hand just as the old man kept hollering his name. He offered a small apology to the woman, only for her to roll her eyes and turn back to her friends. 

They weren't going to move. He'd just have to endure whatever insults or lectures the elder had in store. 

"TAO HUA!" the old man kept calling, just as his son's eyes widened, slapping his hand against his father's arm over and over. "What?! Is he deaf or something? I'm loud enough, am I--" 

To Tao Hua's confusion, the old man clamped his mouth shut and recoiled back into his seat; the women vacated, and the entire street went quiet. 

That's a first… Furrowing his brows, Tao Hua thought, they never go this quiet. Normally, they comment a bit more before letting me go.

So, Tao Hua took the moment to bask in that silence, shifting his head up to glance at the blue sky. A lonely cloud drifted along, and a pang of sadness welled up in Tao Hua's chest. 

He yearned to be that very cloud and flutter away from this place.

Maybe they came to their senses, he thought. Funny. When did that ever happen? 

Each person in this town was built like clockwork with one exception: these clocks couldn't fucking tell the time. Therefore, any chance of them treating Tao Hua with even a sliver of grace was nothing more than wishful thinking. 

That was the price of being different from the masses! But Tao Hua had his coping mechanism. He'd spent twenty years building them from the ground up, too! 

These were in books.

Better expressed: if the people of this town didn't want him, then some book tossed aside did. The moment he flipped open a book, he could escape this awful one and explore a world of prose.

He didn't have to be himself. 

The characters in these stories often embraced different; celebrated even! It was the perfect dreamworld for a dreamer trapped in the cage of hateful men, and no longer was he the common denominator. 

Hah. If only. 

Lowering his head, Tao Hua glanced around once more at the oddity of the situation before finally turning and heading off. 

He was already late for his daily scheduled dissociation. Clutching the book, Tao Hua whirled away from the startled folk, his blue robe, black hair, and ribbon twirling along with him. 

 However, unbeknownst to him, the very reason for such silence stood right behind, with an equally stunned look on his face. 

The book in his hand flew out of his hand and slammed into the ground. 

And with a loud yelp, he uttered, "Oof!" 

Chapter end. 

Art Note

The art is commission done by Zazhah from Vgen! Worth checking them out! I'll be commissioning them for most of the illustrations in my novel (some will still be by me, though). 

Art of Tao Hua