Gu Chong slept exceptionally soundly, in dreams etched with countless jumbled memories.
His father and mother appeared, smiling as they beckoned to him.
"Dad... Mom..."
In the night-duty room, Gu Chong murmured in his sleep from atop the bed.
At the table beside the bed, Old Zhang set down the wooden tray in his hands, placing a small dish of pickled vegetables, some rice porridge, and two steamed buns on the table.
He glanced again at the youth still lost in dreams and was just about to step forward and check on him when Gu Chong slowly opened his eyes.
The cracking pain in his mind gradually faded, and the memories from his dream slowly dispersed.
Unfamiliar rafters. An unfamiliar setting.
Gu Chong sat stunned for quite some time, his gaze somewhat vacant.
"Little brother, you're finally awake." Old Zhang's face lit up, and he was about to step forward to help Gu Chong sit up.
Unexpectedly, Gu Chong gently pushed him away, sat up on his own, and looked around.
The disjointed fragments of memory gradually became clear. Gu Chong lowered his head and looked at his hands.
The hands that had been covered in blood last night had now been washed clean, yet the scent of blood still seemed to cling to his skin.
A smile slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Young Master Feng had not lied to him.
He had brought him back.
When he recalled that blade being thrown over yesterday, he did not know why he had reached out and caught it.
As if possessed, as though someone had given him a push.
It was not to prove anything to anyone, nor was it because he longed for the pity of some great figure.
It was because with a blade, he could