Chasing Dreams - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Just as the brocade outer robe woven with coiling dragon patterns in pomegranate-red fell over Ji Chang's right shoulder, the bedchamber door was violently thrown open. The maidservant dropped her hands in a start, and the robe fluttered down onto the floor once more.

She recognized the man who had strode in uninvited: he was Ji Chang's personal bodyguard general, surnamed Tang, extremely young, and usually serene and refined in manner, completely lacking the imposing aura of a martial warrior. Yet at this moment, she suddenly felt an instinctive dread; he was no longer the amicable youth she knew.

He cast a glance at her.

The maidservant cowered, not even daring to pick up the fallen robe, and hastily retreated, keeping her gaze lowered the entire time, not daring to let her eyes brush against the youth by even a fraction.

"Zhenchu?" Ji Chang knitted his brows in confusion as he looked at him, bending down himself to pick up the outer robe and put it on.

Tang Qianzi's mouth and throat were too dry to force out a sound; he merely pulled a small object silently from his tunic and handed it over. It was a two-finger-wide strip of cotton paper, crudely crumpled into a ball.

Before the paper roll was even half unfolded, the thirteen-year-old boy abruptly squeezed his eyes shut tight, as though scorched by the words upon it. Only after quite a long while was he able to resume reading.

A heavy silence filled the bedchamber. "Is this news certain?" After a long moment, Ji Chang finally spoke. His voice was hollow and fragmented.

Tang Qianzi said with difficulty, "This is the news brought by the merchant vessel that entered port this afternoon; they just returned from Yunmo Town." Ji Chang lowered his eyes once more to look at the slip of paper in his hand.

"My imperial father is dead. The city has fallen, and the entire royal family is exterminated... What does 'the entire royal family exterminated' even mean? What on earth were those seventy thousand Yulin guards and one hundred and twenty thousand capital garrison troops doing? Could they not even manage to protect Mother and Sister Mudan?!" As Ji Chang muttered on, his voice grew increasingly hoarse and grating. "How many troops did Zhongxu lead when he broke out of the encirclement? Thirty thousand? Four thousand? He took every single man capable of fighting, leaving none behind! His own mother died of illness last year, yet he abandoned my mother and Sister Mudan to wait for death in the palace!" He suddenly flew into a rage, pouring all his strength into slamming the slip of paper down before him.

Tang Qianzi had not failed to anticipate Ji Chang's reaction, but he still found himself at a loss for how to respond. He simply stepped forward and pressed down firmly on the boy's slender shoulders.

Consort Nie had been bedridden for many years, and at a tender age, Ji Chang had already learned to yield, submit, and read people's expressions, making himself no more conspicuous in the palace than a housecat. His full sister, the Imperial Princess of鄢陵 (Yanyan) whose milk name was "Mudan" (Peony), managed to catch the occasional favorable glance from their father, Emperor Xiu; and thanks solely to her, Ji Chang was spared a great deal of humiliation and bullying. When he set out from Tianqi to the Western Lands, every arrangement had been rushed and slipshod, and the Imperial Princess of Yanyan, married off far away to Lanzhou, had even lacked the time to rush back to the imperial capital to see him off before her departure.

These were the only two people in the entire world who cherished and protected him. The overwhelming torrent of the rebellion had crashed down upon them, with Zhongxu drawing his sword to enter the fray and the Great Monarch Yingjia marshalling his forces to overturn the realm. Would not even a destitute thirteen-year-old boy flee for his life hand in hand with his mother and sister? Yet he was nobody; he was merely Chu Ji Chang. Lacking even the time to deploy the scant five thousand troops in his hands, he was forced in this distant, detestable foreign land to watch helplessly as his mother and sister bled, screamed, and died. As for him, Chu Ji Chang, his capability amounted to precisely this.

Ji Chang grew still, his wide-open eyes fixed intently on the slip of paper he had just cast away.

The paper was light and soft, losing all momentum the moment it left his hand, drifting lazily through the air like a cicada's wing for a long moment before dropping silently to the floor. The sudden eruption of anger and words seemed to have been swallowed whole by the room, leaving not a single ember or echo behind.

"Your Highness..." Tang Qianzi weighed his words carefully, offering comfort. "The Imperial Princess of Yanyan was married off to Zhang Yingning; at present, she should be spending the summer at the summer palace in her fief, not within Tianqi City." Ji Chang did not answer him, lifting his head only after another long moment. "...And Mother?" Tang Qianzi met Ji Chang's fixed gaze and was momentarily struck dumb. There were no tears in the boy's eyes—only a stark, uncomfortably clear expanse of black and white, filled with a despair that defied all solace.

