Chapter Text
No memories.
That’s what Xu Wenwu, Xialing’s dad, claims, lying in the hospital bed, answering the doctors’ questions as she watches on from the window in the door.
A likely story. A slight fall, followed by being hit by some rocks as the monster burst out of its gate, and he’s going to pretend to have amnesia? Pretend to be confused and timid, as if he’s ever been that for a day in his life?
She’s going to see how long he can keep it up. He’s not getting any sympathy from her no matter how much he pretends.
She leaves before his consultation with the doctors has finished, to prepare.
She’s going to call it the Pit.
Because it is a pit, dug directly into the floor of the dungeons. A rectangular hole in the ground long enough for him to lie down in and then some, walls lined by cinderblock and covered over with a layer of cement. A squat toilet on one side for his waste, and a hole on the other side big enough that he can reach an arm through to get his food and water.
A metal mesh too high for him to reach while standing and too fine to stick his fingers through covers the entire pit. And a solid soundproofed board to cover over that, for when he needs to shut up and behave. A “go to your room” of sorts, so he can experience what she did, sitting in uncertainty waiting for the time someone comes to get her, hoping she’s not been forgotten.
In a moment of weakness she has the concrete floor lined with foam pads, the multicolored puzzle pieces type found easily anywhere, and has a blanket and pillow tossed inside. Even prisoners have such amenities, she tells herself.
She tells him one more time to stop pretending, and he apologizes, but insists that he doesn’t remember anything. So in the pit he goes. Even if he’s just biding his time before escape, he’s not going to escape a concrete box no matter how much he surprises her people.
He begs as he’s shoved over the edge, but it falls on deaf ears. It annoys her, so she orders them to cover the pit with the board. He can keep pretending to no one in the dark.
Halfway through her work the next day she wonders how he’s doing and realizes that she’s forgotten to put in microphones and cameras. But in such a tight space he’s bound to notice them, and she doesn’t want him thinking she cares enough to monitor him, so maybe it’s good that she forgot.
Maybe a microphone in the food area, where he can’t reach and can’t see.
She stops herself from going to see him the second day, and gets through her workload in record time.
And the third.
Part of it is due to her not knowing what to do with him. If he keeps up this ruse, what’s she going to do to him? Beat him? Ignore him? And then an idea hits her - busywork. Like when she did homework at the table while he poured through documents he would never let her see, sneaking glances at him to see if he’s paying her any attention. Bringing him her grades seeking approval, seeking anything more than an absentminded good job or a pat on the head.
She’s going to ignore him without ignoring him. She goes out and buys several sets of 3000 piece puzzles. They should be sufficiently insulting.
The fourth day she has him cleaned up, and while he’s away sets up her documents on the dining table she ordered brought into the dungeon, the box of puzzles in the center.
She sits at the head of the table, owning the room, and focuses on her work - noncritical ones, so even if he peeks he can glean nothing.
When he exits the shower and sees her at the table he freezes, until a guard pushes him forward and he stumbles toward her.
She examines him. Clean shaven, hair damply plastered against his head, dressed in matching grey sweatshirt, sweatpants, and socks. Apprehensive.
She mentally scoffs. Still keeping up the act, then.
They push him forward until his hips hit the table and he holds his hands out to avoid falling. His palms make an audible smack against the table surface, and she sighs.
“Be quiet. Do your puzzle,” she says without even looking up.
He looks between her and the puzzle box, bewildered.
“Unless you’d like to stop pretending now?”
“I am not pretending. I’m sorry I really do not remember anything. I don’t know what I did to you. If there’s anything that I did -“ he’s shoved back when he tries to get closer to her and stumbles, “If you tell me I will do my best to make it up to you. Please -“
“You’ve until I finish my work to complete the puzzle. You fail, you go back in.”
She nods toward the pit, and he flinches, wringing his hands.
“Please - I’m sorry -“
“I don’t have all day. If you can’t be quiet you can go back in the pit right now.”
“Please not -“
He cuts off when two of her guards grab him, fingers scrabbling to grab onto the table edge, looking pleadingly at her. They let him go once he stays silent, and after a moment of continuing to be ignored he reaches for the puzzle box in resignation.
He peeks over often at her, and it gives her a sense of satisfaction. Every time she makes any movement he tenses, afraid she’s going to leave. This is only a taste of what she felt all those years, and she’s going to let him experience all of it, whether he keeps pretending to have amnesia or not.
She gets up to go to the bathroom and he barely stops himself from begging, hand shaking as he tries to put down the next piece of the puzzle in his hand.
She smirks the entire time her back is to him.
Of course he can’t finish in time. She never intended him to.
He struggles when they grab for him, to toss him in the pit again, and before anyone realizes what’s going on has 2 guards on the floor. He stares at his hands, just as surprised as they all are.
Xialing takes the opportunity and dropkicks him into the pit, slamming shut the grille after he falls in with a cry of pain.
Wenwu looks up at her from the bottom, eyes wide.
“Giving up the ruse so soon?” she taunts him.
He shakes his head, holding his ankle, pitiful, entire demeanor screaming that he needs to be cared for like a wet abandoned puppy in the rain.
She wants to slap him.
“I don’t know what hap- who am I?” he whispers.
“Asshole,” she says, and walks away.
But not before she sees him grabbing and pulling on strands of his hair, expression truly scared.