At some point later in the second week, Cao Pi will lay down to sleep and find himself in the most vivid dream he's ever experienced. It's absolutely real to him, but all it is, is a room. A white, featureless room without doors or windows. It's almost blindingly well-lit, and there's a single chair for him sit in.

And he stays there.

And he stays there for days.

And he stays there for weeks.

And he stays there until he's taken apart the chair and he's raged at the walls and he's fought and fought and fought and still nothing happens, nothing at all, nothing but the white walls and the bright lights and the ceaseless, uncaring silence that he can never, ever fill.

And then he wakes.

It's only been an hour in reality, if that. His sheets are all tangled, though, his body soaked in sweat. And there's a low sigh, a contended exhalation, before the window creaks and a shadow steals into the night.