Qigong's Ugly Past: Bitter Tears Drowned in Sake

Qigong wiggled frantically, blinded by the painful droplets flowing from his eyes. His eyes were jaded and unfocused, and from behind those tears the dark figures cast against the torch-lit cell looked amorphous and inhuman. Down the stone stairwell, smoothed with time and use, an impatient and pompous voice echoed with a manner of authority that could only be birthright. "Henree, I want to use it already! M'cup runs dry like a desert's summer and I'm tired of this detestable wine! It's overly sour! Even a common beggar would turn down a sip. If you don't hurry up, you're next."

"R-right away sir, he's tired himself out already. Can't have much more f--", a headbutt to the face forced a small pause between words, "--ight in 'im!" Henree, running out of energy himself, resorted to clubbing the young adult across the back of the head with a heavy iron prod. Limply hunched over in pain with his temple pressed against the cold stone floor, the captive's mangled black and bloody hair fell over his face like curtains obscuring the hideous reality of the surroundings. 

After attaching that prod to a white-hot stamp, Henree took advantage of the boy's weakened state and excessively lunged the smoking emblem into his curved backside, his body arcing upright then backwards with sharp, burning pain to accompany the dull throbbing of his head. "Ouch. Dress 'im up pretty and prepare 'im for Master Fuschun." After one final wordless sob, the boy collapsed only for the other servants to gingerly collect his sprawled limbs off the floor and drag him up the stairs, revealing the Hoof of the Flying Dragon eternally scarred onto his back. 

Glaring at his magnificent reflection in the last puddle of wine in the cup, Fuschun's irked fingers furiously rapped across the Adam Wood table. In-between taps, there was some movement behind a cracked pink door leading into the dining room. Eager eyes darted to take in the new slave, Cheese Pong, wasn't it? The slaver had spoken his name and brief summary when presenting him in the Sabaody Archipelago, but what was of most interest to Fuschun was the middle initial. Cheese Dee Bong. Well, whatever his name was. Fuschun could hardly be asked to recall a mere slave's name anyway.

"You look a bit too good in your new clothes, Cheese Dong. My humble kindness knows no bounds! Ah, and surely you're starved by now. In that case, you'll join me for lunch! Have a seat." Qigong's wet eyes remained glued to the floor, but he maintained his composure aside from a stray snivel here and there. 

While Qigong drew his seat, Fuschun rose and made his way over, towering next to the seat with glee. "Henree, bring Cheap Gong his savory meal!" Before Fuschun's fingers snapped for a second time, a silver platter was before the boy with both knife and fork. Henree lifted the lid to reveal a curly stemmed brown gourd shaped fruit with saucer-shaped markings on its skin, rife with a sweet yet pungent aroma. Qigong looked from the fruit, to Fuschun, to Henree, and back to the fruit before shaking his head in defiance.

The Celestial Dragon's eyes lit ablaze as if someone had set fire to his happiness, scorching Qigong as he muttered loudly through gritted teeth. "Henree... he's not hungry, yet. Perhaps m'boy just needs a shock to jumpstart his youthful appetite!" Prior to Fuschun even finishing the sentence, Henree pulled the seat from under Qigong and kicked him in the throat and stomach before propping the dazed boy back into the gilded chair and sighing with disinterest. Somehow more droplets managed to well up in tear ducts that had run dry, dropping on the fruit as Qigong lifted his trembling hands onto the silverware.