Chapter 15: The Crushing Mountain of Blades
Startled awake from a dream, Han Min abruptly lifted his head.
His older brother, Han Shi, was about to pat his hand but stopped mid-air. Seeing his expression, he asked, “What’s wrong? Another nightmare?”
Han Min didn’t answer, wiping his face, noticing that it was soaked with cold sweat.
He rarely slept at night. In Liuzhou, he stayed up late organizing things; in Tongzhou, he stayed up late writing manuscripts. Half of it was diligence, the other half because he always had nightmares at night.
He would rather nap briefly at dawn than sleep through the night.
The dreams were simply too terrifying.
Han Shi wiped his face with his sleeve. “Was it another dream about our family being raided?”
Han Min only nodded, opening his mouth but not knowing what to say.
He took a deep breath and covered his face, unsure how much of the dream was real. In his half-conscious state, leaning against Fu Xun, he couldn’t recall what anyone had said or done around him.
Dreaming that Fu Xun had burned down the Gong Prince’s mansion—he didn’t know if it had been true or not.
After a while, he lowered his hands. “Brother, I’m going out to wash my face.”
He stepped into the courtyard and drew cold water from the well to splash on his face.
Although it was early spring, the night wind was still cool, sending a shiver through him.
When he returned, Han Shi was still waiting in the room. Seeing him come back, he finally relaxed a little.
“Sleep a bit more. I’ll watch over you.”
Han Min hesitated. “Brother, could I borrow your horse again?”
“Where to?”
“To… Yong’an.”
“Leaving in the next few days?”
Actually, Han Min regretted saying that almost immediately.
Since the system had said that the Duke of Ding would become emperor, worrying here seemed unnecessary. If Fu Xun really became emperor, his going to Yong’an now would look like he was running there to curry favor.
If something happened to Fu Xun, and he went to Yong’an, falling into the Gong Prince’s hands, it would likely mean doom for the Han family as well.
No matter how he thought about it, he shouldn’t make this journey.
Han Min pressed his lips together, a little deflated. “Forget it… I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
—
After the nightmare left him unsettled, Han Min had no mind for sleep, so he spent the night at his desk.
He wrote his story manuscripts, dozing briefly when tired, waking to continue writing.
Thus passed the night.
The next morning, Han Min rose from the desk, rubbed his eyes, and, organizing his manuscripts, realized that they were almost complete.
He picked up his pen, finished the second volume, and left a hook for the next installment.
Then he went to Baishi Bookstore to submit his work.
As usual, the store clerk guided him inside.
Han Min took a thick stack of manuscripts from his pen case and placed them on the table.
Before he could speak, he heard voices outside.
“Hurry! Move all unrelated books out of the way!”
Hearing this, Han Min looked back. The shopkeeper excused himself and hurried outside to see.
Outside was the man Han Min had met here a few days ago, recently returned from Yong’an City.
The man grabbed the shopkeeper by the sleeve, leaned close, and spoke in a low voice: “The emperor has passed away.”
Han Min followed closely, listening intently, not caring who else heard, and blurted out, “Do you know which prince it is…”
The man glanced at him and lowered his voice further: “I dare not speak carelessly. Yong’an City closed its gates, the palace gates are sealed. I heard that a certain prince tried to enter, but the Duke of Gong forbade it and even had archers stationed on the city wall, turning the place into a hedgehog. The two sides clashed violently, blood flowing like a river…”
Han Min, having barely slept for nights and filled with days of worry, felt everything pour out. His vision blackened, and he almost couldn’t breathe.
The man finally said, “No one knows who won yet. News of the new emperor ascending hasn’t arrived.”
Han Min made up his mind. “I’ll leave first. Farewell.”
The shopkeeper asked, “Young Master Han, when is your next submission?”
“I’m going to Yong’an. Have your bookstore contacts there find me.”
“Eh?”
Before more could be said, Han Min had already left.
He hurried home. The system warned him: “Don’t rush. Maybe Fu Xun won?”
“Or maybe he got turned into a hedgehog?”
“Should I ask the control center main branch?”
“By the time the center replies, Fu Xun might be dead. I’ll go myself.”
“Eh!”
At home, Han Min took out his small money box, handed it to Han Shi, and gave brief instructions. He then went to his grandfather’s room, spoke a few words, and kowtowed.
Grandfather asked, “Decided?”
Han Min nodded heavily. “Yes, decided.”
Grandfather sighed, waving a hand. “Then go.”
He led a horse out from the stable.
Lady Yuan helped him pack, and Han Min slung the bundle over his shoulder, mounting the horse.
Clouds loomed on the horizon, and the cold wind nipped at his face.
Han Min shivered, settled his mind, and gripped the reins.
As he rode away, Lady Yuan removed her apron and tossed it aside.
“Enemies, truly enemies. I said a few days ago—he’s bound to elope with the Duke of Ding.”
—
Yong’an City lay north of Tongzhou. Spring breezes had not yet reached it, and light winter snow still fell. By dusk, it was already cold.
The sun sank slowly, and the sky darkened.
The palace lanterns had been replaced with white ones, flickering in the wind.
Fifth Prince Fu Rang clasped his hands and stepped out of the palace gates.
A blue-cloth-wrapped carriage waited in front, with attendants holding umbrellas behind him.
He sniffed the air and looked at the middle-aged man in plain clothes beside him.
“Uncle, after a while Father will send off the emperor. There shouldn’t be further trouble, right?”
The man had a simple, honest face, a solid frame, wrapped in a coat, hands clasped.
Fu Rang called him “Uncle,” meaning he was likely the late emperor’s youngest brother, previously titled Prince Yue, Fu Le.
“That’s not certain. Who doesn’t know that side is still unsettled?”
Fu Rang blurted out: “Third Prince—”
Prince Yue cleared his throat twice to remind him.
Fu Rang corrected himself: “Why didn’t the emperor just deal with him directly?”
The two walked toward the carriage. The attendants lifted the curtains and suddenly heard a long neigh from the snow.
Fu Rang instinctively looked back. In the snow rode a thin scholar in coarse clothes, on a fine horse.
He looked twice and then smiled at Prince Yue. “Uncle, doesn’t that look like Han Min?”
Prince Yue looked and stroked his small mustache, smiling foolishly. “It does. Honestly, I miss Min Min a bit.”
Fu Rang nodded. “Me too.”
The uncle and nephew laughed foolishly together.
The night was dim, the moon now rising. Snow reflected its light, revealing the scholar’s thin figure clearly.
Fu Rang stared, then exclaimed: “Uncle, that’s really Han Min!”
Just like in Liuzhou before. Han Min considered himself an unconventional scholar, but wherever he went with his pen case, he left destruction in his wake—mountains of blades shattered, and boiling fire exhausted.
Author’s Notes:
Pen Case (tuó, second tone): Min Min’s pen pouch, holding a scholar’s basic tools.
Fu Le: “I miss Min Min.”
Fu Rang: “Me too.”
Min Min: “I’m right here! Where are you reminiscing about?”
