Spring Breeze Caresses the Wild Grass

My father was a human trafficker. My mother was the daughter of a billionaire he’d kidnapped. The day the police finally found us, he fell off a cliff during the chase and died. My mother and I were sent back to her family, the Wentworths. But my mother’s mind was broken. She screamed and shoved me away. “I never gave birth to a trafficker’s child.” My grandfather trembled with rage. “The Wentworth family will not have such a mongrel in our house.” They sent me away to a prestigious boarding school. The school’s top bully tormented me, forcing me to eat from a dog bowl. “Your father was an animal,” he sneered. “So you’ll eat like one.” After one forced bite, I started to cry. No one had ever told me that a dog’s dinner could be this delicious.

1 The moment the bully’s lackey, Gabe, shoved my face into the dog bowl, an incredible aroma of savory meat shot up my nose. I stared at the chunks of salmon and beef, and I couldn’t help myself. I took a small bite. The next second, a tear plopped into the bowl. In my entire life… I had never tasted anything so good. Ignoring the hand still pressing down on my head, I buried my face in the bowl and began to eat ravenously, swallowing my tears along with the food. “What the hell?” Gabe yelped, snatching his hand back and stumbling away. “She’s… she’s actually eating it!” The head bully, Jax, stared for a moment, then nudged his other friend, Porky. “Are you sure that food is clean? The dog hasn’t eaten from it, right? No germs? Why’s she acting so weird?” Porky looked just as stunned, scratching his head. “I watched my housekeeper make it fresh. To teach her a lesson, I even used yesterday’s leftover salmon and beef. The bowl’s new, though.” While they were talking, I had already licked the bowl so clean it shined. I looked up, my eyes wet and pleading, and asked in a small voice, “Is there… any more? I haven’t eaten in three days…” Jax kicked a nearby chair over, his face a mask of fury. “What, you like it now? You’re addicted?!” But I wasn’t scared. When my father got drunk, he liked to beat me. He was a big man, well over two hundred pounds, and his fists were the size of sandbags. Once, my mother tried to run away. When he caught her, he was so angry he broke a dozen thorny branches beating her with them. I threw myself over her, begging him to stop, but his eyes were bloodshot with rage. He grabbed a hoe and swung it at my head. I was unconscious for three days after that. I still have a long scar on my forehead. Besides that scar, my body was a map of other injuries—from pinches, from scalding water, from the thorny branches… No matter how fierce these boys tried to be, they could never be as terrifying as that man. Bianca, the most popular girl in school, walked by with her lunch tray and rolled her eyes. “Are you guys stupid? Just give her the stuff you don’t want to eat.” With a blank expression, she dumped all the broccoli, carrots, and fatty meat from her tray into my dog bowl. The students around us had a collective lightbulb moment. Soon, a mountain of food piled up in my bowl. “I hate bell peppers!” “Here, you can have this. The shrimp smells weird.” “Crab is too much work.” “This pork belly is way too fatty. You’ll get sick.” I stared blankly at the ever-growing pile of leftovers: steamed lobster, a whole Dungeness crab, glistening braised pork belly… No, these weren’t leftovers. This was my paradise. “Is… is all this really for me?” I asked timidly, my voice barely a whisper. “Weirdo. She really is an idiot.” Gabe muttered as he walked away, but not before tossing a chicken leg into my bowl. Porky stared at my bowl for a long moment, then turned to Jax. “Hey, man, you think that dog food is really that good? She looks like she’s really enjoying it…” Jax gritted his teeth and yelled at me, “You’re not leaving until you finish every last bite! You hear me?!” Then he spun around and kicked Porky. “What are you looking at! You want some too?!” Once most of the students had left, I cradled the heavy bowl and found a quiet corner to squat in. Sunlight streamed through the window, making every grain of rice sparkle. I grabbed a piece of meat with my hand and shoved it into my mouth, then scooped up a huge mouthful of rice, my cheeks puffing out like a hamster’s.

