HNYWEF -Chapter 198 The Reluctant Lecture

Zhou Xiong

Regnal year 5 of Zhenguan, early June, the 5th day.

Dawn had barely broken when Zhou Xiong woke up.

He didn’t alert anyone. He dressed himself and pushed the door open.

The corridor outside was empty. Pale morning light filtered through the window lattices, spilling onto the ground in a dull gray wash.

He walked to the camp gate. The military officer from yesterday was standing there, chewing on a piece of dry ration. When he saw Zhou Xiong, he froze slightly.

“Milord?”

“We’re going up the mountain again today.”

Zhou Xiong’s voice was rough, but steady.

The officer studied him for a moment and didn’t ask questions. He waved his hand. The two soldiers from yesterday ran over—still the same two, still holding the same wooden pole.

The three of them headed up the mountain.

Morning mist had not yet dispersed. Dew clung to the grass. The soldier in front used the wooden pole to push the weeds aside; droplets of water crashed down, soaking Zhou Xiong’s trousers. He didn’t avoid it, nor did he slow down.

The path was the same path. The grass was the same grass. But something was different today.

The blades no longer scratched his legs. The stones underfoot no longer felt slippery. He couldn’t explain it—things were simply different.

After about the time it takes to burn an incense stick, the soldier in front suddenly stopped.

“Milord.”

He stepped aside.

Ahead was a gentle slope. Low shrubs grew across it, and in the middle of the brush sat a mound of earth.

It wasn’t large—just slightly raised above the surrounding ground. Grass grew on it, sparse and uneven, as if someone had tried to pull it out but never finished.

There was no stone tablet. No marker. Nothing.

Zhou Xiong stood there, staring at the mound.

His gaze slowly moved across it.

It faced east—toward the rising sun.

He crouched down.

The two soldiers behind exchanged glances but didn’t move.

Zhou Xiong reached out. His fingers touched the soil.

It was dry and slightly hard, with a thin crust on the surface. When he pressed it, the crust broke apart, revealing soft earth underneath.

His fingers traced across it once… then again, like stroking someone’s hair.

Then his hand stopped.

A strange expression appeared on his face.

Embarrassment.

The kind of embarrassment you feel when you’re caught doing something wrong on the spot.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if trying to smile—but it never formed. The embarrassment slowly turned into shame.

He lowered his head, staring at the mound, at his hand stained with soil.

The guards didn’t understand.

They watched their lord crouching there, touching the mound, his expression shifting again and again, lips moving as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

The two soldiers exchanged another glance. One opened his mouth to call out, “Milord,” but the other pulled him back and shook his head.

Experience told them: when something strange happens, don’t interfere.

Zhou Xiong didn’t see them.

A voice suddenly sounded in his mind.

Not through his ears—but from inside, as if a crack had opened in his head and the voice was pouring in through it, clear and distinct.

“What are you doing?”

It wasn’t loud. It carried helplessness, concern, and a hint of frustration.

As if scolding him for being so stubborn, so unyielding, so unable to let go.

“Don’t you have good days to live? Why come all the way here to suffer? Is the mountain easy to climb? Is the road easy to walk? Look at you—your clothes are torn, your hands are cut, your face is covered in dirt! What are you even doing this for?”

Zhou Xiong remained frozen in place.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The voice spoke again, softer than before, but every word still clear.

“What’s so good about me that you’ve been holding onto it for so many years? You’ve done what you needed to do, repaid what you needed to repay. You have a son, a daughter-in-law, and so many things waiting for you. And yet you’re here, crouching in front of this mound—how long do you plan to stay?”

A pause.

“Did you forget what I told you back then? ‘Are you going to live your life or not?’ You must’ve forgotten it. Otherwise why would you come here to suffer like this? Honestly, you’ve managed to turn living into this kind of mess…”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes turned red.

He looked down at the mound again, at his trembling hand.

The voice spoke one last time, very softly, as if drifting from far away:

“Xiao Xiong… look forward. You shouldn’t be so trapped by the past…”

Zhou Xiong stayed crouched for a long time.

The wind swept down the slope, tugging at his clothes.

He remained there until the mist dispersed, until sunlight from the east fell warm across his back.

Finally, he stood up. His legs were numb; he swayed slightly, then steadied himself.

He took one last look at the mound, then turned and walked down.

The two soldiers followed silently.

The downhill path was easier. Sunlight dried the dew on the grass. It no longer slipped underfoot.

Zhou Xiong walked slowly, but every step was steady.

At the foot of the mountain, he stopped and looked back once.

The trees blocked the view. The mound could no longer be seen—but he knew it was there, facing east, toward the rising sun.

He withdrew his gaze and continued walking forward.

Forward?

He silently repeated it.

Then again.