Little Qian'er had always felt that she was fated to be connected with the noble lady from the fourth room.
At her tender age, most children were just beginning to be curious about the world around them, eager to explore, with only fleeting memories of what they had played with or eaten.
They forgot the events of today by tomorrow, and mostly just needed carefree play to grow up innocent and pure.
But for Little Qian'er, who grew up in the orphanage, hunger, cold, and pain were all too common.
The things around her never offered a smile, except for the small, round face that reflected back at her from the black tile water jar.
So, there was no curious exploration of all things; instead, Little Qian'er was somewhat apprehensive and only liked to return to the firewood room where a log might fall at night and hit her on the head. There, on her bed made of half-torn cloth and half-straw, she would stretch out her limbs and happily roll back and forth.
