After a few breaths, the woman on the bed sat up, clutching the quilt. Daili did not turn to look at the man beside her. She kept her eyes downcast, fixed on the brocade patterns on the quilt cover, her voice as light as the wind. "Is it really possible to find him?"
It wasn't one or two years, nor three or four, but a full ten years.
As an adult with some knowledge of ancient times due to her work, she was barely managing here. How much more difficult would it be for a child not yet ten years old?
In the third grade, he hadn't yet begun the science subjects introduced later in middle school. Zhou Zhou knew nothing. How could he survive in this cannibalistic feudal era?
Moreover, a few days ago during a casual chat with Nalan Zhi, Daili had inadvertently learned that nine years ago, a great famine had swept through various regions.
Unlike modern agriculture, which had long entered the era of industrial development, ancient times had no machinery, no chemically synthesized compound fertilizers. Grain yields were inherently very limited.
Back then, they had not only encountered a once-in-a-century drought but also a plague of locusts. The impact was immense, affecting not just the northern regions but even areas like Yangzhou in the southeast.
The land was littered with corpses of the starved; cries of hunger and cold filled the air. Bandits ran rampant everywhere, and a peck of grain cost a thousand coins. Commoners could only swallow tree bark and eat grass. Children were exchanged to be eaten; families were torn apart, scattered like stars.
When Daili had once sorted through books and read "Lament for the Vegetable People" with its lines like "First, the two arms are severed and hung at the butcher's shop, then the thigh meat is slowly cut to make soup," she had felt the phrase "Great famine, men ate each other" was a curse. But after all, that was history, a flat description in black and white, a tragedy that would absolutely never repeat in modern times. So, apart from discomfort, she hadn't felt anything particularly strong at the time.
Now, however, the thought that her little boy might have been weeping, carved up, and cooked for meat during that famine made a chill rise from the depths of her heart. Her heart ached in spasms, the pain so intense she unconsciously curled up, shrinking into a ball.
She couldn't help but imagine it: amidst the child's desperate cries, his screams for his mother begging for help, that gleaming knife comes slashing down.
Then skin and flesh are split open, bright red blood gushes out like a spring, and white bones are exposed.
Pieces of tender flesh fall into the pot. A crowd of faceless diners around it cheer incessantly, each holding bowls and spoons, scrambling to get a share of that steaming pot of human flesh stew.
What Hu Bao brought back wasn't just news, but also a snake made of ice. The snake burrowed deep into Daili's heart, gnawing at her flesh and blood with its sharp, serrated teeth.
A cold air surged from the bottom of her heart, and Daili began to tremble uncontrollably.
Suddenly, the brocade quilt beside her was swept up, unfurled, and draped over her shoulders, wrapping her securely from the neck down.
Through the quilt, a large, dark hand covered her own, which rested on her knees. "As long as you don't lose heart, there is always hope."
Spring was already at its end, summer was approaching, and the quilt wasn't as thick as before. The warmth from his palm transmitted steadily through the thin layers.
Daili still hung her head, like a porcelain doll drained of all spirit. She didn't respond, showed no reaction.
At that moment, Nianxia and Bipo returned.
Nianxia showed no surprise at Qin Shaozong's presence in the room. The two maids curtsied. "Madam," Nianxia said respectfully, "the medicine is ready. Please drink it while it's hot."
Daili, wrapped in the quilt, didn't move.
"Give it to me," Qin Shaozong said, reaching out toward Nianxia.
Just as the medicine bowl was about to be handed to him, Daili whispered, "I'll drink it myself."
Qin Shaozong's movement paused slightly, but he still took it from Nianxia's hands. Brewing medicine took time; it had just finished. Considering it shouldn't be too hot to drink, Bipo had thoughtfully cooled it with warm water earlier. Now it was at a suitable temperature.
Taking the bowl, he confirmed the temperature was right. "Don't leave any," he said.
Daili extended a hand from her cocoon-like quilt bundle and, under the gaze of the three, silently drank the medicine slowly until it was all gone.
She couldn't taste any flavor; all the bitterness had gathered in her heart, leaving no room to distinguish anything else.
After finishing the medicine, Daili handed back the bowl but still avoided looking at anyone. Keeping her head bowed, she said in a muffled voice, "I want to rest."
Sitting to the side, Qin Shaozong could only see her ink-black hair hanging down, covering half of her profile. The rouge at the corners of her eyes was much deeper than usual, and a faint, unshed glimmer of tears was visible in her eyes.
After speaking, Daili simply lay down wrapped in the quilt, curled on her side with her back to them.
After watching her quietly for a moment, Qin Shaozong stood up and instructed the two maids, "Take good care of your mistress."
The medicine probably contained sedative herbs. Not long after lying down, Daili's mind began to drift. She faintly heard Qin Shaozong's voice and the maids' responses.
After that, she fell into a dream.
A dream, an endless nightmare, a nightmare without memory or any logic.
In the dream, there were nine suns in the sky. The sunlight, like raging flames, scorched the earth. The surface temperature was so high the air density changed abruptly, distorting the view. The road ahead seemed to pitch and roll with the undulating layers of heat waves.
