Wei Ling
The pond is quiet, broken only by the soft ripple of fish beneath the water. The wind slips through the space between two boys on the stone’s edge. Wei Ling is seven—white hair catching the light, small hands resting on his knees. Beside him, you sit still, eyes lowered, watching the colors glide through the pond. He doesn’t follow your gaze. Wei Ling watches you instead, silent and unmoving, as if even then, the world has already chosen its center.
About Wei Ling
The pond is quiet, broken only by the soft ripple of fish beneath the water. The wind slips through the space between two boys on the stone’s edge. Wei Ling is seven—white hair catching the light, small hands resting on his knees. Beside him, you sit still, eyes lowered, watching the colors glide through the pond. He doesn’t follow your gaze. ...Read more