HNYWEF -Chapter 115 Confession

The door of the Zhou family iron shop was open.

Two people were kneeling at the entrance—the envoy and the guard who hadn’t made a move.

The thin man had already been taken away to await trial. These two were brought back and made to kneel at the door, from morning until now.

The sun was high. Sweat covered both of their faces. They kept their heads down, motionless.

Zhou Xiong walked past them.

He didn’t look.

He stepped over the threshold and entered the workshop.

Zhou Hong was standing at the long workbench, hammer in hand. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw Zhou Xiong. He opened his mouth, about to call out, “Brother.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t look at him.

He walked past, pulled open the curtain, and went into the inner room.

Zhou Hong’s mouth stayed half-open, then slowly closed.

The inner room was dim.

The window was shut, and only a sliver of light came through the gap in the curtain.

Zhou Yi was lying on the heated kang bed. His left arm was tightly bound with cloth strips, wrapped layer upon layer.

His eyes were open, staring at the beam above. Hearing the movement, he turned his head.

Zhou Xiong walked to the edge of the bed and sat down.

He looked at Zhou Yi’s arm.

Just looked at it for a while.

Then he reached out, loosened the bandages, and checked the wound.

The stitches were very good. He had done them himself yesterday, stitch by stitch. He knew exactly how they were.

But now, looking at the seam, there was no expression on his face at all.

He turned and took a small porcelain bottle from a wooden box, pulled out the stopper, and sprinkled medicinal powder over the wound—without caring whether the imperial physician had already applied medicine.

Zhou Yi’s brow furrowed slightly, but he made no sound.

Zhou Xiong finished applying the medicine, then rewrapped the bandages, layer by layer, tying them off neatly.

The room was completely silent.

So silent that even the occasional sound of hammering from outside could be heard.

Zhou Xiong put the things away and sat at the edge of the bed, unmoving.

Zhou Yi looked at him.

“Father.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t speak.

Zhou Yi waited a moment.

“Father, you’ve been gone for a long time.”

Still, Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He sat there, looking at Zhou Yi’s arm.

For a long time.

Then he finally spoke.

His voice came out from deep in his throat, hoarse beyond recognition.

“Your Uncle Li… is the Emperor.”

Zhou Yi’s eyes widened slightly.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, his lips moving, but no words came out.

Zhou Xiong still didn’t look at him.

He kept his head down, staring at the edge of the kang.

“Your mother’s death…”

He stopped there.

His throat bobbed.

Zhou Yi lay there, watching him.

Zhou Xiong’s hands were on his knees, clenched tightly, knuckles white.

After a long time, he continued.

“It was him…”

Just two words.

Zhou Yi froze.

Zhou Xiong still didn’t lift his head.

“It’s all because of him!”

He just sat there, staring at the edge of the bed, at his own clenched fists.

“If not for him…” Zhou Xiong didn’t finish the sentence.

The room was deathly silent.

So silent that only Zhou Yi’s breathing could be heard.

In.

Out.

Again.

Zhou Xiong spoke once more.

Even lower than before.

“Fourteen years…”

Zhou Yi lay there, staring at him.

At his father with his head bowed.

At his tightly clenched hands.

At his faintly trembling shoulders.

He had never seen his father like this before.

His father had always been standing in front of him.

Standing while forging iron, standing while speaking, standing while watching him train.

Even when exhausted, he would only sit—but his back was always straight.

But now—

His father’s head was lowered, shoulders slumped, as if something had crushed him down.

Zhou Yi opened his mouth.

He wanted to say something.

But he didn’t know what.

His mind was blank.

And yet, something inside him felt like it was surging outward.

Uncle Li was the Emperor.

He had known that for a long time.

That day on the street, he had stood up in a tree and watched that man in a bright yellow robe standing on a high platform, telling the entire city that he had been wrong.

He knew.

But he had never said it.

He had thought his father didn’t know that he knew.

He had thought the matter would just pass like that.

But now—

His mother’s death… was because of that man.

That man who often came to their home, smiling and telling him to call him “Uncle Li.”

That man who gave him New Year’s money and taught him court etiquette in the Ministry of Rites.

That man who said, “You will be a royal son-in-law.”

Zhou Yi lay there, staring at the beam above.

Suddenly, many thoughts surged into his mind.

His father had gone out today—to find that man.

When his father came back earlier, there had been a smell on him—different from the forge, not the smell of the workshop, but something from outside. Sunlight, dust, and something else… something he couldn’t quite describe.

His father had stood at the door for a long time before coming in.

When his father changed his bandages, his hands were steady.

But those hands—

when they had been clenched just now, had been trembling.

Very slightly.

But he had seen it.

Zhou Yi suddenly spoke.

“Dad.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t move.

Zhou Yi said, “You went today… to see him?”

Still, no answer.

Zhou Yi waited a moment, then asked again.

“Dad, did you go see him today?”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Just once.

Zhou Yi lay there, looking at him.

At that lowered head. At those slumped shoulders.

Suddenly, his eyes felt a little sore.

He didn’t know why.

They just did.

He took a deep breath.

“Dad, I’m fine.”

Zhou Xiong’s shoulders moved slightly.

Zhou Yi repeated himself.

“Dad, I really am fine…”

Zhou Xiong slowly lifted his head.

He looked at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi looked back at him.

Father and son stared at each other.

Zhou Xiong opened his mouth.

As if he wanted to say something.

But nothing came out.

He just looked at Zhou Yi—at that face, at those eyes.

Those eyes looked like hers.

Even more so when he smiled.

Zhou Xiong suddenly stood up.

He walked to the door and pulled back the curtain.

He stood there, not turning around.

Zhou Yi looked at his back.

Zhou Xiong spoke.

His voice was hoarse.

“Rest first. Heal your injuries.”

After saying that, he stepped out and left.

The curtain swayed, then fell back into place.

The room darkened again.

Zhou Yi lay there, staring at the curtain.

The thoughts in his head were still turning.

What his father had said today.

The way his father had looked.

That sentence—“Fourteen years.”

As he thought about it, he suddenly understood something.

His father had held it in for fourteen years.

Fourteen years, never telling a soul.

And today, he had finally spoken.

He had told him.

Zhou Yi lay there, staring at the beam for a long time.

Outside, the sound of hammering echoed.

One strike after another.

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

“Clang.”

He knew it was his second uncle at work.

His father was not in the forge.

Where was his father?

He didn’t know.

But he knew one thing clearly—

His father would not come back today to ask him whether it hurt anymore.