2 During her moments of clarity, my mother told me she used to play the piano. But all ten of her fingers had been smashed and deformed. She couldn’t even hold my hand properly. For as long as I could remember, she was locked in the pigpen, a long iron chain fastened around her neck. She would often scream like a madwoman, muttering in a foreign language I didn’t understand, her words eventually dissolving into sobs. She ran away every chance she got. At first, she would try to take me with her. I wasn’t wanted in that house either. I was a girl, and because of that, I was despised from the moment I was born. Growing up, the man I called Father only ever called me “Worthless Girl.” When I was eight, he finally took me to get registered. The clerk at the office asked for my name. “Worthless Girl,” he grunted impatiently. The clerk looked at him in disbelief. “Are you sure? Once it’s on the certificate, it’s not easy to change.” “She’s just as worthless as her mother. She doesn’t deserve a good name.” The clerk, furious, scribbled “Lynn” on the paper and asked if that was correct. My father couldn’t read. He assumed it was the name he’d given me and nodded dismissively. I huddled by the counter with my head down, only breathing a sigh of relief when I saw the name on the official document. As we were leaving, the clerk slipped a hundred-dollar bill into my hand. I looked up at her with gratitude. When we were far enough away and my father wasn’t looking, I turned back and gave her a deep, long bow. That night, after he got drunk, I took the money and the key to the pigpen. It was the dead of winter. My mother was wearing nothing but a torn tank top, shivering in a corner. Her hair was a matted mess, and the skin on her neck was a thick, dark red callus from the iron chain. “Mom, take this and run.” I expertly unlocked the chain and gave her the money. She stared blankly at the banknote. She had been cut off from the world for so long she didn’t recognize the new currency. Suddenly, her eyes filled with suspicion. “You’re lying to me. You’re his child. You must be trying to trick me.” Her mind was a fractured thing back then, her words disjointed and confused. I coaxed and pleaded until I finally got her out the door. But we hadn’t gone more than a few steps before we ran into a neighbor on his nightly patrol. The villagers came after us with torches and dragged us back. That time, we were beaten black and blue. They smashed a rock against her head, leaving a deep gash. The blood soaked through the straw in the pigpen. When she woke up, the only thing in her eyes when she looked at me was hatred. “It’s all your fault. If it weren’t for you, I would have escaped.” “Please, sweetie, can you help Mommy get away?” “Your family are all demons. Please, just let me go.” Her mind slipped further and further away. Around that time, a charity began sponsoring our village, and I was sent to the town school. As I learned more about the world, I began to understand. My mother had been kidnapped. I was the child of a human trafficker. I told this secret to my only friend. The next day, the entire class ostracized me. “Your mom’s a psycho, your dad’s a monster, and you’re no better.” They threw trash at me, spat at me. Once, they shoved my head into a toilet.

3 Eventually, the police followed a lead and found us. They rescued my mother and me. My mother’s sanity came and went. But when she was lucid, she was in agony. The moment she saw me, she would shrink away, trembling. “I don’t know her. She’s not my child.” My grandfather was so enraged he had a heart attack. He refused to let me in the house. “The Wentworth family has no place for such a mongrel. To think that scum is even associated with our family.” My cousin, Connor, threw me out. I had nowhere to go, but I was too worried about my mother to leave. I squatted by the front gate for two days until I finally fainted from hunger on the steps. When I woke up, I was in a hospital with an IV in my arm. My grandfather stood by the bed, leaning on a cane, his hair completely white. “Child, don’t blame us. Neither your mother nor the Wentworth family can accept you. It’s not your fault, but you have his blood. We will pay for your schooling, give you the best education possible. But beyond that, you’re on your own.” I didn’t blame them. I understood. I was that man’s daughter. It was a stain that could never be washed away. I didn’t dare ask if they could give me something to eat. I was starving. But I knew they were all suffering. My mother, my grandfather. Just being able to continue school was more than I could have hoped for. That man had planned to pull me out after elementary school, just so I could learn a few words and fetch a higher price when he married me off. And so, I was sent to this school. They seemed to have paid for all my tuition, but they must have forgotten about living expenses. Since returning to the Wentworths, I hadn’t eaten a single meal. The only thing in my stomach was the glucose from the IV drip. My cousin Connor wasn’t at this school, but he had already spread the word to his friends here: My father was a human trafficker, and they should “take care” of me. To be able to eat my fill, and to eat so well, with so much meat I’d never even seen before… I was deeply grateful. Being “taken care of” was a wonderful thing.

