January the 8th (1980)

Insignificant.

Isn't that what she should be?

As great an importance as a snowflake. It's existence fleeting yet beautiful.

Yes. That is what she was.

A snowflake.

But how was it that China had thought that the snowflake could have the greatest significance of all? Such tiny specks, drifting through the sky, with no set course except to fall.

But they did not plummet as a nation would, in fire and destruction. They flew, able to see the wonders of the world without gravity leaning too heavily on their shoulders. The snowflakes could dance through life, twirling, leaping and entwining with one another to form the most beautiful art.

And as delightful as they were to watch, a nation should never get too attached to a snowflake, as inevitably it would always melt.

China stared blankly out of the window, eyes glazed over. Numbly, he watched little specks of white pile up against the glass, clambering to get a good view of inside. His lips were parted and head was lolling onto one shoulder but he simply couldn't find the energy to bother correcting his arrangement.

Had she known? Is that why she didn't want my help?

There were so many questions but so few answers. He had been left with only doubt and an impending promise.

He didn't really want to accept. Nor did he want to feel sad. So instead he pushed away redundant emotions and thoughts, only embracing the one thing he deserved to feel.

Guilt.

Undeniable and completely justifiable guilt.

He should have been able to save her. He had been determined to. Perhaps it had been his vehemence that had made Tung-Mei's death such a shock. There was no other explanation for China's disregard of all the signs that would point towards it.

Since the night he had taken her in, Tung-Mei's health began to deteriorate at an alarming rate despite China's best efforts to cure her. Modern or traditional, every medicine he gave her did nothing to stop or even slow the effects of her fever. And her foot had been a lost cause from the start. He discovered the beginnings of gangrene attacking and rotting the flesh. If she had lived longer it would have had required amputation.

The guilt swallowed him whole. A felony built-up throughout all the time he had walked the Earth; murder, corruption and obliteration. It was a sin no country could escape, yet some could still flourish undisturbed, oblivious to the immensity of their crimes. China had lived enough foolhardy years now to realize the circuitous ways of a nation.

They were thoughtless.

Insensitive.

Selfish.

Everything they did was performed under the pretence of being for some worthy cause. The lies they would tell just to keep themselves sane, the things they would ignore for their own comfort, and how they could only ever see a straight line. China understood now that you need to draw a circle to get the Earth. A thick, unwavering, endless streak would never work. Every course taken would affect another and another, like a tidal wave that sweeps over the whole world, glossing over the never-ending circle.

And China was the sun. Every snowflake would bask and shimmer in his presence. Everything would orbit him; he was viewed as the most important. Yet he was the one who made them melt. He was the one who ended their existence in the end, whether he meant to or not.

A babbling voice sounded from behind him. Startled by the broken silence, China jumped to his feet. He turned and looked down to the baby, whose mouth was stretched into a toothless grin. She laughed loudly and reached her arms out towards him, wriggling her fingers. She was asking to be picked up.

Bending down, China scooped the tiny creature up into his arms, assenting to her wordless request. He handled her gingerly, quite sure he would break her if he was not carful.

Unfortunately the infant did not treat China with the same care. She grabbed a fistful of his dark unkempt hair, loose and unwashed over the days he had been caring for Tung-Mei, and gave it a short sharp tug.

China hissed in pain and then frowned at the baby. "That was mean, aru. You must not do that again." The tiny human cocked her head to the side in confusion at the nation's stern tone. China couldn't help but smile at the sheer adorability he was witnessing.

Able to understand China was not angry at her anymore, the baby gurgled cheerily and yanked at his hair once again. "Aiyaa!" He yelped. "Cute but dangerous. Like a Panda, aru. You're much stronger than you look... as was your mother..." He finished quietly, gaze flickering to the cheerless white sheet below.

The drawn fabric covered the corpse. He had placed it over the body earlier this morning.

At the time he had convinced himself that hiding the deceased had been for the baby's sake. What child should have to see its mother's motionless form? But the infant had been seemingly ignorant of the horrible ordeal. Even when Tung-Mei breathed her last her child had been chewing on her tiny thumb, blissfully unaware that from that day onward she was an orphan.

There had been no tears, no screams.

She had been fine.

It was China who wasn't.

The nation couldn't bear to look at Tung-Mei now. Could he even really say this lifeless lump was Tung-Mei? She was no longer the fiery spirit he had found in the snow. She was no more than a shell that had once housed her Chi; the force of the universe had left her now.

