Chapter 467: Memories and something missing

Chapter 467: Daphne

A hundred something years ago. Original world Daphne flashback.

***

I fucking hate this.

I fucking hate my life.

I look at the ill-fitting blouse and skirt, the cheap slippers that pinch my toes. I practice my smile in the mirror—small, demure, invisible. The kind of smile that says I am nothing, please do not notice me.

I shapeshift into something small.

Not literally. But emotionally. Mentally. I shrink myself until I am barely there, until I am just another piece of furniture in a house that never wanted me.

I walk out of my room and toward the dining hall.

My mother is already seated. My sister. My sister-in-law. My grandmother—the matriarch, the gatekeeper of tradition, the woman who has made it her life’s mission to ensure that every female Han knows her place.

All the Han women.

I take my seat next to my sister, as far from the head of the table as possible. I make myself small. I make myself quiet. I pray they do not involve me in their conversations.

Soon, the men walk in.

We all stand.

The food is served. We wait until the men pick their food before we are allowed to touch ours. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

It is the twenty-first century.

But the Hans have not moved on with the times.

The conversation is business with them. As we sit here, silent, eat silent, be silent—like Grandmother always says, a woman should not be heard but felt.

Then I hear my name.

"The girl Daphne... The son of..." Grandfather says.

"I’m seventeen," I intervene.

Everyone zeroes in on me. They cannot believe I dared to speak up. My grandfather looks at me and at least has the decency to look embarrassed. Yeah. This is not your time, old man. When teenagers could be sold.

He clears his throat.

"The other girl," he says, motioning to my sister.

"She’s in talks with the son of—"

I zone out for the rest of dinner.

After dinner, the men leave first.

Then it is time for us to leave. I stand immediately, ready to escape—

"Daphne."

The grand old matriarch says, more like how a Korean would mispronounce my name. I am her grandchild; the least she could do is learn to pronounce it correctly. I do not even know why I was given an English name. It makes me stand out among the family.

I know why. An English businessman named me. They were apparently close friends; he had the so-called honor of naming me. Only Grandfather and said businessman are no longer in contact, so I am just here with an English name. At least I go to an expensive foreign school, where many kids have English names, so I do not stand out there.

"Grandmother," I say with a smile.

She motions for me to come closer. She looks me up and down.

"You do not interrupt the elders when speaking," she says. "It is unfilial."

"I’m sorry." It is all I can say.

She studies me and sighs.

"You are too tall for a girl," she says. "And why are your shoulders so broad? Your arms and legs so masculine? And you are not developed at all. I do not understand why you are built like this compared to your mother and sister."

She lists all my faults like she is reading a shopping list.

I am happy I am tall. I am happy I am muscular. I work out, after all—how else will I get the girls when I finally escape from this place?

"She cannot wear any heels at all," Grandmother continues. "And let us have her learn an art, at least. Embroidery, perhaps."

"I have done embroidery," I say.

She looks at me.

"As well as piano. Traditional cooking. Violin. Tried dancing. Painting. Traditional painting—Chinese and Korean. I know Korean, Chinese, Japanese, English, French, and Russian. I go for extra lessons after class for traditional Eastern dance and more cuisines."

She keeps her mouth shut.

One thing I have perfected is being perfect so they have nothing to nit-pick. The less they pay attention to me, the easier it will be for me to slip away.

She clears her throat.

My mother looks at me with pride in her eyes. As if this is something to be proud of. Being the perfect daughter to be sold off? I suppose that is what she was—coming from a Chinese rich family as a connection to this Korean one. My sister seems content in this life too.

Not me.

It is not just that I would rather set myself on fire than be with a man. Even if I were not gay, I would want more for my life than to be an accessory.

Since she cannot find any other fault, she nitpicks the only thing she can: my body. A grueling twenty minutes later, I am excused.

I walk back toward my room.

I do not go there.

Instead, I walk to my brother’s office. I have memorized his schedule, the servants’ routines, everyone’s movements. I know exactly when he will be away, when the coast is clear.

I slip inside.

I open the drawer.

He is overconfident. He believes no one would dare do something like this in his own home. He is wrong.

I take pictures of his work documents. I slip the phone back into my pocket. I close the drawer. I leave.

I walk back to my room.

I lock the door.

I sit on my bed.

I pull out my phone and text my buyers.I may or may not be selling company secrets and data.

But this family can go fuck itself, honestly.

After completing the transaction, I go on social media. I look at the videos of happy people at a pride parade.

I am certainly escaping, I think. And because of my shitty life, I am going to be with as many women as I can.

***

Wow. What a shitty dream. More like a memory, really.

I sit up and drink the water on the side of the bed. I look at Elara sleeping on my side. I had this dream because she was here talking about how I changed.

I stand up and go to the painting room. This time, I do not paint my beloved. Something different, actually.

I get my pencil and sketch. I look at the rough sketch of a high-rise penthouse office. I loved how the office overlooked the city. I sketch a pair of heels on the ground—I used to wear heels to piss off the old men board members, and it was a fuck you to my grandmother too.

Was I happy?

Yes. And no.

Yes, because I had the freedom I longed for. Because I had all the women. Because I succeeded and was significantly more successful than my family.

No, because despite it all, something was missing.

I do not know why, but I keep sketching. And Jiang Yuxi finds herself in the picture. The sketch is complete.

Yeah.

Nothing is missing anymore.

It is not that I changed. It is just that the me then and the me now did not have her.

I look at the sketch. Jiang Yuxi’s face looking over the city skyline. The same city I once ruled. The same city I once escaped.

I think of Lyra.

I wish I could go back to the Hans and introduce my family—just for the sole reason of seeing them choke to death.

I laugh quietly to myself.