Chương 115: Chapter 113

The dust and the sand swirl around me as the soldier moves away, leaving me doubled over beside the wheel of the SUV with the taste of bile still in my throat and the sensation of the rifle still in my hands even though it is no longer there.

The desert sky, whitish from the heat, begins to lose consistency, the contours of the convoy blur as if someone were erasing the scene with a wet cloth and, for a very brief instant, I have the perfectly clear sensation that this is not real and that it is something that has already happened. Then I open my eyes to contemplate the ceiling of my room, which is wrapped in a soft penumbra, barely traversed by the light that filters through a crack in the curtains.

And for a few seconds I do not move, I only breathe slowly, as the last remnants of the scene undo themselves in my mind. And as they go on fading, an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and recognition settles itself in my chest, since it had been a long time since I had dreamt of that. A long time, truly.

I had spent so many years without dreaming of that afternoon, of the dust, of the unmistakable sound of the grenade launcher and of those two bodies falling in the way no screen had ever represented, that I had almost managed to convince myself, with that so human naïveté we sometimes have, that all that formed part of a chapter I had managed to close. But, evidently, it was not so.

I breathe deeply, fill my lungs as much as I can, and exhale slowly, counting the seconds mentally as that psychiatrist who charged me so dearly for the sessions in a consulting room with views of the river back in my other life taught me to do, and I inhale again, and exhale again, and on the third time the pressure in my chest begins to loosen enough that I can think with something resembling clarity.

It is logical, I tell myself trying to be reasonable, that everything that happened yesterday should have taken its toll on me, and in my previous life much less than that was needed for someone with my history to require a couple of extra sessions. And, to keep being reasonable, I also tell myself that this is not a relapse. That an isolated dream, however intense, after an episode like that, is not the same as three months of consecutive nightmares with their corresponding panic attacks upon waking.

That this, simply, is the psychological toll of having seen my own mortality up close again after many years of not having it so present. Or so I hope, I correct myself right away with a small bitter smile that comes to my lips. Because, of course, this time it is not as if I could pick up the telephone and request an appointment with a psychiatrist who would adjust my medication, or ask me a few kind questions to confirm that I am not in the middle of a PTSD relapse.

Here, the closest thing that exists is a palace physician who would probably prescribe me an herbal infusion to calm the spirit or, in the worst of cases, an alchemical pill of dubious content that would probably leave me asleep for three days straight. So I am going to have to manage with my own head on my own, as I have been doing, in reality, since the day I opened my eyes in this body. It's not as if it were a novelty either.

I remain staring at the ceiling a while longer, trying to let my breathing finish regularizing itself and paying attention to my body in case I find some other symptom I should worry about. But beyond a dull tiredness in my muscles, which is perfectly normal after yesterday, and a slight tightness in my bandaged legs, which is also perfectly normal, I find nothing that indicates that my brain is planning to throw something worse at me in the short term.

And while I am like this, lost in the exercise of internal inventory, the door of the room opens. I turn my head by reflex, with the greeting to Lianhua already forming itself on my lips with the naturalness of someone who has been repeating the same scene every morning for years, but the words remain there, trapped, when what enters through the door is not the familiar figure of Lianhua but another completely different one.

The one who enters is a handmaiden whom I recognize vaguely from having seen her on various occasions in the corridors of the Pavilion, but to whom I would not know how to put a name even on my best day. She is young, has a careful bearing and looks straight ahead with that slightly forced rigidity of someone who knows she is doing something that normally does not pertain to her and doesn't want to mess it up.

And it is then, upon seeing her, that the events of the end of the previous day reorder themselves all at once in my head and I remember, with an uncomfortable clarity, why the one who has entered is not Lianhua. I remember that yesterday at night, when I finally managed to escape the conversation with my mother and let myself fall into this bed defeated by exhaustion, Lianhua was still being attended to by the physicians, just like Xia and the two imperial guards who were accompanying us.