When China saw her so empty he was relentlessly reminded of all the pain, suffering and death in the world. And of the guilt for not saving his citizen.

It was for those reasons he covered her.

But he knew that soon he would have to move the body. Bury it in physicality and mentality. He would hide this morbid reminder.

Keep it away.

Put it out of sight.

Forget.

It was what he did with most of his problems, except this time he could literally bury it under mounds of cold compact dirt. Never to be seen again.

And then he could carry on with normality. However now he had a promise to keep.

He had to look after a child. A human child. What kind of normality is that? Sure he had cared for other young nations before but had never had the same obligation to a human. He questioned whether it would be the same, whether it would really be that different. Only time would tell.

Nestling the baby back within the blankets he had taken her from, he managed to roll the ends of the material into a long rope-like shape (effectively making a small hammock). He hoisted the little one up from within the hauler and wrapped the sheets around his neck, creating a safe place for the child to be cradled close to him. The device was similar to what he used to see mothers doing not too long ago when they were harvesting rice from the fields. Some still did.

With a shovel in one hand and a baby slung around his chest, China made his way out back to his garden. Outside the air was a bitter dagger against his skin but fortunately the snowfall was light. The conditions were much better now than they had been these last few days.

He followed the stone path that cut through his precincts, crossing a pretty wooden bridge that arched over his frozen pond, goldfish trapped under its thick ice. He passed by dead trees and leafless shrubbery. They had all been withered by the harsh winter. But then there were the small flashes of colour and life from the plants known as the 'Three friends of winter' who remained vigorous during this cruel season.

At his destination there were masses of the beautiful vegetation. He stopped walking there, at the very end of his garden, border marked by a forest of bamboo, hollow straws reaching high, bending gracefully in the wind. It was nice to have this expanse of untamed nature so close by. It gave him a taste of the days when he had been a young nation, with muddy feet and toothy grin; those days he barely recalled. Sometimes he wondered if they ever had happened but the wise bamboo would always relay his memories back to him as they rustled and creaked.

There were the pines too. The sight of them was far scarcer than the bamboo, though they had been around for a good deal longer. Their longevity and tenacity had always impressed China. In his youth he felt as if they were trying to rival him in age. It would have been in vain of course. Despite their prolonged existence (often outliving many humans) they could never beat him. But then he had realized the pine trees were not trying to compete. They were his kind stubborn friends who would stick around just to keep him company. It was the most constant friendship he had ever had-even including other nations-as the pines were always there for him. Unconditionally.

And then there was the final friend, the one he sought today. It was the plum tree. These trees were full of beautiful dainty blossoms. They were a striking sight against the blazing whiteness of the snow and their subtle yet remarkably sweet aroma could relax the most agitated of minds. For China they epitomized the purity and hope of humans. They were the harbinger of spring. A virtuous, ethereal thing that would enthuse about the new life that was to come with the optimism that China so desperately required.

They reminded him a lot of Tung-Mei. He wanted to bury her here.

Standing directly in front of the largest plum tree in his garden, China began to dig. He jabbed at the frosty earth with his shovel. With a grunt he pushed down on the spade and broke the surface of the ground. He continued the process, careful not to jostle the baby as he worked. Slowly but steadily a mound of soil and clay began to rise, while the hole grew deeper and wider.

Once China deemed the hole big enough he raised himself out of the gap in the ground. He let out a tired sigh, using his sleeve to wipe a smudge of dirt from his face, succeeding only in smearing it further.

It had been an arduous task, but it had needed to be done.

After checking the baby was alright still (thankfully she was perfectly fine), China returned indoors. Kneeling down, he slid his arms underneath the bulk of the white sheet and scooped it up, holding it tenderly. This load had once been a precious thing and that was enough for him to treat it as if it still was. It had sentimental value regardless.

China once again stood in the presence of the vast plum tree. The great timber giant seemed to lean forwards out of curiosity, trying to peek into the open grave. Inside Tung-Mei slept peacefully, long hair fanned out around her face and hands relaxed over her lap. Her expression was calm, not contorted or pained as it was earlier. No tears escaped her closed eyes and her skin was no longer hot and blotchy, just cold and pale.

The nation wanted to give her a traditional burial to the best of his ability but as it was winter there were no flowers to lie on the body. He had to make do without. Although there were no flowers or guests he could invite he had managed to scrounge some up some joss paper to burn.