A light knock sounded on the door. Not daring to enter the bedchamber, the Zhui Ni maidservant spoke from behind the door panels: "Your Highness, today is the fifteenth. It is time for you to go and pay your respects to His Majesty." Anger flared abruptly in Ji Chang's eyes again; as he turned his head to speak, Tang Qianzi answered preemptively: "Understood, you may withdraw first." Ji Chang shook off Tang Qianzi, tore the red dragon-patterned robe from his body, dashed it to the floor, and glared upward defiantly. "Zhenchu, what do you mean by this? The Emperor has passed away, and the Great Zheng mourns! Do you expect me to wear red and go bow before that half-dead Zhui Ni king?" "Your Highness!" Tang Qianzi lowered his voice, speaking in a tone of rebuke. "News of the Emperor's demise will not officially reach the palace until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. How could you possibly know of it today? Would you tell them that your Yulin guards obtained secret intelligence purchased from commoners? Can we let the Zhui Ni people know of our dealings with the merchant syndicates?" Ji Chang stared at his personal bodyguard general with eyes split to the corners, as though suspecting that this man had no heart or lungs in his chest, but only cold iron and stone.

"Your Highness, the most urgent priority right now is for you to quickly write a letter. I will find a reliable sailor and figure out a way to have it delivered to Prince Zhongxu." Ji Chang stared at him in disbelief, then let out a cold laugh, his voice entirely hoarse. "Write a letter to Zhongxu? And what should I say?" Tang Qianzi looked at him for a long moment before letting out a sigh. A wave of scorching fury surged up within Ji Chang even more fiercely. That expression unmistakably carried pity, as though saying, I understand your grief.

He involuntarily raised his voice, shouting hoarsely, "What do you understand? It wasn't your mother who died! It wasn't of my own volition that I was born into the imperial family, nor did I choose to come to this cursed place! You people are free to do as you please; how could you possibly understand me?" Tang Qianzi's expression shifted instantly, though he quickly regained his composure. "Please lower your voice, Your Highness." Ji Chang stared blankly at him for a moment, his tightly clenched fists slackening in defeat as his whole body slumped.

"Zhenchu, you are right," he said word by word, as though afraid he wouldn't grasp it himself and needed to spell it out aloud. "During the Panxiao Mutiny, it was you who led me away in flight; later, when the port riots broke out, it was you who dispatched soldiers to protect the merchant syndicates from the Great Zheng, saying they would repay us in the future; it was you who sent trusted men out at night to patrol and guard for the syndicates in exchange for wealth, intelligence, and capital... You have always been in the right. Now that Chu Fengyi has raised a rebellion, if he actually succeeds and the Eastern Land falls to him, these fishing folk of Zhui Ni will hand me over to Chu Fengyi without a moment's hesitation to secure continued trade with the East. If I am to survive, my only recourse is to rely on Zhongxu. If Zhongxu is defeated, death is all that awaits me." Ji Chang walked over to the desk, unfolded a fresh sheet of paper, moistened his brush tip on the inkstone, and continued, "Take out the funds, go to the market tomorrow to purchase grain and forage, along with the weapons we've stockpiled... Find out where Zhongxu has pitched his camp, and hire a few daring, fine vessels to deliver it all to him." Even as fluently as he spoke, his hand remained suspended in the air for a long time. From childhood, he had learned how to bow his head in submission to fate, how to bend every inch of a child's tiny pride and stubbornness, pressing it down beneath an unbreakable, cast-iron smile. Every time, he told himself this was the last time; yet every time, disappointment followed.

Tang Qianzi did not rush him. He picked up the pomegranate-red brocade dragon-patterned outer robe from the floor, dusted it off, and walked over to drape it across his shoulders.

The brush had absorbed too much ink, gradually pooling at the tip. With a tremble of Ji Chang's hand, a single drop fell with a soft plop, instantly sinking into the pristine paper surface and spreading in an irrecoverable blot.

He bit his lower lip and simply used the ink spot as a starting point, writing swiftly: "To Imperial Elder Brother Zhongxu: The political situation is critical." The boy's eyes suddenly welled with tears, yet he wrote on in a single uninterrupted breath.

The letter, once completed, came to precisely twelve lines, the brushwork neat and refined. Every single imperial prince of the Zheng Dynasty possessed this skill. Ji Chang pressed his vermilion seal down upon the black-and-white text, examined it closely for a moment, and then folded it, handing it over to Tang Qianzi. The childish yet resolute expression on his face reminded Tang Qianzi of a gambler staking his very last gold coin in a gambling den.

"Then, I shall go pay my respects to Junliang." Ji Chang straightened his robes and headed toward the door, pausing to add, "You will escort me." Tang Qianzi stowed the letter away and followed in silence. Not a single serving attendant was to be seen outside; upon reaching the lower floor, he saw that all the Zhui Ni maidservants had been cordoned off by the Yulin guards he had brought from the Eastern Land, barred from coming upstairs.

Ji Chang looked at his Yulin guards and suddenly offered a faint smile. He was still a thirteen-year-old boy, and his smile remained bright, yet it was weary, his brows heavy as though they would never lift again.

Ji Chang walked hastily along the tortuous, dim corridors, where an occasional ray of sunset pierced through, splashing dazzling, precious radiances across the gold-inlaid, emerald-layered walls. He looked down at the crimson hem of his robe; it was slightly too long, always threatening to trip him. Tang Qianzi followed two steps behind to the side, silent and unmoving like a shadow.