I remember perfectly the stretchers leaving at a run escorted by the Nei Wei, I remember the blood that there was under Lianhua's clothing in that dark hole and I remember, above all, that when I went to sleep I had no clear news on the real state of any of the four. And upon remembering it, a pang of anxiety rather worse than the aftertaste of the dream settles itself in my stomach.

The handmaiden, completely unaware of the storm that is brewing inside my head, approaches with measured steps until she positions herself at a respectful distance from the bed and bows with formality.

"Zhāohuán", she tells me with the contained voice of someone who is reciting a learned message.

"Guifei Xiang has sent this servant to communicate to you that she awaits you for breakfast as soon as is possible." I let out an almost imperceptible sigh upon hearing her, because the phrase, in its apparent courtesy, doesn't leave me much room. If my mother sends for me formally through the handmaiden she has sent to replace Lianhua, it is because she wants to make sure I appear, and that means that the easy excuse I used yesterday about being tired is not going to serve me this morning.

Although, thinking about it, I am not entirely sure I want to flee either.

Last night my mother was in a state I had never seen her in before, on the very edge between the pure relief of having me back alive and the cold horror of imagining that she might not have had me back ever again, and all of that translated into a conversation whose tonality, seen in cold light this morning, makes me think that at some moment she was on the verge of blaming me for what had happened, although she herself knew perfectly well that it wasn't possible.

That night it was not my mother who was speaking, but rather the fear that was inside my mother, and fear, in the mouth of anyone, says things that under other circumstances it would not say. But a night has passed, and with enough sleep and distance the level of panic usually goes down, so I suppose that this morning I am going to find the mother I know, not the version of her that yesterday received me with eyes too bright and hands too tightly clenched.

I nod slightly toward the handmaiden, who remains bowed waiting for my reply.

"Please, help me dress", I tell her trying to soften my voice so that she doesn't notice the tiredness I am still dragging with me.

"Yes, Zhāohuán", she responds to me with a second bow before heading to the wardrobe. As I watch her open the doors of the wardrobe with that careful indecision of someone who doesn't quite know where each thing is, I mentally prepare myself for what is coming, because I suspect that this is going to be a rather different experience from the usual one. Because I am not mistaken.

What follows is the longest twenty minutes I have ever had to get dressed, since the handmaiden, evidently without practice in this specific task and, above all, without practice in doing it with someone in my condition, does all she can with the best of intentions, but every gesture betrays that she is learning as she goes. I keep giving her instructions with all the patience I can, and as I guide her through each step of the process, my head, which as always has too much free time, begins to wander.

Because what I am noticing, with each clumsy gesture of this girl, is the abysmal difference between someone who is doing this for the first time and someone like Lianhua, who after so much time is capable of dressing me entirely practically with her eyes closed, anticipating each movement of mine even before I know that I am going to make it. And upon thinking it, a small but clear discomfort settles itself in some corner of my consciousness.

Because I realize, with that slightly embarrassing clarity that obvious realizations have, that I have spent years taking Lianhua for granted. Taking for granted that she is going to be there every morning, that she is going to dress me, that she is going to comb my hair, that she is going to push my chair, that she is going to carry me in her arms when necessary, that she is going to return my greeting with that neutral and exact voice that comforts me without my realizing that it is comforting me.

I have built my entire daily routine around her presence, to the point that when that presence is lacking, as this morning, the whole system slows down, jams up and starts to fail. Which means that I have become dependent. Which, to be honest, is not exactly a surprise, but it is the first time in a long time that I see it exposed with this crudeness, without the usual layers of habit that normally conceal it. And then, with that internal irony, I force myself to also remember the other side of the coin.

Because yes, I am dependent on Lianhua. Yes, I could try to do more things on my own. But it is also true, and it is well not to forget it, that in my condition and in a world where the closest thing to a wheelchair ramp is a servant lifting that same chair, it is not as if I had a thousand different options to manage everyday life.