4 When I returned to the classroom, no one threw trash at me or laughed, which I had expected. Logically, after learning my story, no one should want anything to do with me. I went back to my seat in the last row. The girl next to me was beautiful, with cool, distant eyes. Her uniform was so clean it seemed to smell like sunshine. When I sat down, she didn’t cover her nose and complain about the smell like my old deskmates used to. She did, however, frown slightly and shift her books a half-inch away from me. “What are you looking at? Turn to page 28.” Her voice was so pleasant that I just stared at her for a moment. “Are you still daydreaming? If you fail the exam and drag down our class average, you’ll have to answer to me.” I quickly flipped to page 28, a strange feeling twisting in my gut. They must have something else planned for me. I’d heard that the rich kids at these elite schools had all sorts of creative ways to torture people. But for the rest of the class, no one bothered me. When the teacher came in, everything was normal. I later learned that she was Sloane, the class academic officer, and the class average was the most important thing in the world to her. From then on, things started appearing on my desk. Sometimes it was a photocopied set of her neatly written notes, other times it was an old workbook with key problems highlighted. My math was terrible. During lunch break, when the classroom was mostly empty, she would tap my desk with her pen. “This problem. Look at the construction line first.” Her tone was flat, but she explained each step incredibly slowly, pausing until she saw the confusion clear from my eyes before moving on. My English was a complete blank slate. I barely knew the alphabet. She wordlessly tossed me an old Walkman. “Study this. I’m quizzing you tomorrow.” She always had a scowl on her face, but her voice was so nice to listen to. As she was teaching me how to pronounce a word, I zoned out again. “Has your voice always been this beautiful?” I blurted out. She froze, her face flushing bright red. She jabbed my test paper with her pen. “If you don’t start paying attention, I really will have to answer to you. Look at this, you only got a 38 on the quiz.” I didn’t dare let my mind wander again. I started waking up before dawn every day to practice my English. Back in my old school, everyone ignored me, which gave me a lot of time to study. I was always at the top of my class. But now I was in last place, dragging down our average. I couldn’t let Sloane’s efforts go to waste.