"Zhenchu." Ji Chang suddenly halted, without turning his head.

"Your Highness," Tang Qianzi responded.

Ji Chang said quietly, "What I said just now... I truly am sorry. Your mother is still alone in Qiuye City, with no news whatsoever. I only knew how to wallow in my own grief and grievances... I am so useless." Tang Qianzi was taken aback. "Your Highness speaks too heavily," he replied. "Zhenchu, you also have things you wish to do, don't you? That night when I asked you—it wasn't that you lacked martial prowess, so why did you end up ranked last in the imperial martial examinations? You said your father had been a deputy general during his lifetime, and your mother hoped you would also enter military service, yet you were single-mindedly determined to follow the River Luo artisans to learn their craft. And so, you deliberately left numerous flaws exposed during the examinations, hoping to fail and thereby have an excuse for your mother." Ji Chang paused, then said in a low voice, "I never imagined the Ministry of War would select you to escort me, causing you to follow me far away from your homeland, with no telling when you will ever return to the Eastern Land. No one comes here of their own free will... We are all equally unfree." Tang Qianzi stood in the dim corner behind him, and after a long silence, heard him say, "Your Highness, it is almost too late to pay our respects." Ji Chang nodded and stepped forward once more.

The corridor was nearing its end. Outside, amidst bright and brilliant sunset rays, pavilions and terraces soared and intersected, connected by winding staircases. On the widest suspended platform among them, vines and flower branches hung down like cascading water on three sides, blooming in a fiery riot of color, with several figures leaning casually against the gilded balustrades. Ji Chang knitted his brows. That suspended platform led to the bedchamber of the Zhui Ni King Junliang. Before the evening meal on the fifteenth of every month, the royal youths of Zhui Ni gathered here to await summons, entering the bedchamber to pay their respects to Junliang—an obligation Ji Chang could not evade. Aside from learning the Zhui Ni language, this was the activity he despised above all others.

The suspended platform was practically a sizeable garden, overlooking half of Pibo City. The cool breeze was refreshing, and gazing far into the distance, one could still catch a glimpse of a thread of the blue sea. The moment they stepped onto the platform, someone hurried over to meet them with a grinning smile. "Little Sour Milk, you certainly are slow. Could you have gotten lost again?" A flush of resentment rose to Ji Chang's cheeks; he turned his head away and ignored him. Swings were set up beneath the rose trellis, and brocade mats were scattered casually among the grassy plots and flower beds, where richly dressed, dark-complexioned noble youths and maidens sat or reclined. Only Ji Chang and Tang Qianzi, two Easterners mixed among them, stood out with striking whiteness.

The Zhui Ni youth who had struck up the conversation was of an age with Tang Qianzi, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a wide tunic of purple-gold light silk. He leaned close to Ji Chang's flushed cheeks, suddenly flashing a row of bright, even white teeth, and laughed aloud. "Goodness, look everyone! Little Sour Milk even put rouge on his pale face!" A strand of black, curly hair above the youth's left temple was braided with delicate gold chains and pearl necklaces, and a heavy imperial gold pendant shaped like a dragon's tail hung at his chest, its rice-grain-sized scales inlaid with precious aquamarines—evidently one of the higher-ranking princes.

"Fifth Brother, don't bully Little Sour Milk. He's a creature made of milkfat; what will you do if your pitch-black hands leave marks on him? When he gets back to the Eastern Land, even his imperial father won't recognize him anymore!" Another Zhui Ni maiden in similar attire swung back and forth on a swing while laughing aloud.

At the mention of "imperial father," Ji Chang's face drained of color—he no longer had an imperial father. Tang Qianzi stepped forward, pressing a hand down onto his shoulder from behind, yet he felt the fragile shoulder beneath his palm tense rigidly, as though about to unleash astonishing power at any second.

Right at that moment, the side door of King Junliang's bedchamber opened, and a file of liton-like palace attendants emerged, bowing respectfully before them and offering up large clamshell dishes balanced on their heads. The shallow water within the dishes nourished strings of white jasmine flowers. Each person stepped forward to take a string, holding it in both hands. Knowing it was time for audience with King Junliang, the chatter ceased.

The attendants called out the titles and names of the royal youths in turn within the doorway. Crown Prince Solan was still an infant under three years old, led in by his wet nurse, followed shortly by the summons for Ji Chang. Tang Qianzi followed closely at his side, entering the main bedchamber of King Junliang.

In the nearly three years since the Panxiao Mutiny, King Junliang had never once left this main bedchamber. The windows were sealed tight with brocade cloth to block the wind, and lamps burned night and day. The air was stifling and foul; handfuls of dragon saliva, frankincense, storax, and aloeswood were heaped into incense dishes at the four corners, burning with unsparing luxury, yet failing to mask the faint, lingering stench of decay.

