Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 116

Chapter 116: WHEN WE WEREN’T TOGETHER

Two hours of stretching later, all three siblings lay on the polished floor of the training room, their heads touching to form a triangle as they caught their breath. The evening air carried the lingering warmth of their exercise, and for a moment, no one spoke. Even Li Hao’s usual boundless energy had been tempered by the unfamiliar poses.

“Do you think,” Li Hao broke the comfortable silence, his voice unusually soft, “Māmā and Bàba are doing ok?”

Li Wei stared up at the ceiling, his tone holding none of its usual analysis. “They are strong and brilliant. I think Māmā and Bàba are doing…fine.”

The word hung in the air, too light for the weight it carried. Beside him, Li Hua shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the floor as if searching for something solid to hold on to. “I had this space,” she whispered, guilt cracking her voice, her eyes fixed on the faint shadows dancing across the ceiling. “I could have saved us all, thrown us in here that day, but at the time I thought… I thought we could take on anything that came our way.”

Her voice wavered, thick with regret, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence louder than any words. Li Wei’s hand inched toward hers, hesitating before resting beside it, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching.

“Sister, there’s no blame on you,” Li Wei said gently. “You couldn’t have foreseen this.”

“And we all could have hidden,” Li Hao said firmly, his usual playfulness replaced by conviction. “Any of us could have chosen to run that day, even not knowing what would happen.”

But…you both suffered.” Li Hua whispered through tears.

“We’re fine,” Li Hao said softly, leaning closer to her.

“Yes, much better now,” Li Wei added, his hand clasping hers firmly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Li Hua’s voice grew soft with concern. “What happened when you left with the false elder that day?” The question hung heavy in the air, weighted with all the pain and fear they hadn’t yet shared with each other.

Both brothers fell silent, their hands tightening around hers. Even Li Hao’s usual brightness dimmed as the memories surfaced. Li Wei’s scholarly composure cracked slightly as he drew in a careful breath, preparing to answer.

The siblings shifted in unison, rolling onto their stomachs and forming a small circle with their heads close together, like they used to do as children sharing secrets. The polished floor was cool against their arms, their new training clothes surprisingly comfortable as they settled into position. The movement felt natural, instinctive—as if their bodies knew they needed to see each other’s faces for what was about to be shared.

Li Wei began, his voice tight, every word laced with the weight of something deeper, something raw. “The false elder and two of the leaders transported us to what they claimed was the sixth realm. But from the moment we arrived, something felt… wrong. The place was strange—no keepers, just empty halls that seemed to watch us, like they were alive. Hungry. It was like a prison disguised as an abandoned temple. Everything looked right on the surface, but underneath…” He shuddered, and Li Hua caught the brief flicker of unease in his eyes. “It felt hollow, like walking through a corpse that didn’t yet know it was dead.”

Li Hua struggled to concentrate on his words, yet each one resonated deeply, igniting her own emotions.

“The other two leaders left after the first day,” Li Hao murmured, his voice muffled as he rested his chin on his folded arms, lying flat on his stomach. His usual spark had dimmed to a faint ember. “The first two nights seemed… manageable. He kept us in this small, dimly lit room where shadows danced on bare walls and gave us three meals a day. It seemed fine, at first.” His fingers twitched against the floor, restless, as if trying to grasp something long gone. “But with every passing hour, our strength just bled away, like water slipping through cupped hands. At first, we thought…” He hesitated, his voice cracking under the weight of what came next. “We thought maybe he actually wanted to protect us.”

Li Hua’s stomach churned. She knew that hope—the kind that comes in fragile, fleeting seconds, only to shatter. Her chest tightened, but she said nothing, letting the brothers continue.

“But when we started asking questions,” Li Wei said, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Questions about you. About our parents.” His voice hardened, fury simmering just below the surface. “That’s when he separated us.”

