Zheng Qing had another string of nightmares on Saturday night.
This time, however, no one was cursing him—or perhaps someone was, but the nightmares caused by curses had no presence at all before a real nightmare. That night, Zheng Qing dreamed that two signs hung from his body. The one in front read "First Gentleman," while the one behind read "Shameless Scum." Then he was covered in tar and feathers, carried by a group of faceless people all the way from Jiuyou Academy to Atlas, before finally being propped atop a roaring bonfire.
When he woke, he was drenched in cold sweat.
Strangely enough, once he realized that scene had merely been a nightmare, the first thought that surfaced in his mind was that if he had been sweating that much on the pyre too, he probably could have lasted longer in the flames!
Zheng Qing lay with his eyes open, peering through the gap in the curtains toward the window. It was still dark outside, but after Start of Winter, dawn came very late. For a moment, he could not tell whether it was midnight or morning.
Midnight or morning, he could not sleep anymore.
The young scholarship student climbed out of bed softly and washed up with great care. Countless thoughts churned within him, and in that quiet, chilly world, his mind became exceptionally clear.
By the time he had finished washing and dressed himself, a vague yet firm thought had already taken shape in his heart—he could not keep running away like this.
He took out his Pocket Watch and checked the time.
Five thirty in the morning.
There was a discarded sheet of parchment on the desk, covered in messy star charts. The young scholarship student turned it over and wrote several lines in the blank