Filtered through dozens of layers of shark-skin gauze curtains, those coming to pay respects could only dimly discern a curled, human-like form. Rumors said Junliang had suffered horrific injuries back then, and apart from imperial physicians and a handful of palace attendants, no one was permitted to cross the threshold of the curtains, ostensibly for fear of introducing contagion. On one occasion, when outside audiences were only halfway through, Junliang had suddenly grown frantic, thrashing back and forth rigidly upon the bed in spasms of his limbs, emitting a terrifying, rattling sound from his throat. The attendants immediately summoned physicians and opened the side door leading to the suspended platform, bidding the princes, princesses, and great monarchs to return to their quarters for the evening meal. A fierce storm had been raging upon the sea that day, sweeping away the sand and blotting out the sun. A sharp vortex of wind had forced its way into the main bedchamber, rushing horizontally across the floor. As Ji Chang turned his head to shield himself from the wind, the corner of his eye caught the layered curtains behind him being flipped upward by nearly two feet by the violent gust. Though he could not see the person inside, he caught sight of a silver basin placed near the foot of the bed: under the bright, glaring lamplight, the water floating upon the surface was entirely suffused with blackish-red blood and thick, yellowish pus. Ever since then, every time he stepped into Junliang's bedchamber, Ji Chang would involuntarily picture how that nominal sovereign of the realm, hidden beneath the purple and crimson shark-skin gauze, was slowly rotting away from the marrow outward, leaving him clutching his palms in a cold sweat. Yet those brilliantly dressed, radiant youths and maidens never seemed to notice, continuing to laugh softly and carefree, exchanging glances with sideways glances.

Before the shark-skin curtains stood a low table, upon which rested a half-man-high dragon-tail deity statue made of marrow-jade. The deity was depicted as an exquisitely stunning woman singing with her head held high, human from the waist up and serpent from the waist below, with pointed earlobes and a cascading mane of deep indigo curls that rippled as though floating in unseen water.

The wet nurse led Crown Prince Solan forward, gently taking his tiny hands to present the jasmine flower strings before his eyes. Following prostration and worship, she respectfully draped the flower strings around the deity's neck, retreating after the rites were concluded.

Next in line was Ji Chang.

He stepped forward, every movement slow and labored, barely able to control the urge to turn around and flee. Behind the luminous, flawless deity statue, separated by dozens of ultra-thin curtains, a near-imperceptible, fermented stench slithered out like thousands of venomous snakes darting their tongues, tightening around his throat. That scent reminded him of the chaotic, tragic night of the summer before last, where human corpses across the ground were scorched pitch-black by raging fires, their features and limbs fused with charcoal, yet still vaguely distinguishable. In the besieged imperial capital of Tianqi at this very moment, such a shocking scene likely repeated itself. His brothers were scattered, the life or death of his beloved sister remained unknown, and his father and mother had perished—he dared not dwell on the state of their remains. Ji Chang struggled to contain the tears welling in his eyes, bowed before the dragon-tail deity, and rose to loop the flower string around the deity's neck.

"Look, how wretched Little Sour Milk's face looks, just like he's mourning his dead parents." The maiden's silver-bell-like voice, though deliberately suppressed, still carried clearly to Ji Chang's ears. The soft laughter of the youths rippled back and forth like surging waves, shaking Ji Chang until he swayed.

Ji Chang felt something shatter and burst open within his body, followed by a blazing fire. In an instant, the tears in his eyes were evaporated dry, and as far as the eye could see, everything was drenched in a deep, heavy, blood-red hue. Seizing strength from nowhere, he whipped around like a towering, violent, rearing foal, taking his first step toward the blurred crowd.

This was the most ferocious moment in the entire thirty-five-year span of Chu Ji Chang's life. Though there was no mirror before him, he knew his expression must be terrifying; he could see those aristocratic scions of royal lineage with their youthful beauty retreating backward one after another.

He no longer had a physical shell or consciousness; he possessed only a single, wild obsession: he would beat these people to death, and anyone who dared to stop him would also have to die! The thirteen-year-old boy clenched his fists, gathering all his strength into them, ready to strike out the very next moment.

A breathless, primordial eternity of a fraction of a second. He heard Tang Qianzi's shout and the maid's panicked shriek; he even heard the crisp cracking sound of his own finger joints grinding together. Yet none of it felt real; it was like eavesdropping on the commotion ashore from beneath the surface of the water, distant and blurred as if across lifetimes. The resentment accumulated deep within his chest and lungs broke through the earth like scorching magma, threatening to burst forth in a roar—yet in the end, it did not.

The thunderous crash of a heavy object striking the ground stunned everyone present.

The half-man-high dragon-tail deity statue rolled onto the floor, its arms bearing faint dragon-scale patterns still stretching alluringly into the air, while both hands were snapped off at the elbows, and the golden gem-inlaid beads serving as its eyes rolled out with a clatter.

Inside Ji Chang's fist, a handful of jasmine flowers was crushed to pulp, while the other end of the flower string remained tightly wrapped around the deity's delicate neck. He panted like a small beast, his eyes still filled with a dazed, unbridled cruelty.

