HNYWEF -Chapter 127 The One Who Bears the Burden

The hall was utterly silent.

So silent that one could hear the wind outside the window, one’s own heartbeat, and the faint crackle of incense burning out on the desk.

Zhou Yi stood motionless.

From the moment Li Shimin spoke, he had not moved.

The thirteenth year of Daye. A rainy night. A landslide. That hand reaching out from between the rocks. That figure crouching in the rain, digging with bare hands. That man, limping away with a child in his arms, disappearing into the rain curtain.

Li Shimin had finished speaking.

Zhou Yi stood there, his mind completely blank.

And yet, at the same time, everything seemed to rush in at once.

He thought of his father.

He thought of those silent days, those hollow stares, those afternoons spent sitting at the doorway in a daze.

He thought of the bowl of wine every Qingming Festival, the two cups, and that corner of the house he was never allowed to approach.

“Your mother died in the chaos of war.”

He hadn’t believed it then.

He thought his father was lying to him.

Now he knew.

His father hadn’t lied.

His father had been lying to himself.

Because he knew that placing all the blame on the man before him could not stand.

It was the rain from heaven. It was the mud and stone of a collapsing mountain. It was his mother stepping forward to save someone and failing to escape.

No one could have predicted that rain.

No one could have predicted the mountain would collapse.

No one could have forced his mother to save that person.

But his father needed an explanation.

He needed someone to bear it all.

Otherwise, how could he face that rainy night? How could he face that hand reaching out from the cracks in the stone? How could he face the child only a few months old in his arms?

So he hated.

He hated the man before him.

He hated the transfer he had proposed, hated the task he had taken upon himself, hated the words: “The weather is good today, perfect for travel.”

He had carried that hatred for fourteen years.

But deep down, he also knew that hatred did not stand on solid ground.

So he never spoke of it.

Never told anyone.

He only sat there alone, looking toward the doorway, looking at the sky, looking at a past he could never return to.

Zhou Yi’s eyes suddenly reddened.

Not for himself.

But for his father.

For the man crouching in the rubble, digging with his bare hands.

For the limping figure disappearing into the rain while holding a child.

For the hardship his father had endured all these years.

For the bowl of wine poured every Qingming Festival, never once saying for whom it was meant.

He understood.

His father wasn’t silent because he had nothing to say.

He was silent because there was no one who could hear it.

Those words were too heavy. So heavy they could not be spoken.

So heavy that even if spoken, no one would understand.

So he carried them alone.

For fourteen years.

Until his gaze had gone hollow.

Zhou Yi stood there, tears suddenly falling.

He did not wipe them away.

He just stood, letting them stream down.

Li Shimin sat behind the desk, watching him.

Watching this child standing in the center of the hall, motionless, tears silently falling.

He said nothing.

Just watched.

The hall was silent.

So silent that even the sound of tears hitting the ground could be heard.

After a long while—perhaps only an instant—Zhou Yi raised his hand and wiped his face with his sleeve.

He dried his tears.

Took a deep breath.

Then he raised his head and looked at Li Shimin.

Li Shimin looked back at him.

Their eyes met.

Li Shimin spoke.

His voice was very soft.

“Child.”

Zhou Yi did not respond.

Li Shimin looked at him for three breaths.

Then he asked the question.

“Do you hate me?”

Zhou Yi froze.

He stood there, looking at Li Shimin.

The man’s face showed no expression at all.

But there was something in his eyes.

Fear.

The kind of fear that dreaded the answer, yet had to ask anyway.

This man, too, had carried a burden for fourteen years.

Zhou Yi opened his mouth.

He wanted to say something.

But the words stopped at his lips and went back down.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

His arm was still hanging in a sling, wrapped in white cloth.

His father’s hands had never trembled.

Those hands had saved so many people; they had never trembled.

But that day, they had trembled.

Because it was his son.

That day, his father had stood outside the palace gates, spat on the ground, and left.

He did not rush in.

Did not strike anyone.

Did not curse.

He simply spat—and left.

Because even he knew some things could not be changed by hatred.

Zhou Yi lifted his head.

He looked at Li Shimin.

“Your Majesty.”

Li Shimin waited.

Zhou Yi said, “I don’t know.”

Li Shimin’s eyes shifted slightly.

Zhou Yi continued, “At least right now… I don’t know.”

He paused.

“My mother died, and my father raised me alone. I don’t know how much suffering he endured over these fourteen years. I only know he should not be the man he is now.”

He paused again.

“You also carried a burden. You’ve endured it for fourteen years. Today you told me all this not to shift responsibility, but to let me know the truth.”

He looked at Li Shimin.

“So I really don’t know.”

He lowered his head.

“But there is one thing I do know.”

Li Shimin waited.

Zhou Yi raised his head.

“My father told me to call you Uncle Li. For so many years, he never stopped you from entering our home. He never stopped me from receiving your New Year’s money. He never stopped what happened between me and Lihua.”

He paused.

“If he truly hated you to the bone, he wouldn’t have done that.”

Li Shimin stood still.

He looked at the child in front of him.

Speaking these words.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Zhou Yi added softly, “Father, I should go back.”

He bowed.

“My father doesn’t know I came here.”

With that, he turned and walked out.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

He did not turn back.

“That question of yours… I’ll think about it when I get back.”

Then he continued walking.

He pushed open the door.

Bright sunlight poured in.

He stepped into it.

The door closed behind him.

The hall fell silent again.

Li Shimin stood where he was, looking at that door.

He looked for a long time.

That child had called him “Father.”

Then he walked back to the desk and sat down.

He looked at the memorial on the table.

He stared at it for a long time.

Not turning a single page.