He knew he was dreaming again.

This dream had haunted him for decades—day after day, night after night—tangled up with his very being, as if woven into his bones and flesh. He couldn’t shake it off or dig it out but when it didn’t come, something felt missing.

But he had never dreamt with such clarity before. It felt so real, as if it were truly happening.

“Gou’er, why are you so stubborn? Isn’t my money also your money? Why do you think I work so hard? Isn’t it all to send you to school, so you can hold your head high?”

“Why are you so damn stubborn? Who are you trying to prove something to?!”

“I know you don’t like me, but I’ve been this way for years—I can’t change, and I’m not planning to!”

“Look at Hong’er. Doesn’t he look just like you?”

…

Xue Tingrang suddenly felt someone shaking him. He opened his tired eyes to the dim inner chamber, and saw Hu San’s aging face. Even the patterns on the bed canopy looked so familiar—only then did he realize it had all been a dream.

But the dream had felt so vivid. He could still smell the faint scent of sorghum in the air, see the stubborn curve of her tightly pressed lips. He had been there. Even the tears she shed in anger, sparkling like crystal, glowing with iridescence—he had reached out to touch them, but was shaken awake.

“My lord, it’s time for your medicine.”

Someone helped him sit up and fed him the medicine. He was so ill he couldn’t even drink it on his own. He was a far cry from the powerful Senior Grand Secretary who once held sway over the court for decades.

No—he was no longer the Grand Secretary.

He had already submitted his resignation, requesting retirement. The Emperor had granted it. But he no longer had a home to return to, nor any family to rely on.

Not that he ever intended to go back.

“Lord Zhang, Lord Wang, Lord Li, and Lord Cao have all come to visit you. But per your instructions, we’ve kept them outside. They come every day. They’re here again today—would you like to see them?”

What use was there in seeing them? They still thought his illness was a political maneuver, waiting for him to rise again and lead them against the Emperor. But he truly was ill—gravely ill. Beyond cure.

“I won’t see them.”

“Then please rest a while longer, my lord.”

The room fell quiet once again. Xue Tingrang’s eyelids grew heavy. He blinked slowly, again and again, until he drifted back into sleep.

…

“How is it that Lord Wang has time to visit an old man like me?”

Wang Mingsheng’s expression was complex, but his face held a polite smile. “We served under the same court. No matter how you look at it, I have every reason—both personal and official—to pay my respects to the former Grand Secretary.”

“I didn’t expect such empty pleasantries from you, Wang Mingsheng. Or is it that you’ve come on the emperor’s behalf, to see whether I’m dying yet?” Xue Tingrang said mockingly.

He was clearly a man at death’s door—gaunt and withered. But his eyes, calm as still water and deep with unreadable wisdom, made it impossible to look down on him.

After all, this was Grand Secretary Xue. His name alone was enough to command awe. He had weathered the reigns of three emperors, dominated the political stage for decades, and his presence had become as formidable as an ancient tree with roots tangled deep into the earth. He didn’t need to raise a hand—just standing there was enough to make others tremble.

If not, why else would the new emperor resort to roundabout tactics, using every means at his disposal, yet still not dare move openly against him?

“It seems, my lord, that you greatly misunderstand His Majesty.”

Xue Tingrang let out a faint snort of laughter and closed his eyes halfway, clearly disinterested in continuing the conversation.

“I’ve come for myself, actually,” Wang Mingsheng said. “I wanted to see for myself what became of the man who abandoned his wife and child in pursuit of power—only to end up like this: alone and pitiful. I suppose when you die, there won’t even be anyone left to mourn you. But really, you brought this upon yourself. It was all just a play, after all—just a performance. Why take it so seriously? Why let it eat you alive? Is it guilt? Or are you afraid the world might finally see your true face and curse your name for generations to come?”

“You—”

“Calling it abandonment is being kind. It should be called murder—wife and child both. Isn’t that right, Lord Xue?”

