Ch 4: tired
The festival days were filled with joy and laughter, the air thick with celebration. Yet, deep within the courtyard of the Huìyǔ Palace, a different scene unfolded, one of brutality and harsh discipline. The once festive atmosphere seemed worlds away, replaced by a bloody gust that hung heavy in the air.
In the center of the training yard stood a young boy, his small figure dwarfed by the towering, armored men surrounding him. Ten royal guards, each holding massive hammers in one hand and swords in the other, relentlessly struck at a shimmering shield the boy had conjured. His face was pale, drenched in sweat, as he stood at the heart of their assault. The clang of metal on magic echoed through the courtyard, a deafening rhythm of violence and exhaustion.
This was no ordinary training session. It was a brutal test of endurance, a shield formation drill designed to push the boy to his very limits. If his shield faltered for even a moment, the formation would shatter, leaving him vulnerable to the crushing force of the soldiers' attacks. And if he resisted if he dared fight back he would face even greater punishment.
The boy's legs trembled, his breath shallow and ragged as he fought to maintain his shield. Five hours had passed since the training began, and though his shield had yet to waver, he looked utterly spent. His arms ached, his vision blurred, but still, he held on.
"You are really pathetic," a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air, filled with disdain.
A woman stood at the edge of the training ground, her piercing gaze fixed on the boy. She wore regal robes, her posture exuding authority. Her eyes, however, were cold, almost cruel.
"All you're doing is holding up your feeble shield. You should be generating force at the same time!" Her voice dripped with disappointment and contempt. "Is this how you plan on being my son? Is this how you repay me for giving birth to you, you bastard?"
Her words were laced with venom, each one cutting deeper than any weapon could. The boy winced, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her scorn. His shield flickered for a brief moment but held steady under the relentless barrage.
The woman's anger only grew. "You are worthless!" she shouted, her voice rising in fury. "You should have never been born! How dare you disgrace me like this!"
Suddenly, a man with long black hair approached her, his face calm but concerned. He appeared to be in his late thirties, his posture that of someone who had witnessed these scenes many times before.
"Your Highness, please calm down," he said gently, bowing his head slightly. "You're worsening your health by shouting and stressing yourself."
"How can I not be stressed?" she spat, her eyes never leaving the boy in the center of the courtyard. "When I have such a useless son? I wish I had never gotten pregnant with him!" Her voice cracked with despair, a mixture of rage and regret that hung heavy in the air.
The man remained silent for a moment, his eyes flicking to the boy, who was barely managing to keep his shield intact. "He's still just a child," the man said softly, though his words were drowned out by the constant clang of metal and magic. "Perhaps he "
"Enough!" she interrupted, her voice cold. "There are no excuses. He is weak. He is a disgrace."
The boy's head hung low, the weight of his mother's words crushing his already exhausted spirit. His hands shook as he struggled to keep the shield up, his entire body on the verge of collapse.
But he didn't falter. Even as tears welled in his eyes, he stood firm, his shield glowing faintly under the relentless assault.
The soldiers continued their barrage, but the boy's mind drifted. In that moment, amidst the chaos, he wished for nothing more than to escape this life. To escape the coldness in his mother's eyes, the relentless expectations, and the never-ending cruelty of the world around him.
But there was no escape. Only the shield, and the pain.
As the woman turned away, her robes sweeping the ground with her departure, she threw one last glance at the boy. "You are not worthy of the blood that runs in your veins," she said, her voice icy and detached.
The boy closed his eyes, letting the final blow of her words hit him harder than the hammers ever could.
As the grueling training session finally came to an end, the soldiers straightened their postures, stepping back from the small figure in the center. The boy, drenched in sweat and barely able to stand, swayed on his feet. His chest heaved with exhaustion, every breath a painful effort. The courtyard felt heavier, colder, as the once relentless clang of hammers on shields ceased. The woman had left some time ago, her scornful words still lingering in the air like a haunting echo.
The soldiers, hardened and strong, couldn't help but feel a pang of unease as they glanced at the boy. Despite his exhaustion, there was something unsettling about him a quiet rage that seemed to radiate from his very core. They quickly fell into line, distancing themselves, afraid to provoke the child any further.
From the shadows, the old man from earlier cautiously approached. His face, lined with years of experience, was etched with concern. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice soft but filled with worry.
"Your Highness," he began, bowing his head slightly, "do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?"