5 Without any money, food became a problem. I went to the school office and asked if there were any work-study opportunities. My homeroom teacher looked at me as if I’d told a joke. “This is an elite academy. We don’t have students working.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Weren’t you sent here by the Wentworth family? How could you possibly be short on money?” Another teacher quietly pulled her aside. “She’s the one who was kidnapped with the Wentworth daughter. The one born to the trafficker.” My teacher was young, fresh from studying abroad. Her face went pale, and she jumped back as if I were contagious. “We don’t have a work-study program. You should go back to class now.” She muttered under her breath, “What is this school coming to, letting in just anyone.” I walked out of the office with my head down. I had heard words like that my whole life. I was immune by now. If I couldn’t work, I’d just have to go to the cafeteria. At least the kimchi and soup were free. I wonder if there will be any “dog food” today? The thought of that meal made my mouth water and my stomach clench. I had just sat down in my usual corner when a heavy lunchbox landed on the table in front of me with a thud. Jax stood over me, hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed. “Hey. Are all you girls so obsessed with dieting? Just drinking soup? Eat this. Maybe it’ll put some meat on your bones.” Porky stood beside him, trying his best to look menacing. “Yeah! My cousin cries for a whole morning if she gains a single pound!” I didn’t say anything. I just quietly opened the lunchbox. Inside were braised pork ribs, stir-fried shrimp, two perfectly fried sunny-side-up eggs, and a generous portion of tightly packed rice. I picked up the spoon and started eating. The food was still warm. The ribs were so tender they fell off the bone, and the shrimp were sweet and fresh. I ate quickly and cleanly. In two minutes, the box was empty. I even scraped the last bit of oil from the sides with my spoon. “Thank you,” I said, putting the empty box down and looking up at him. My eyes started to feel hot. Jax froze, and his ears turned a shade of crimson I could see from across the room. He took a sharp step back, his voice rising in a flustered jumble. “Are—are you crazy? Who needs your thanks! We’re bullying you! Bullying, you get it?” He grabbed the still-dazed Porky and stormed off, fuming. “I told you guys to be meaner! Otherwise, how are we supposed to answer to Connor? We’re the school tyrants! We have to be mean!” Connor. My cousin’s name. It felt like a tiny needle pricked my heart. A dull ache, but not too painful. He must hate me so much because he loves my mother and feels for her suffering. As long as my mother was with the Wentworths, getting better, nothing else mattered. I wondered if she was eating well today, if she was doing any better. I washed the lunchbox until it shone, dried it carefully, and put it back in Jax’s desk drawer. The sunlight fell on it, warm and gentle. I thought for a moment, then, when no one was looking, I left him a small note. “It’s not necessary. Please don’t give me any more food. Thank you.” After another thought, I gently crossed out the words “it’s not necessary” and changed them to “it’s no trouble.”

6 During evening study hall, I was the only one in the classroom. All the other students were day students; I was the only boarder. I was used to it. Before Sloane left, she wordlessly dropped a thick stack of problems on my desk. “Key concepts. Finish them.” I didn’t dare waste a second. She had put so much effort into preparing these for me. Her tutoring was a gift I could never have imagined, a top student’s private lessons, even more detailed than the teachers’. But as I worked, my stomach started to ache with hunger. Damn it. Lunch was delicious, but it hadn’t been enough. I got up and chugged two large glasses of water. I didn’t expect to run into Bianca, who had come back for something she’d forgotten. She was staring at me like I was a freak. “Are you insane? Gulping down two huge glasses of cold water like that.” I looked down, not daring to speak. Just then, my stomach betrayed me with a loud, rumbling growl that echoed in the empty hallway. Bianca’s expression froze. She frowned, a look of disgust on her face, and tossed a meal card at me. “Here. Use it.” I couldn’t accept it. Not because I thought it was a trap, but because I didn’t deserve it. The card was blindingly bright, covered in tiny diamonds that formed the shape of a glittering, haughty cat. It looked incredibly expensive. Bianca seemed even more annoyed. She shoved the card into my hand. “I just hate that sound. It’s distracting. I have misophonia, you know?” Realizing her excuse didn’t quite make sense, she grabbed her art portfolio and practically fled down the hallway, leaving behind the faint, pleasant scent of gardenias. I clutched the card in my hand, the sharp edges of the diamonds digging into my palm. Without warning, big, fat tears began to splash onto the glittering cat’s ears. This was so frustrating. I had been at this school for less than a week, but I felt like I had cried more than in the past decade combined. I never cried like this, not even when my father beat me. What was wrong with me?

