After all was said and done, Wan Mie began to clean the crusting blood off Tao Hua's arm. Hell, he was even so kind as to wrap it up, using gauze similar to that which Shan Si had used back in the Tao Estate.
All the while Tao Hua just blankly stared down at it, fighting between the exhaustion of giving up and dropping to his feet in yet another breakdown.
But Wan Mie just continued to speak nonchalantly. It was as though the horrific scene hadn't played out, just as another lunar cycle would cross the cloudy night sky.
Typical.
The thing with Wan Mie, however, was always a pragmatic man. In his eyes, this situation was nothing more than a valuable lesson for this naive rabbit, and he was transparent in his certainty that if Tao Hua didn't understand now, he would understand later.
All in deploying a certain phrase; a warning, hidden behind the unfeeling words of a teacher's lecture and the compose of a general.
"You'll thank me one day, Rabbit's Foot."
And posing as the veteran of such threats, Tao Hua efficiently read between the lines. From the many books read in the isolation of his father's abuse, he was capable of articulating each lettered intention expressed.
To put it simply, Wan Mie meant: keep out of messes that don't involve him and think twice about trusting those within the palace.
And, think once about aggrieving Shan Si's closest confidant.
It was a mirror reminding him of his bygone years under his father's care.
Yet, this time was different. He was certain. Back home, Tao Hua never had anyone's arms to run into when his father put his hands on him, and his existence was nothing more than an invalid child.
Children often had a parent's arms to embrace when suffering from hurt and confusion. They especially had a home happily welcoming them in.
Now, could he really say the situation he faced in Chuhen Palace was the same?
The answer to that question existed in hyperbole; illustrated in royal shades, grimly painted gold and black.
Tao Hua could read a book to understand, but watching as Wan Mie hummed along in the study, he felt that was no longer acceptable. A book could cure this kind of trauma, and he found his heart empty, crying for something more.
To put it plainly, warmth and home weren't often described in vivid detail. It was better to assume most readers already understood it, and it would be a waste of prose to describe it.
It left people like Tao Hua behind, seeking to thoroughly analyze every word down to each minuscule syllable. In order to truly understand it, however, that required experiencing comfort and then losing what had been taken for granted.
Sitting in that room, numbed out, Tao Hua was slowly beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, he did have arms to embrace, a home found in a meal, and warmth in sharing blankets.
But not parental. Adults relied on something else entirely.
And that something was being threatened at this very moment.
Conclusively, Wan Mie and Tao Hua's evening session closed off with one last statement, and that statement discouraged Tao Hua about speaking of the punishment.
Tao Hua understood, and it only took one final warning for him to see the bigger picture.
"Shan SI already has too much on his plate; your company only adds to it, Rabbit's Foot. Do be mindful."
As soon as he was sent out of the outpost and into the evening cold, Tao Hua staggered aimlessly. His boots sank into the amassing snow, and his vision blurred wet with each step forward. The wind was relentless, and like most nights in Chuhen Palace, it was below freezing.
But Tao Hua hadn't an outer robe to shield him from the howling gales.
Originally, he did, but that was tossed aside by Wan Mie. He declared it as part of Tao Hua's punishment, citing that he needed to toughen up a bit and cease this princess act.
Tao Hua couldn't fully register Wan Mie's reasoning.
In his opinion, he thought, Shan Si wouldn't have done that.
His thoughts were hazy, repeating the same resounding things over and over as he made his way through the flurry of snow. Despite Wan Mie's vicious warning about Shan Si, and all he discovered in the last week, Tao Hua suddenly found himself uncaring about any of it.
He whispered to himself, as if losing his mind.
What accounts for a beast, and what accounts for a man?
He wasn't sure, but he was certain that if Shan Si was the beast, and all others were the man, then he'd take the beast. In fact, if it took a beast to see him as human and lovable, then Tao Hua was willing to indulge in the beast.
Tao Hua stopped momentarily, holding up his arm and staring at the gashes on his hands, then down to the gauze.
"I get it now." He let out a bitter laugh at the sudden realization, painfully saying, "I've never seen him as a friend. I finally see it now."
That desire grew louder and louder, dulling his chest in yearning, just as he languidly made his way through the storm. As soon as he reached the gate of the inner court, he stood ahead of it, staring at the snow that piled upon each golden orb.
He remained there for some time until the sounds of the world began to dissolve around him.
"Why didn't he come to help me? Doesn't he always find a way to help me?" Tao Hua's voice trembled, and in a low whisper, he cried, "I just really want him right now."
Then, it slowly hit him, and when it did, Tao Hua couldn't stop the tears from stinging his reddened cheeks.
"Who's going to help him?"
Tao Hua made his way past the gate and through the inner court, first stopping by Shan Si's bedchambers. He stood quietly in the frame of the door, glancing at the empty room.
It was serenely silent as all the servants were busy, left in a mess of Shan Si's papers and Tao Hua's books scattered around the bed.
