HNYWEF -Chapter 101 Let Things Take Their Course

Early spring, fourth year of Zhenguan, first day of the first lunar month.

The weather was dry and cold—so cold that even one’s breath turned white.

The gate of the Zhou family blacksmith shop stood open. Charcoal burned fiercely inside, and heat poured out from the doorway, meeting the cold air and condensing into a thick mist.

Zhou Xiong sat on a bench, holding a bowl of hot soup in his hands. He didn’t drink it—just held it there.

Zhou Hong was tidying up inside the shop, gathering the tools forged before the New Year into one place, waiting for customers to come pick them up after the opening.

Zhou Yi squatted at the doorway, holding a dead branch, slowly drawing on the ground.

He was fifteen now. His squatting posture was the same as when he was a child, but his shoulders were broader, his jaw more defined.

The branch in his hand was no longer a child’s toy—it felt more like a habit. When his hands were empty, he always needed to hold something.

He drew slowly, stroke by stroke, as if thinking about something.

The branch scratched faint white marks across the green stone slabs, crooked and irregular—unrecognizable shapes.

After a while, he would look up toward the mouth of the alley.

Draw a bit. Look again.

Draw a bit. Look again.

Footsteps came from the end of the alley.

Unhurried. Two sets.

Zhou Yi narrowed his eyes and looked over.

The man in front wore a dark robe, walking steadily, a faint smile on his face.

Uncle Li.

Behind him was a boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed in plain robes, head lowered, walking slowly.

Zhou Yi stood up, dusted off his pants, and casually tossed the branch toward the wall. It landed perfectly among a pile of dead branches—exactly where it should be.

“Uncle Li.”

Li Shimin arrived in front of him and nodded.

He didn’t speak.

He stepped over the threshold, the boy following behind him.

Zhou Xiong lifted his head and glanced at him.

“Paying a New Year visit?”

Li Shimin nodded.

“Yes.”

Zhou Xiong pointed toward the side room.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Li Shimin walked into the side room and found a stool to sit on.

The boy stood behind him, head lowered, not saying a word.

Zhou Xiong followed in and glanced at the boy.

His eyes were slightly red—like he hadn’t slept well, or had been crying.

He withdrew his gaze.

Zhou Hong also came in, placing two bowls of tea on the table. He glanced at the boy, asked nothing, and went back inside.

Li Shimin took the tea, drank a sip, and set it down.

He looked at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong looked back at him.

Li Shimin spoke first.

“This is Du He, Du Ruhui’s son.”

Zhou Xiong looked at the boy again.

Du He lifted his head briefly, glanced at him, then quickly lowered it again.

Zhou Xiong nodded.

“Mm.”

Li Shimin waited a moment.

Seeing that Zhou Xiong didn’t speak, he continued.

“Do you remember what happened before the New Year?”

Of course Zhou Xiong remembered.

Du Ruhui lying on the bed, reduced to a bag of bones, his face ashen and fading.

Li Shimin standing under the corridor at that time, his hand trembling slightly.

Zhou Xiong set down his tea bowl.

“So?”

Li Shimin was silent for a while.

Then he spoke slowly.

“I’ve arranged for imperial physicians to keep him alive.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Li continued, “Ginseng, deer antler, lingzhi mushrooms—everything good we can get. The physicians say we can only extend his life day by day.”

He paused.

“But he isn’t cooperating.”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes moved slightly.

Just a slight movement.

Li Shimin looked at him.

“He takes the medicine. He eats. But I know it—his will to live is already gone.”

He spoke slowly, word by word.

“He doesn’t want to live anymore.”

The room fell silent.

Zhou Xiong sat there, his expression completely unchanged.

He looked at Li Shimin for a while.

Then he spoke.

“That’s his own business.”

Li Shimin’s brows twitched.

“What?”

Zhou Xiong said, “Not wanting to live is his choice. Forcing him to stay alive is yours.”

He looked directly at Li Shimin.

“You can hold him up for a while. You can’t hold him up forever.”

Li Shimin didn’t speak.

He sat there motionless, hands resting on his knees.

Behind him, Du He suddenly spoke.

His voice trembled slightly.

“Master Zhou… could you… go see my father?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

The boy lifted his head. His eyes were still red, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, something burning in his eyes—not exactly a plea, something else.

