The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 5

I don't own the artwork, I'm just lovingly borrowing it from the ice cream advert/trailer. That was truly the last thing I expected and...well...

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As the seasons change, the inevitable happens.

He woke on the floor of the Jingshi, collapsed before his guqin in the early dawn light. Sweat drenched his robes and the bandages covering his back, the skin unbearably hot and incredibly painful.

He felt hollow and drifted like a boat winding its way downstream, the currents beckoning it forward. A bright smile, an elegant body rising into the wind, twisting and flowing like rushing water...Wei Ying.

Any worry he might have felt abandoned him, like snow melting in the light of the sun. If Wei Ying was here, he had nothing to fear.

His wounds were reaching a level where movement of any kind was difficult. Wangji was too weakened to leave the bed, his spiritual energy too low to aid in healing the injuries. This was not surprising. Disciples had been lashed before, not to the number he had endured usually, but the aftermath could take anywhere from one to three years to heal fully. The reason was simple enough. The blows from the cane are inflicted in layers, inevitably causing open wounds, while the unbroken skin hides weeping internal injuries and bruised muscle.

Stiffness and breathtaking pain at every movement was considered important, disciplining the mind while emotionally the disciple works through the humiliation and shame, the anxiety and the dishonor. Usually, for non-cultivators the weals and bruising would heal eventually leaving little evidence behind. His back would be marred for the rest of his life, the scars to serve a poignant reminder to repent and never repeat. That was why forgiveness was possible, the memory of the Sect long, but its nature was one to gift second chances.

Something they did not consider when they murdered Wei Ying.

Why could he not be saved? Forgiven and protected?

He felt only grief and despair, a storm of feeling that centered around Wei Ying. He obsessed over what his beloved may have felt when he died, the re-telling of his death that he had mistakenly overheard, that Wei Ying had been ripped apart, alive and alone, sending him further into the blackest mood.

There was no shame because he regretted nothing. He had accepted what was coming, understanding the very nature of his punishment before they tied him to the posts. He had thought that fear and anxiety had died with Wei Ying, but he felt them, looking at Yuan, desperate to keep his promise, to be a good father to the child left behind.

He had left the bed during the night, unsteady and filled with hopeless dread to play Inquiry again, the tears of despair escaping his control, as pain rippled through his heart, across his back and wept as fresh blood to stain clean bandages.

The floor was cool against his cheek as he lay there, staring up at the magnolia tree outside. It was so easy to imagine Wei Ying there, leaning against the boughs, carefree with a blade of grass between his teeth, arms folded in thought as he gazed out over the Recesses. Unbidden a small smile came to his lips, as he watched his precious mirage, turn his head, those captivating strands held in an unruly bun at the back of his noble head, his fringe dancing in the light breeze.

His eyes traced that long neck, barely hidden by his robes and waited for him to toss his head, further loosening the red ribbon that tried to valiantly to hold the mass of dark tresses.

No one else seemed to notice his pensive moments, the way he would bite his lip unseen, fingers rising to rub his chin. Part of Wangji wanted only to offer comfort, to soothe the troubled brow or at least offer him companionship. The rest of him, ugly and all too human, rejoiced in these times, for they proved that Wei Ying was human too, that his life was not all bright smiles and laughter. From that realization, he was left wondering what troubled him, when nothing seemed to affect him too greatly.