HNYWEF -Chapter 105 Wandering

In the fourth year of the Zhenguan era, the 25th day of the sixth lunar month.

The dog days of summer.

The sun hung directly overhead, glaring white and blinding, baking the scalp until it felt numb. Half the people on the streets had disappeared, hiding indoors and refusing to come out.

The few who remained were either unfazed by the heat, or simply forced out by life—peddlers carrying shoulder poles along the streets, calling out weakly with drained voices.

The Zhou family iron shop was open.

The furnace burned fiercely, making the place even hotter.

Footsteps came from outside.

Not one person—several.

Zhou Yi looked up and glanced out.

A group of foreigners.

They wore foreign garments, with high noses, deep-set eyes, and thick beards. They spoke in a rapid, unintelligible tongue while looking into the shop as they talked.

Zhou Yi froze slightly.

Recently, there had been more and more foreigners on the streets. He had seen quite a few before, but this was the first time any had actually come into the shop.

The group stopped at the entrance.

The leader glanced inside, his eyes landing on Zhou Xiong.

In stiff, broken Chinese, he asked, “This… iron shop?”

Zhou Xiong looked up at him but said nothing.

The foreigner stepped closer and pointed at a kitchen knife on the rack, then launched into a string of rapid, incomprehensible speech.

Zhou Yi didn’t understand.

Zhou Hong didn’t understand either.

The two exchanged a glance—both confused.

Zhou Xiong set down his hammer.

He looked at the foreigner, then suddenly spoke.

Also in a string of rapid, unintelligible words.

Zhou Hong froze.

He stared at his brother, mouth slightly open.

The foreigners were also stunned.

The leader blinked, then replied with another string of speech.

Zhou Xiong nodded and answered again.

Then he pointed at the kitchen knife on the rack, then at a sickle beside it, saying a few more sentences in that same foreign language.

The man nodded repeatedly, breaking into a smile.

He took out a money pouch, counted out coins, and handed them over.

Zhou Xiong accepted it, nodding while continuing to speak in that foreign tongue.

The man bowed slightly, said a few more words, then turned and left.

The others followed behind him.

Their footsteps faded away.

The shop fell silent again.

Zhou Hong stood frozen in place.

His eyes were wide, almost ready to pop out.

Zhou Xiong ignored him and returned to the workbench, picking up his hammer again.

“Clang.”

Only then did Zhou Hong finally react.

He walked over and stood beside him.

“Brother.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t look up.

“Hmm?”

“What… what did you just say?” Zhou Hong asked.

“Western Region language,” Zhou Xiong replied.

Zhou Hong froze.

“Western Region language?”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Zhou Hong opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

He stood there, his mind spinning.

His brother could forge iron.

His brother knew medicine.

His brother could perform acupuncture.

His brother knew all sorts of things he couldn’t even name.

He could accept all of that.

But how could his brother also speak the language of those foreigners?

Not just “foreign speech” as in nonsense—but actual words of those people.

He had never heard it before.

Where had his brother learned it?

Zhou Hong stood there, the more he thought, the more wrong it felt.

Zhou Xiong continued hammering, strike after strike.

He knew Zhou Hong was watching him.

He also knew what Zhou Hong was thinking.

But there was nothing he could say.

What those foreigners had spoken just now was Arabic.

At this time, the Arab state was in a crucial period of its formation.

In his previous life in the modern world, due to professional needs, he had learned some basic foreign languages. Though they were obscure, he still remembered some everyday vocabulary.

But he couldn’t explain any of this to Zhou Hong.

So he could only keep forging iron.

And wait for Zhou Hong to speak.

And as expected, Zhou Hong did.

“Brother.”

The hammer in Zhou Xiong’s hand paused for a moment.

“Yeah?”

Zhou Hong said, “How come you can speak the language of the Hu people?”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He set the hammer down.

Turned around and looked at Zhou Hong.

Zhou Hong looked back at him.

Zhou Xiong spoke.

His voice was hoarse.

“I told you before. I hit my head.”

Zhou Hong nodded.

He remembered. When he first arrived, his brother had said that he couldn’t remember much of the past.

Zhou Xiong continued, “After I hit my head, I had a very long dream.”

Zhou Hong froze slightly.

“A dream?”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

“In the dream, I seemed to have gone somewhere. A place like a fairyland. Hu people, Han people, and some others I couldn’t quite recognize… immortals?”

He looked at Zhou Hong.

“When I woke up, those memories were still there. The only thing I forgot was who I was.”

Zhou Hong stood there for a long time without speaking.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, and something in his eyes changed.

From shock, to confusion, to uncertainty.

He thought it over.

Hit your head, had a dream, learned the Hu language in that dream.

It sounded pretty absurd.

But his brother had no reason to lie to him.

And it was true—he really had hit his head, and he really couldn’t remember his past.

Zhou Hong scratched his head.

“Then… do you remember anything else from that dream?”

Zhou Xiong thought for a moment.

“The rest… I can’t remember clearly.”

Zhou Hong nodded.

He didn’t ask further.

He walked back to the bellows and sat down.

Kept working the bellows.

After a few pulls, he suddenly stopped.

Looked up at his brother.

“Brother.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

Zhou Hong said, “That dream of yours… is pretty incredible.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t respond.

He turned around, picked up the hammer again.

“Clang.”

Zhou Hong lowered his head and continued pulling the bellows.

His mind was still turning over what had just been said.

Wandering immortals in a fairyland.

He had heard stories like this in the village before. Some people, after a serious illness or a head injury, would dream strange things.

Some saw gods. Some saw ghosts. Some saw places they had never seen before.

Thinking about it, Zhou Hong suddenly felt it wasn’t that hard to accept.

His brother had never been like ordinary people anyway.

One more unusual thing didn’t matter much.

Zhou Yi squatted by the furnace, saying nothing the whole time.

He looked at his father, then at his second uncle.

He also felt that the “wandering fairyland” story sounded a bit far-fetched.

But he didn’t ask.

He knew his father had secrets.

And he knew his father wouldn’t say.

So he didn’t ask.

He lowered his head and kept tending the firewood.

Only the sound of hammering filled the room.

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

As Zhou Xiong worked, he suddenly let out a faint laugh.

Very light.

Zhou Hong looked up at him.

But Zhou Xiong didn’t react.

He just kept forging.

Zhou Hong withdrew his gaze and continued working the bellows.

Then he suddenly thought back to that faint smile.

There was something in it.

He couldn’t tell what.

But he felt that Zhou Xiong’s “wandering fairyland” story might not be as simple as it sounded.

He lowered his head and stopped thinking.

Some things—if you shouldn’t ask, then don’t ask.

His brother was his brother.

That was enough.