The Crown Prince in the Dream

It was that dream again.

Emperor Zhou was already very familiar with how the dream unfolded: he watched the young man weep over a coffin, watched the boy crawl around picking up silver beans.

Anyone who repeated the same dream for one year, two years, three years would stop feeling anything.

Besides, Emperor Zhou did not think this was his Crown Prince.

His Crown Prince was healthy, fair, and plump.

He would never be so frail that his complexion turned ashen, nor so lowly that anyone could bully him.

He was Jier's greatest pillar of support. With him there, who could humiliate the Crown Prince?

He thought the dream could no longer move him, but then the scene changed, as though silently challenging him-Really?

The pitch-black dungeon reeked of piss and shit. Cold dampness mingled with the stench, impatiently piercing the skin and clinging to the bones from every side.

The stench made Emperor Zhou retch despite himself.

The dream was too real, as though he were experiencing it himself.

The cell was five or six meters high, its walls so smooth that even a gecko would refuse to set foot on them. Only at the very top was there a window the size of a cat, letting in a little light by day and by night.

Even rats would not want to stay in such a place.

Yet it held the most exalted person under heaven.

When Emperor Zhou saw the young man in the corner, every organ inside him began to ache.

"One, two, three, four..."

A numb, breathy voice counted weakly.

He was keeping track of time.

Time until what?

Time passed, breath by breath. Only when he reached ten thousand did the young man finally move. He picked up a bowl of water and took a small sip.

The bowl was small. An adult taking large gulps could finish it in seven or eight mouthfuls at most.

He held the water carefully in his mouth, as though that would let it moisten his mouth for as long as possible.

An ominous premonition rose in Emperor Zhou's heart.

He stopped counting because it wasted saliva.

One bowl of water, divided into eight portions over a day and a night.

On the first day, there was one bowl of water.

On the second day, there was still one bowl of water.

On the third day, there was still only one bowl of water.

On the first day, he drank the water in eight portions.

On the second day, the young man could not help drinking half the water as soon as he received it, because he was hungry.

On the third day, he learned from the second. He endured far away from it, only going to the cell door when he could bear it no longer. He carefully drank two mouthfuls, then went away to endure some more.

He had been imprisoned. Who could imprison him?

He was the Crown Prince.

Emperor Zhou desperately wanted to leave the cell. He wanted to wake up, but the dream continued.

When people first began to starve, violent irritability would rise in them.

The desire to survive would make them seek anything they could put in their mouths: clothes, straw, dirt... A starving person seeing food was like an addict seeing drugs during withdrawal.

They could even eat themselves.

On the fourth day, the young man began stuffing straw into his mouth. The straw was filthy; who knew how many stinking feet had rested on it, how many people had slept on it?

It did not matter that he did not know. The jailers were there to tell him.

They gleefully admired his wretched state, shouting maliciously.

"Hey, I remember so-and-so pissed on that! Hahahahaha!"

The young man chewed, then gagged it back out.

Hearing that made Emperor Zhou involuntarily gag as well.

Someone brought a steamed bun to tempt him. "Want some? Kowtow to me, and I'll let you eat it."

The young man stared fixedly at the bun. Emperor Zhou could tell: he wanted to eat it.

Desperately.

But he closed his eyes, forcing himself not to bow his head.

He refused not for the sake of dignity, but because once he began exchanging one kowtow for one bun, what came next might be an even more degrading bargain.

He endured... and endured.

He huddled in the corner like a great black rat.

He searched the floor for earthworms, rats, and cockroaches. Emperor Zhou was afraid he would find them, yet afraid he would not.

He dreaded seeing the person in this dream, wearing that face and bearing that identity, do something he could not accept.

He denied that this was his Crown Prince.

His Crown Prince was as precious as gold and jade.

His Crown Prince was a golden branch, a jade leaf!

This was not his Crown Prince.

Emperor Zhou deliberately remained detached, deliberately remained cold.

Even though every organ inside him was taut with worry for this young man, he would never admit that this was his Crown Prince.

As though the moment he admitted it, everything would begin sliding beyond his control.

On the fifth day, the young man began unconsciously gnawing at the plaster on the walls. He even tried biting himself.