The Zhui Ni people stared in shock at the fragments of marrow-jade strewn across the floor, all of them struck speechless.

"Goodness!" Not until a long moment had passed did a maidservant cry out, rushing to Ji Chang's feet in a futile attempt to piece the statue back together.

The noble youths and maidens only then seemed to snap out of their daze, slowly closing in on Ji Chang. Tang Qianzi flashed forward, placing himself before Ji Chang to block them.

The leading youth bent down to look at Ji Chang, offering a cold sneer. "Anyone who shatters the deity statue must serve as a slave for a month to atone for their crime. For this month, you—and this lackey of yours—are both our slaves." From behind Tang Qianzi's shoulder, Ji Chang raised his head to stare into the youth's face. The red film in his eyes began to recede step by step, allowing him to perceive the cruelty etched on that face detail by detail, carving it deep into his memory so that he would never forget.

"No," he replied after a long silence, his voice still trembling slightly.

The youth had never imagined there could be such an answer in this world. He widened his eyes. "What did you say?" "I will not be a slave," Ji Chang said clearly and in a low voice.

"You're mad! Anyone who refuses to atone for their crime is burned to death as a sacrifice to the gods; even His Majesty the King cannot grant an exemption! If the Dragon-Tail Deity falls into wrath, white waves will rise upon the sea. Do you know what those white waves look like? Even nine-masted Magnolia ships are tossed into the air and smashed to pieces upon the sea, and not a single one escapes!" Ji Chang fixed his gaze on him, his eyes returning to their original clarity. "You deserve it." He smiled faintly, with an air of nonchalance, utterly untamed.

The Zhui Ni people placed blind faith in the Dragon-Tail Deity as a nation, and naturally could not tolerate such words. The youth angrily grabbed Ji Chang by the collar, raising a hand to strike him. Tang Qianzi was lightning-fast, catching the youth's wrist in a tight grip. "Please show some self-respect, Your Highness." "Ha, the slave of a slave—you want to be burned to death as a sacrifice to the gods as well?" Growing even more arrogant, the youth wrenched his hand angrily out of Tang Qianzi's grasp and drew a precious short curved blade.

Tang Qianzi knitted his brows tight, his hand already pressing against the hilt of the saber at his waist, when he abruptly heard a sharp, crystal-clear chime of silver bells ringing out from behind the shark-skin curtains. Someone bent down to crawl out from beneath the silk drapery, and a sweet, crisp voice commanded resolutely: "Isier, that is my slave! You are not permitted to touch him!" Outside the curtains, everyone fell silent for a moment.

Ji Chang heard a voice within his heart say, Ah, it's her.

Through the twenty-two years that followed, whenever he recalled this scene, the young girl's countenance, bearing, and attire would all be blurred; only those sweet, decisive words remained ringing distinctly in his ear, like the first clear beam of dawn at the junction of day and night, cutting sharply through this turbid world.

Crown Prince Solan bolted out from beside his wet nurse, tugging at the young girl's skirt and crying repeatedly, "Sister! Sister!" The girl crouched down, groping to pull Solan into her arms. A wide, pristine white ribbon was tied across her forehead and knotted behind her head, covering a pair of blind eyes; the brother and sister both wore identical dragon-tail deity emblem pendants at their chests.

Tang Qianzi remembered as well—this eight- or nine-year-old blind little princess was the very same little girl who had nearly died beneath his blade on the night of the Panxiao Mutiny. On the day following the mutiny, the two surviving orphans of Consort Lingjia had been sent off to the Five Commanderies of Fengnan by the Great Monarch Yingjia. When the royal city repairs were completed that winter, Crown Prince Solan was welcomed back, but Princess Tilan had remained behind in Fengnan to be raised. She must have just returned to the royal city recently.

Isier gave a cold scoff. "I almost forgot, Little Sour Milk was your savior back then, no wonder you're in such a rush to snatch people away from your brother, right, Tilan?" "Since I want these two slaves, and Brother Isier wants them as well, let's go ask the Great Monarch Yingjia to settle the matter. But Brother, do not forget—the Great Monarch is my uncle, not yours." Tilan's tone was even, yet her arrogant attitude surpassed even Isier's.

The muscles on Isier's cheeks tightened. Their father Junliang nominally remained the King of Zhui Ni, but in reality had long since become a cripple, and the Great Monarch Yingjia was the true master of the realm. He pressed his lips into a thin line, turned his face away, and strode off.

Tilan no longer paid him any heed either, calling out "Gongye," whereupon a small maidservant of her own age stepped forward in response. Tilan handed Solan over into the small maidservant's arms and said, "You and the nurse take Solan back to the bedchamber for the evening meal. I'm going out for a walk." Gongye was startled, dropping immediately to her knees. "Your Highness, if no one is there to support you and the higher-ups blame us for it, Gongye's life will be forfeit." "What is there to fear? Aren't these new slaves right here? Hey, you two, come over here and lead the way for me." Tilan remained crouched on the ground, a small hand extended unreasonably into the air, waiting just like that for someone to pull her up.

