HNYWEF -Chapter 31 History Corrects Itself

Late at night.

The room was pitch black. Zhou Xiong lay on the kang, eyes open.

He turned over, sat up, pulled on his clothes, and walked into the outer room.

Moonlight slipped through the crack in the door, falling across the floor like a thin white line.

He stood there, staring at that line.

For a long time.

Then he lay back down on the kang.

Closed his eyes.

…

He saw mountains.

Not the mountains of Chang’an, but the mountains of Shandong. Rocky, sparse with trees. When the wind blew, dust rose into the air and stung the eyes.

At the foot of the mountain stood a stronghold.

Wagang Stronghold.

He saw the banners, the tents, the familiar faces.

Cheng Yaojin was squatting by the doorway, gnawing on a steamed bun. When he saw him, he waved.

Qin Qiong was practicing with his spear, thrust after thrust, every strike steady.

Shan Xiongxin stood on high ground, gazing into the distance, no one knew at what.

He wanted to walk over.

But he couldn’t move.

It was as if something beneath his feet was holding him back.

Then he saw others.

Qin Yong.

The adopted son Qin Qiong had somehow taken in. He smiled like a fool, but fought like he didn’t care about dying. Once his arm had been slashed open in battle. Zhou Xiong stitched the wound himself while Qin Yong clenched his teeth and didn’t make a sound. When it was over, Qin Yong had said:

“Bear Blind, your skills are way better than the physicians back home.”

Luo Shixin.

That fool spoke even less than Zhou Xiong did now, but once battle started, he fought like a madman. One time he saved Zhou Xiong’s life by taking a blade for him. While Zhou Xiong bandaged him up, Luo Shixin said only one thing:

“I owed you a life. Now we’re even.”

Ma Jinhua.

That woman.

She rarely smiled, but when she did, she looked beautiful.

She rode horses faster than most men and killed more ruthlessly than most men too. But whenever she saw Zhou Yi, she would crouch down to tease him, pinching his little cheeks.

Back then Zhou Yi was only a few months old. He understood nothing. He only knew how to grin foolishly.

Ma Jinhua had said:

“This kid’s definitely going to grow up flirtatious. He smiles at everyone he sees.”

He stood there, watching them.

They walked past him.

No one looked at him.

He called out to them.

They couldn’t hear him.

He tried reaching out to grab them.

His hand passed straight through their bodies. He couldn’t catch anything.

Then he saw that formation.

The Bronze Banner Formation.

He didn’t know where it was, but he knew it was the Bronze Banner Formation.

He knew those people would enter it.

He knew those people would die there.

He knew—

By then, he had already left.

He wasn’t there.

He had taken Zhou Yi and gone away.

Suddenly, he wanted to ask something.

Very softly.

“If I hadn’t left…”

Before he could finish, darkness swallowed his vision.

Zhou Xiong opened his eyes.

The room was still dark.

Moonlight filtered through the paper window, falling along the edge of the kang.

He lay there, chest heaving violently.

Slowly, Zhou Xiong sat up.

He climbed off the kang and walked to the door.

Pushed it open.

The cold outside was biting. Wind poured in, making him shiver.

He didn’t go back to put on more clothes.

He simply stood there in the doorway, staring at the sky outside.

The moon hung low in the west, almost set. A few scattered stars blinked weakly overhead.

He stood motionless in the doorway.

The cold wind poured down his collar, but he felt nothing.

Shan Xiongxin.

He suddenly repeated the name silently in his mind.

He knew Shan Xiongxin would die in the end.

By the Luo River.

Captured by Li Shimin.

Executed.

He knew.

He had always known.

But he couldn’t save him.

Nor did he want to.

With Shan Xiongxin’s temperament, death was inevitable.

The wind kept blowing.

Suddenly, he wondered—what use was it, knowing so much?

He knew the locust plague was coming, and he had spoken of it.

Maybe Li Shimin would make preparations.

Maybe countless people could be saved.

Standing in the doorway, he looked toward the imperial palace.

The moon sank a little lower.

Dawn was approaching.

Suddenly, he laughed softly.

Very softly.

“Changed something?”

He muttered to himself.

His voice was terribly hoarse.

“It seems… nothing’s really changed.”

“It’s as if… history itself corrected the course…”

He stood there for a long time.

The moon disappeared.

The eastern horizon slowly turned pale.

Still he remained there, staring toward the southwest.

Staring into that dark, heavy sky.

Staring toward the things he did not know.

The wind kept blowing.

He did not move.