The land gradually dried up; rivers broke off in the heat. Crops in the fertile fields all withered and died; even the hardiest weeds by the roadside were stained a lifeless, waxy yellow. Daili didn't know where this was. In the dream, enduring the baking of the fierce sun, she pushed forward with a single-minded desire to find the village school where her son studied.
Suddenly, a small village appeared ahead, with triangular thatched huts standing in clusters. Beside one hut grew a crooked-neck tree. Daili felt a surge of joy, thinking she had finally found some shade. She would rest there and, once recovered, ask someone for directions to the school to pick up her son after class.
The crooked-neck tree stood directly in front of the thatched hut. When Daili reached the tree, she saw the hut's door was wide open, and as far as her eyes could see, there wasn't a single person inside.
What family could be so careless, going out and forgetting to lock the door?
Daili helped them close the door, but upon turning around, she saw the other huts nearby were also quietly standing with their doors open. Drawn to them, she went closer for a look. This hut was identical to the previous one—similarly empty.
Suspicion rose in Daili. She looked around at the rows of thatched huts and went to check each one.
Out of ten huts, nine were completely empty.
A hot wind blew, sweeping yellow dust from the ground and dried leaves onto her clothes and shoes. But at that moment, Daili had no mind to brush the leaves from her skirt, for in the wind, she finally heard a sound.
This deathly silent village had a human voice other than her own.
The sun in the sky grew even fiercer, as if determined to evaporate every last drop of moisture from the earth. Daili followed the sound, walking across the cracked, parched yellow soil. After a very long walk, until her throat felt parched and burning, she finally saw a figure.
It was a plainly dressed woman. She was side-on to Daili, walking slowly toward a hut ahead of her.
The hot wind was still blowing, lifting a long, tubular piece of cloth. On the cloth were large patches of red, as if a mischievous child had accidentally overturned a palette.
"Eldest son, I'm back," the woman said.
A gaunt man walked out of the house and asked the woman, "Well? How much did you get?"
"A full three thousand coppers." The woman raised one arm, revealing an old red-and-white patchwork cloth bag in her hand, its surface faintly showing the outlines of coins. "The butcher saw I sold a whole one and said it was a new customer discount, so he gave me a small piece of meat. I heard it was a child who got separated from his mother by accident, with tender skin and fine flesh, the smoothest with little goosebumps. Eldest Brother, let's go inside and eat."
Daili couldn't understand what they were saying.
Why were they talking about the butcher giving a small piece of meat one moment, and then suddenly mentioning a child separated from his mother?
"Younger Sister, what brings you here?" The woman suddenly turned her head.
Daili clearly didn't know her, yet when the other woman looked at her, she inexplicably felt she should play along. "I was just passing by..."
Her words cut off abruptly.
She stared in horror at the woman's left sleeve. The sleeve there was completely empty. A warm breeze swept by, lifting it effortlessly. Unstoppable blood was still spreading from the area near her shoulder blade, staining a large, glaring patch of red.
Yet the woman seemed to feel no pain at all. With a face as pale as gold paper, she stepped forward. A smile cracked open on her parched, earth-like skin. "Younger Sister, you've come at the right time. We just happen to have meat today. Come, come be our guest. I'll treat you to good dishes and good meat."
Just as Daili was about to politely refuse, the woman grabbed her wrist.
The woman's grip was astonishingly strong, nothing like an injured person. Daili couldn't break free and was pulled into the thatched hut.
The cottage was old and worn. The floor was covered with a layer of yellowish dust. A table with a missing leg was propped up with rubble. The man took the cloth bag and went to the kitchen in the back, leaving only the two of them in the narrow main room.
The woman opposite didn't make small talk, only kept smiling at her. The smile was exactly the same, unchanging, like a preset program, making Daili's scalp crawl. She was just thinking of an excuse to leave when the man who had just gone to the kitchen returned.
He held a chipped ceramic plate in each hand. "Younger Sister, come have lunch."
The plates were placed on the table. One held a few pieces of tree bark, the other contained a pallid piece of meat, its edges marked with an incomplete brownish pattern.
"Come, Younger Sister, try it quickly. It's from the freshest little one, taken while he was still alive." The woman, as if her program had been activated, began speaking, eagerly urging Daili to eat.
Daili didn't move. She stared fixedly at the pattern on the meat that looked very much like a birthmark.
Though incomplete, it felt strangely familiar to her.
The stuck gears in her mind began to turn slowly with the woman's words.
A child accidentally separated from his mother... the freshest little one... taking meat... Zhou Zhou...
"That was a very lively child. He could still cry for his mama after being chopped several times, even said he'd report us to the authorities. Hahaha, how laughable! Who would come to save him? No one can save him!"
The pallid meat suddenly oozed thick blood. A continuous stream of blood flowed across the slightly slanted table towards Daili, forming a mirror of blood on its surface. In the mirror, a familiar small figure was being held down by two burly men. One of them held a butcher's knife.
The knife fell. Blood spattered.
Tears of blood streamed from the crying child's eyes.
"No, Zhou Zhou!!"