Ji Chang's face burned hotly with a mixture of humiliation and seemingly something else besides, which he could not quite identify. "I will not be a slave," he said.

"If you won't be a slave, you have to die. Aren't you afraid of death?" Tilan tilted her head, looking utterly perplexed.

Ji Chang bit his teeth together and said, "I am not afraid." Tilan froze, then suddenly broke into a brilliant smile, saying, "You're lying. That day you were shaking all over with terror, and your voice was shaking too." A strip of ribbon an inch wide was tied across her eyes, so no one could see how the light flickered beneath her eyelashes—all people could see was half of her smile. Yet in that very instant, Ji Chang felt something break through his chest, ride the wind as it fluttered into the depths of the blue sky, and vanish forever.

"Hey, what are you spacing out for? Pull me up." Tilan stamped her foot, the silver bells on her wrists and ankles chiming in a jangle. "I want to go outside." Ji Chang was astonished at himself as well; he reached out so naturally, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

"And the other one? Where is the tall one?" Tilan's other hand groped aimlessly in the air.

Tang Qianzi grasped it and responded, "Yes, Your Highness." Tilan smiled again, lifting her head to say, "It's you, I remember your voice. You're bolder than he is; your hand was shaking back then too, but when you spoke, you acted as though nothing was the matter—ah, what are you doing?" She drew in a sharp breath, her brow furrowing.

"Reporting to Your Highness, watch the steps," Tang Qianzi gave a cold start, slowly relaxing the grip he had momentarily and unconsciously tightened.

That rain-soaked night of the fire-gutted city came vividly back to life before his eyes. More than once, he had harbored the intent to kill this very child. He still remembered how, through the bleak curtain of rain that night, he had seen her looking back blankly from atop the Kuafu's shoulder, and the vibrant drop of red blood on her cheek had been a single droplet flung from the tip of his blade as he raised it to strike. Yet, to this day, she still believed that Ji Chang and he had once saved her life. How laughable; intending to kill her had been such a clear, simple, effortless task, yet now he had suddenly lost even the courage to meet the blind girl's face directly.

Tilan, however, remained completely oblivious to his heavy heart, pulling them both along by the hand as she eagerly ran toward the suspended platform. "Come on, let's go look at the stars." Finding their pace hesitant, she let out another little laugh. "How clumsy! You two look, and then describe it to me." Outside, the night had grown pitch black. The rainy season had just passed, and extending northeastward some ten-odd paces from the Papal River, continuous rows of lights flickered, occasionally accompanied by a sliver of candlelight drifting downstream from the wind-lamps swaying precariously upon narrow-prowed boats. The daytime clamor and dust had all settled; fragrant and cool, the floral greenery on the suspended platform was quiet and desolate. They sat side by side near a cascade of bougainvillea, dangling their legs outside the railing. The melodious sounds of boatmen hawking sweetmeats and pastries floated upward, while fishing fires drifted across the depths of the sea and sky.

"What do the stars you see look like? What about the moon? Is it a bright moon or a dark moon?" The sweeping night wind rushed in from the sea. Tilan squeezed in between them, her waist-length hair and white ribbon dancing wildly in all directions, carrying wisps of rose fragrance that brushed softly and itchily against the youths' cheeks.

Tang Qianzi found himself in quite a bind; unable to withstand her repeated questioning, he finally told the truth: "Your Highness, it's an overcast day today." Tilan immediately grew still, looking utterly disappointed. After a moment, she obediently hugged her own legs, rested her chin upon her knees, and muttered glumly, "That's fine too. Those palace attendants are afraid of angering me; even on overcast days, they can look you in the eye and talk nonsense about how the Qingshu Star is doing this or the Yinchu Star is doing that. I'm blind, but I'm not stupid—if I just walk out into the sunlight during the day, won't I know whether it's clear or overcast? You didn't lie to me. You're as good as Gongye." Tang Qianzi merely smiled, but Tilan chattered on like a little bird: "That's right, where is your country?" The youth said softly, "Over there... the direction the wind blows from, on the other side of the sea." The girl raised her hand, pointing toward the horizon against the wind. "Over there? There's an island in the middle of the Chuliao Sea; have you ever been there?" "Mount Minzhong? We anchored there on our way here to make sacrifices to the Dragon-Tail Deity." Tilan asked again, "How far away is Mount Minzhong?" Tang Qianzi recalled for a moment and said, "With full sails driving the ship, it still takes about ten days." The girl fell silent, her lowered face taking quite a while to lift again. "I've never been to such a distant place. Without someone leading me, I can't go anywhere." She sighed, suddenly remembering that the boy beside her had been silent for a long time, so she poked him with her elbow. "Hey, are you so stunned by the stories that you've turned mute? I don't want a mute slave." Ji Chang ignored her, silently gazing down at the greater half of Pibo City beneath his feet. It was the evening meal hour, and within every tiny, dim, yellowish window, a family was gathered together, keeping their warmth locked inside while only the cold, lonely indigo night remained outside. His expression gradually darkened, yet a shifting light flickered within his eyes.

