Yao always loved the colour red. It was always such a bright colour, and very beautiful.
Red represented many things.
Good luck.
Love.
Danger.
Happiness.
Passion.
Beauty.
However, it also represented other things. Evil things.
Blood.
Anger.
Sacrifice.
He loved the colour red.
But he also hated it.
Dark red stained his hands that day. He could vaguely remember the pain of losing his own people. But it was only worse because it was him. He was the one who killed them. And their red red blood stained his hands for hours afterwards.
He tried scrubbing it away.
Yet even as their blood disappeared, he didn't see it and kept scrubbing until his own red blood dripped down onto the floor.
And he laughed.
Oh how he hated the colour red.