HNYWEF -Chapter 38 Souls on the Verge of Breaking

Zhenguan Year One, Fourth Day of the Third Month.

Light rain.

In the outer room.

Zhou Yi squatted beneath the eaves, staring at the rain outside.

He didn’t know what was happening in the inner room.

But he knew something was wrong today.

Ever since morning, his father hadn’t spoken. Not the usual kind of silence—another kind. It was as if something had wrapped itself around the man. His eyes looked elsewhere, as though he wasn’t really in this house at all.

Zhou Yi didn’t dare ask.

So he simply crouched there, watching the rain.

Suddenly, he felt uneasy.

He couldn’t explain why.

Just uneasy.

Like a stone pressing down on his chest—heavy, immovable.

He stretched out his hand to catch the rainwater dripping from the eaves.

One drop. Two drops. Three.

Cool against his palm before slipping away through his fingers.

The inner room was dimly lit.

The windows were shut. Only a thin strand of light leaked through the gap in the curtain, falling across the floor like a narrow line.

Zhou Xiong sat on the edge of the kang bed, holding a cup of wine.

Cheng Yaojin sat across from him. Half the wine jar was already gone. His face was flushed red from drinking, and even his words had started to slur.

“Bear Brute, I’m telling you…”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Cheng Yaojin poured himself another cup.

He raised it, but didn’t drink.

Instead, he looked at Zhou Xiong.

Looked at him for a long while.

Outside, rain pattered softly against the eaves.

Then Cheng Yaojin suddenly asked a question.

Very softly.

So softly it hardly sounded like something Cheng Yaojin would say.

“Bear Brute… how long are you planning to keep this from your son?”

Zhou Xiong’s hand stopped.

The wine cup hung motionless in midair.

He said nothing.

He set the cup down.

Then he picked it up again and flicked his arm—

Splash.

An entire cup of wine splashed across Cheng Yaojin’s face.

Cheng Yaojin froze.

Wine streamed down his cheeks, down his neck, soaking into his clothes.

He stared at Zhou Xiong, mouth slightly open, unable to react for a long moment.

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

His voice was colder than the rain outside.

“Don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business.”

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth.

He wanted to say something.

But then he saw Zhou Xiong’s eyes—

And he shut his mouth again.

That look.

He had seen it before.

Nine years ago, when Zhou Xiong left carrying the child in his arms—that was the same look.

Empty.

But not that kind of empty.

Another kind.

As though something had once cracked open slightly… only to freeze shut again.

Frozen even thicker than before.

Cheng Yaojin slowly put down his cup.

He sat there without moving.

Wine still trickled down his face, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.

After a long while, he finally spoke again.

His voice had lowered.

“Bear Brute, I…”

Zhou Xiong didn’t look at him.

He stared at the window instead.

Outside, the rain still fell.

Fine and endless, drifting through the air.

Cheng Yaojin fell silent too.

And so the two men sat there.

Neither speaking.

Only the sound of rain.

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

Cheng Yaojin came out.

Zhou Yi turned his head and froze for a moment when he saw him.

“Uncle Cheng, what happened to your face?”

Cheng Yaojin’s face was drenched, liquid still running down it. Zhou Yi couldn’t tell whether it was wine or something else.

Cheng Yaojin didn’t answer.

He walked over and crouched beside Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi looked at him.

Cheng Yaojin looked back.

After staring at him for a while, Cheng Yaojin suddenly reached out and rubbed his head.

“Kid, it’s nothing.”

Zhou Yi blinked.

He didn’t know what had happened.

But suddenly, he felt like there was something in Uncle Cheng’s eyes.

He couldn’t describe what it was.

Cheng Yaojin stood up.

Then he walked outside.

At the doorway, he stopped.

Without turning back.

He stood there for a single breath.

Then he pushed the door open and stepped into the rain.

His footsteps gradually faded away.

Still crouching beneath the eaves, Zhou Yi watched that figure disappear into the rain.

Then he turned back again to look at the curtain.

The curtain didn’t move.

No sound came from the inner room.

His father was inside.

He didn’t know what his father was doing.

He only knew that today, something about his father was wrong.

Suddenly, he remembered a poem his father had once taught him.

“During Qingming, the rain falls in endless drizzle…”

“Travelers upon the road seem ready to lose their souls…”

But somehow, he couldn’t remember the last two lines anymore.

The rain still fell.

Fine and endless, drifting through the air.

Landing on the eaves, on the blue stone pavement, into the palm of his hand.

Cool to the touch.