Hua Xianle

Chapter 47:

As morning came, the full repercussions of Jiang Fengmian’s actions made themselves known. Hua Cheng came to check on Hua Ying, finding his son awake, but just staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t move or acknowledge his A-Die, his gaze glassy and lifeless. 

It broke the Ghost King’s unbeating heart to see his precious son so still and silent, so much like how he had been in the beginning. Hua Ying was supposed to be happy after all these years, his laughter filling the room and his smiles brightening even the darkest of souls. He should have been chattering with his family or chatting with his friends. At this point, Hua Cheng would take listening to his son gush about his favorite Lan for hours on end. Anything that wasn’t this cold, oppressive silence.

It angered him beyond words that his son’s confidence and strength had been snuffed out like this. That damn Jiang Fengmian… treating Hua Ying like he was some sort of object, a thing to be owned and used. Did he honestly believe he had the right to do what he did? To lay his disgusting hands on a child in such a wretched manner?

He couldn’t even honor his former right-hand man, disrespecting Wei Chanze’s son like he was some kind of doll to play house with. Fucking bastard. When the conference started later that afternoon, Hua Cheng had every intention of tearing that perverted pig of a man to pieces for all to see. He would make it slow, agonizing, and ensure that nothing of this filth’s legacy was left standing.

Until then, he would remain with his son, a comforting presence for Hua Ying alongside Hua Ying’s aunts and uncles. They couldn’t all be in the room at once, not wanting to overwhelm the boy, but they did their best to show that he was loved, and safe, and that no one would ever touch him again.

“A-Ying, can you hear me baobei?” Hua Cheng asked his son softly. 

Hua Ying barely blinked, showing no indication that he even heard his father’s words. The Ghost King sighed, knowing that his poor son was too far gone in his own mind to register reality. All he could do was wait for him to return on his own, and be there to help him piece himself together.

He rose to his feet, turning to fetch some water and a towel to wipe his son’s forehead. However, as he turned to the door, he found Jun Wu standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on his frail grandson.

The former heavenly emperor was well known for his quiet anger, for his pristine poker face that hid his true intentions. That mask was perfectly plastered on his face as he slowly approached the bed, eyes never leaving Hua Ying.

“How is he?” he asked, the only question that mattered to him in that moment.

“He hasn’t responded to anyone who’s come to check on him,” Hua Cheng replied, returning to his seat and offering a second one to Jun Wu. “I swear, I am going to sever that vile pig’s head from between his legs. Slowly… With a dull blade…” 

“A rusty dull blade,” Jun Wu suggested, taking the offered seat. He kept his hand in his lap, knowing that attempting to touch the boy in this state would be ill-advised. He refused to think about what would have happened if Hua Cheng hadn’t arrived on time, unable to stomach the idea of how Hua Ying would have felt if the worst did happen. None of them would ever forgive themselves if A-Ying went through the unimaginable while he was in their care. “Xianle told me you managed to get a recording of what that… thing said and did.”

“I did, and I intend to show it to everyone at the Discussion Conference.” The Ghost King’s fist clenched. “He thought he was safe in that secluded garden, no doubt expecting that the respect he’d garnered for his recent actions would shield him from any accusations A-Ying would try to levy against him.”

“He seems the type. After all, how can a man who denounced his abusive wife and children possibly assault a child?” Jun Wu spat on the ground. “He’ll garner the sympathies of the minor sects, attempting to paint Little Xianle as a vindictive boy who is simply trying to drag the entire family down. Either that or paint him as a gold digger, and our boy’s history will only aid in that story.”