The clip of the moment was almost brutal—for him at least.
It clipped from the smile within the moment between stopped breath, and with no pause, shifted elsewhere—on another day of the same year, bitter cold.
Lìngxiāo felt like his soul jumped inside as if he was falling from upside down—only to find himself back in their room. That same one which he now had as the present time's room to live.
'What is..happening..?'
The room felt warmer than ever. As if the room was just as young and alive. Their belongings stayed organized, though it made the room more beautiful while it wasn't as luxurious as Chóng Fēi or Chóng Féng's own room.
He was sitting in front of his father on the floor, legs crossed.
He was mixing dry fish with rice in the bowl and feeding Lìngxiāo—it was his food, but he was feeding all of it to Lìngxiāo because today he also got short of one bowl. Chóng Fēi was in his arms too, complaining about his father endlessly.
His father only smiled faintly at those and patted his head gently.
The boy's hair was down to the length of his shoulders—long enough to bind like a noble heir. But Lìngxiāo's father gently bound it into a loose braid and kept it at the front.
Chóng Fēi seemed to really like this style, touching it like it was made of glass, eyes almost sparkling, yet he muttered bitterly, "Pàpà said fully tied up."
But Lìngxiāo's father softly joined his hands together, tilting his head a little and keeping the hands under his cheek with the softest smile which said: it fits you best and you would sleep well without feeling headache.
Chóng Fēi's puffy cheeks almost flushed as he understood the language—he did, from staying with Lìngxiāo's father all day. He was blushing in reality but trying to make that untouchable face which looked more like pouting.
Lìngxiāo just watched, almost fondly.
'Why can't I remember or see you? Why..do you sit in front of me like a gûi?'
It made his chest ache in reality. But the moment mattered more. So he didn't say or do anything and watched them while taking all the spoonfuls of tiny rice dumplings his father made with the dry fish to feed him.
"A-a tip. Pàpà gave." Chóng Fēi mumbled, which felt more like an excuse.
Then he took two small silver-made plates to both of them.
He didn't even give them normally. Especially to Lìngxiāo. He got it as if he'd fetched a ball, and his father got it at hand directly—but he handed it like he was hiding something he had just stolen.
Lìngxiāo caught it.
His chewing food stopped for a moment while he hadn't even swallowed it.
His one had the pattern of a puffed-up bird on a tree branch beside a lantern.
He slowly looked at Chóng Fēi after swallowing it. Most of the time, he gave those toffees he just stole and then blamed Lìngxiāo for it. Even sometimes broken but good-looking pieces of showpiece—like a particular part of a story.
His father would get expensive jade, silver or crystal hairpins which he would end up returning after a silent, fond chuckle—because Chóng Fēi stole his father's ones from his room, and his father would find nothing in his closet whenever he was about to get ready for a meeting.
His father was forced to keep only one because Chóng Fēi cried hard until he caught a high fever, stopped eating for not listening to his 'order'.
His father showed it to Lìngxiāo.
Only his small smile was visible at the face, glitching hair over his eyes lightly, everything else was dark. The one his father had got was a dragon standing tall over a mountain.
He blinked with silent awe and then looked at his father, trying to find it metaphorically connected to his father somehow.
Because he found his one somehow reflected him.
'He feels..more like a peaceful mountain than any creepy animal.'
Lìngxiāo's father, on the other hand, took a thumb close to his own mouth where he kissed it and then pressed it over the middle of Chóng Fēi's temple.
It made Chóng Fēi blink rapidly with tightly pressed lips, as if trying to hold back something into his tiny chest.
When Lìngxiāo's gaze met Chóng Fēi's, he found him staring at him almost like he was saying: say you like it and you are honored.
So he lightly nodded with the faintest smile he could carve right now without feeling like his mouth was forcing him to smile.
"Thank you, Gōngzǐ." Lìngxiāo mumbled softly.
But Chóng Fēi didn't seem satisfied by the short answer. His expression was tight as the way his own father stared at anyone.
"I do like birds..and..lanterns. I would..wish to have a pet bird when I'm grown up." Lìngxiāo added.
He didn't know why—that thank you with the personal touch of his words made Chóng Fēi blush even harder until he looked like a red apple.
Then he looked away, standing in Lìngxiāo's father's arms, clinging to his neck and now even opening his mouth to eat what his father was feeding him—while he would never do that because of his young pride and his father's order.
His father hesitated before first—feeding Lìngxiāo, and then him.
Lìngxiāo didn't find his jaw listening to him.
He swallowed his stored food into his mouth and the new one together without properly chewing. This tiny detail spoke so loud: you are my first priority. And then him.
'I at least have my zhù fù who loves me..'
He exhaled softly.
His father lightly pointed at the knife beside the bowl of red and green apples. Then made signs which said: hand me the bowl and apples. I would slice them for you two.
Lìngxiāo simply pushed the bowl close to his father. His father took it simply too, hand raised towards him gently to take the knife.
Lìngxiāo took the knife.
But—the whole moment shattered.
He found himself in the small hut where he had been living with his father after leaving the clan.
He looked at his hands when it felt..wet. But still warm.
It was blood.
That same knife at hand.
His silver plate lay bloody over the floor.
He froze at his place, immediately dropped the knife and stumbled backwards only to hit the small table which made the cheap pairs of tea cups fall and crash with a loud thud.
His breath was silently shallow, his eyes wide and glassy with burning tears. His hand trembled as he tried to clean his hand like a curse sealing him down.
'W-why did my home change like this..? We were..just sitting together earlier.'
'Why that knife at my..at my..??'
He didn't even want to think of what more worse could be the possibility.
"Z-ZHÙ FÙ?!" His voice filled the small room, high-pitched and trembling with panic.
His legs weren't letting him stand, struggling to carry his weight. But he stood up by gripping the table tightly, almost trying to ground himself.
The room was dark enough not to see anything, but filled with the faint red light from outside—from the fireworks of Hàngwō clan, celebrating the third birthday of their children—the next heir.
"ZHÙ FÙ, WHERE ARE YOU?!" He called again, moving forward half-blindly.
Something solid—cold skin perfectly tight over the bones of a hand—fell under his bare foot.
His breath caught. He stumbled harshly over it.
He ended up on something familiar, but cold as ice, stiff as stone, wearing a white robe like a doll.
He didn't realize when, by the accidental touch of his hand, he landed over a lamp.
The lamp turned on.
His world tilted at one side by the scene right in front of him.
His father was..dead.
His stomach had multiple stabs—similar to the cuts that knife he was holding could make. His hair wasn't even there, his head empty, his mouth parted with dried blood on his arms, his skin pale and cold, his arms stiffen while spread as if he was trying to still keep Lìngxiāo close to him.
Lìngxiāo couldn't tell what happened.
All he knew was that the world was celebrating a pair of lives—and he had lost the only home he had.
Lìngxiāo reached out slowly. His innocent, bloody hands trembling violently as he touched his father's face.
No words came out of his mouth.
He just stared at his father's tightly shut eyes which didn't even have lashes now. His eyebrows weren't there too.
Just bare, dead face.