Here the concept of accessibility does not exist, the concept of adaptation does not exist, nor anything that resembles it, and within that reality, the pure and harsh truth is that without someone like Lianhua doing what she does, my day-to-day would be substantially worse. That doesn't mean the situation seems acceptable to me in the long run, but at least it allows me to look at it without feeling too bad about myself. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

And, besides, it is not as if I did not already have a solution, even if only halfway. Because I have the technique of Myriad of Hands waiting for me for the day I manage to open my first Gate, and although that day still seems to be quite far off, I know perfectly well that when it arrives I am going to be able to do a great many things on my own that right now are impossible for me.

Dressing myself, combing my hair, reaching things from high shelves, manipulating small objects without need to ask anyone to bring them to me. It will be, at least at first, something I will have to use with immense discretion, ideally only when I am completely alone, but the horizon is there.

"Thank you", I tell the handmaiden with a small nod when she finishes dressing me.

"Now help me sit in the chair and push me to the dining hall."

"Yes, Zhāohuán", she replies quickly, after which she takes me in her arms and seats me in the chair in a manner which, although somewhat clumsy, does not quite become uncomfortable. The trip through the corridors of the Pavilion feels strangely silent.

It is the hour at which there is normally a constant coming and going of handmaidens and assistants with errands, and although it is not exactly deserted, I do notice that the rhythm is more subdued than normal, as if all the staff were moving more discreetly on purpose.

I suppose, without need of asking, that the rumors of what happened yesterday have already traveled the Pavilion at the speed at which only rumors can travel in a closed place, and that everyone is doing what they can to not add any unnecessary noise to this day. We arrive at the hall where we usually have breakfast, and as soon as the handmaiden pushes the chair across the threshold, I already see that my mother and Lingxi are seated at the table, waiting for me.

My mother lifts her gaze upon hearing the wheels, and I notice how, for a fraction of a second, her expression relaxes upon seeing me enter before recomposing itself into her usual gesture.

"Wen", she tells me with a voice that tries to sound calm.

"Good morning. I hope you have…"

"Mother", I interrupt her without letting her finish the formal greeting, because there are things I cannot postpone even one more minute.

"How are Lianhua, Xia, and the two escorts?" My mother is left with the phrase half-finished and, for an instant, she seems to weigh whether to reprimand me for the interruption or not, but finally she lets out a small sigh and, with a gesture of the hand, indicates to the handmaiden that she may withdraw. The handmaiden bows and leaves in silence, closing the door behind her, and only then does my mother respond.

"Lianhua and the two escorts are well", she tells me with that measured cadence she uses when she is giving an important report.

"Thanks to the healing pills that were administered to them as soon as they arrived at the Palace and, above all, to their level of cultivation, their wounds were not of excessive gravity. It is very likely that the three of them can be reincorporated into their activities today." I let out the air I had not realized I was holding, but the relief lasts little, because my mother continues.

"The problem is Xia", she tells me, and I notice how her voice drops half a tone, that small change she uses when she knows that what she is going to say next is not going to please me.

"Although the Nei Wei managed to cover her with her own body and that saved her life, Xia has not yet finished Tempering of Bones and Tendons, so she has several of them broken. Her recovery is going to take quite a bit longer than that of the rest." And there is the news I was expecting although I did not want to acknowledge it. I clench my hands under the table where they cannot be seen, and let out a sigh much longer than I intended.

I knew, rationally, that Xia was the most vulnerable of all those who were under that rubble, I knew that her cultivation was the lowest and that her body was the least prepared to withstand a blow like that, but knowing it in theory and hearing it confirmed out loud are two very different things. My mother observes me for a few seconds without saying anything, giving me the space I know she is giving me on purpose, and then, with an expression that changes slightly, she does something I was not expecting.

"Wen", she tells me with a softer tone than the previous one.

"I also wanted to apologize to you." I lift my head instantly, surprised, and look at her with a blink that betrays my bewilderment.

