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“Mother!?”
The tone is soft, yet filled with a sense of longing and hurt that you still recognize. Though the years has been long, and you've watched cities crumble and fall, only to rise up again, despite centuries of which you had been absent, you could recognize that voice.
How can you not? After all, what mother is incapable of recognizing her own child?
You place the teacup against the table, finally finding the strength to raise your head and look him in the eyes.
And there is your son. Your child, whom you had not seen since his cultivation had completed. Onyx eyes that still hold the gentleness you always knew of, the hairstyle that you knew he enjoyed wearing. Perhaps only now he is older, taller than yourself, with exhaustion and weariness in those eyes that once held childish glee and innocence.
It has been too long, you think, as he stands there staring, frozen in place. You can't say you blame him, not when for all he knows, you had possibly died as any mortal should. You don't have the heart to tell him the truth, though.
“My son.” You smile and extend your hands. “How long has it been since your mother has last seen you?” You gently beckon with your hand. “Come. Are you not pleased to see your mother alive and well?”
A glassy sheen is visible in those dark eyes. Though he tries so hard to hide it, to feign pretense, you know your son too well.
He does not fall in your embrace, as he would have done when he was younger. Instead, he seats himself on an empty seat, and his head is bowed. He makes no attempts at fleeing your touch when you place a hand on his head, so you gently pat him.
“Mother.” His voice cracks. “You're…you…?”
“I am alive, yes.” You can't help but notice that he wears the same ribbons you had adorned him with when he had died. The memory makes your heart twist―trying your hardest to clean the blood, stitching the wound that had been left behind. Incapable of doing nothing but accepting your child had died.
Your hand slips from his hair when he raises his head to look at you. You cannot help your smile at the tears beading at the corners of his eyes. You wish you could cup his face as you had done once when he was young, but you fear he would not be pleased. Your son hated being coddled as a child, after all.
Still, your heart aches watching him. Your sweet child, one whom you held in your arms till his final moments. The sweetest joy you ever had.
“My son…” You murmur softly, and caress his cheek. “Look how much you've grown. Centuries ago, I held you in my arms.” You smile as his eyes, still glossy, slowly widen. “And now, here you are. How time has flown.”
Nezha unconsciously leans into your touch. He closes his eyes, and in this moment, he looks so young…
When you had once held him in your arms, welcoming him into this world, vowing to make him happy. Foolishly swearing that if you could not have made your first two children happy, then perhaps this one, you will save. This one, you would ensure, has a better childhood.
When you had once held him again, watching the life leave his eyes. Those foolish promises mocking you. Can you make him happy now?
You smile sadly. “I can only wonder what your world has been. So long have you suffered, and this mother of yours could not even stand by your side.”
“Mother.” It's the first time he has chosen to speak. You wait for him to gather his thoughts, and he shakes his head, much like he used too as a child. “It's…not your fault. Don't blame yourself, please .”
Your son is looking at you again. This time, it's more difficult hiding those tears that threaten to spill, and it's easier to notice how his voice cracks.
“This unfilial child has failed you ,” Nezha whispers. “I-I thought you…and I didn't think to…”
You tilt your head slightly. Still so easy to cry after decades. It is nice to know that some things didn't change, and for a moment you briefly wonder of your other children. How have they managed in the years that have followed?
“You are allowed to cry,” you remark, as an afterthought to your trembling son. “This mother of yours won't ever judge.”
So he cries in your arms, in that little teashop in the mortal realm. As a mother should, you hold him dutifully, allowing him to release the years of witheld emotion.
“You want your freedom?” That man sets the brush down. He raises his head to look at you through narrowed eyes.
You are calm. Your hands are clasped on your lap, and you return his gaze evenly.
“Yes. You have achieved that which you have longed for,” you answer quietly, placing the cup of tea on the table. He makes no motion to accept it, and you shrug it off to stubbornness and pride. He is still brooding his defeat at the hands of his ‘disorderly’ child, isn't he? “And I can never follow. Grant me the opportunity then to embrace my final years in peace.”
He is uncharacteristically quiet. You had anticipated him to be angry, to even attempt to throw the freshly brewed tea on you. Perhaps even to smite you down for daring suggest such a thing as a woman.
He is suspicious, though, that you can tell. His gaze is nothing less if not kind, so you quietly add, “I have no intention of remarrying any other. Just to simply live out my life in peace as a mortal. This wife only wishes for her husband to grant her this final request before the inevitable happens.”
Your husband strokes the whisps of his beard. He sighs, “To honor it will mean nothing. But your son ―” He spits it like a disease. “―will not agree to such a thing.”
That, you weren't aware of. Death is inevitable for mortals. Though he is still young, you do not doubt your son will learn to cope. Perhaps it may harden his own heart, so he may never hurt again.
“Even then. You are my wife.” Your skin feels clammy at the reminder. “I hope you realize that, even in Death.”
You resist the urge to remark at that. Even till the end, he still wishes to keep that leash on you, like an old dog.
“Yes. I am aware.”
“Good. Then if such is your request―” He flicks his wrist. “―then this husband will allow it. Go now, and may we never meet again.”
Nezha is an important figure in the celestial realm. It is interesting to see guards dressed in gold and white armor bow before him as they scurry back and forth. They pay your presence no mind, although some have quickly recognized how familiar you look next to the Lotus Prince. Whispers have already begun to spread through the realm, murmuring about the visitor the prince has.
You are mildly impressed by his accomplishments and feats. It does not take away the worry, however.
He is exhausted. He rubs his temples and speaks through gritted teeth, head behind his hands. He says very little except to give out orders when asks.
“Nezha,” You take care to keep your voice low. “Are you alright?”
It is a foolish question. He is less than alright, and though it had been his idea to bring you into the celestial realm, if only to be able to allow you to see his older brothers, you worry about his own health.
He does not spare you an answer. His attention seems to be focused elsewhere, making you frown.
“Nezha?” You repeat, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alr―”
Your words fall short when you follow where he's staring.
It is ironic that even after decades, he is still the same. The years have been far too kind to kind to him, you think bitterly.
Your name leaves his mouth breathlessly, “ Wuming? ”
Ah….this will be more difficult than you originally anticipated.
“Li Jing. Your wish has been broken. We have met again, I'm afraid.”