A golden sun fell from the sky, and a prairie fire ignited. The crooked-neck tree was burned to ashes, thatched huts were set ablaze one by one. Flames surrounded Daili, fierce fire serpents leaped onto her body, voraciously devouring her flesh and blood.
Qin Shaozong was awakened by the commotion outside—first low murmurs, then the sound of footsteps running out.
The man on the bed opened his eyes. In just a few moments, his brown pupils were as clear and alert as usual. As if remembering something, Qin Shaozong got up from the bed, threw on his robe, and went out.
The main room and the side room were in the same courtyard, its layout largely similar to the guest courtyard of the Jiang residence back then. After leaving the main room, Qin Shaozong walked a short distance and arrived at the side room where Daili stayed.
In the deep silence that should have enveloped the night, this side room was brightly lit.
Qin Shaozong strode inside, passed through the hanging strings of round beads, and saw the short maidservant kneeling on the footstool before the bed.
"Bipo, you're finally..."
Nianxia thought it was Bipo returning, but when she turned and saw who it was, her face changed dramatically with shock. "My Lord, did I... did I disturb you?"
Qin Shaozong didn't answer her. He walked straight forward. As he approached, he could see the condition of the woman on the bed.
She lay curled on her side, her cheeks flushed a burning red, even her fair earlobes were crimson. But this unnatural hue did not reach her lips. Her usually bright red lips were now covered with a lifeless pallor.
A grayish-white, parched pallor, like peony petals long deprived of water, on the verge of withering.
"The Lady has a high fever and is trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake. I just sent Bipo to fetch Doctor Ding," said Nianxia, holding a damp silk handkerchief.
"No, Zhou Zhou..." Daili's heart-wrenching cries in the dream were, in reality, only low murmurs now.
But in the deep silence of the night, both people by the bed heard them.
Qin Shaozong said, "Give me the handkerchief."
Nianxia hurriedly handed over the freshly changed handkerchief with both hands and stepped back from the footstool by the bed.
Qin Shaozong sat by the bedside, folded the handkerchief, and placed it on Daili's forehead. When his fingertips touched her skin, an almost scalding heat transmitted instantly.
The man's long eyebrows furrowed. He checked the pulse at the side of her neck. That skin was also feverishly hot, as if a burning furnace lay beneath. And as he leaned closer, Qin Shaozong realized Daili was constantly shivering.
A high fever with chills—this symptom was often accompanied by cold hands and feet. Qin Shaozong lifted the quilt slightly and reached inside, grasping the pale hand that was clenched tightly into a fist.
It was indeed very cold, like a lump of ice.
She was gripping with immense force. Blue-green veins, like jadeite, stood out on the back of her hand, and her knuckles were white from the strain.
Qin Shaozong's long fingers slipped underneath, forcefully wedging into her palm and prying it open. As expected, her palm bore a row of deep crescent-moon indentations, red as if about to bleed.
Unable to claw at her own palm, Daili's nails dug into the back of Qin Shaozong's fingers, with equally great force, leaving another set of crescent marks.
"Don't grab him, don't cut his flesh..." Her eyelashes trembled violently. Moisture spilled from between them, wetting them into even more distinct clumps, then falling rapidly like broken strings of pearls.
Tears fell onto the silk pillow, blossoming into tiny splashes.
Insignificant damp spots, nothing compared to a downpour, let alone the spray of river waves, yet Qin Shaozong gazed at them for a long time. He raised his other hand and brushed over the reddened corner of her eye, wiping away the escaping tear. "Dreams aren't real. No one dares to grab him."
Trapped in a nightmare, the woman was unaware, still lost in her own world. She had been crying too hard, her eye rims red, the tip of her nose red too. As she sobbed, her neck instinctively curved inward, that stretch of pale neck like a fragile bow, seeming as if it might snap if pulled just a little tighter.
The silk cloth resting on Daili's forehead slipped off.
Qin Shaozong picked up the cloth and found its inner layer already warmed by her fever, making the outer side no longer cool.
"Change it."
Nianxia, who had been standing by, quickly handed over another cloth.
Freshly soaked in water, the new cloth was very cool. The moment it touched her feverish forehead, Daili shuddered violently. Ice clashed with fire once more, and the already cracked dream shattered completely. She finally broke free from the hopeless nightmare.
Just awakened, dream and reality still seemed fused, making it hard to distinguish false from true, illusion from substance. Daili stared blankly at the man before her, giving no reaction.
A teardrop hung from her long lashes, poised to fall. As she emerged from the dream and grew still, the tear also hung motionless. Candlelight caught within it, making it seem like a delicate mirror, clearly reflecting his figure inside.
The long finger that had earlier wiped her tears slowly curled. The rough, calloused fingertip was hidden within his palm, while the relatively smoother back of his finger lightly touched her long lashes, catching that glistening tear.
Feeling an unexpected sensation on her eye, Daili instinctively blinked. Her damp lashes swept down, brushing fleetingly against his dark-toned skin.
Qin Shaozong withdrew his hand. A terrifying depth pooled in his eyes, yet his voice was steady and reassuring. "The name 'Qin Yanzhou' will spread throughout every region. As long as your son is alive, he will surely learn that you are searching for him."