I was born on the first day of August, in the year of the Rooster, right at dawn.

The midwife was snipping my umbilical cord while mumbling about how I was some big-shot star reincarnated, destined for greatness—until she glanced up and spotted the patch of white hair on my forehead. Her face went pale instantly.

She kept counting on her fingers, over and over, shaking her head the whole time. Then, without a word, she shoved me into my mother’s arms, turned around, and walked off like she’d seen a ghost.

Didn’t even bother to take the tip money.

My grandma ran to catch up, calling out, "What’s going on, what’s wrong?!"

The midwife’s voice trembled. “She’s a lone guan bird in mourning… girl, your family’s in serious trouble. Not just yours—the whole village of Tafeng might suffer.”

My grandma was stunned. “What… what's a guan?”

The midwife took a deep breath before explaining, “It's a bird that looks like a wild goose, but while geese stick together, guan flies solo. Every year on this day, when geese head south, guan flies the opposite way and attacks anything in its path. And the ones with white feathers on top? The worst of all.”

“A kid like this? Born with that kind of omen? It's a curse. Every three years, someone in your family’ll die. Once you're all gone, the rest of the village is next. No more kids will be born here with her around.”

My dad and grandma just stood there, speechless.

My grandpa stood in the yard, puffing on his pipe. The clicking sound echoed through the tense silence.

Boom!

Out of nowhere, a thunderclap exploded over the village, shaking the ground.

Then came the shouts: “The Kirin Temple’s been struck by lightning! The back mountain’s on fire! Everyone, go help!”

There was a temple on the back hill, housing a statue of Kirin riding a golden phoenix, carrying a hundred kids on its back.

The Kirin was known for blessing people with children. Folks in Tafeng prayed there for every baby in the village.

And right as I was born, the temple got zapped? Yeah… people thought I’d killed off the village’s future in one go.

The midwife glanced at me like I was the plague, then hurried off.

Everyone rushed up the mountain to control the fire.

My mom, barely able to sit up, was trying to dress me when my grandpa barged in, grabbed me by my legs like a rag doll, and stormed outside.

My mom, still bleeding, scrambled after him.

By the time she made it to the burning mountain, she saw him swing his arm and toss me straight into the flames.

“Bad omen, let her die and be done with it!”

That fire raged from dawn till near dusk. My mom passed out crying more than once. The entire hillside had been scorched bare, and the sacred statue was cracked all over.

All except the Kirin Temple’s southern side, where a giant phoenix tree stood, untouched—not a single leaf singed.

And underneath it? Me. Still wiggling, sucking on my tiny fingers.

The light of the setting sun streamed through the branches, falling softly on me.

My mom stared blankly at the sight. “Elara… let’s name her Elara Harrington.”

She carried me home.

My grandpa, looking like he'd seen a specter, took his pipe and wandered off.

He never came back that night.

Next morning, when a craftsman came to check the damages at the temple, he found my grandfather hanging from that very tree.

Rumors exploded.

Some swore I was a cursed child who took lives—a guan who brought death. Said I’d killed my grandpa just by being born.

Others claimed I’d been protected by the Kirin itself since I survived that blaze. That grandpa tried to kill me for being a girl and angered the gods, so they punished him.

No one really knew the truth.

But here's the weird part—after grandpa died, the white hair on my forehead vanished.

Three years passed in a blink.

Just when people had almost forgotten all the whispers, the day before my third birthday… the white hair came back.Twice as much white hair as the day she was born.

That evening, Elara's grandma vanished.

Her dad searched the entire village before finally finding her grandma under the phoenix tree south of the Kirin Temple.

She was tying a rope to the tree, ready to hang herself, but he dragged her home by force.

Everyone let out a breath, thinking the worst was over—until the next morning, when Elara's dad fell off a scaffold at the construction site. Broke a leg, fell into a coma.

The doctor issued a critical condition notice, bluntly saying even if he survived, he'd be a vegetable.

Her grandma broke down, sobbing, wailing that Elara was cursed, claiming the girl couldn't get her killed, so she was coming for her son instead. She lunged at Elara, ready to strangle her.

Clutching Elara tightly, her mom cried in silence, unable to argue. What could she say? The midwife had foretold—keep the child, and someone in the family dies every three years.

And damn if that didn’t seem to be happening.

Her grandma went back to the midwife, desperately begging for a way out.

Pestered to her limit, the midwife gave her a suggestion: “Sister, this village is under the Kirin God's protection. If you’re willing to give him a solid gold body, he might save your family.”

Gold-plating the Kirin statue meant real money—but her son was hanging by a thread in the hospital.

Her grandma gritted her teeth and sold the family’s only plow ox.

On the day they rebuilt the Kirin statue in gold, her dad woke up. Not brain-dead. Not insane. Just walking with a limp.

And right on cue, Elara's white hair turned black again.

After he was discharged, her grandma tried every trick in the book to get rid of Elara.

But her reputation had spread—nobody wanted her.

So her grandma started taking her far away, behind everyone's backs.

Dumped her by graveyards.

Abandoned her near ditches.

“Accidentally” forgot her at train stations...

No matter how far Elara was left, the next morning she always showed up beneath the phoenix tree south of the Kirin Temple.

Three years of this nonsense, and nothing worked.

The day before her sixth birthday, the white hair showed up again.

Even more than before.

The whole family stared, freaked out but silent.

Her grandma ran to the midwife again.

This time, the old woman just kept shaking her head. She had no answers left.

Her grandma came back looking all torn up, scooped Elara into her arms and headed up the mountain. Tied her to the phoenix tree, laid firewood at her feet.

She screamed like a madwoman, “Elara, just die already! Only if you die can we live!”

“Be good! Just die! DIE!”

She kept shouting, piling on more wood.

Out of nowhere, a whirlwind kicked up, spinning fire like a dancing beast.

Instead of going up, the flames spread out, setting the dry leaves and nearby forest ablaze in seconds.

Villagers rushed in, trying to put it out—but nothing worked.

It looked like that same wildfire from six years ago was making a comeback.

Then, just as everyone was panicking, a hunched old woman in black strode right into the chaos. Flipping a yellow talisman into the flames, she snuffed the blaze in an instant.

Everyone stood frozen.

The old woman turned to Elara’s grandma and said, full of authority, “I’m taking that child.”

Without a second thought, her grandma untied Elara, shoved her toward the old woman, and said in a rush, “Take her! Free of charge! Just get her out of here!”

But the old woman didn’t rush. She calmly opened her black cloth bag and pulled out a worn, yellowed pawn slip. “Today, the Harrington family pawns off Elara Harrington to my shop, as recorded in this document. Two copies—signed and stamped. Once pledged, all family ties cut. No going back. Can you do that?”

Her grandma nodded like crazy, grabbed Elara’s hand, and helped her scrawl ‘Elara Harrington’ at the bottom.

Then she sliced Elara’s finger and pressed a bloody fingerprint beside the name.

The old woman took out her personal seal, stamped it hard onto the slip.

But it wasn’t a shop’s mark.

It didn’t even read “pawned for death.”

It bore a man’s name—Lucius Rivers.