Emperor Zhou watched in terror. He could not help moving closer, expecting to see numbness in his eyes. But those eyes held cold mountains and icy waters, winds like knives and frost like swords, hatred and grief, everything but numbness. It seized Emperor Zhou's heart with a thud and savagely tore it out.

The composure he had struggled to maintain cracked inch by inch beneath those eyes, and nameless emotions crawled out through the fissures.

This was his Crown Prince-

This was his Crown Prince.

This was his Crown Prince!

Emperor Zhou's head rang like a chorus of cicadas. A piercing cry tore through his heart and lungs, setting every organ reverberating.

His hands trembled as he reached to touch the young man's face.

He held him and sobbed aloud. This was his Crown Prince!

This was his Crown Prince!

"Someone! Someone! This is my Crown Prince! This is my Crown Prince!"

Emperor Zhou nearly cried himself to death.

He shouted and screamed, but no one answered him.

The dream that sliced his heart apart continued. The sixth day, the seventh, the eighth...

The ninth day, the tenth...

Whenever Emperor Zhou thought it was almost over, there was always another day.

That hopeless waiting kept making him feel that the dream would end with the young man starving to death.

Emperor Zhou even persuaded himself to accept the Crown Prince's death.

Yet on the eve of his starvation, a ray of dawn descended from heaven.

The cell door opened, and several young gentlemen entered, laughing and joking, disgust written all over their faces.

"Say, has he starved to death or not?"

One casually tossed down a steamed bun and made two kissing noises.

Emperor Zhou was furious, but the young man crawled over on all fours, seized the white bun that had rolled through the dirt with both hands, and desperately stuffed it into his mouth.

The speed of his crawling, his eyes, the way he guarded his food-everything said that he wanted to live!

He wanted to live!

He chewed desperately, then spat it out, cupped it in his hands, and ate the spat-out bun again bit by bit, chewing slowly, swallowing slowly.

He was still lucid. Somehow, he was still lucid.

When hunger reached its extreme, animal instinct would replace humanity.

This was how humans processed suffering.

But he was still lucid.

Lucid as hunger tormented his body and mind, lucid as he waited through starvation with no end in sight for either death or rescue.

Sheer willpower kept him going.

He ate plaster, chewed straw, ate rats. Several times, he wanted to eat himself, but after licking his skin and grinding his teeth, he held back.

Because an injury would kill him.

Emperor Zhou remembered when the Crown Prince was even younger: when he was cold, he would cover himself with a blanket; when he wet himself, he would grunt and wriggle somewhere else. He was so good at taking care of himself.

The moment the weather grew a little cooler, he knew to put on another layer.

Even when running away from home, he knew to wrap himself up snugly and buy a flatbread.

Even driven mad by hunger, he still remembered not to get hurt.

He thought of everything...

Emperor Zhou woke with his hands over his eyes and tears streaming down his face.

The miniature Crown Prince had sat up and was studying him with his head tilted. His cheeks were round, and his eyes held cold mountains and icy waters, winds like knives and frost like swords.

Sometimes the little menace was adorably stubborn. At other times, like now, his eyes showed an unusual maturity. He was clever to an almost uncanny degree.

Emperor Zhou had begun having pregnancy dreams while the little menace was still in his belly.

Back then, he had wondered whether he owed some troublesome little ghost a debt from a past life, and it had reincarnated in his belly.

After the little menace was born, Emperor Zhou felt this more strongly than ever.

But Emperor Zhou refused to believe it.

He had clearly raised his son well.

He had always denied that the Crown Prince in his dreams and his son were the same person.

Until today, when the eyes inside and outside the dream overlapped, shattering Emperor Zhou's resolve.

His face smeared with tears and snot, he reached out, pulled the little menace into his arms, and wrapped him in the quilt.

The little Crown Prince lay against Emperor Zhou's chest like a baby kangaroo.

He heard the old geezer crying as he hummed a song to soothe him.

"Good little baby, sweet little baby, crossed the River of Oblivion and came to our family. A wealthy home, a loving father, sleep soundly through every night, live to old age without worries or cares..."

The little Crown Prince listened in a daze. Wrapped entirely in the quilt, surrounded by the scent of Sandalwood Incense, he slowly relaxed beneath the gentle pats on his back and the song brimming with feeling.

He rubbed his eyes with a round little hand and yawned. Sleepy...

Killing the old geezer could wait. For the sake of the secondary seal, he would let him live another day.