Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]-Chapter 140: Fluttering Poppies — I

The atmosphere was tense, silence reigned high and mighty. The pressure trampled every single person in the room under its heavy boots.

The consistent yet urgent beeps of numerous machines furthered the intensity of the surroundings. Under a singular, bright light source aimed at a table, huddled various men and women dressed in emerald robes which seemed to be a uniform.

The surreal place seemed to be an operation theatre. A modern one, that is.

A single man led the surgery, frowning whilst he muttered to himself. His hand—slender, bloodied—held out. His lips said one thing and hand gestured for another.

The first nurse glanced briefly at his hand and followed the gesture, and handed him the tool he required more.

Something seemed to shift, actions taken or none at all converged. The scene blurred, perhaps the vision taken or repaired.

The previously consistent beeps of the machines fell silent, prompting the surgeon to glance at them. Just then, another pair of hands worked upon the body, permission unrequired, actions of the man unbidden.

The leading surgeon looked up from the patient, his brows furrowed deeper as though in disapproval. Anger coursed in him, blood roared in his veins, boiling against his ears.

Startled, impatient, the leading surgeon roared, taken by rage. "What do you think you are—" his subsequent words cut short, finding their death upon the tip of his tongue. "■■■?"

His golden eyes widened, sclera bigger than his pupils. Terror dripped down every syllable of the name unknown and face paler than most faded paint on a neglected wall.

In his face, in the sacred operation theatre, greeting him was the blasphemous sight of a blood stained face he could never forget. But neither the bloody face, nor the grotesque, inhuman smile split apart on his lips demanded his attention.

Rather, it was the gaping, blood-soaked, maggot-infested hole in his chest. Through the gaping window, the surgeon could see the beating heart, the squirming nerves, the shattered ribs.

He could see the heaven forsaken bullet lodged deeply, mercilessly in the man’s beating, pumping heart.

He lost his voice, horror and guilt overran him. Everyone but the grotesque imitation of a human and the patient disappeared into thin air.

"Were you saying something, Dr. Li?" The demon’s voice purred against his ear. "Am I doing it wrong?" ■■■ questioned.

Li Xinyuan trembled, face drained of any colour and legs powerless. He collapsed back, head high to face the demon. Tears stung his eyes, his lips quivered, heart stuttering at the mere sight.

Before his very eyes yet helpless being, ■■■ gave him a smile—far too wide, with far too many teeth. And then, it swung.

The surgeon jerked, as if electrocuted, and lunged forward to stop it—he couldn’t reach, he was thrown back, something unseen blocked him from stopping the torture.

"Stop!" He screamed, on his knees while slamming his fists against the invisible wall again and again. "Stop, stop!" He continued to thump that wall, desperate, unwilling to give up.

However, Li Xinyuan could do nothing but punch the wall desperately, each blow weaker than the last; all the while ■■■ stabbed the patient’s open chest with a scalpel. He couldn’t even dare stop punching, hoping, only to watch whilst the helpless soul bled to death on his very operation table.

Devastated, he whispered, scrambling to gather the remaining pieces of his sanity. "N-no, no— stop, stop— please! Stop, don’t do this, ■■■. NO—!"

...

"NO!" Li Xinyuan started upwards, arm stretched forward. He was sitting up on the bed in the empty room. His chest heaved and body drenched in cold sweat. "No, no— it was a dream..." he whimpered, grabbing his head, shaking. "It was a dream." He repeated, with emphasis, as if to convince himself. "It was just... him."

After a long time, Li Xinyuan was finally able to calm down in the solace of the silent room.

"When did I...?" He trailed off to look around himself. The hazy memories before the panic attack poured into him again. "Oh. It’s just Hu Lijing." He shook his head and wiped the sweat on his face with his sleeve. "At least the surgery went well." He groaned in exhaustion."

Oh, how dearly he wished to lie back down and perhaps sleep a wink. But he knew, peaceful slumber was rarely his fate. Not with the nightmares, not with the migraines and most certainly the duties that awaited his return.