Tilan sensed the slight tremor radiating from Ji Chang and asked with curiosity, "Eh? What's wrong with you?" With that, she reached out, unceremoniously finding his face, and her slender fingers stroked downward, actually touching a hand-slide of cold, slippery tears. Panicking, she cupped his face and said anxiously, "Hey, don't cry. I didn't really mean to make you a slave; you guys saved me, I won't let Isier bully you." Ji Chang turned his head to dodge her hand, using his sleeve to wipe his face fiercely and roughly as he rasped, "You're so noisy." Yet the tears refused to stop.

"Then stop crying," Tilan pouted, stubbornly trapping the boy who stood a head taller than her between her two arms, though her own voice was beginning to tremble as well.

Another warm hand landed on Ji Chang's back. He looked up to see Tang Qianzi. His gaze remained calm and rippless, as if saying, I understand your grief.

The boy's heart was like a deep bronze cauldron, swallowing all the grievances and despair that could not be melted. He had childishly believed all along that as long as he endured in silence without touching them, they would extinguish themselves and never burn again. But he was wrong. His home had fallen, his country was about to perish, and this news had dropped like a spark into the quiet ashes, burning with such fierce intensity that the pain suppressed for days transformed into countless venomous tongues of fire, licking at his thin, fragile shell from within. He had endured bitterly, unwilling to show the slightest sign of weakness. Envy, humiliation, desire, and hatred—the cocoon shell covering his heart could withstand anything, yet it could not withstand the gentle touch of those fingers. The boy could finally endure no longer, bursting suddenly into tears. His chest tore open abruptly, exposing all his soft, vulnerable flesh to the open air before shattering into fine dust, washed away by his tears.

Clasping his neck, Tilan began to sob in fright as well, soaking the ribbon over her eyes until the dark, densely curled eyelashes beneath it were vaguely visible.

Blood will always run dry, leaving behind only tears. Ji Chang knew that once those bitter tears ran dry as well, his cocoon shell would mend itself, growing even tougher and thicker than before. As for the mottled wounds hidden within, only these two people beside him would ever witness them. From that night onward, his childhood truly came to an end.

The youth sighed silently, gently gathering the two crying children into his arms, as if an alternate layer of dark, warm night wrapping them snugly away, isolating them from all possibility of being pried into or harmed.

Wearied from crying, the children successively collapsed onto the youth's knees and fell into a deep sleep, their breathing sweet, soft, and even. The youth sat alone above the brilliant yet cold sea of lights in the harbor port, the ocean breeze gently playing with his hair.

He had slept very little over the past few years. At first, it was out of fear that the brothers sent out to guard the merchant syndicates might run into trouble in the middle of the night, and that any mismanaged command would implicate Ji Chang and the entire five-thousand-strong garrison, keeping him on high alert all night long. The habit, once cultivated, eventually became second nature. Every night he was either out in the main camp or at one of the two outposts annexed from pirates, sitting by a single withered lamp with half a pillow of military texts, refusing to sleep until the eastern sky grew pale. At seventeen years old, the new roots of his sideburns were already turning gray.

As the hour grew deeper and the dew grew heavier, a strong wind broke through the thick clouds. Gazing upward from the high platform, the starlight, dense as silver sand, seemed as though it would fall right into one's eyes.

The youth heard a sudden, sharp, agitated chime of silver bells from his knee and lowered his head just in time to see Tilan's small form jerk out of her slumber, as if startled by a tremendous fright. Fearing she might topple off the suspended platform in her panic, Tang Qianzi hurriedly caught her hand and asked, "Your Highness, what is wrong?" Ji Chang was also wakened, sitting up with sleepy eyes.

Tilan groped with both hands for the youth's lapels, gripping them tightly as she panted, "There are many monsters in the sea, they flipped the boat over... He, he fell into the sea!" "Who?" Tang Qianzi was startled, realizing immediately that she meant Ji Chang. Seeing her face was still deathly pale, a smile crept to the corners of his lips; after all, she was just a child with such shallow thoughts—having just heard someone mention ocean navigation, even her dreams were full of the sea.

"Wherever I go, he follows, so nothing will happen to him," he smoothed her lapels and said with a smile.

Tilan, however, simply shook her head stubbornly, looking thoroughly haunted. "But you weren't on that boat... There were many other people beside him, but I couldn't see their faces." She tugged timidly at Ji Chang's hand. "It's so terrifying, don't take ocean ships anymore in the future." "I must return to the Eastern Land eventually," Ji Chang said softly.

She shook Ji Chang's hand. "Then don't go back!" Ji Chang smiled faintly. "Stop acting up. How do you know the one who fell into the sea was me? You've never even seen my face." For some reason, the little girl grew angry, shoving his hand away and shouting shrilly, "I just know!" Tang Qianzi and Ji Chang were both momentarily struck dumb. Ji Chang reached out to pull her, but she broke free, stumbling backward. The blind child's movements were clumsy and pitiful yet stubborn and fierce; tripped by something, she lunged toward the rose trellis, nearly falling over.

