Chapter 5: birthdays
As he drifted back to sleep under Xuán Yī's care, the weight of exhaustion settled over him like a heavy fog. His dreams soon took him back to a memory from long ago a memory he could never forget.
He was in the same room, alone with his mother. He was only four years old then, but even now, the details remained sharp, etched into his mind. The room was bathed in shadows, and his mother's silhouette loomed in the dim light, her back facing him.
The air felt suffocating. He noticed her hands trembling, blood dripping from her fingers, clutching broken shards of glass. His eyes darted around the room it was in complete disarray. The table was overturned, the bedding torn apart, vases shattered into pieces, jewelry scattered across the floor like forgotten remnants of something once precious. Chaos surrounded him, but nothing terrified him more than his mother.
Slowly, she began to turn. He remembered the look in her eyes the raw, unfiltered hate. It was a look no child should ever witness from their mother. It was as though every ounce of her misery had been directed solely at him. Her makeup was smeared, her hair a wild mess, and her steps were slow, deliberate, filled with an unnerving rage.
She staggered towards him, her movements unsteady, and bent down to grab his small shoulders. He could smell the metallic scent of blood on her hands as she clutched him tightly, her nails digging into his skin.
"You... you ruined my life!" she hissed, her voice low and venomous, yet trembling with barely-contained madness.
He was frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to move or speak. His heart pounded in his chest, but his body refused to respond.
"You destroyed me!" she continued, her voice rising as her grip tightened. "Because of you, he - he brought that bitch Zhuāng Qīng into our lives! She gave him a daughter, a perfect little princess! And do you know what?" She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "He adores her more than you. More than me. Because you did this to me! You made me like this!"
Her voice had grown shrill, and she began to shake him violently, her fingers like claws digging into his small shoulders. "It's your fault!" she screamed, her face contorting in anger, spit flying from her mouth. "All of it because of you!"
The boy trembled, his small body shaking in her grasp, but he was too terrified to cry, too frightened to make a sound. His mind raced with confusion and fear. Why does she hate me so much? What did I do wrong?
His mother's fury only seemed to grow as she shook him harder, her words cutting deep into his young heart. The hatred in her eyes was unbearable, and as he felt himself slipping further into the darkness of the nightmare, he suddenly jolted awake.
His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his skin damp with cold sweat. He blinked, disoriented, the terrifying memory of his mother's rage still clinging to him like a shadow. For a moment, he thought he could still feel her hands on him, her hateful words ringing in his ears.
He looked around, but the room was empty. His Aunt Xuán Yī must have left earlier while he was sleeping. He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate. The intense training from the previous day had taken a toll, and his muscles screamed in protest. With a frustrated groan, he collapsed back onto the bed, his limbs too weak to support him.
Why can't I forget? he thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. Why can't I just forget?
As his mind gradually settled back into reality, the lingering remnants of his nightmare began to fade. Blinking against the soft afternoon light filtering through the room, he realized he had slept much later than usual. How late is it? he wondered, rubbing his temples as the weight of the dream still clung to him.
Pushing the dark thoughts aside, he forced himself out of bed. His legs felt stiff, his body sore from yesterday's training. He shuffled over to the porcelain basin in front of him, cupping his hands to splash the cool water onto his face. It felt refreshing, like a brief moment of clarity in the haze of his restless mind. As he dried his face, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the water his expression tired, his eyes hollow. He quickly turned away.
He moved toward the bath, hoping that the warm water might calm his tense muscles and his troubled thoughts. As he submerged himself, the heat helped to ease the stiffness in his limbs. Yet, no matter how much he soaked, the memories from his dream still clung to him, just beneath the surface.
I need to focus, he thought. I can't afford to lose myself in the past.
After bathing, he stepped out and padded over to where his robes were neatly folded. He reached for them slowly white and green, with delicate gold embroidery that reflected his status. He paused for a moment, letting the fabric rest in his hands, feeling its softness. Unlike the other young masters, who had servants to bathe and dress them, he preferred to do it himself. Not because of pride, but because he didn't want anyone to see. He didn't want anyone to look at the scars that marred his small body.
He dressed carefully, deliberately slow, making sure every fold and layer was perfect. They don't need to see. They don't need to know. He tugged the robes into place, concealing the marks beneath the elegant fabric.
He remembered the looks the pity in their eyes when they noticed, the way they tried to hide their sympathy. He despised it. He didn't want their compassion, their whispered words of concern. He wanted none of it. When they stared too long, he would simply glare in return, his defense mechanism against their well-meaning glances. He had learned to use that glare as a shield, keeping everyone at arm's length.
They don't understand, he thought, fastening the belt around his waist. And I don't need them to.
Once fully dressed, he strode toward the door, a sense of dread building in his chest. I'm late. He knew what awaited him in the training hall. His tardiness would not go unnoticed. Punishment, he thought bitterly. He could already imagine the disapproving looks, the harsh words.
As he stepped outside and made his way toward the training grounds, his muscles still ached from the previous day's exercises. Each step felt heavier than the last, but he steeled himself, his expression hardening.
No matter what they say, he resolved, I won't break. I never will.