"For what, Mother?" I ask her. My mother diverts her gaze for a moment toward an indeterminate point of the table before returning it to me, and when she does, her voice has a frankness that is not habitual in her.

"For my behavior last night", she tells me.

"I knew perfectly well, even in the moment when I was saying what I said, that it was impossible for what happened to be your fault, and that it was impossible for you to have been able to do anything to prevent it. But between the news, the previous uncertainty and the image of you entering the Palace bandaged… I lost perspective for a moment and said things that I know I should not have said in that way."

I look at her as she speaks, and for a moment I find it hard to find the appropriate response, not out of discomfort, but because there is a sincerity in her words that I was not expecting for this morning. But I find it right away, and the answer comes out accompanied by a small but genuine smile.

"Mother", I tell her.

"There is absolutely nothing to forgive. What you did last night is exactly what any mother in the world would have done in your place, probably with less elegance and considerably more shouting. It is completely normal." My mother holds my gaze in silence for a couple more seconds, and then, without saying anything, returns to me a small smile, barely a gesture of the corner of the lips, but she maintains it there long enough for it to be noticed.

After that, she lets a comfortable silence fall over the table, and I, although the news about Xia has not exactly left me with an appetite, force myself to pick up the chopsticks and start having breakfast. If I am going to endure the day I have ahead of me, and from the little I can suppose about it I already intuit that it is going to be long, the last thing that suits me is to have an empty stomach.

I chew the first bite more out of discipline than out of desire, and as I do so, I decide to break the silence before it becomes uncomfortable and to take advantage to move on to a topic I have been saving.

"Mother", I tell her after swallowing.

"Do you know anything about the printing press? The Emperor's birthday is in just a few days, unless with what happened yesterday in the capital it has been decided to suspend the celebration." My mother lets out a small snort that, for those who know her, is the equivalent of a laugh.

"Wen", she replies to me with a mixture of patience and amusement.

"Something like what happened yesterday is not by far serious enough to suspend a celebration like that of the Emperor's birthday. The party continues exactly as it was planned, since if they suspended imperial events every time there is a disturbance in the capital, we would not celebrate anything in years." I nod without really being surprised, since it is, at the bottom of it, the answer I expected.

"As for the book, the printing press has actually already finished three different copies, all made from scratch", she continues.

"Since they knew it was going to be presented as a gift to the Emperor, they decided to make several and then choose the best one so that the final result would be as worthy as possible." I nod slowly as I process what she tells me, and then something makes me stop the chopstick halfway between the plate and my mouth.

"Mother, that seems perfect", I tell her, setting the chopsticks on the table with care.

"But tell the people at the printing press that, as soon as they choose the definitive copy, they destroy all the others." My mother arches an eyebrow upon hearing me.

"When I hand the book to my father I intend to say that it is the first printed book that exists", I explain to her before she can ask.

"If there is any other copy roaming about in some corner and someone finds out, at some point that could end up turning into a political weapon for someone, so I prefer that no trace remain of the discarded versions." My mother nods slowly as she processes what I tell her, and I see her make that minuscule gesture with the eyes that she uses when she is internally recognizing that what I have just done is the correct thing.

"Don't worry, Wen", she tells me with a firmer nod.

"I will personally take charge of transmitting the order and of making sure that it is fulfilled. By the time the day of the celebration arrives, only the copy that is handed to the Emperor will exist, nothing more."

"Thank you, Mother", I tell her with a sincere relief, and I pick up the chopsticks again to continue eating breakfast. I am about to bring the next bite to my mouth when, suddenly, the door of the hall opens. I lift my gaze by inertia, expecting it to be the handmaiden returning to take something away, but what I encounter leaves me with the chopsticks halfway, since the one who enters through the door is Lianhua.