Tang Qianzi leaped up to catch her. Tilan instead threw her arms around the swing's rope, using it to steady herself as she struggled back to her feet. Expending goodness knows how much effort, her full, warm lips were pressed into a tight line. The silver-wire bracelets stacked upon her wrists were hopelessly entangled with the delicate, thorny rose branches; unable to free them, she used her other hand to tug at them. The small fangs of the flower thorns bit deep into her skin, yet she gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might. Suddenly, she let out a sharp, brief shriek as she felt herself being lifted bodily from behind. It was a pair of warm hands, not particularly formidable, yet already possessing the strength of an adult man.

Those hands placed Tilan down to sit somewhere, and the cool night breeze rushed against her face. She felt herself swaying gently along with the movement, realizing after a moment's thought that she was sitting on a swing.

Her bracelet was a delicate silver thread over two feet long, densely threaded with tiny silver bells, winding smoothly up her wrist and back down again, with both ends locked together. The person knelt before her, taking her hands and tracing her fingers along the pattern of the bracelet loop by loop in a slow, unhurried manner, all the while carefully ensuring the entangled flower branches didn't pierce her. It was a meticulous, patient slowness that couldn't help but cause one to relax and set their mind at ease.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his tone carrying the practiced air of someone accustomed to caring for children.

Tilan shook her head.

She remembered his voice. On that night of the Panxiao Mutiny, it was this clear, steady voice that made her feel instinctively that as long as he was alive, she could survive too.

When he had braved the rain of arrows to drag her behind the screen, she had felt the slight, irrepressible tremor passing through his icy hands. He was not born with a fearless or heroic disposition; it was simply that dozens of men still obeyed his orders, and a man like him, having assumed responsibility for others, no longer possessed the right to fear. This principle was something she would only understand years later. She did not understand their language, but she could never forget those brief, powerful sentences lingering in her ears; in her lightless world to come, they were the sole solid pillar of support at hand.

Finally, Tang Qianzi found the clasp, carefully unwinding the bracelet from her layer by layer, meticulously pulling away the rose branches, and preparing to put the bracelet back on her.

Tilan pulled her hand back, hid it behind her back, and extended her other hand instead, saying, "Help me untie this one too." He complied.

She then lifted her soft, exquisite little feet, speaking with spoiled petulance: "Take them all off." He seemed to chuckle, asking her, "You don't want any of them?" His deep voice, suppressed within his chest, remained as warm as the morning sun.

"Mmm," she puffed out her cheeks and said, "I don't like them. They're afraid I'll wander around, so they tie bells all over me top and bottom, making Gongye follow me day and night—this isn't allowed, that isn't permitted... But I'm not a cat or a dog, how annoying." And so he placed her feet upon his knees and removed the bells from her ankles as well. All four intricate, intertwined silver bracelets were handed over into her hands, heavy and dragging down like two sets of silver fetters.

She swung her bare wrists with a crisp laugh, grabbed the swing ropes with both hands, drew her feet upward, and stood up right on the swing board, making her nearly as tall as the youth.

"Big man, move aside," she said.

Just as Tang Qianzi stepped out of her way, a flurry of silver bells sounded like a rapid sequence of stringed music sweeping past his ear. Biting her lower lip, Tilan put her all into hurling that bunch of bracelets up toward the night sky. Her entire body and the swing itself rocked with the momentum of that throw, swaying back and forth higher and higher.

The little girl lacked the strength; before the bracelets could even clear the suspended platform, they fell back down near Ji Chang's feet.

"You really don't want them? Don't regret it tomorrow and send people looking for them." Ji Chang picked the bracelets up, weighed them in his hand, and couldn't help smiling as well.

"I—don't—want—them!" Tilan laughed and shouted shrilly on the swing, her sleeves flying while the two extremely long ribbons at the back of her head fluttered in the wind, gleaming with a silk-like purity akin to fresh snow.

Ji Chang smiled. "Alright, throw them away!" He stood up and hurled the entire bundle of bracelets fiercely away, putting so much strength into it that it felt as though he were casting off the entire weight of suppression within his chest. Tomorrow, the news of his homeland's impending collapse would finally reach the palace, and that would be the day Chu Ji Chang began fighting his lonely battle. Until those few points of silver light rolled and vanished into the vast expanse of the port's sea of lights, the crisp, bright ringing of the bells still echoed faintly.

The swing soared high toward the night sky, sweeping back and forth between the boundless sea of stars and the sea of lights. The blind girl's sweet, smiling voice called out, "Big man, catch me—" Tang Qianzi turned his head in astonishment just as the swing reached its peak. The girl in white released her grip with both hands, leaping bodily out from the swing like a clear, dazzling spring flowing down from a brilliant cluster of stars, falling straight into his arms.