Chapter 113: A Spring Night's Dream

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The reason I didn’t choose to stay with the Zhen family from the start was because I feared their interference in my affairs. However, upon reflection, the Zhen family was not entirely heartless; at the very least, they returned more than half of the dowry my mother had brought when she married. Yet, from my sister’s letter, I sensed that I had asked for too little. The original dowry included numerous shops, lands, and properties, all of which had appreciated significantly over the years.

In truth, I had already intended to leave the Zhen family from the beginning, without much hesitation. Looking back, I feel a bit of regret, as it seems I allowed that greedy stepmother to benefit unfairly.

But now that I have left the Zhen family, it would be improper to demand more. Such insistence would be nothing but unreasonable troublemaking.

As for the suggestion in the letter about seeking an official position for me, Zhen Qian clearly hadn’t thought it through. Becoming an official means being bound by the constraints of officialdom, which is a minor concern. Holding office in a distant locale is a system of the Tang dynasty; being unfamiliar with the land, starting anew in a strange place is no great matter. The real problem is that officials have a duty to defend their territory. When An Lushan’s rebellion reached the doorstep, would I surrender or flee?

That is a truly grave dilemma.

To resist! To hold the city and defend it!

What a joke! That is a path to certain death, with a one-way ticket to the afterlife—no refunds unless you meet the King of Hell himself.

During the height of the Tang dynasty, the finest troops were all stationed at the borders. Against An Lushan’s two hundred thousand rebels, even if Zhen Qian commanded the entire provincial army, it would be like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

If An Lushan had not prematurely revealed his ambition to become emperor and later been killed by his own son, causing the rebel forces to collapse and morale to waver, it is uncertain whether the Tang dynasty could have endured even in a weakened state.

It is precisely because of this knowledge of history that Zhen Qian understood that becoming an official now was a road from which there was no return. I lack the ability to turn the tide of a collapsing world or to prop up a crumbling edifice. What I must do now is to protect myself first—otherwise all talk is meaningless.

After finishing my sister’s letter, Ju Niang presented another letter and said, “This was just delivered this afternoon by the Zhen family in Zhending, asking Eldest Brother to return to the Zhen family to pay respects to our ancestors on New Year's Day!”

The letter was sent by Zhen Qian’s father from Luzhou in Cang Prefecture, expressing deep regret over Zhen Qian’s departure from the family and reprimanding the stepmother for her concealment of misdeeds. Although Zhen Qian left the Zhen household, he remains a branch of the family and is still the legitimate eldest son, so naturally he must return for the ancestral rites.

Returning to Zhending to honor the ancestors is certainly no problem. Since the family has split, the idea of reunification no longer applies; we exist now as a branch of the Zhen family.

What troubled Zhen Qian, however, was that his father mentioned the matter of his marriage. The father believed that Zhen Qian was no longer young, and because of his amnesia, his marriage had been delayed. Who would want to marry their daughter to a fool? The weight of parental authority and arranged matchmakers truly vexed Zhen Qian. To be bound to a woman he had never met, to spend a lifetime with her—what difference would it make from imprisonment? Could two souls sharing a bed but with different dreams eventually grow fond of one another?

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Zhen Qian had no real solution to this. In a feudal society where ritual and propriety were paramount, aside from earnestly discussing the matter with his father, there was no other way. Moreover, he had yet to find a suitable match of equal standing. It seemed he would indeed have to make the trip back for the ancestral rites this year.

With less than twenty days until New Year's Day, how could he go without preparing gifts? He had no desire to bring antiques, calligraphy, or paintings. Instead, he would send local specialties along with soaps and homemade liquor, and also bring back some Sichuan brocade his sister had sent. In the rush of preparation, the night had already deepened.

After a long day dealing with refugees, county offices, and the brothel—where he had been entangled with Fujiwara Shuoh—Zhen Qian was utterly exhausted. Sleepiness overwhelmed him as he returned to his chamber, slipped under the covers, and quickly fell asleep.

In the haze of half-consciousness, he felt a silky touch pass between his fingers. Without much thought, he pulled the feeling close, his hand tracing along the smooth skin...

After their union, Zhen Qian was truly worn out. The effects of the wine made his eyelids heavy, and he soon drifted into deep sleep.

When the sun was high the next day, Zhen Qian stretched lazily and opened his eyes. A faint, delicate fragrance lingered in his nostrils. He suddenly remembered his bare body and froze at the thought.

“This is not Xiantai Village!”

He slapped his forehead, recalling the wild events of the previous night. But neither Xiao Zhu nor Xiao Mei had come with him to the county seat, so who was with him last night?

The room was empty. He was used to sleeping late and disliked being disturbed.

Zhen Qian never considered rising late to be unusual. Many people in later times got up after seven o’clock, but ancient people rose early. There was a saying: “First watch, second watch, third watch ghosts, fourth watch thieves, fifth watch roosters.”

In ancient times, the night was divided into five watches, with drums marking each. Hence the terms “five watches,” “five drums,” or “five nights.”

The first watch was at the hour of Xu, called dusk, also known as evening or twilight. At this time, the sun has set, and darkness is beginning to fall. The world is dim, everything hazy, hence the name dusk. People were still active then.

The second watch was at the hour of Hai, called “people quiet,” also known as deep night. By this time, night had deepened, and people had ceased activity, resting quietly.

The third watch was at the hour of Zi, called midnight, the deepest and darkest time of night. It is the darkest hour when darkness can swallow all, and it is said that ghosts roam at this time.

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The fourth watch was at the hour of Chou, called cockcrow, the second watch of the twelve hours. Though the night should begin to lighten after the third watch, the fourth watch is still dark and when people sleep most deeply. It is during this pitch-black hour that thieves take advantage and cause trouble, hence it is also called “dog thief” time.

The fifth watch was at the hour of Yin, called dawn, marking the transition from night to day. At this time, roosters crow, and people gradually awaken to greet the new day.

Ancient people were accustomed to early rising and early sleeping, hence the saying about rising at the sound of the rooster.

Zhen Qian was usually the latest riser in the mansion, discounting infants and bedridden patients. Since he went to bed late himself, it was not odd that he rose late.

Opening his mouth to remark that no maidservant was near, he got out of bed alone. As soon as he stood, the door opened and a cold breeze swept in, followed by the graceful twirl of a girl in white flowing skirt—a drifting white cloud passing before his eyes and slipping into the room. In that fleeting glimpse, Zhen Qian’s gaze met hers. Her eyes were clear and pure, her face as exquisite and flawless as carved ice or jade, untouched by worldly dust, resembling a Greek goddess sculpture.

Zhen Qian secretly admired her. Though many beauties appeared in later eras, most were tainted by vulgarity. Even those with a hint of spirit were either actors in dramas or feigning innocence, their gazes never straying far from men’s wallets. Yet this woman’s every movement, every swirl and drift, possessed a transcendent, captivating beauty that astonished him.

“Lucia...!”

Suddenly, a fleeting memory stirred. Their eyes met in the air, both carrying a trace of apology, as if they shared some unspeakable secret.

“My lord... you’re awake!”

“You... last night,” Zhen Qian faltered, unsure what to say. Though it had long been fated, when it truly happened, it was all too sudden.