She walks with her usual bearing, with that serene firmness that seems impossible to alter, and although I observe her with all the detail I can in the second it takes me to react, I do not manage to see in her even the slightest sign of the wounds she had yesterday. She wears her uniform clean, her hair gathered as always and the neutral expression of any other morning.

"What the devil are you doing here?" I blurt out before even thinking about how I am saying it. Lianhua makes a small bow upon reaching me, without becoming the least bit altered by my question.

"Zhāohuán Wen", she responds to me with her report-like intonation.

"Since I have already recovered, I have come to resume my duties." I close my eyes for an instant and bring my hands to my face in a clear gesture of exasperation.

"Lianhua", I tell her finally with a sigh as I look at her again.

"Absolutely nothing would have happened if you had taken a day or two off. Or several, if necessary." Lianhua doesn't even blink at my words.

"Spending more time resting, once recovered, will not make me be better", she replies with that logic of hers that is impossible to combat. I press my lips together, ready to let out the counterargument I had prepared, but upon realizing that anything I say she is going to throw back at me, I opt for the only strategy I have left and turn my head toward my mother with the most pleading gaze I am capable of putting on.

My mother, who has been contemplating the scene with her elbows resting on the table and a cup of tea between her hands, holds my gaze for a couple of seconds and then, with a small smile of complicity that betrays her, makes a minimal little gesture of negation with her head, as if telling me not to even think about looking at her because I already have that battle more than lost. I let out a sigh of defeat as I turn again toward Lianhua.

"Very well", I tell her, capitulating with the dignity I can muster.

"Since you are so determined, you can return to your duties. But I ask you please, if at any moment in the day you notice that something is not right, you tell me and you rest."

"As you order, Zhāohuán Wen", she replies with a bow. And, without any transition, she approaches the table and begins to serve me the rest of the breakfast with the fluidity of someone who makes this movement every morning, having done so for years. I, who had already been serving myself perfectly on my own for a good while without the world having collapsed because of it, contemplate the gesture with an internal irony that I have the good sense not to verbalize, and simply let her do it.

And while she does it, while she places the next plate in front of me and pours me more tea without spilling a drop, I cannot help looking at her out of the corner of my eye and marveling, once again, at the things this world is capable of doing. Because the wounds Lianhua had yesterday were no small matter.

The amount of blood I noticed beneath her clothing in that dark hole was worrying, the physicians said she was in serious but stable condition when they took her away on the stretcher, and here she is, less than twenty-four hours later, on her feet and working as if nothing had happened. In my previous world, someone with her wounds would have needed, at minimum, several weeks of hospitalization, probably surgery, rehabilitation, and a medical follow-up of months.

Here, a healing pill, having the Nature Gate open, and a night of rest make it so that this person can return to service the following day with no further complication. And that's not even speaking of my own wounds, which right now don't even hurt and which I am rather sure, thanks to the pill the Nei Wei physician made me swallow yesterday, are already practically healed, although I cannot confirm it visually because I still have my legs bandaged.

Sunk in these reflections, I finish what remains of the breakfast almost without realizing it, and when I return to reality, I discover that the cup is empty, the plate too, and that Lianhua is waiting standing on one side with that infinite patience she has for everything that does not involve taking a day off. I lift my gaze toward her as I clean my lips.

"Lianhua", I tell her.

"Instead of having the physician come here to examine me, I prefer that we go to see how Xia is, and that since we will be there, the physicians be the ones to give me a look on the spot."

"As you order, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies with her habitual bow, and without further preamble, positions herself behind the chair and rests her hands on the handles. I turn toward my mother, who has followed the exchange in silence as she finished her own tea.

"Mother, I take my leave", I tell her with a small inclination of the head from the chair.

"Of course, Wen", she replies with a soft gesture of the hand. I nod as Lianhua begins to push the chair toward the door, and, as we leave the hall in the direction of the place where they have Xia, I tell myself that despite how bad the end of yesterday was, I also cannot forget that the rest of the day was one of the best days of my life, and that I should not allow that to be tarnished by what happened.