Small flames flickered as they fell through the air, leaving trails of smoke behind them. As each blackened shreds of paper landed they crumbled and turned to ash upon the deceased. China couldn't quite recall when this particular ritual had come about, he only knew it now from having attended countless funerals before in his drawn out existence and performed the same customary action on every occasion. He wondered if this reflected his people. Were these actions only done now because of the constant pressure to conform? Perhaps it was now only a way to haughtily maintain what they labelled 'Chinese', a possession of theirs.

The burning of the paper is meant to ensure a safe passage to the netherworld. Were people beginning to forget simple things like that? He thought he might be feeling it inside him. His memory was a haze, slowly becoming more blurred as the elderly passed away, too few leaving behind culture and heritage.

Every elaborate celebration was turning into something that was simply done, not felt. People were overlooking the true meaning of their traditions. But then the same could be said about every other country and their conduct. These modern times really were changing them all.

The grave was now filled and the snow began to fall harder. Any sign that it was there had been covered by the frozen expanse. Fortunately he knew it would always be under the biggest plum tree so he had no need to mark its place, although it may be nice to make a small headstone of some sort.

A loud wail had China's head snapping downwards. The baby was crying.

China's eyes softened as he gazed at the tearful infant. He unravelled the carrier from around his neck and pulled back the material so that he could see her face. Her plump cheeks were puffed out with lips trembling, a sign she was about to cry out again. Her astonishingly blue eyes were wide and innocent-a western trait if ever he saw one. Regardless of the fact she was undoubtedly not purely Chinese he could still feel a connection to her as a citizen of his country. He could hear her tiny heart beating from within her frail ribcage and could feel the ancient blood coursing through her veins, but alongside something new. Something different.

He wondered what it was.

"Hush... Hush..." He murmured calming words to the child, gently stroking her tufts of feathery hair. "I'm sorry we've been outside for a long time, aru. I just had to get some things done. You have been warm though, right?" He asked, knowing quite well he would receive no intelligible answer.

As China expected she spewed out a series of garbled noises in reply. When he showed no signs of understanding the baby let out a prolonged whine. It was a sound that reminded him of something an adult may do when frustrated. The thought made him chuckle.

"How about we go inside and figure out what you want?" China smiled down at the little girl, already heading back through the tamed wilderness of his garden.

As soon as he crossed over the threshold of his house China felt the warmth envelop him. It was strange that he hadn't particularly noticed the cold until now, when his joints were stiff and limbs tingling out of numbness. The shiver that ran through his spine spurred him into making a small den for him and the baby in the living room.

The fort took quite some time to set up but China deemed it worth it once he and the little one were snuggled up inside. Sprawled out across many pillows and furs, China and the baby were side by side under a large canopy of cotton. He fed the baby with a bottle of lukewarm milk and he himself had a cup of Tieguanyin tea.

As he rolled from his back to his side, now facing the child, he caught the scent of the floral brew. He inhaled deeply, allowing the soothing vapours to fill his nostrils and calm his mind. He was so relaxed as opposed to his former state.

Tung-Mei had died and left her daughter to him. How could be so content now but so distressed then?

It felt illusory.

Surrounded by warmth and comfort, room dimly lit by the flickering flames of incense, he rested this evening. Yet a mere day ago he had been almost hysterical as he had tended to Tung-Mei. Despite the winter's chill the air in the guest room had been muggy. Tung-Mei had never been moved from her spot in the guest bed since she had arrived. It had not been ideal - the bed was soiled from blood, sweat and urine. The smell was awful and it was no doubt unsanitary but whenever he had attempted to move his patient she would begin to cry and grasp at him insistently, pulling at his clothes and hair. He didn't know what else to do but to leave her in lying in the mess.

China thought he could heal her. Medicine had always been a strong suit of his, right? Even his methods of acupuncture were beginning to catch on abroad. His treatments were the best. So he wondered then if the problem was not the remedies but the way he was administering them.

No!

If anyone were to know how to administer the medicine it would be him. He was China. Though still he doubted. He had been prepared to swallow his pride for once and call for the doctor from the village. Having someone assisting him couldn't hurt.

But Tung-Mei had been determinedly against it.

The moment China had mentioned it she had insisted, "No!" She had gritted her teeth and grunted. "Don't! Don't... They'll find my Niu... I can't let them..."

"Who?" China had asked like he had so many times before. "Who are the 'they' you keep talking about?"