No one knew the full story. All the world knew was that before his current wife, Grand Secretary Xue had once had a first wife. But what truly became of her—no one could say. Too many years had passed. Xue Tingrang had stood unshaken at the heart of the court for decades, and those who had once opposed him—whether past, present, or potential—had all been crushed underfoot.

People only knew him as a man of courtesy and grace, a refined statesman who treated all with respect and humility. But they had no idea that beneath that polished exterior lurked a ruthless and calculating nature. Over the years, anyone who had tried to dig into his past had all ended up dead, silent as wandering ghosts. How many of them had died unjustly, no one could say. Probably only one man knew the truth—Wang Mingsheng, the one who had suffered most.

“You… you’re…”

Wang Mingsheng leaned in close to his face and whispered, “Too bad for you, my mother was hard to kill. And I was, too. That shipwreck didn’t take our lives—we were saved. Do you know? I’ve dreamed of this moment every single day for years. But you were too powerful, lived too long, held too much sway. I had to climb—slowly, steadily—until I was high enough to drag you down.”

“You’re… Hong’er…” Xue Tingrang forced the words out with great effort.

Wang Mingsheng straightened and let out a rare, unrestrained laugh. “I’m not Hong’er. And I’m no Xue. My surname is Wang. My mother remarried—the man who saved our lives. And don’t flatter yourself. Even if you drop dead right now, I still wouldn’t be your son.”

Wang Mingsheng, long known for his composed, reserved demeanor, was rarely seen expressing anything openly. It was likely the first time he had ever laughed so freely in front of others.

“Oh, and don’t go thinking that just because I bear the Wang name, I might somehow still carry on the Xue family line. Let me remind you—back in the day, there was a rumor that I had a taste for men. If I remember correctly, you were the one who ordered it to be spread. And as it turns out—you were right. I don’t like women. That’s why I never married.”

He stood there watching the old man on the bed, watching his shock, his sorrow, his overwhelming regret.

But so what?

To his surprise, he felt no real satisfaction. Even his smile felt hollow, empty. The thrill he had imagined for so many years simply wasn’t there. The corners of his mouth flattened, his interest faded like smoke. Brushing the dust from his sleeve, he said calmly, “Since Lord Xue is doing well, I’ll take my leave.”

—

“I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“My lord? What are you saying?”

That voice cut through the fog in Xue Tingrang’s mind. Suddenly, the haze lifted, and he jolted awake with a start. Once again, he was back in the dim inner room, staring at Hu San’s plain—almost ugly—face. The bitter scent of medicine lingered heavily in the air, mixed faintly with the smell of decay.

Xue Tingrang moved his lips, but no sound came out.

“My lord? What is it?”

Hu San grew anxious, repeating the question urgently. But Xue Tingrang couldn’t speak. Hu San could only guess, asking gently, “Are you still worried about what happened earlier? Don’t worry, my lord. Your message has been delivered to Lord Zhang. He knows that Lord Wang is your only son and will carry out your final wishes.”

Xue Tingrang blinked slowly. Thinking he had more to say, Hu San leaned in close, placing his ear by the old man’s mouth.

All he heard was a faint whisper: “I didn’t…”

And then—nothing.

Panicked, Hu San lifted his head to look—and saw Xue Tingrang’s eyes wide open, his face pale and grey with death.

With trembling hands, he reached out to check for breath, only to stumble backward and fall to the floor in fright.

A cold wind slipped through the torn paper window, rushing in and slapping Xue Gouzi’s face with icy chill.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open.

What he saw first was a modest room—small, with walls of gray brick and a roof of dark tiles. The walls had been whitewashed, but the color had dulled over time. Exposed wooden beams stretched overhead, untreated and bare, as there was no ceiling to cover them. Several woven bamboo baskets hung from the beams, each draped with a square of indigo cloth, hiding whatever they held inside.

He lay on a kang bed, a traditional heated platform, covered with a quilt that was neither new nor fully worn out. Though the cover looked clean and neat, the cotton stuffing inside had long since hardened.

