HNYWEF -Chapter 120 The Beginning of Chaos

In the fourth year of Zhenguan, ? month ? day.

Zhou Xiong opened his eyes.

What met his gaze was an unfamiliar canopy.

Not his home. Not the soot-blackened beam above his old room.

This was new. White. Silk embroidered with faint patterns, glowing softly in the morning light.

He paused for a moment.

Then he turned his neck and looked to the side.

Carved window lattice. A sandalwood table.

On the table sat a tea set—fine white porcelain, spotless.

In the corner stood a tall stand with a bronze incense burner, faint wisps of fragrance curling upward.

Two people stood by the bed.

Two girls, fifteen or sixteen years old. Dressed in identical green robes, hair styled in identical twin buns, eyes lowered, quiet and still.

Zhou Xiong looked at them.

They noticed he had woken up.

“Marquis, you’re awake.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position. His head felt heavy, his body weak, as if he had been asleep for a long time.

The door opened.

Cheng Yaojin strode in, smiling broadly.

“Bear Fool! You’re finally awake!”

He walked to the bedside and plopped down on a stool, sizing Zhou Xiong up and down.

“How are you feeling? The imperial physician said you’d be out for days. I thought you’d sleep straight into next year.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse.

“Where is this?”

Cheng Yaojin froze for a moment.

“This is your marquis residence, of course.”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes shifted slightly.

Marquis residence?

He remembered the two imperial edicts, the yellow silk scrolls, the decree naming him the “Founding Marquis of Jiuyuan County.”

Cheng Yaojin continued, “His Majesty had people prepare it for you. You don’t know this, but that day His Majesty personally carried you out of the palace—carried you all the way to the gate. That scene—”

“What day is it?”

Zhou Xiong suddenly interrupted.

Cheng Yaojin’s words stuck in his throat.

He blinked.

“What?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

The two of them froze.

Zhou Xiong suddenly realized what he had said. He lowered his head and rubbed his temple.

“I mean… how many days have I been unconscious?”

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head.

“Six days. You—”

Before he could finish, Zhou Xiong had already thrown off the blanket and gotten out of bed.

Barefoot.

He stepped onto the ground. The cold tiles pressed against his feet, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He walked out.

Cheng Yaojin froze.

“Bear Fool! Your shoes!”

Zhou Xiong was already at the door.

He pulled it open and rushed out.

Cheng Yaojin chased after him and stood in the corridor, watching the barefoot figure cross the courtyard, pass through the gate, and disappear in an instant.

He stood there for a long time, motionless.

The two maidservants ran out and stood at the doorway, exchanging confused looks.

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head.

“What the hell is he running for?”

Then he suddenly remembered Zhou Xiong’s earlier question.

“What day is it?”

That question felt… strange.

But he didn’t think too much about it.

He strode after him.

“Bear Fool! You damn shoes!”

Zhou Xiong ran out of the marquis residence and stopped on the street.

The bluestone slabs burned underfoot, but he didn’t stop.

He ran deeper into the alley.

Toward the West Market.

Toward the iron shop.

That was the last place he remembered—Zhou Yi lying inside, his arm covered in blood.

He needed to see him.

He ran through the familiar alley, to the familiar door.

It was open.

Zhou Hong stood at the entrance with a broom, sweeping the floor.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up—and froze when he saw Zhou Xiong running barefoot toward him.

“Brother? Why are you—”

“Where is Zhou Yi?”

Zhou Xiong interrupted him, panting.

Zhou Hong blinked in confusion.

“He’s at your marquis residence.”

Zhou Xiong froze.

Zhou Hong repeated himself.

“He was taken there the day before yesterday. An imperial carriage came, with imperial physicians. They said your residence was ready and sent him there to recover. Didn’t you know?”

Zhou Xiong stood motionless.

The soles of his feet pressed against the stone pavement, already red and bruised.

He opened his mouth.

No words came out.

Zhou Hong looked at him, suddenly unsure what to say.

“Brother… you ran all the way here barefoot?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

He turned and ran back.

Zhou Hong stood at the door, watching the barefoot figure disappear, scratching his head.

Cheng Yaojin came rushing from the end of the alley and nearly collided with Zhou Xiong.

“Bear Fool! You damn—”

Zhou Xiong didn’t stop and ran past him.

Cheng Yaojin froze for a second, then chased after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the marquis residence.”

Cheng Yaojin cursed as he ran.

“Then why the hell did you come to the iron shop?!”

Zhou Xiong didn’t respond.

But soon he stopped.

He stood still.

Where was the marquis residence?

He only remembered the way he had come.

Cheng Yaojin led him back.

Zhou Xiong rushed inside.

Through the courtyard. Into the main hall.

Two maidservants inside jumped in shock at the sight of him barefoot.

“Marquis—”

“Where is my son?”

The maid pointed toward the east wing.

Zhou Xiong rushed over.

Pushed the door open.

Zhou Yi lay on the bed. His arm was still wrapped in bandages, but he could barely move now.

Hearing the commotion, he turned his head.

Father and son looked at each other.

Zhou Xiong stood at the doorway, barefoot, panting, drenched in sweat.

Zhou Yi looked at him.

“Father?”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He walked in and sat beside the bed.

Staring at the injured arm.

For a long time.

Then he reached out and gently touched the bandage.

Zhou Yi spoke again.

“Father, I’m fine.”

Zhou Xiong still said nothing.

His hand remained on the bandage, unmoving.

Cheng Yaojin stood at the door, watching the scene.

Leaning against the doorframe, he kept muttering curses under his breath.

“You damn fool… still half asleep or something…”

Zhou Xiong ignored him.

He just sat there, staring at his son’s arm.

Sunlight streamed through the window, falling onto the floor, where light and shadow tangled into a blurred, indistinct shape.