He took one look around the room, absentmindedly, before turning away without even a word or expression.
Along the Palace of Heavenly Purity's yard, he made his way through the outdoor corridors. The wind was gusting even more than when he left the outpost, tossing his hair into a frenzy and uncomfortably drying his tears and frosting them over.
Covering his hand over the gauze, Tao Hua tried to endure the burning pain and kept reminding himself it was only a few moments more before he made it to the library.
Wan Mie hadn't explained the substance, so he wasn't sure how to soothe it. But each time his chest rattled in confusion, it intensified tenfold.
It was an awful, excruciating type of pain. It was the kind that made one woozy, and it wasn't hard to see that in the way Tao Hua swayed, his footprints zig-zagging his way toward the library.
As soon as he made it through the door, he collapsed onto the ground in unrelenting pain.
The following days had Tao Hua more withdrawn than ever before. Not even Fang Jian could force a smile out of his dazed expression, especially with her sneaking out and playfully joyful attitude.
Tao Hua was painted the colour grey, all over, and fighting between his thoughts and the pain that barely let up.
As for the nights…that's where Tao Hua struggled the most. If it wasn't his thoughts, inundating him with reminder after reminder of what Shan Si did, what happened in the outpost, and the constant throb that Tao Hua needed to readjust his expectations.
Think twice about trust, and once about fear.
Everything played out vividly, forcing him to lurch forward, clutch his stomach, and try not to get sick. It was so bad, Qian Jue had to offer him a sleeping remedy just to help him rest. She couldn't understand what had happened with Tao Hua to trouble him so, and getting an answer out of him was far harder than she had time for.
All she could do was lessen the symptoms.
Then, as soon as the remedy kicked in, Tao Hua had to face another issue.
His dreams.
They were odd, often cloudy. It was the same thing time and time again—a reenactment of a falling kingdom and the screams of thousands, followed by blood. Tao Hua couldn't ever make out the faces, and in the middle stood someone with a black and gold sword in hand, splattered in red. They seemed unsteady, and their breathing was erratically random.
In his dream, Tao Hua would always run to this person and wrap his arms around him, covering his eyes with one hand, and in his other, a horsetail whisk that pressed against the man's chest.
This man was abnormally tall—much taller than Tao Hua, and his frame was slenderly built. But Tao Hua always knew, even from a distance, who that person was. How could he forget? It was a face he'd studied from the moment he met him. His sharper brows, thin eyes, and a comparatively handsome complexion.
But in this dream, his eyes weren't a piercing white. They were as black as night, widened, and trembling, the life within them draining the longer they witnessed all they've done.
Standing in his embrace was Shan Si.
Despite his beastly stance and unresponsive attitude, Tao Hua hadn't once wavered. It was as if this version of him was more mature and daring, something Tao Hua never saw himself capable of doing.
But it was as if the dream was telling him could, over and over, with how often it appeared in his sleep.
The dream would always end right when he whispered, "It's not your fault," in a voice much lighter than his usual, and far more certain than he'd ever been.
But before Tao Hua could make out the remaining words of that statement, he would wake up, gasping for air.
This repeated from night five through night six and even during a nap just before night seven.
When he awoke, slathered in a chilling sweat, Tao Hua felt his eyes brimming wet with tears. Bringing his arm up, he pressed his hand against his eyelids.
It was as if his dream was taunting him, reminding him of what Shan Si did, and the extent of it. It painted him in the worst light possible, shrouded in black, and yet Tao Hua's body was wrapped in an emanating gold, as if he wasn't supposed to be in the dream in the first place.
Was this a test of some sort, or a reminder?
Removing his arm from his eyes, he stared up at the beams of the library's daybed, dripping with fabric. Then, he looked over, only to find the space next to him empty.
It was the eve of the seventh night.
Yet no sign of Shan Si. His heart clenched at the thought, causing him to grit his teeth and swallow back another round of tears. This made his arm to throb with pain once more, but Tao Hua was growing used to ignoring it.
There wasn't much he could do, and the more he dwelled on it, the harder he felt it was to breathe. So, Tao Hua reached over for the books left on his bed, but hesitated.
After a bit of thinking, he grabbed the books on Daoism and all other things Shan Si explained could help Tao Hua with cultivation. At least the fundamentals.
So, on that dark and lonely night, he tried. He practiced the first stages of meditation to ease his mind and attempted to rid all thoughts of indulgence; as was stated in the book, and all Shan Si once tried to instruct.
The first step was to calm down, and that was the ultimate problem. Tao Hua was tired, and extremely so, whereas meditation offered a bit more relaxation than he first expected.
Therefore, that night ended in Tao Hua's failure to learn even the basics of developing what Shan Si called a "golden core."
To be precise: he fell asleep mid-meditation, his head drooping forward, and body slumping onto its side.
Right at the sound of a creaking door, slowly opening, the careful, heavy footsteps.
Chapter end.