And in the same way she had replied each time her eyes grew wide and panicked as she would begin to mutter in curses and profanities then a quite snivelling. Finally she would give him that overwhelming look, resolute and intense. "Keep Niu safe."

It had been that night when she had died. Her health had plummeted so suddenly and unexpectedly. She had ceased to talk entirely and ceased to move. She had been stationary for hours, breaths shallow and her glassy eyes staring blankly.

Then her heart just stopped.

And she was gone.

At first China had been in denial. He had scrambled to scrounged up every medicine he could from the back of his cabinets, returning to Tung-Mei's limp body with an arm full of pills and ointments. He had shaken her, shouted and attempted to get her to swallow the medicine. Of course he knew she wouldn't.

It was stupid to even try. Pointless.

So when he finally accepted she was gone for good, he had brushed a hand over eyes, gently closing the lids and pulled a sheet over her body. He brought the baby in from the living room too. He wanted to see how she would react to seeing her mother dead. But obviously she had not understood. The little girl continued to act as she always did. Oblivious. But happily so.

As she was now, when they lay in the warmth of his house, the baby playfully biting China's hand and he himself laughing at the amusing spectacle of the little creature trying to gnaw on his thumb. Innocence like this was rarely seen by China. Even when he had cared for other Asian countries in their youth, their eyes could never have held the same amount of purity as this child's. As a country –no matter how young –they will always have seen atrocities.

"Hey... Little human..." He called softly, trying to attract the infant's attention. She continued to chew at his fingers with her toothless pink gums, showing no sign she had heard him.

China sighed. So happily oblivious.

"Uh... Niu?" This time she looked up at him with those big blue eyes, stopping what she was doing all together. Her attentiveness was an almost alarming change compared to her usual distracted behaviour.

Had the calling of her name caused this reaction? She was very young to already be distinguishing words. She could only be several weeks old at maximum. Maybe she could recognize a few more words. "I don't think we've had a proper introduction yet, aru. Niu, my name is Yao and from this day onwards I'm going to be your big brother." He pointed to himself and repeated. "Yao."

She blinked owlishly, giving off a feeling of outstanding insightfulness.

Yao smiled and with new sense of admiration for Niu he continued to talk to her warmly, using the type of doting behaviour that was shunned by so many he had called family. This little girl wasn't rejecting him. She listened conscientiously even if she may not be able to properly understand him yet. "I will try to be as good to you as your mother was. It was obvious she loved you. That was why she didn't care about dying, wasn't it? Because of you Niu. She just wanted you to be able to live on in-"

Knock. Knock.

"...Peace." He finished in a murmur, quite surprised by the sound of a firm rapping against his front door.

China crawled out of the plush den, wondering who on earth could be knocking. He didn't get that many visitors as it was, and especially not at this time of day; it was already dark outside.

He straightened out his clothes, ironing out some of the more prominent creases before unbolting his door and letting it swing ajar. From behind the wooden panel two formal-looking men were revealed, both dressed in smart dark attire.

"Hello? Can I help you, aru?"

"Yes, we believe so. My colleague and I," He began gesturing to himself and the man next to him," are both investigators and have had a request to look into the case of a missing woman. According to our sources she was last seen by a local shopkeeper just over three days ago being led away from the town by a man who matches the description of yourself. Later another villager identified him as Wang Yao and informed us you lived here. Does this seem familiar to you?"

China's eyebrows furrowed slightly, just for a moment, before his expression straightened out and he became pokerfaced. On the inside however, his mind was whirring in thought.

These men were after Tung-Mei. That much was clear. But the question was: why?

He knew Tung-Mei had been on the run for many weeks. She had never specifically informed China of her struggles but he had managed to deduce quite a lot just from her behaviour and general appearance (alongside injuries). She had been wearing clothing inadequate for winter weather and had faced the consequences of serious illness because of it. She had no money on her person and had clearly been eating very little for a long time. The most straightforward explanation was that she was poor, to the point where she had been forced onto the streets. Maybe she had no choice but to steal to survive and now the law enforcement was onto her case. But China had a feeling in his gut that there was something more to it.

She had been articulate and seemingly well educated for the most part, excusing some of the more explicit choices in words. That would indicate she had not been in a bad situation for all her life at least. The change must have been quite recent.