At the foot of the bed stood a row of dark brown storage cabinets built into the kang. The cabinet doors had brass hinges and matching handles adorned with simple tassels. Carved into the wood were delicate patterns of swirling clouds and flowing water—nothing grand by noble standards, but for a farming household, it was a piece of furniture worth showing off.

“It’ll last for generations,” his father had once said. His father, the best carpenter in the village, had built it himself.

Xue Gouzi’s head throbbed—like he’d been struck hard with a hoe. He tried to sit up, but his body felt drained of all strength, and he collapsed back onto the bed.

Only then did it fully hit him—he was Xue Gouzi, the eldest son of the second branch of the Xue family. After some trouble recently, he’d become overwhelmed and fell ill, bedridden for many days.

He wasn’t Xue Tingrang. That man—was just a figure from his dreams.

How could he ever be someone like that?

Just to reassure himself it had all been a dream, he lifted his hand and examined it closely.

Sure enough—his hand was slender and pale, still soft and smooth, without the veins and strength a grown man’s hand would carry. He was only fourteen. How could he have lived into his seventies, dying with open eyes and a heavy heart?

Xue Gouzi let out a long breath and looked around once more. Only then did he feel a little more grounded, a little more at ease.

Voices floated in from outside, slipping in through the cracks in the window frame.

“I’m telling you, Zhao’er—not that your Fourth Aunt wants to nag—but just look at yourself! What kind of girl spends all her time outside the house, trying to act like some peddler? Business? Is that really something you should be doing? Look at your Fourth Uncle—running around all day and still barely making a few coins. Stop messing around and help me out with some chores instead!”

The voice sounded like a young woman’s, but it dripped with sharp sarcasm. People say a person’s face reflects their character, and it was no wonder Mrs. Sun looked as mean-spirited as she sounded.

That thought crossed Xue Gouzi’s mind instinctively, but then he paused—he did dislike his fourth aunt, that was true, but since when had he started thinking about her like this?

Before he could figure it out, he heard that voice from his dream again.

“Fourth Aunt, I would help you out with chores, but you know Gouzi’s been sick for days. At first, the family gave me a few coins for medicine, but after just half a month, Granny said money’s tight and told me to stop the treatments. Gouzi is my husband—am I supposed to just sit by and watch him suffer? If you want me to help you, fine. How about you lend me some money for medicine? I’ll pay you back bit by bit—does that work?”

The speaker was a young girl, her voice sharp, confident, and edged with just the right amount of mockery.

Yes—Zhao’er was deliberately provoking Mrs. Sun.

Everyone knew Mrs. Sun was the type who only took and never gave. Trying to get even a single coin from her was like pulling teeth—let alone lending money to the two half-grown children of the second branch of the family.

Now, only those two were left. Gouzi was just fourteen, barely old enough to be head of a household. The older one was sixteen—and still just a girl. Every time the village gossips whispered about Zhao’er earning some money through business, Mrs. Sun’s face would scrunch with disbelief.

That wretched girl, making money? What business could she be doing? Probably just digging up a few wild melons or fruits from the fields, fooling some city folk and scraping together a few pennies at best.

“Your Fourth Aunt doesn’t have any money to lend you! All our household silver’s with Mother. Go ask her if you dare!” Mrs. Sun slapped the dust from her backside and turned back into the house, not willing to waste another word.

“Well, if you’ve got no money to lend, and I don’t have the nerve to ask Granny,” Zhao’er called after her, “then I’ll just have to figure out how to earn it myself. Gouzi still needs his medicine, after all!”

Zhao’er’s voice rang out loud and clear—not just for Mrs. Sun to hear, but also for Mrs. Zhao, who was sitting inside the main hall.

Sure enough, as soon as Zhao’er stepped through the door, Mrs. Zhao’s voice came shouting from behind: “You haven’t even finished scrubbing the pigsty, and now you’re back inside lazing around like a corpse?”

Zhao’er curled her lip in disdain, lifted the curtain, and stepped into the room—only to catch Xue Gouzi staring right at her.

=^_^=