Xiong Yang experienced a rush of relief as the heavy wooden door finally creaked shut, leaving him alone in the spacious chamber. The scent of various oils filled the air, hinting at Yin Xing's opulent tastes. Xiong Yang couldn't help but assume that the oils were expensive anyway, given Yin Xing's prominent position.
Amidst the disarray of scattered oils, Xiong Yang found himself reflecting on the irony that, despite receiving training from the same master, Yin Xing still struggled with organizing his belongings. A wry snort escaped Xiong Yang as he surveyed the mess he made, a brief wave of nostalgia washing over him before feeling himself being overtaken by a bitter understanding of their current fate.
Frustration gnawed at Xiong Yang's insides, driving him to pour a mixture of every oil he could find into the water, a petty attempt to spite Yin Xing and waste his extravagant products. A fleeting sense of satisfaction washed over him, but it quickly dissipated as the overpowering aroma assaulted his senses, threatening to make him gag at this horrific realization!
Despite his deep-seated animosity towards Yin Xing, a soft, regretful laugh slipped past Xiong Yang's lips, knowing very well that Yin Xing would likely not hear. He grappled with a profound sense of regret, unable to comprehend why he felt such intense sorrow despite the mistreatment he had endured at Yin Xing's hands. Memories of their once-close friendship lingered, stubbornly refusing to fade despite his fervent attempts to suppress them.
With deliberate care, Xiong Yang shed his outer robes, resisting the urge to fling them aside in frustration. Wearing only his inner robes, he gingerly lowered himself into the fragrant water, wary of being caught unclothed, especially in the presence of someone with whom he shared such a strained relationship—Not to mention, Yin Ying's homosexual tendencies. The warm water enveloped him as he shut his piercing, electric purple eyes, feeling like a mere shadow of the disciplined swordsman he had once been, his ink-black hair and tattered robes serving as stark reminders of his forsaken past glory.
As he glanced upward through the water's surface, the oils stung his eyes, causing a prickling sensation that blurred the line between discomfort and tears. He desperately hoped that it was only the oils, not wanting to display any hint of weakness. He regretted what he had done years ago. Originally, he thought that Yin Xing had deserved it.
But now, he realized that a huge part of the Emperor's cruelty could very well be his fault.
Xiong Yang arched his back, allowing the cascading ribbons of water to flow down his fair skin. The sudden transition from warm to freezing cold sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine. The chill in the air seemed to envelop him, stirring up a jumble of regret and nostalgia that weighed heavily on his mind. It felt as though he was being suffocated by a relentless wave of emotions, constricting his lungs.
Trapped inside the chamber, Xiong Yang had spent endless hours concocting plans, unable to participate in any meaningful tasks. He couldn't fathom why Yin Xing had insisted on making him his servant. The emperor had shown no interest in him, never sparing Xiong Yang a moment of his time. But perhaps that was for the best. Xiong Yang harbored no respect for his once-friend and detested being subjected to constant physical and verbal degradation. The humiliation was unbearable.
Shaking off the uncomfortable thoughts, Xiong Yang's gaze shifted to the array of extravagant oil bottles he had carelessly emptied and scattered around. Despite the potential risks, he was convinced that his plan was worth the gamble. He reached out and gingerly picked up one of the ornate containers, feeling the smooth porcelain under his fingertips. He realized that with just a bit of force, he could easily shatter it into sharp fragments, the perfect tool for carrying out his mission. Glancing warily at the closed door, he silently prayed that Yin Xing wouldn't decide to intrude on his solitude.
Xiong Yang carefully lifted the delicate porcelain container that he had snatched up from the floor. With a determined grip, he smashed it forcefully against the hard edge of the bathtub. A sudden searing pain shot through his hand as a sharp fragment cut through his skin. Despite the pain, he remained stoic and silent, knowing that he had endured far worse injuries during his time at war. He made a conscious effort to suppress any signs of weakness, knowing very well that this was only the beginning of the pain he was about to inflict upon himself. Surveying the shattered remains of the porcelain, Xiong Yang selected a larger shard and ran his fingertip along its jagged edge, testing its sharpness. With a steady resolve, he knew that it would be perfect for what he was about to do.
Xiong Yang sat on the edge of the bathtub, the cold porcelain pressing against his skin. With a trembling hand, he slashed at his inner thigh, his jaw clenched so tightly that it felt like it might shatter. The sharp sting radiated through his leg, but he stifled the yelp that threatened to escape. Despite the agony, this act was a crucial part of his meticulously crafted plan. He dipped a finger into the warm, crimson liquid that began to bead along the fresh wound, trailing down his skin in delicate rivulets. Steadying his breath, he knelt on the ground and traced his final words with the scarlet fluid, each letter an intimate farewell. His message was thorough and concise, ending it with an apology for abandoning Yin Xing at his most vulnerable.
Xiong Yang staggered back to the tub, his vision blurring as he climbed in, allowing the warm water to envelop him. As he submerged his head, he watched the pink swirls that blossomed in the clear water, the crimson from his wound a fading shade. His chest tightened, and he knew that if he inhaled, he would only draw water into his lungs. This was his intention. A life at the hands of a sociopathic and narcissistic emperor was no life at all.
As the black specks began to dance across his vision, memories of his past flickered in his mind like a distant dream.
Faces, places, and moments replayed, a final montage of a life he could no longer endure.