China also wondered if she had been lacking in money as much as he had first thought, for when he had fist seen Niu, unwrapped from the rags that hid her, the little baby had been dressed in a thick expensive looking coat, along with frilly socks and knitted accessories. She had been perfectly healthy; well-fed and warm. Had Tung-Mei only spent money on her child, not herself? China wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

The ancient nation decided he should create a false trail for these men to follow. He didn't want to create trouble with the authorities, considering he was technically part of them. And there was also the factor that these men might not actually be who they say they are. He had no clue what kind of trouble Tung-Mei had been in. All he knew was that he had to keep Niu safe.

So as much as it frustrated him to act so indifferent just after Tung-Mei's death, it was the best way for him to get these people away without hassle. He was doing this for Niu's sake.

"...Yes." China began, pulling a sympathetic expression (the type you may see on a teacher when a child scrapes their knee in the playground). "I remember her. Poor thing... I only just managed to persuade her to let me give her some food, let alone treating her. She just wasn't having it, aru. She left as soon as she had finished eating and I haven't seen her since."

The same man, who seemed to be more vocal and older (yet more restless), stepped forwards slightly, his body language giving off a feeling of agitation. He fired numerous quick questions, his tone close to panicky. "When was this? There wasn't anyone else with her? Did she say where she was going?"

"I think she said something about going abroad... Nobody was with her though." China said, fabricating lies with ease. "And this must have been-Oooh..." He gave a moment's pause and tapped his chin in a casual manner. "I'd say this all happened a good three days ago, aru."

The balding investigator visibly grimaced at the news but the younger, more composed of the two then spoke up. Pointing a finger to China, he said, "You've got something on your face."

The unexpected comment threw China. He automatically raised a hand to his cheek and felt the residue of dry, crackling mud. "Uh, thank you." He began to rub at the grime with his over sized sleeves, feeling rather baffled.

"You've also got bags underneath your eyes."

Instead of confusion China now felt irritation. He didn't get the impression the man was just trying to be helpful in a blunt sort of way anymore, he was just being rude. Yet Yao pursed his lips and made no attempt to send any criticism back.

"Your hair is a mess," The man continued on, sparing no discretion. "And your clothes are crinkled. There's mud all over you." He then leaned forward slightly as he studied China's countenance. The nation couldn't help but lean back in unison. He was starting to feel somewhat unnerved at how carefully he was being scrutinized.

The man's head cocked to the side and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "You've been biting your lip, haven't you? I can see the blood." And then the investigator moved back, once again resuming a deadpan expression. "I think we're done here."

"Yes, yes. We need to hurry." His older associate garbled in agreement. He was now wringing his hands nervously. "No time for your nonsense."

He began to hurry away from China's door without even glancing back, but the younger on the other hand stopped as he followed his colleague down the moonlit path and turned back to Yao, wearing the strangest expression. It sent shivers down the nation's spine. "Thank you very much for your help. Goodbye."

China stood watching the two figures as they disappeared completely, swallowed by the darkness of the night, at which point he realized he had been standing there gormless and alone for at least ten minutes. He swiftly slammed the door shut.

He leaned forward against the wood, his head hitting the door with a dull thump.

What had just happened?

Yao let out a shaky breath, whilst running a hand through his hair and standing straight once again. It was peculiar how much that had unnerved him. He had been in many worse situations than that before. But there had been something about that man, the younger one; he had left him feeling truly unsettled. He was curious to what exactly that something was.

Yet in a way, China was hopeful they wouldn't come back for him to find out.

"Nui!" China exclaimed as he poked his head into their den. He quickly rushed to the baby's side. "Oh no! Nui, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

An upturned teacup lay next to the little girl and the hot liquid it had once contained was now spilled across her side. Nui had been weeping silently but once she had seen Yao she began to wail.

"I shouldn't have left this so close to you, aru. That was so stupid of me!" He swept the infant up from the floor and scanned her form thoroughly. Thankfully, the tea was apparently not so hot when it had been knocked over as there were no burns marring Niu's skin. But still he berated himself for not being more conscientious of her delicacy. It could have been piping hot, and then Niu could have been seriously hurt. In future he would be more careful.

"Come on Niu. Let's get washed up and ready for bed, aru. We've both had a long day."

That night Niu slept soundly in Yao's large comfy bed, wrapped in the arms of her new guardian. Yao however did not sleep so well. His dreams were once again beleaguered, but this time by thoughts of Tung-Mei, Niu and the strange men who had knocked on his door. The future was more unclear than ever and Yao could only hope that he would be able to live up to his promise.

Keep Niu safe.


Edited: 19.02.16