[🎐] a thousand ceaseless dreams

v. heiyaoshi

The next two days were like a dream. Heiyaoshi had practiced smiling daintily with chopsticks bitten between his teeth, yet no matter how long he smiled in the mirror, the anxiety in his eyes never subsided — and never did anyone ever make him smile wider than he usually did. Even when alone, Heiyaoshi couldn't contain his smile as he curled up on his bed with Yùtù tucked close under his chin.

As promised, Cornelius took Heiyaoshi to a different restaurant for every meal, and he got him an áo dài personally tailored at a tailor shop (where the lady working there muttered under her breath, "Too skinny", and in return Cornelius gave her a glare). He already had so much jewelry already, but the ones he already owned were extravagant and made to display his wealth, while the ones he bought recently were sweet and modest with just the right amount of gold and gemstones. He'd even bought Yùtù a few hairbows to match him.

They made paper lotuses that they released out onto the water and slowly opened once in contact with the river, wrote their wishes on paper cranes and strung them together, and took so many rides on the boats. Of course, life in the palace was far more luxurious, but if the people of Zhuimeng could make such beautiful and simple things out of things cheaper than gold, Heiyaoshi certainly would take the latter over the former.

And only now, lying alone on his bed in emotionless silence, did the prince realize that those days were over, and he missed them.

─── ᯽ ───

Heiyaoshi woke up when the clock on his wall sat an hour before mao shi, hands clutched tight into fists and covered in a thin layer of sweat. His mind reeled with red-tinted memories of the dreams he had; assassins pouncing on him while he was asleep and vulnerable, an arrow piercing his father's heart, leaving for Fenghuolun without Cornelius. . .

Heiyaoshi knew he couldn't fall back asleep now that he was wide awake and worried. It already took too much time to fall asleep when he was supposed to, so there was no chance that he could get himself to fall asleep now and stay that way until morning.

He pushed himself up and grabbed his glasses, carefully setting Yùtù in the center of the bed and pulling the blanket over her. He walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains, allowing the young morning sunlight to slip inside.

Something ate away at his heart inside Heiyaoshi's chest and he clutched it tightly. His hands began to tremble and he blinked rapidly.

In at least three shichen, he and his father would leave the safety of their home, travel to the other side of the mountains to Fenghuolun, where they'd most certainly not be safe. Today could be the day he or Bàba got killed, or maybe even Cornelius — he could be locked away in some dungeon for the rest of his life, or Fenghuolun would wage war — everything could go wrong today and everything that protected him and everything he loved would crumble along with the mountains.

Heiyaoshi sat back down on the bed and hugged himself tight, his breath quickening. He couldn't hold back the tears in his eyes anymore and he inhaled shakily, shoulders quivering, chest heaving with his breaths that shook with every inhale. Heiyaoshi bit his lip and stood up, opened the door, and hurried down the hall to his father's work quarters as quickly as he could. The halls were dark and his footsteps echoed eerily throughout them, but he didn't stop until he reached his father's room.

Heiyaoshi slowly opened the door and peered inside, then stepped in and closed it again, standing ashamed in front of the door with a small bow like he used to do whenever he ran to his father's room after a nightmare. The room was quite large, with fabric screens against the wall behind the emperor's desk, porcelain planters in the corners, and the intricately designed windows built near the ceiling to allow the shy early sunlight to peek inside. A board on Heiyaoshi's right side had multiple schedules written in hasty handwriting pasted on it, and although Heiyaoshi could read the handwriting if he squinted enough, he never quite understood how it was all organized.