7 Life went on. I didn’t have to worry about school fees. The balance on the meal card Bianca gave me always read 9999+, no matter how much I spent. I started keeping a little notebook, writing down every penny I used. One day, when I got into college and found a job, I would pay her back. Jax didn’t bother me again, but my desk was always piled with food. Now, however, it was in clean, disposable containers. One day, I came to school early and saw Jax and Porky putting food on my desk. “The cafeteria food is so gross. I don’t know how she eats it.” “This is a new recipe my family’s chef came up with. It’s good for the brain.” “And this. She studies so late every night, this is good for her eyes.” “This one has iron. She’s skinny as a ghost. I saw her hand the other day… man, she has this long scar. Looked painful.” “Jax, do you really think that scar… was from a dog bite?” “Shut up. Put the stuff down and let’s go before someone sees us.” In a matter of minutes, a mountain of food was stacked on my desk. I didn’t have the courage to face them, so I waited until they left before going to my seat. My chest felt full of something warm and soft, swelling until it ached. I had nothing to give them in return. I pulled out the workbook Sloane had given me and threw myself into the problems. All I had was the pen in my hand. I would solve every single problem. I would devour every word in these books. I would get the highest scores, get into the best university. That was the only way I could repay their warmth.

8 The mid-term exams came quickly. I got first place. Sloane shot up from her seat and threw her arms around me, her usually cool voice filled with unrestrained joy. “That’s my girl! From dead last to number one!” She was happier than if she had gotten first place herself, her eyes shining like they were full of stars. “Quiet! This is a classroom, not a fish market!” The teacher slammed her hand on the desk, her gaze cutting through me like a knife. “Some people shouldn’t get cocky just because they’ve made a little progress.” The smile on Sloane’s face instantly vanished. She let go of me, picked up her Louis Vuitton bag, and casually tossed another one out the window. “Teacher, I dropped my bag. Could you please get it for me?” The teacher’s face turned purple. Sloane smiled sweetly. “You can keep it.” The teacher’s expression changed in an instant. “Oh, my, I couldn’t possibly. I’ll go get it right now.” She practically ran out of the room to retrieve the bag. Sloane rolled her eyes and pulled out another set of practice tests. “Finally, some peace and quiet. Don’t get arrogant. These are practice questions from the exam writer. Finish them in the next two days.” I beamed and nodded eagerly, ready to start. Bianca couldn’t stand it. “She just got first place. Can’t you give her a break? Let her relax, go for afternoon tea or something.” Sloane held the papers down. “Bianca, do you think everyone can afford to be a carefree, decorative vase like you?” Bianca blushed. “Who are you calling a vase? I passed my TOEFL last year and I’m going abroad next year. You’re calling me a vase?” I quickly stepped between them. “Actually, I can do the problems and drink water at the same time.” Bianca let out an exasperated laugh and shot me a glare. “Fine. I’ll have some Bvlgari afternoon tea sent over. They have a Christmas special today. We can all celebrate.” Porky jumped in. “Awesome! I’ll have hot pot delivered.” Even Sloane got caught up in the mood. “Alright, you get one day off. I’ll have my family send over a couple of chefs to make steak and foie gras.” It was the first, and perhaps only, Christmas of my life that was so boisterous, so warm, so filled with the aroma of food. The classroom was a surreal mix of Michelin-star desserts and steaming hot pot. Chefs in crisp white uniforms pan-fried steaks at a makeshift station, the sizzling sound and rich aroma filling the air. The students laughed and joked. Even the ever-serious Sloane snuck a bite of Bianca’s gold-leaf cake. I ate the tripe Porky put on my plate, listened to Bianca complain about the hassle of preparing to go abroad, and watched Jax silently cook slices of beef for me from across the room. For a few moments, I almost forgot who I was and where I came from. Until the classroom door was thrown open with a violent crash. All the laughter and chatter died as if a switch had been flipped. Connor stood in the doorway, his face dark and stormy. He saw the delicate bone china plate in my hand, the smudge of cream I hadn’t yet wiped from the corner of my mouth. His eyes blazed with fury, and he overturned the nearest hot pot table. The scalding red broth and colorful ingredients splattered across the floor. Students nearby screamed and jumped back. “You’re a trafficker’s daughter! You have his filthy blood in your veins… What right do you have to be so happy?”