Alas, before the surgeon could so much as crawl out of his bed, a great throbbing pain struck one side of his head. Li Xinyuan winced, holding his head once more as his eyes snapped shut.

"Fuck!" He whispered under his breath and collapsed back on the bed. His hands shook, fingers tight on the duvet while he rushed to pull it over his head, the sound of pure agony escaped his throat. "Ah..."

Whilst he stewed in his migraine induced misery, Hu Lijing entered the room. His keen ears twitched, mind drinking the sound of pain Li Xinyuan emitted. At this, the fox’s lips pursed with worry, amber eyes flickering to the fire burning in the lamps around the room.

With a sigh, he held the tray in his hands in one and snapped his fingers to put out the lights. He hoped it would relieve some of the agony. Shaking his head, the nine-tailed fox quickly strode to the surgeon’s bedside, put the tray of food, some sweets and tea on the bedside table and took a seat by him.

He did it all in silence. Hu Lijing knew that making any sound wouldn’t serve to alleviate the pain but increase it instead.

With a heavy sigh on his lips, the amber-haired man bowed his head to look down at his lump of a master under the duvet.

He had no other way but to gently pull the duvet off of Li Xinyuan and carefully turn him on his back. Mercifully, the surgeon seemed to have recognised him and did not put up any resistance.

Li Xinyuan’s eyebrows were furrowed, lips drawn thin and eyes snapped shut in pain. He could sense Hu Lijing beside himself, but he could not speak to the latter, lest the pain should worsen.

He prayed for the fox spirit to have at least a cold compress with himself. Fortunately, perhaps, the world seemed to be merciful towards him for now; because suddenly, a relieving, liberating weight of something as cold as ice pressed down on his forehead.

At the sensation, Li Xinyuan couldn’t help but release a soft, pleased moan. Sitting by him, Hu Lijing’s lips twisted in displeasure, nose scrunching in distaste.

He wished he was deaf. Or unconscious, like Bai Huiqi at the moment. The icy-bastard was resting, lending to his role as the donor while he—Hu Lijing—had to look after Li Xinyuan. And this damned brat, for the life of him, could never look after his own well-being whilst chasing the good of others.

It was a fond, little, helpless feeling in his chest that suffocated him. Everytime he looked at Li Xinyuan, it returned. For a man—as fragile yet so, so undeniably strong as him—Li Xinyuan, and his rather simple desires in life were—

—So, so, noble.

Hu Lijing felt, time and time again, like he could never compare. And he could never. He was a killer, a slaughterer, a sinner; someone who couldn’t even love his own child nor give justice to his beloved. On the other hand, Li Xinyuan was nothing like him. He was kind, capable, loud-mouth, maybe a bit reckless in his decisions—but in the crux of his very being, Li Xinyuan was kind.

He had enough kindness, enough compassion and resolve to go above and beyond—just for a patient he didn’t even know.

Hu Lijing reached out, took a trembling, cold, clammy and thinly calloused hand in his own—warm, rough, old—and let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding.

"..."

The silence was haunting yet comfortable. To him, at least.

"... How is the patient?" In a rough, gravelly voice, Li Xinyuan whispered. Why couldn’t he just worry for himself, just a little? "And how’s... Huiqi?"

Hu Lijing hung his head low, stroked the calloused pad of his thumb over Li Xinyuan’s knuckles. "... Both of them are well, and taken care of." He spoke with great effort, and then paused, contemplating. "... Other physicians are looking after them... Unlike you. Why can’t you take care of yourself more?"

His voice frayed at the seams, frustration evident perhaps even to the deaf. He had taken care of this man, this child, this little brat from the very day he turned a mere two months old.

He despised watching Li Xinyuan put himself, his own health below, after everyone else. It was as if he was the last person he himself should care for.

He got no reply, not even a sheepish mumble, nor a fleeting dismissal. Li Xinyuan had already drifted back to the dreamscapes.

All the while his food and tea grew colder and colder.

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