“Separated,” Li Hua thought, the word striking like an arrow. She imagined the cold isolation, the gnawing sense of abandonment. Her own memories flared—moments spent in similar shadows, questions unanswered, trust twisted into betrayal.

She forced herself to steady her breath, her mind racing as she pieced together their story. Then something tugged at her thoughts, pulling her back. “Was this place in color?” she asked, interrupting. The question hung in the air, her voice sharper than intended. Her mind flashed to the sixth realm she remembered—its relentless monochrome, the way it stripped the world of life. Could it truly be the same place?

Her brothers exchanged a puzzled look, before they nodded.

Li Hua’s brows knitted together as unease crept through her like frost spreading across glass. That’s not the sixth realm, she realized, certainty settling cold and heavy in her stomach. So, where were they taken? The question gnawed at her like a hungry beast, but before she could follow that dangerous thread, her eldest brother continued.

Li Wei swallowed hard, his scholarly composure fracturing like ice in spring. “After he separated us, the torture began. The False Elder wanted to wear us down, break our resistance.” His voice carried echoes of pain that made Li Hua’s heart constrict. “Days blurred together in an endless cycle of deprivation—no food, no water, no rest. Then came the physical torments: searing pain of every blow, burns that painted our skin in patterns of agony, shackles that bit deeper into our wrists with each passing hour.”

Li Hua’s fingers found Li Wei’s sleeve, clutching the fabric with desperate strength, as if she could somehow reach back through time and shield him from these horrors. Her other hand stretched toward Li Hao, trembling as it grasped his sleeve with equal urgency, grounding herself in their shared pain.

“The False Elder,” Li Hao continued, his usual boundless energy now compressed into something sharp and brittle, “would visit each night after the physical torments had left us raw and bleeding. He always carried this jade tablet that glowed with sickly light, its surface etched with symbols that hurt to look at. He’d press it against our cores and…” He trailed off, his hand unconsciously moving to his chest where phantom pain still lingered, fingers tracing the lattice of scars hidden beneath his robes.

Li Hua’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on both of their sleeves until her knuckles turned white. “And what?” she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. She could see the weight of the memory bearing down on her brothers, the way they seemed to curl inward as if protecting still-healing wounds.

Li Hao’s hand clenched weakly against the ground, trembling with remembered agony. “It was like… being unmade. Not just the pain—though there was plenty of that. The tablet drained something fundamental from us, pulling at our very essence until we felt hollow inside. Every time he used it, another piece of myself seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but empty spaces where dense spiritual energy used to flow. The physical torture almost felt like a mercy in comparison.”

Li Wei nodded grimly, his jaw clenched against the flood of memories. “The worst was when he would leave us in those cells where time itself felt wrong. Hours stretched into what felt like days, then snapped back like a drawn bow. We couldn’t tell if we’d been there for moments or months.”

“He seemed to delight in our confusion,” Li Hao added, his voice hollow. “He’d heal the worst of our injuries just enough to start again. Said he needed us… functional.”

“After what might have been days or weeks of this, when we could barely remember our own names,” Li Hao’s voice dropped to a whisper, each word seeming to cost him, “he started talking about coming for you. We—” His voice broke, and Li Hua could see tears gathering in his eyes. “We convinced him we were enough. That our cores were stronger, more developed. We begged him to leave you alone, offered anything…”

“But then we were moved to the location you found me in,” Li Wei finished, exhaustion seeping into his words like poison. “We were too weak to resist, our bodies broken and our spirits nearly shattered. Too drained to even sense where they were taking us. The last thing I remember was his laughter… and the way it seemed to echo through places that shouldn’t exist.”

The silence that followed felt like a physical presence, heavy with shared trauma and unspoken horrors. Li Hua reached out to grasp her brothers’ hands, squeezing them with a gentleness that belied her strength. Her fingers trembled slightly against their palms, the contact worth more than any words she could offer. The evening air around them seemed to thicken with the weight of their confessions, carrying the metallic tang of remembered blood and the acrid taste of fear.