The boy stood there, his back turned to the man, his small frame trembling from exhaustion. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white from the strain. For a moment, it seemed like he hadn't heard the old man's words. The tension in the air was thick, as if the very atmosphere held its breath.
Then, slowly, the boy lifted his head, and the old man felt it a sudden, overwhelming pressure. A dark aura swirled around the child, thick and suffocating, as if the very air itself had turned against those nearby. The soldiers, despite their training and strength, felt their throats tighten, their breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Leave. All of you," the boy said, his voice low but laced with an eerie calm.
The darkness in his words was palpable, an unspoken threat that sent chills down the spines of everyone present. It wasn't a request. It was a command, one that brooked no defiance. The weight of his presence his anger, his pain seemed to choke the life out of the courtyard.
The soldiers, who just moments ago had been striking him with all their might, now found themselves frozen in place, paralyzed by the oppressive force radiating from the child. Their eyes widened in shock, and without another word, they hurriedly bowed and made their exit, almost stumbling over themselves in their haste to leave the suffocating aura behind.
The old man, though shaken, remained where he stood. His face grew pale as he observed the boy's fury, but he didn't move. He knew better than to speak again.
The boy's gaze stayed fixed on the ground, but his aura continued to swirl, dark and dangerous, like a storm on the verge of breaking.
As the last soldier hurried out of the courtyard, the boy's small, frail body finally gave way to the weight of exhaustion. His knees buckled beneath him, and with a soft thud, he collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving ground. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one more labored than the last. The dark aura that had surrounded him slowly faded, dissipating like smoke in the wind.
The old man watched in silence, his heart heavy with pity and sorrow. No matter how much strength the boy had shown, he was still just a child barely six years old. How long could someone so young bear such a burden? His small frame, now limp and vulnerable, looked even smaller against the vast emptiness of the courtyard.
The boy's eyes fluttered, fighting the overwhelming urge to close. But the pain, the exhaustion, the emotional torment were too much to bear any longer. His vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness slipping away. His tiny hands, once clenched with fierce determination, now lay open and limp on the ground.
Finally, as his body gave in, his eyelids grew heavy. A faint whisper escaped his lips, though no one was there to hear it.
In that moment, as his eyes shut, the coldness of the courtyard seemed to fade away. The harsh world around him disappeared, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to rest. Darkness enveloped him like a gentle embrace, offering him a fleeting reprieve from the pain that haunted his young soul.
And so, the boy tired, broken, and alone finally drifted into unconsciousness.
The little kid blinked his eyes open, his body still aching from the grueling training. The soft light of his chamber greeted him, a far cry from the harshness of the courtyard. He barely registered the quiet movements of the maid nearby, who gently placed a bowl of water on the bedside table. His head throbbed slightly, a dull reminder of his exhaustion, but he stirred only when he felt a gentle hand on his forehead.
"Little Zhi," a soft, familiar voice broke the silence, laced with concern. The voice paused briefly before continuing. "You're burning up... just what is this training that leaves you in such a state?"
It was Aunt Yi [Concubine Xuán Yī]. Her tone was warm and filled with worry as she carefully wiped his brow, her presence soothing compared to the harshness he had endured earlier.
"Aunt Yi?" Wei Zhi's voice was calm, almost detached, as if the pain and exhaustion meant nothing to him. His face remained expressionless, the stoic facade he always wore, even in front of those who showed him kindness. "You shouldn't worry about me."
"How can I not worry?" Xuán Yī replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "You're only six a child. You shouldn't have to endure whatever it is that makes you like this. I know I can't interfere in your mother's decisions... but at least let me take care of you today." She paused again, her hand lingering on his forehead, brushing his hair back softly. "It's your birthday."
For a moment, her words hung in the air, as if trying to pierce the boy's hardened shell. Wei Zhi looked away, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the outside world continued without him festivities he would never take part in, joy he would never know.
"My birthday," he repeated, his tone flat, devoid of the excitement most children would feel on such a day. There was no warmth in the words, no spark of hope. It was simply a reminder of another year in a life weighed down by responsibilities and expectations that seemed far too heavy for someone his age.
Xuán Yī's eyes softened as she watched him, her heart aching for the boy who had never truly been allowed to be a child. "At least rest for today," she urged gently, her hand still resting on his forehead, trying to soothe him. "Let me do that much for you, Little Zhi."
The little kid closed his eyes for a moment, leaning slightly into her touch, though he said nothing. He knew that tomorrow, and every day after, the harsh reality of his life would continue. But for now, perhaps, he could allow himself this brief moment of peace.