“My father… after you visited last time, he told my mother and me that you were a man who understood things. He said… the way you looked at him, he understood it.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Du He took a step forward.

“Master Zhou, please go see him again. Maybe… he’ll listen to you.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Then he shook his head.

“He won’t listen.”

Duhé froze for a moment.

Zhou Xiong said, “Your father is that kind of man—he knows exactly what’s going on in his heart. If he wants to live, I don’t need to say anything. If he doesn’t want to live, nothing I say will help.”

Duhé stood there, his eyes turning even redder.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.

But before the words came out, the tears fell first.

He quickly wiped them with his sleeve. Wiped again and again—but the more he wiped, the more they came.

Li Shimin sat nearby, unmoving.

He watched Duhé like that, his face showing no expression at all.

But his hand rested on his knee, completely still.

After wiping his tears, Duhé took a deep breath.

He looked at Zhou Xiong.

“Mr. Zhou… do you know my father wakes up every night in pain, biting down on the blanket so we won’t hear him?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t respond.

Duhé continued, “Do you know he’s now so thin he’s nothing but bones? He lies there staring at the ceiling—staring the whole night through?”

Still, Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Duhé’s voice grew louder.

“Do you know he tells me every day that he’s sorry to His Majesty, sorry to this one, sorry to that one—yet he’s never once said he’s sorry to himself!”

When he finished, he stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily.

The room was silent.

Only the stove fire crackled.

Zhou Xiong sat there, looking at the boy.

He looked for a long time.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse.

“I know.”

Duhé froze.

Zhou Xiong said, “I’ve seen many people like him. Soldiers wounded in war, people who knew they wouldn’t live long, people who knew they couldn’t be saved—I’ve seen them all.”

He looked at Duhé.

“What they look like in their final days… I’ve seen it all.”

Duhé stood there, not knowing what to say.

Zhou Xiong continued, “Your father doesn’t want to die. He just wants to leave with dignity.”

Tears came again to Duhé’s eyes.

This time, he didn’t wipe them.

Zhou Xiong looked at him and suddenly sighed.

He lifted his teacup, took a sip, then set it down.

Then he turned to Li Shimin.

“What did you bring me here to ask?”

Li Shimin was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke.

“Is there any way… to make his final days less painful?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Then he nodded.

“Yes.”

Li Shimin’s eyes lit up—just for a moment.

Zhou Xiong said, “Let him drink some wine. As much as he wants. Let him eat what he wants. Let him see whoever he wants.”

He paused.

“You can’t cure the pain of the body, but you can ease the pain of the heart. And stop using all those ginseng and tonics to keep him barely alive—it’s just making him suffer more.”

Li Shimin said nothing.

From behind, Duhé suddenly asked, “That… that’s it?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

“What else do you want? Everyone has their fate.”

Duhé opened his mouth.

Zhou Xiong said, “Your father has lived his life with dignity. In the end, letting him go with dignity is better than anything else.”

Duhé fell silent.

Li Shimin stood up.

He looked at Zhou Xiong.

“I understand.”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Li Shimin turned and walked out.

After a couple of steps, he suddenly stopped.

Without turning back.

He stood there for a moment.

Then he kept walking.

Duhé followed him. At the doorway, he suddenly turned his head back.

He looked at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong looked back at him.

Duhé still seemed like he wanted to say something.

But no words came out.

He lowered his head and left after Li Shimin.

Footsteps faded into the distance.

The room grew quiet again.

Zhou Hong came out from inside and stood beside Zhou Xiong.

“Brother, who was that kid?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

Zhou Yi walked in from the doorway and stood beside his father. He didn’t speak either—just stood there.

Zhou Xiong glanced at him.

Zhou Yi looked back.

Zhou Xiong stood up and walked to the doorway.

Outside, the sky was dull and gray, heavy clouds pressing low.

He stood there, looking toward the end of the alley.

The two figures were already gone.

He watched for a while.

Then he turned back into the room.

Sat down on the bench.

Picked up the cold tea and took a sip.

Zhou Hong and Zhou Yi stood nearby, watching him.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Just sat there.

Outside, the cold wind kept blowing.

And it blew—helplessly.