HNYWEF -Chapter 131 Madness

When Cheng Yaojin rushed into the marquis’s residence, Zhou Xiong was still sitting by the stone table.

There were more than a dozen empty wine jars scattered at his feet, lying crooked in all directions. Some were broken, some still intact. Wine had soaked into the blue stone tiles, spreading in a wide stain. Under the sun, it steamed up with a sharp, pungent smell.

Zhou Xiong held a bowl of wine in his hand, just about to drink.

Cheng Yaojin strode over and snatched it away.

“Bang!”

The bowl hit the ground and shattered into pieces, wine splashing onto his boot.

“Damn it, you bear bastard! Do you not want your life anymore?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t look at him.

He lowered his head and glanced at his now-empty hand.

Then he reached down, picked up an unopened wine jar beside him, and broke the seal.

He tilted his head back and drank directly from it.

Cheng Yaojin froze.

He watched the wine spill down Zhou Xiong’s mouth, running along his chin and soaking into his collar and front robe.

Zhou Xiong’s face showed no expression at all. His eyes stared upward. His throat moved rhythmically as he swallowed, then drank again, and again.

Cheng Yaojin’s anger flared instantly.

He grabbed the wine jar, trying to wrench it away.

But Zhou Xiong’s grip was iron-tight. It didn’t move at all.

Cheng Yaojin pushed harder. Still nothing.

He lost patience.

And kicked Zhou Xiong hard in the thigh.

“Wake the hell up!”

Zhou Xiong staggered from the kick. The jar slipped from his hand and smashed to the ground with a sharp crack.

Wine splattered everywhere, soaking both their trouser legs.

Cheng Yaojin stood there, breathing heavily, glaring at him.

Zhou Xiong slowly straightened up.

He looked at the broken shards on the ground for a moment.

Then he bent down again and picked up another jar.

It wasn’t sealed. It was empty.

He lifted it and stood up.

Cheng Yaojin didn’t even have time to react.

The empty jar came swinging down.

“CRACK!”

It exploded against Cheng Yaojin’s forehead. Shards of clay and old wine residue scattered in all directions.

Cheng Yaojin stumbled back two steps, vision darkening, his ears ringing.

He touched his forehead. Wet. Sticky.

Blood, mixed with leftover wine, streamed down his face.

He stood there and looked at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong looked back at him too.

Still holding half the broken jar neck in his hand, jagged edges dripping wine.

That pair of eyes—

Cheng Yaojin suddenly didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t emptiness either.

It was something else.

Worse than the first time he had seen him.

Back then, Zhou Xiong’s eyes were empty—but at least they were recognizably empty.

Now, there was nothing in them at all.

Not even emptiness.

Just chaos.

A muddled, indistinct void—nothing could be seen clearly inside.

Cheng Yaojin stood there, blood dripping into his eyes, stinging painfully.

He didn’t wipe it. He just stood there, staring at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong stared back.

Neither of them spoke.

Zhou Yi stood under the corridor, watching everything from beginning to end.

He saw Cheng Yaojin snatch the bowl, saw his father drink from the jar, saw the kick, saw the jar shatter, saw his father swing the empty jar down onto Cheng Yaojin’s head.

He saw the blood dripping from Cheng Yaojin’s forehead, drop by drop onto the blue stone.

He saw Cheng Yaojin’s expression.

Completely stunned.

He suddenly remembered something Cheng Yaojin once said.

“When I first knew him, he was just over twenty. Talkative, always smiling, laughed like he didn’t care about anything—like a fool.”

That was his father.

That was what his father used to be like.

Now his father stood there, holding half a broken jar, looking at Cheng Yaojin.

No expression on his face.

Nothing in his eyes.

Zhou Yi stood under the corridor, motionless.

Zhou Hong stood beside him, not daring to breathe.

Old Chen had also come out at some point, standing behind them, unsure of what to do.

The courtyard was deathly quiet.

So quiet that one could almost hear blood dripping onto the ground.

Cheng Yaojin finally moved.

He raised his hand and wiped the blood from his face, then looked at the red on his palm.

Then he looked up at Zhou Xiong again.

His mouth opened.

He wanted to curse.

Wanted to shout.

Wanted to say, “You’ve gone mad.”

But nothing came out.

He just stared at Zhou Xiong.

For a long time.

Then he turned around.

And walked away.

After a few steps, he stopped.

Without turning back, he said:

“Bear cub.”

Zhou Yi responded.

“I’m here.”

Cheng Yaojin said, “Take care of your father.”

Then he continued walking.

Slower than when he came.

Step by step, he crossed the courtyard, passed through the moon gate, and disappeared behind the screen wall.

His footsteps faded.

The courtyard fell silent again.

Zhou Xiong was still standing there.

Still holding that half jar neck.

Completely still.

Zhou Yi walked over and stood beside him.

He said nothing.

Just stood there.

Suddenly, Zhou Xiong moved.

He threw the broken piece of jar to the ground.

“Clack.”

Then he turned and walked into the inner room.

His pace was steady, neither fast nor slow.

His figure disappeared behind the curtain.

The curtain swayed once… then settled.

Zhou Yi stood in place, looking at it for a long time.

Then he turned and signaled Old Chen.

Old Chen hurried over.

“Young master.”

“Clean this up,” Zhou Yi said, pointing at the mess on the ground.

“Yes.”

Zhou Yi said nothing more.

He walked out.

Zhou Hong froze for a moment.

“Big nephew, where are you going again?”

Zhou Yi didn’t turn back. He said nothing.

Zhou Hong opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He watched Zhou Yi’s figure disappear through the courtyard gate.

Then he looked down at Old Chen and the servants beginning to clean up the broken jars.

The sun was warm on his body.

He stood there, motionless.