He knew he was dreaming again.

This dream had haunted him for decades—day and night—entangled with him as if carved into his bones, as if part of his flesh. He couldn’t throw it away, couldn’t dig it out. If it didn’t come for even a day, he felt like something was missing.

But he had never had such a clear dream before—so clear it felt real.

“Gou'er, why are you so stubborn? Isn’t my money your money? Why do I earn money, if not to support your studies so you can hold your head high?”

“Why are you so stubborn! You tell me—who exactly are you being stubborn for?!”

“I know you don’t like me, but I’ve been like this for years. I can’t change it! And I’m not planning to!”

“Look at Hong’er—doesn’t he look like you?”

…

Xue Tingrang suddenly felt someone shaking him.

When he opened his tired eyes, he saw the dim inner room, Hu San’s no-longer-young face, even the familiar patterns on the bed canopy.

Only then did he realize he had been dreaming.

But that dream had been too vivid: the scent of sorghum in the air, the stubborn curve of her tightly pressed lips—he could feel it all.

Her tears, sparkling with color as she cried from anger—he had reached out to touch them, but was shaken awake.

“Sir, it’s time for your medicine.”

Xue Tingrang was propped up and fed his medicine.

His illness had reached the point of no return—he needed help even to drink medicine.

Where was the awe-inspiring Grand Chancellor who had dominated court politics for decades?

Oh, right.

He wasn’t the Grand Chancellor anymore.

He had submitted his resignation to retire because of illness. The emperor had approved it.

But he no longer had a home to return to, no family to rely on.

Not that he had planned to go back.

“Minister Zhang, Minister Wang, Minister Li, and Minister Cao all came to visit today, but per your orders they were kept outside. They come every day. They’re here again today. Would you like to see them?”

What could they do by coming?

They only thought his illness was a political ploy—waiting for him to get up and continue leading them against the emperor.

But he truly was sick.

Terminally.

Beyond cure.

“Don’t see them.”

“Then please rest again, my lord.”

The room grew quiet once more.

Xue Tingrang’s eyelids grew heavy again.

He blinked once, twice, and slipped back into sleep.

…

“How does Minister Wang have free time to visit an old dying man like me?”

Wang Mingsheng’s expression was complicated, but he forced a smile.

“Colleagues in court—we should visit the Grand Chancellor, both in sentiment and duty.”

“Never thought you would spout such hypocritical nonsense.

Are you here to check whether I’m dying soon on the emperor’s behalf?”

Xue Tingrang sneered.

Though his face was sallow and skeletal, and he was clearly on death’s door, his calm, unfathomably deep eyes made no one dare underestimate him.

He was Xue Tingrang—whose very name alone was enough to inspire fear.

Decades of power had rooted him like an ancient tree with massive, tangled roots.

He didn’t need to move—his mere presence made people tremble.

Otherwise, why would the new emperor, despite all his scheming, still not dare touch him directly?

“It seems you misunderstand His Majesty greatly.”

Xue Tingrang let out a cold laugh and closed his eyes halfway, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.

“In truth, I came for myself,” Wang said.

“I came to see how the man who abandoned his wife and child to cling to power—looks now, so lonely and pitiful.

When you die, you won’t even have anyone to mourn you.

But that’s what you chose, isn’t it?

Just a play—something to hear and see.

How did you manage to take a play as truth and anger yourself into this state?

Is it guilt?

Or fear that the world will learn your true nature and curse you forever?”

“You—!”

“Saying you ‘abandoned’ your wife and child is still too polite.

It should be murdered your wife and child.

Shouldn’t it, Grand Chancellor Xue?”

No one knew this.

To the world, Xue Tingrang had a first wife before the current Lady Xue, but no one knew what happened to her.

Too many years had passed; his rivals past and present had all been crushed long ago.

Those who tried to dig up his past had all become lonely ghosts.

Only Wang Mingsheng—the “victim”—knew the truth.

“You… you are…”

Wang leaned close to his ear.

“Pity my mother survived. I survived too.

The shipwreck didn’t kill us—we were rescued.

For so many years, I’ve dreamed of this moment.

But your life was too long, your power too great, so I could only climb step by step until I reached the place where I could pull you down…”

“You are… Hong’er…”

Xue Tingrang forced out the words with great difficulty.

Wang straightened and laughed freely.

“I’m not called Hong’er.

And my surname is not Xue.

It’s Wang.

My mother remarried—the man who saved us…

Don’t get too excited.

Even if you die right now, I’m not your son…”

Wang Mingsheng, known for being calm and restrained, had never laughed so freely before.

“Oh, and don’t think I’ll extend your bloodline as some consolation.”

He paused as if remembering something amusing.

“Let me think—

Wasn’t it you who had people spread rumors that I had a fondness for men?

You actually guessed right.

I truly don’t like women.

Which is why I never married for so many years…”

He smiled as he looked at the old man on the bed, watching the shock, desolation, and regret collide on his face.

But so what?

He suddenly realized that he felt none of the satisfaction he had imagined. Even the smile on his face felt far too fake. In that instant, he lost all interest. His lips flattened, he brushed off his sleeve, and said:

“Since Lord Xue is still well, then this official shall take his leave.”

……

“No, I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“My lord, what are you saying?”

At the sound of that voice, the fog before Xue Tingrang’s eyes suddenly dispersed. He jolted upright, waking abruptly from the dream. What met his eyes once again was the dim inner chamber, Hu San’s not particularly attractive—indeed somewhat ugly—face, and the air filled with the bitter smell of medicine, mingled faintly with a sense of decay.

