[ says hong lu, with a wistful little smile. wasn't that what the family always said? that hong lu was a gem of a child, a unique existence that couldn't be found anywhere. for the longest time, hong lu hadn't liked it, the idea of being 'unique'. 'unique' meant he couldn't go outside; 'unique' meant endless studying and endless nagging, 'unique' meant the aunts and uncles cast terrible looks across at him over dinner tables, and 'unique' meant that the world always seemed so far away. there never seemed to be anything fun about being unique, just whatever it was that made him something they wanted to keep.
but the way yi sang says it makes it sound like it's a good thing. a singular image in that mirror of his, one that couldn't be replicated. even if it's by a genius like yi sang, who made it so that hong lu can experience what his other lives are like in ther universes. he's never thanked yi sang for that, hong lu thinks. he ought to, one of these days.
he tilts the glass frame again. the pieces shift. ]
Hmm... then, I like it. It's 'uniqueness'. [ for the first time, he doesn't dislike it. the thought of it being unique. ] After all, it means that there are no other frames like it, right? Nobody else would wake up and see a glass frame full of glass, but we'll know what it means.
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[ says hong lu, with a wistful little smile. wasn't that what the family always said? that hong lu was a gem of a child, a unique existence that couldn't be found anywhere. for the longest time, hong lu hadn't liked it, the idea of being 'unique'. 'unique' meant he couldn't go outside; 'unique' meant endless studying and endless nagging, 'unique' meant the aunts and uncles cast terrible looks across at him over dinner tables, and 'unique' meant that the world always seemed so far away. there never seemed to be anything fun about being unique, just whatever it was that made him something they wanted to keep.
but the way yi sang says it makes it sound like it's a good thing. a singular image in that mirror of his, one that couldn't be replicated. even if it's by a genius like yi sang, who made it so that hong lu can experience what his other lives are like in ther universes. he's never thanked yi sang for that, hong lu thinks. he ought to, one of these days.
he tilts the glass frame again. the pieces shift. ]
Hmm... then, I like it. It's 'uniqueness'. [ for the first time, he doesn't dislike it. the thought of it being unique. ] After all, it means that there are no other frames like it, right? Nobody else would wake up and see a glass frame full of glass, but we'll know what it means.
Do you like it, Yi Sang?