Chapter 2 (Draft)
I have no memories of my childhood. Where others recall playing in the fields and celebrating hallowed days with their families, I only see a dark void with fleeting glimpses of my father. What I do remember, I cherish. I remember my father as a kind man who taught me how to catch grasshoppers, fish and make a proper fist when throwing a punch.
No other memories exist of my mother or the rest of my family. But once in a while, I am haunted by fragments of a child’s life lost in my sleep. One recurring dream is of a sister who comes in different forms to comfort me.
I do know I was born into the emperor class. But my birth mother was a servant girl in our home who seduced my father and became pregnant with twins—at least that is the story I heard. My father’s wife, the empress, banished her without hesitation when the cries of a boy and girl twins echoed through our halls. My empress mother kept my birth origin a secret to avoid a shameful reputation, and she despised us for it.
After my father died, my family sold my sister and me as orphaned slaves to a Jingozi Gamesmaster. Formally, we were not slaves, as I still had a family and right as my father’s heir. But the empress and her eleven sons convinced the Jingozi I was illegitimate by birth with no name or title. And the Jingozi happily paid bags of the ever-coveted Zi for foundlings to serve their ways.
So, growing up, all I knew was The Game.
My Jingozi Gamemaster was responsible for administrating The Game. Every day we polished cards, counted Zi, and I served guests as he presided over champion matches. During The Game, a Gamemaster’s authority was final. Therefore, they committed to impartiality and kept meticulous records with historical reverence.
For some reason, the Jingozi did not have names. So I decided to call him the Teacher because he patiently taught me everything I knew about The Game and reminded me of the wise older men who visited my father—at least as much as an alien could look like one of us.
The Teacher was not a cruel master. But he was stoic, and the Jingozi could uncannily sense your thoughts and feelings before you spoke.
One day, while preparing for a match, he noticed my suppressed agitation spoke to me.
“What is it, foundling?”
After a moment, I found my courage and asked, “You said my family sold my sister. Where is she?”
The Teacher responded with cold bluntness, “An Amazonian trader bought your sister. From there, I do not know what became of her. Why do you ask now?”
I had met Amazon champions in the past briefly during The Game. As fierce female warriors, they took girl foundlings and trained them for their ranks. But very few survived. Did my sister become a grand Amazon champion? Or did she die during the trials like so many before her? Strangely, I felt indifferent because I could not even picture her face.
“I didn’t know I was ready for the answer.”
The Teacher put down his stack of cards and took a calculated moment staring intently at me through his white eyes with no pupils. After what seemed way too long, he prompted me as he always did.
“You have something else on your mind.”
Yes. The question about my sister was a cover for what I indeed sought to know. And I knew in my gut that I was not ready for the answer. But I needed to understand.
My throat was dry, and my voice cracked as I blurted out, “Why the hell did you come to our planet?”
As expected, the Teacher did not react to my tone. He paused again, shifting his weight as if to prepare for the moment. And his answer did not disappoint.
Everything I learned that day would change the course of my life forever because I realized a chance to win my freedom.
I was right in thinking I was not ready.
But I would be.