Xue Tingrang moved his lips, but no sound came out.

“My lord, what did you say?”

Hu San was extremely anxious and pressed him repeatedly, but Xue Tingrang could not speak at all. Hu San could only guess and asked, “Are you worried about what happened before? Don’t worry. Your words have already been passed on to Lord Zhang. He knows that Lord Wang is your only son and will act according to your instructions.”

Xue Tingrang blinked his eyes.

Thinking he still had something to say, Hu San leaned closer to his mouth, but only heard a single sentence:

“I didn’t…”

There was nothing more after that.

When Hu San anxiously lifted his head to look, he saw Xue Tingrang’s eyes wide open, his face a grayish-blue color.

With trembling hands, he reached forward to feel for the man’s breath, only to be so startled that he collapsed onto the floor.

Cold wind poured in through the torn window paper, blasting straight into Xue Gouzi’s face with icy chill.

He shuddered violently and opened his eyes.

What appeared before him was a small room. Blue-brick walls, a black-tiled roof, the walls plastered with white lime but looking dull and gray. The beams were raw wood in color, exposed because there was no ceiling, with several bamboo baskets hanging from them. Something seemed to be stored inside the baskets, covered with blue cloth.

He was lying on a kang bed, covered with a half-new, half-old quilt. The quilt cover looked clean and tidy, but the cotton stuffing inside had already hardened.

At the foot of the kang, directly facing him, stood a row of dark brown kang cabinets. The cabinet doors were inlaid with brass studs, folding leaves, and tassel handles, carved with simple patterns of auspicious clouds and flowing water. They looked solid and dignified rather than ornate. While nothing special in a wealthy household, in a farming family they were already considered furniture one could be proud of.

They could be passed down for generations without issue!

That was what his father had said back then. His father had been the best carpenter in the village.

Xue Gouzi felt his head splitting with pain, as if someone had struck him hard with a hoe. He tried to prop himself up to sit, but his whole body was weak, and he fell back onto the kang.

Only then did he realize that he was Xue Gouzi, the eldest son of the second branch of the Xue family. Because of certain events, he had been unable to think things through, anger burning his liver and heart, and he had fallen ill. He had been sick for many days now.

He was not Xue Tingrang.

That Xue Tingrang was someone from his dream.

How could he possibly be that kind of person?

To prove that everything had merely been a dream, he deliberately raised his hand and looked at it.

Sure enough!

The hand before his eyes was slender and fair, without the sinewy strength a man should have. He was only fourteen this year—how could he have lived to over seventy, only to die with his eyes still open?

Xue Gouzi let out a heavy breath, then looked around again. Only then did his heart finally settle.

Voices came from outside, slipping in through the cracks of the window.

“Let me tell you, Zhao’er, it’s not that Fourth Aunt wants to criticize you. Just look at what you’ve become now—an unmarried girl running around all day instead of staying home, even learning from those petty vendors to do business. Is that business something you can do? Look at your Fourth Uncle—running around outside all day and still barely earning anything. Stop tossing about already. If you’ve got that kind of time, help Fourth Aunt with some work!”

The voice sounded like that of a young woman, but the mockery in her words was far too thick. People often said that one’s appearance reflects one’s heart—it was no wonder Sun shi had such a sharp, mean-looking face.

This thought flashed subconsciously through Xue Gouzi’s mind, and then he froze.

He disliked Fourth Aunt, that was true—but how could he think of her in such a way?

Before he could figure it out, the voice from his dream rang out.

“Fourth Aunt, I would like to help you with some work, but you know that Gouzi has been sick for many days now. At first, the family gave a few copper coins to buy medicine, but after only half a month, Grandma said the household funds were tight and told us to stop buying medicine. Gouzi is my man—I can’t just watch him stay sick like this. If Fourth Aunt wants me to help with work, that’s fine, but how about you lend me some money to buy medicine? I’ll slowly pay you back later, all right?”

The speaker was a young girl. Her voice carried a capable, forthright tone, mixed with a hint of teasing provocation.

Yes—Zhao’er was deliberately provoking Sun shi.

Sun shi had always been the type who only took in money and never let it out. Getting her to produce even a single copper coin was harder than climbing to heaven, let alone lending money to the two half-grown children of the second branch.

The second branch now had only these two left. The one meant to hold up the household was only fourteen, and the older one was just sixteen—a girl at that. Every time Sun shi heard village rumors claiming that Zhao’er had earned money doing some kind of business, she scoffed in disbelief.

What business could that wretched girl possibly do? At best, she dug up a few wild odds and ends and took them to the city to fool people into giving her a few copper coins.

“Your Fourth Aunt doesn’t have money to lend you. All the household money is with Mother. Go ask her!” Sun shi said, patting her backside as she stood up and went back inside, too lazy to waste more words on Zhao’er.

“Since Fourth Aunt doesn’t have money to lend me, and I don’t dare ask Grandma, I can only figure out a way myself to get some money to buy medicine for Gouzi!”

Zhao’er’s voice was especially loud. This was clearly not only meant for Sun shi, but also for Zhao shi, who was sitting in the main hall of the principal house.

Sure enough, Zhao’er had barely entered the room when Zhao shi stood in the doorway and scolded Sun shi:

“You haven’t even finished washing the pigsty, and you’re already back inside pretending to be dead?”

Zhao’er curled her lips, lifted the door curtain, and walked in—only to run straight into Xue Gouzi’s eyes as he looked at her.