Through these dreams, Qilin learned that at thirteen, Wang Cang Hai had submitted a ten-thousand-word proposal to the emperor, reforming the household registration system of the Dayong Empire. Thanks to him, common people were no longer displaced from their homes. After Wang Cang Hai became a third-rank official in the Ministry of Revenue, vagrants like Zhi Nu’s mother—who once died far from home—disappeared from the empire.
A year passed in the blink of an eye, and the bitter cold of the twelfth lunar month arrived.
At fourteen, Wang Cang Hai was fully dedicated to implementing the household registration reform. He worked tirelessly at the Ministry of Revenue, rarely returning home. For half a month, he had not stepped foot in the Wang residence.
That night, the first snow of the year fell, thick and heavy. The Ministry had yet to light the charcoal braziers for warmth, and by the latter half of the night, the cold seeped into the bones.
Wang Cang Hai, unable to bear the freezing air, remembered that the kitchen might have firewood and charcoal. He went inside, started a fire, and sat beside the stove, continuing to read documents and write reports. Before long, exhaustion crept in, and he fell asleep at the stove.
It was a restless sleep. Wang Cang Hai felt his head grow unbearably heavy, as if a stone was pressing down on his chest.
In his dazed state, he heard that familiar, warm voice again.
“Zhi Nu, why are you sleeping here? Get up, quickly.”
Wang Cang Hai’s eyelids felt unbearably heavy, but as the gentle yet urgent voice called to him again and again, he struggled to open his eyes.
“Qilin, Little Celestial Immortal!” Wang Cang Hai gasped in surprise and joy. But as soon as he spoke, he realized his voice was hoarse and dry. He wanted to stand up and embrace his elder brother, but his legs felt weak, unable to support him.
“What’s wrong with me?” He sensed something was terribly off about his body.
Qilin stepped closer, supporting Wang Cang Hai’s arm to help him stand. His voice was filled with urgency. “Zhi Nu, don’t be afraid. Walk slowly. Let’s go to the window together.”
Wang Cang Hai leaned almost his entire weight against Qilin. His limbs were limp, drained of all strength, and a wave of nausea and dizziness made him feel as if the world was spinning.
He looked at Qilin and asked, “Little Celestial Immortal, am I sick? Am I… dying?”
“You’re not sick—you’re suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning.” Qilin frowned deeply and held him even tighter. “Burning charcoal in winter produces toxic fumes. If you light a fire indoors, you must open a window for ventilation, or you’ll suffocate from the gas.”
“No wonder… I feel so awful… I can’t move.” Wang Cang Hai gasped for air, but his breathing was becoming shallow and labored.
Qilin practically carried him toward the window, shouting, “Zhi Nu, open the window! Wu Zheng, stay awake!”
Wang Cang Hai coughed lightly and whispered weakly, “I have no strength… I can’t lift my arms… Open it for me.”
Qilin’s voice became even more urgent. “Wu Zheng! You must open it yourself! Don’t you understand? We’re only in your dream right now. I can’t open the window for you—only you can save yourself!”
Wang Cang Hai shook his head drowsily. “No… I don’t want to only see you in my dreams. Why can’t you come to me for real?”
Qilin grabbed his shoulders and shook him forcefully, his tone desperate. “Wake up! Don’t fall asleep! Look at me—look at me!”
Wang Cang Hai’s hazy gaze met Qilin’s, unfocused yet filled with longing. “Little Celestial Immortal… you’re so beautiful.”
Qilin’s expression turned serious, his voice firm. “Wu Zheng, do you want to die foolishly here in the kitchen, or do you want to fight your way out and become a great man?”
“A great man? Will I… really become a great man?” Wang Cang Hai’s eyes flickered between confusion and clarity.
“If you want to, you can.” Qilin’s gaze burned with determination, his words filled with unwavering conviction.
For a brief moment, Wang Cang Hai’s mind cleared. He clawed his way toward the window, summoning every ounce of strength left in his body to push it open.
Outside, the world was a vast expanse of white snow.
And, at last, there was fresh, icy air.
Wang Cang Hai collapsed over the windowsill and slipped into unconsciousness once again.
0 Comments