"I am a rat!" Han Yu shouted gleefully, half-laughing, half-sobbing as he somersaulted over the fence and landed squarely in a pile of compost.
"I regret everything!"
He didn't stop running until he reached the relative safety of the lower servant quarters, where he collapsed behind the kitchens—shirt still clutched over his prize. He was panting, his boots muddy, his face ashamed, yet in eyes there was a feeling of victory.
He slowly pulled the sock out.
Still warm.
Han Yu looked up at the starry sky.
"…I need a better job."
Han Yu barely managed to stumble back into his room and collapsed on his bed, sock still clutched like a cursed relic. Despite the snoring from Fatty Kui Number 2, which sounded like a dying cow gargling gravel, he passed out instantly.
The next morning…
