Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL] Chapter 86: Thalassotélos — XIX

The cell was dark, cold and just... Discomforting. Dingy as it was, wet and moist the ground under his body, Hu Lijing did not breathe a word against it, making not a complaint as he sat there, braced against a wall.

His breath ca faintly, chest barely moving up and down as he sat, back pressed on the cold, dirty wall. In the dark, there was naught but a single small window far above his head on the wall he sat against.

No source more than that was of light, no speckle of rcy for the imprisonnt of his sins, only a single small window that too only allowed a small ray of light to fall in, even then the ray of light itself was rather sparse.

To Hu Lijing, however, the darkness mattered little. The cold affected him not, nor the bone-chilling shadows that lood around him in the loneso imprisonnt while waiting for his inevitable execution.

It was a sorry ti, a lonely ti with nothing to occupy him but his thoughts alone. The dirty clothes clinging to his frail body, the restless thrum of power pulsing in his core, wanting to be released yet trapped and bound under the chains of restraint.

His skin had grown pallid, cheeks sunken in and hollow, his once beautiful amber eyes were now dim with no light to them nor hope or life; his once beautiful, luscious locks of amber, breathtaking as they resembled flas were now no longer lustrous nor silken as they had once been, the locks of amber hung down his shoulders, cascading down his back as he sat motionless, matted and lost in their shine.

Hu Lijing, though, could not bring himself to care. His body ached yet the pain was sohow so dull he wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him or if the ache was real.

He was not sure where the pain stemd from or if his body was capable of feeling pain anymore.

He didn’t want the answer to that either. The sparse light pouring in from the outside world cast a dark shadow over his features, his body a re, flimsy silhouette ant to perish in a matter of ti.

The nine-tailed fox breathed deeply, his body ached still, drawing breath hurt his chest, it was as though his lungs were tearing themselves apart. He paid the pain no more mind than necessary.

He was almost happier at the thought of dying from a broken body than the execution he was slated for. But then, out of sheer spite, he wanted to hold on; for the last ti he wanted to see the faces of those hateful creatures who’d pushed him over the edge of his own rationale and whatever carcass of morals he had left in his mind.

And perhaps, for the last ti, in spite of the guilt that gnawed at his heart and mind, Hu Lijing also wanted to see Long ZhenHai, he wanted to look at his beloved dragon’s face, maybe hold it in his undeserving hands and apologise for everything.

He wanted to be able to tell the dragon about their child before he died. He wanted him to know that Hu Lijing had bore a child sired by him.

He, however, didn’t know if he had the courage to tell Long ZhenHai that he had traded their child’s life away in a hollow pursuit of twisted revenge.

He bowed his head, back slackly braced against the damp wall behind himself as he took a deep breath, the voices inside his head clamouring a touch too loudly for him to completely ignore.

His mind was in disarray, his sanity fraying at the edges the longer he remained in solitude accompanied by nothing but the treacherous voices that plagued him so often.

Briefly, he broke away from the forced silence he had imposed upon his mind and dared to wonder...

If he were to tell Long ZhenHai about their child — the foetus he’d killed — would the dragon be able to forgive him?

Long ZhenHai had always seen Hu Lijing’s flaws and every so often he would accept them as they were. He didn’t try to paint a perfect picture of the nine-tailed fox, nor has he ever tried to push the divine fox of flas into so mould he might have created.

He accepted Hu Lijing, he accepted his flaws and he accepted his mistakes, but even for him, this ti Hu Lijing’s deeds were far too atrocious to accept.

Would he condemn Hu Lijing for them? Would he hate Hu Lijing for killing their child before he even had the chance to feel its existence?

Would he look at the nine-tailed fox with disappointnt and hatred in his eyes and then look away, wanting nothing to do with him?

Hu Lijing didn’t know. The thought alone of it was painful, he didn’t want to think about it but in the darkness of the cell, he had nothing better to do.

So his mind kept returning to the sa thoughts over and over again, perhaps it took pleasure in tornting Hu Lijing by reminding him that his current state was his own doing.

Had he not tried to keep the child, had he not shown a rare bleeding heart all those years ago, perhaps his people, his kinsn would still be alive.

Had he not agreed to make a deal with the ten-tailed fox, the child in his belly would have perhaps lived, maybe he would have had a chance, no matter how small, to tell Long ZhenHai of its existence; alive and well in his womb.

Perhaps——

Who was he lying to? Himself?

Hu Lijing scoffed, abruptly snapping out of the wishful musings his mind had led him into thinking. With a shake of his head, he let out a low, throaty laugh as he leaned his head back, what a ss.

His body had grown so weak that even the simple act of laughing had rendered him near breathless.

A part of him hated himself for being so weak and yet another part decided that it was well deserved punishnt for the cris he had committed not against others but himself and Long ZhenHai.

As slumber and exhaustion weighed down on him like a heavy blanket that was slowly depriving him of his senses, Hu Lijing left his eyelids growing heavy as they drooped, hiding his irises under the pallid veils as the darkness around him continued to grow.

At this point, Hu Lijing’s body nor mind could be bothered to keep track of ti. The sun rose and fell, dawn ca and went, dusk fell and night rose.

It didn’t matter. In this seemingly eternal darkness of his remaining days, the fleeting concept of ti was nothing worth noting. The shadows caressed his person, their tendrils a fleeting touch on his warm skin, their claws a slight drag upon his pallid flesh. His eyes that held resemblance to the flas he was born from were perhaps the only source of light in the ever-consuming darkness of the dungeon he was prisoned in.

Those dimly shining amber eyes, devoid of life or happiness pierced through the shadows like a beacon he alone could not see, much less hope to reach.

In the pitch black abyss of shadows everything seed so far away yet simultaneously so close that it was disorienting. The horrid scent of rotting walls, of decaying mud and damp ground, the wet sensation of the dirt and gri climbing up his feet, the unclean floor whereupon he sat in contemplation, all of it so disconcerting yet perhaps the only things preventing him from falling into the claws of insanity.

Hu Lijing’s gaze flickered around, there was no new sight, nor a new sensation he could feel. He was — as was common these days — left alone, brawling with his own thoughts.

The gnawing guilt of having not told Long ZhenHai about their child; the sick, sadistic satisfaction of having massacred those who had wrong him and his clansn; the void in his chest that he felt whenever the thought of his impending execution popped up... Which was often enough.

Being accompanied by just his thoughts was a terrifying way to pass his days till his execution, maybe this was why he had been imprisoned, after all.

Hu Lijing shifted, crossing his legs as he put his hands on top of each other, palm facing up as he heaved a sigh, straightened his back and then closed his eyes, willing himself to empty the ever-growing pitcher of his thoughts.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In. Out.

Everything will be well. In. Out.

At least that was what Hu Lijing told himself as he counted his days in imprisonnt.

A part of him, a selfish, a greedy part of him couldn’t help but wish of Long ZhenHai to sohow miraculously appear in front of him — if only through the bars — and perhaps share so pointless conversations with him.

Maybe only then would he be able to muster up enough courage to tell the dragon od their dead child.

Hu Lijing didn’t know how Long ZhenHai would react to the truth.

Perhaps he would start hating Hu Lijing for what he’d done — and it would be justified — just like water and fire.

Neither could properly exist alongside the other without causing one of them pain and suffering more the anything else, really.

Fire and water. Extinguishable and ever-flowing.

Hu Lijing’s lips curled into a self-derisive smile.

How incredibly fitting.