The collapse begins
Consort Rong's hand was still warm in my palm. Ya Huan was leaning over the table, counting the tonics in the brocade box, muttering, "This is bird's nest, this is ginseng, Sister Zhao, you're so lucky!" Consort Su stood by the window, holding dried forsythia flowers, seemingly planning what desserts to make. Everything was as warm as usual, but a sudden, inexplicable panic welled up inside me—the wound on my arm, which should have been throbbing slightly when the dressing was changed, now felt like it was wrapped in cotton, and even the texture of the bandage was blurred.
"Sister Su Fei," I asked tentatively, "my wound doesn't seem to hurt anymore, is it almost healed?"
Su Fei turned around, her face bearing a familiar gentle smile, but her words, like a stuck record, were repeated three times: "Almost done, almost done, almost done. Once the bandages are removed, you can pick peach blossoms with us."
My heart sank. Consort Rong nodded in agreement, her smile stiff as if drawn on, repeating Consort Su's words: "Once the bandages are removed, you can pick peach blossoms with us." Even Ya Huan stopped counting, mechanically turned around, and echoed blankly, "Pick peach blossoms together, pick peach blossoms together."
Consort Xian sat in a rattan chair, holding half a piece of osmanthus cake in her hand, but hesitated to put it in her mouth. Her gaze was fixed on the small peach tree in the corner of the courtyard, as if a pause button had been pressed. Consort Li held a pipa, her fingertips hovering on the strings. The previously soothing melody had come to an abrupt end, leaving only the slight vibration of the strings. She did not react at all, like a delicate wooden puppet.
"What's wrong with you?" I abruptly pulled my hand back, but Consort Rong's hand remained raised, showing no sign of falling. Ya Huan's smile froze on her face, the corners of her mouth still curved upwards, but her eyes had lost their usual luster. I reached out to touch the forsythia in Consort Su's hand, and the moment my fingertips touched the petals, they fell like shredded paper, revealing the empty stem inside—but the next second, the fallen petals miraculously returned to the branch, and the forsythia was still intact, as if the previous breakage was just my imagination.
The beeping sound in my ear suddenly quickened, as if urging something on. I looked at the brocade box on the table; the tonics inside suddenly began to pile up repeatedly, with bird's nest and ginseng increasing like they were copied and pasted, until they finally overflowed the entire tabletop. Yet Ya Huan mechanically continued counting: "One, two, three... one, two, three..."
"Stop counting!" I rushed over and grabbed her hand. Her hand was icy cold and stiff, devoid of any warmth or reaction. Consort Rong continued to nod, a slight stiffness visible in her neck, like a rusty gear struggling to turn. Consort Su stood still, the forsythia in her hand beginning to grow strangely, its petals layering upon each other, quickly obscuring half her face, yet she didn't even blink.
I ran to Consort Xian's side and gently shook her arm: "Consort Xian, look at me, what's wrong?" Her eyes slowly moved and looked in my direction, but it was as if she was looking through me at something else. She murmured and repeated a sentence: "Osmanthus cake is sweet, osmanthus cake is sweet."
The little peach tree in the corner of the yard began to undergo strange changes—the buds on its branches, which should have slowly bloomed, were now rapidly cycling between "blooming-closing-blooming," the peach blossoms bursting forth in a dazzling display, only to reappear as bare branches in the next instant, repeatedly tugging at my nerves. The bloodstains on the ground were still there, left by the shadowy figure from last night, but those bloodstains began to flow like water, eventually forming a small stream that circled the yard before turning back into a few drops of blood, returning to their original spot.
"Wake up!" I roared, my agent composure completely crumbling at that moment. I rushed to Consort Li's side, pressing down on her hand that was suspended on the strings, trying to get her to play a familiar melody, but her hand seemed welded to the strings, not even a tremor. Cracks began to appear on the body of the pipa, as if it had been forcibly torn apart by something, but the cracks quickly healed automatically, returning it to its perfect state.
The beeping of the electrocardiogram monitor grew louder and louder, almost shattering my eardrums. The scene before me began to distort—Consort Rong's face overlapped and separated from the face of my childhood playmate; Consort Su's figure sometimes transformed into Aunt Su, who made pastries, and sometimes reverted to her appearance in the Cold Palace. Ya Huan's voice turned into the crying of a child, yet she mechanically repeated, "Let's pick peach blossoms together."
I collapsed to the ground, staring blankly at the numb, repetitive crowd before me, and suddenly realized that this was the collapse of the dream. It wasn't that they didn't care about me; rather, this dream, woven from my memories, was beginning to show irreparable cracks. Those warm companions and sincere concerns had now become cold repetitions, like programmed dolls, devoid of their former vibrancy.
The osmanthus cake in Consort Xian's hand suddenly fell to the ground and shattered into pieces. But the next second, the pieces automatically gathered together, turning back into a whole osmanthus cake, and returned to her hand. She remained in the same position, holding the osmanthus cake, without any reaction. The forsythia in Consort Su's hand withered completely, turning into a pile of ashes, but then bloomed again the next second, in an endless cycle.
I crouched on the ground, clutching my head, the beeping sounds in my ears mingling with the screams of my childhood teammates and the sounds of hospital equipment in reality. I hadn't woken up yet, but I was trapped in a broken dream, watching the warmth I cherished most slowly turn into a numb repetition.
"Don't be like this..." I choked back tears, reaching out to touch Consort Rong's stiff face. "Wake up, talk to me, even just a single word of abuse would be appreciated..."
Consort Rong maintained her stiff smile, repeating, "Once the bandages are removed, you can pick peach blossoms with us." Ya Huan's counting continued, Consort Su's forsythia withered and bloomed again, and the buds of the small peach tree kept opening and closing. The entire Cold Palace had become a constantly looping cage, and I was the only prisoner who remained conscious but unable to escape.
The beeping of the electrocardiogram monitor paused for a second before resuming its rapid rhythm. I knew this dream was about to end, but I still didn't want to wake up—even if everything before me had collapsed, even if they had become numb dolls, there was still warmth I wanted to grasp, even if it was just a shattered remnant.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
