HNYWEF -Chapter 146 Nonsense

In the fourteenth year of the Zhenguan era, the winter eleventh month.

The sun was already high in the sky.

At the entrance of the Ministry of Works, several officials stood there, peering down the street.

Today was supposed to be Zhou Xiong’s first day taking up the post of Assistant Director of the Directorate of Construction. The Ministry of Rites had already sent word early in the morning that Marquis Zhou would be arriving.

They had prepared tea, prepared documents, and prepared all the formal etiquette for welcoming him.

But from the hour of Chen to the hour of Si, no one had arrived.

The Minister of Works paced back and forth inside the office a few times. Unable to wait any longer, he sent someone to find Cheng Yaojin.

Everyone in court knew that among all civil and military officials, the only ones who could actually speak to Marquis Zhou were Cheng Yaojin and a few of his old comrades.

After hearing the report, Cheng Yaojin slammed his teacup onto the table and cursed, standing up immediately.

“That damn bear. First day and he pulls this on me.”

He strode toward the Marquis’s residence, moving so fast that even the servant trailing behind had to run just to keep up.

At the gate of the residence, the gatekeeper recognized him and didn’t stop him.

He walked through the courtyard and pushed open the main room door.

The room was dim. The windows were shut and the curtains half-drawn.

Cheng Yaojin glanced inside—and froze.

Zhou Xiong was still lying on the bed.

Eyes closed, breathing steady, sleeping soundly.

Cheng Yaojin’s anger flared instantly.

He walked over in a few steps and shoved him.

“Hey, you damn bear! Wake up!”

Zhou Xiong moved slightly, turned over, and faced away from him.

Cheng Yaojin shoved him again.

“Wake up! The sun’s already high! The Ministry of Works has been waiting half the day for you!”

Only then did Zhou Xiong finally react.

He slowly turned back over and opened his eyes to look at Cheng Yaojin.

His gaze was hazy, unfocused, as if he didn’t recognize who he was.

That stare made Cheng Yaojin feel a bit uneasy.

“What the hell are you looking at? It’s me! Cheng Yaojin!”

Zhou Xiong blinked suddenly.

Then he spoke.

His voice was rough and scratchy, but there was a hint of urgency, as if he had forgotten something important.

“What time is it?”

Cheng Yaojin froze.

What?

He blinked back at him.

“What did you say?”

Seeing no response, Zhou Xiong frowned slightly.

He stared at Cheng Yaojin for two breaths.

Then he asked again.

This time, in a different way.

“いまなんじ？”

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

The words Zhou Xiong had just spoken… he didn’t understand a single one.

No—it wasn’t just that he didn’t understand. It didn’t even sound like human speech.

Zhou Xiong’s brows furrowed even deeper.

He stared at Cheng Yaojin for three breaths.

Then he changed it a third time.

“What time is it?”

Cheng Yaojin completely lost it.

“What the hell kind of ghost language are you speaking?!”

Zhou Xiong sat up and looked at him.

“Are you deaf or something? Can’t understand human speech?”

That response sent a chill through Cheng Yaojin’s spine.

“Bear… are you alright?”

Zhou Xiong ignored him.

He quickly threw off the blanket, got out of bed barefoot, and looked around the room as if searching for something.

Cheng Yaojin followed behind.

“What are you looking for?”

“Shoes.”

Cheng Yaojin paused, then looked down. Sure enough, there was a pair of shoes under the bed. He bent down, picked them up, and handed them over.

Zhou Xiong took them and put them on.

Then he started dressing.

Cheng Yaojin stood there watching, unsure whether he should help.

After tying the last strap, Zhou Xiong walked to the washstand, took a wet cloth, and wiped his face.

He tossed the cloth back into the basin.

Then turned to Cheng Yaojin.

“Let’s go.”

Cheng Yaojin blinked.

“Go where?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him like he was an idiot.

“To the Ministry of Works. Didn’t I have to report today?”

With that, he pushed open the door and walked out.

Cheng Yaojin stood still for a moment, staring at the swaying curtain.

Only after a long pause did he move.

Outside, Zhou Xiong’s voice came.

“Cheng Yaojin, what the hell are you dawdling for?”

Cheng Yaojin snapped back to reality.

He scratched his head and cursed under his breath.

Not even he knew who he was cursing.

Then he strode after him.

The two walked one after the other out of the residence and onto the street.

Cheng Yaojin kept glancing sideways at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong walked steadily, eyes forward, expression blank.

The more Cheng Yaojin looked at him, the more uneasy he felt.

He suddenly remembered what Li Chunfeng had once said:

“This man’s fate was already cut off nearly twenty years ago.”

He also remembered Zhou Xiong’s recent behavior.

Sometimes normal, sometimes abnormal—when normal, he could curse like anyone else; when abnormal, he spoke nonsense.

So what was this now? Normal or abnormal?

Cheng Yaojin didn’t know.

He only knew Zhou Xiong walked beside him steadily, looking completely normal.

But those words from earlier—words he couldn’t understand—kept making his skin crawl.

After walking a while longer, the Ministry of Works came into view.

Zhou Xiong suddenly stopped.

He turned and looked at Cheng Yaojin.

Cheng Yaojin froze, waiting for him to speak.

Zhou Xiong hesitated.

Then he shook his head.

“Forget it.”

He turned back and continued walking toward the gate of the Ministry.

Cheng Yaojin stood in place, staring at his back.

That back looked steady, normal, like nothing was wrong.

But Cheng Yaojin knew—something was definitely wrong.

He stood there for a moment longer.

Then he followed.

“Hey, you damn bear, wait for me!”

The two of them entered the Ministry of Works one after the other.

The sun shone down on them, casting long shadows behind.

Cheng Yaojin walked in the back, staring at Zhou Xiong’s figure, replaying everything in his mind.

When he had asked what those strange words were, Zhou Xiong had said it was “human speech.”

He couldn’t make sense of it.

All he knew was one thing:

This matter—he had to take it to his grave.

Not a word could be spoken.

Not even one.