WARNING: mentions of blood, killing, and poisoning

XIAOJUN

                The sun shown brightly throughout the windows that graced the side of the palace from ceiling to floor. It was a shame though because it was these windows that were the only ones unmasked having faced the back of his garden that were hidden by forests of bamboo and tangerine trees; while it was a garden, there was no sign of life in the planted soil other than for the foliage barrier. The panes of glass were the only things connecting the Prince from the inside of his home to the outside world that appeared to be death.

            Xiao Dejun, Prince of the Xiao Dynasty, looked upon the garden—the only thing he had left to his family’s name. He pursed his lips in deep thought, wondering how he was to go about obtaining all of Guangdong province to himself again. For years, Xiao Dejun—often called Xiaojun for short—stayed confined in his decaying palace. There was no one to help clean his home, and there was no possible way of it happening. He was supposed to be living among the other NCTzens, but thanks to several of his family’s international affiliates, he managed to create a false identity that was inputted into SM’s database. Xiaojun still wore the uniform of a Prince and the many outfits that acclaimed him as one for each time of the day; he had an outfit for the morning, afternoon, evening, and night that he laid out himself.

            His uniform at this hour was not one used for dining at lunch that typically lasted for 2 hours, but one of militia occasion. Xiaojun was supposed to enter the military representing his kingdom at the age of 18, but his father had been assassinated after their home was raided for illegal international imports of food from Europe and Japan during the famine of NEOcity, leaving Xiaojun’s intended uniform bare of any medallions. Although, he did have black sequins adorning his right shoulder as proof he belonged to the kingdom. He wore the uniform because he knew his own fight with SM had only began and knew his father would have wanted him to still proudly wear it in hopes of bringing their enemy down.

He began his daily walk around his house, his arms behind his back as he inspected the many portraits of his family spanning over many generations. Xiaojun tried to clean as much as he could to maintain the respect he had for his ancestors, but there was so much he could do which left the west and east wing dying buildings of dust and blood that he was more than happy to not clean. Both Xiaojun and his mother took refuge in the main part of the palace since either wing had its walls and floors smeared with Xiaojun’s father’s blood after having been mauled to death by SM’s biogenetically engineered dogs that were also black and of various breeds. His steps around his home had come to a halt after remembering the morning of his father’s unexpected death. It was odd, though, agents were never seen of heard of. Anyone who did immediately died. So why hadn’t he and his mother?

As Xiaojun got his daily exercise in for the day, he admired the gold finished swirls of patterns that were complimented by the Italian architecture that prompted itself from the wall as part of the design. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling of the foyer, slightly tilting his chin as he did so. There, the designs from the walls also presented themselves, but they were just the background for the main star of the show—a chandelier with its flames extinguished until it became dark; the chandelier had its weight supported by additional carvings centered in the ceiling and within the space between the elaborate curves were levels of carving decorated by the gold finish.

He stood from the railing to admire it, having smiled to himself of the fond memories of his parents and nanny doting on him and running after him as a young child.

            His thoughts were interrupted at the call of his mother, “Dejun! Come eat!”

            Xiaojun chuckled, smiling warmly of his mother’s way of endearment and equally responded, “I’m coming, mother!!”

            Having entered the grandeur-sized kitchen, there were slabs of limestone complimenting the light that appeared from the tiny windows adjacent to the ceiling with a marbled-finish countertop used to place a multitude of pots and pans, utensils, and ingredients in preparation for whatever cooking was to take place. There were also drawers used to house the spices and utensils below the countertop. Across from it was the furnace, used to cook or reheat any food he or his mother wished to eat; above it was where several copper pots and pans hung.

(POV from inside the kitchen to the main area. Couldn't find any pics of the kitchen, RIP)

            Xiaojun’s mother was a woman of grace in her actions and mannerisms. Her hair had stayed beautifully made and pinned with a beaded jade ornament decorating her hair. She stood by the cooktop, busily finishing another dish when she called over her shoulder, “Bring these out to the breakfast room, I will join you shortly~” smiling as she said so.

            He smiled back, “Yes, mother” and readily grabbed the array of traditional Cantonese foods with a hand-mitt to bring upstairs.

            Meanwhile, behind Xiaojun’s back, his mother had aged considerably since the death of her husband. There were now noticeable wrinkles below her jawline and sags under her eyes, even more so now that the time had come. She let out a shaky breath while attempting to prevent herself from crying, shoving the sleeve of her light blue dress into . Her hands quickly worked to pour the congee from the pot to two separate bowls.

            Hesitantly, she grabbed the small vial from her pocket and dropped several, small droplets of the poison into her bowl. She heard her son’s steps returning to grab more side dishes and panicked, trying to appear as normal as possible.

Xiaojun’s mother had then grabbed a spoon and stirred the concoction, making sure it was fully incorporated and topped the bowl with a century egg and fresh cut pieces of ginger for herself. She then decorated Xiaojun’s with lean cuts of pork and coriander, just the way he liked it.

A pair of warm hands wrapped around her with a chin making its way onto her shoulder, causing her to jump.

 “Mother, would you like for me to take the congee to the breakfast room?” Xiaojun smiled adoringly.

“No, it’s okay Xiaojun. I will bring them up myself, run along hm?” she hadn’t said that to him since he was 10-years old. Now, he was 20 and soon turning 21.

The son chuckled, nodding and going along with her words before retreating to the breakfast room to await the main dish.

She had let out a loud sigh of relief and muttered, “That was close,”

As she traveled to the breakfast room with the tray of their breakfast, she made sure to take her time to admire the home she created with her husband and lovingly raised her son in.

“I’m going to miss you, Dejun,” she whispered softly to the last painting made of her family when her husband was still alive. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and proceeded to the breakfast room.

Breakfast was peaceful as mother and son chatted about their plans to finally reappear to society under different aliases and discussed how they could change their furniture to one of a modern style after nearly over a decade of seeing the same décor over and over again. But something didn’t quite sit right with Xiaojun—his mother hadn’t touched her congee while he finished his as soon as it was placed before him.

“I think a TV would be—"

“Mother, is there something wrong?”

She feigned innocence. She could let him see her die, or she could not.

 “I don’t think I’m that hungry after eating so many dishes,” she responded.

“But it’s a shame for food to go waste like that, mother. You shouldn’t have eaten so much of the water spinach,” her son lightly scolded.

Radiating a bashful smile, she hit her son playfully on his arm, “Well it’s because you always hated eating your vegetables as a child. You’re still my baby boy after all,”

The male caught her hand before she could retract it and held it. This was the woman who managed to raise him all by herself for 10-11 years of his life without being allowed to fall in love with another man in fear of her life. It must have been so hard for her, he thought. Before his father’s death, Queen Xiao had been treated with utmost royalty and respect, never having to lift a finger for anyone except for her son. But even then, it was minimal. It wasn’t like she hated caring for her son after their life changed drastically, but she was unfamiliar with having to do everything for herself. Yet, she gracefully accepted the task of solely raising her son, and their relationship with each other had become closer.

“I love you, mother,” he softly said, raising her hand to rub against his cheek.

His mother made a face, flicking her son away and took her hand back giggling as she did so.

“I love you too, Dejun. Now go and take the dishes to the sink for me,” Little did Dejun know the weight