Chapter 854: Awakened from a Dream

Liu Dahu went to refill the waterskin of chilled tea for his father, who was sleeping in the tent beside the command tent. The tea was brewed with tea leaves and brown sugar, with some mint added as well. Once cooled, it tasted pleasantly sweet. Dahu refilled his father’s skin twice every day.

The Prince rarely drank chilled tea. More precisely, the Prince did not much care for sweets.

The Prince had said that plenty of people in eastern Jin were still living difficult lives. Their days had not yet become sweet, so he could not bring himself to swallow sugar.

Liu Dahu believed him.

After all, who could resist the temptation of sugar?

Then Liu Dahu slipped quietly back into the command tent.

Chen Xianba sat beneath the candlelight reviewing military reports. In truth, he had already finished them all, and messengers would carry them out during the latter half of the night. Even so, he was going through everything once more.

Liu Dahu had brought him a plate of toasted mantou slices and set it down in front of him.

Chen Xianba put aside the report, cleared a little space, picked up a slice, and cupped it in his hand as he took small, careful bites.

Toasted mantou was crisp and made noise when bitten. Just one curtain away, the Prince was sleeping, and Chen Xianba did not want to make too much sound.

Ordinarily, toasted mantou ought to be spread with soybean paste, the same strong paste soldiers ate with their meals. But because the smell would carry, Liu Dahu had left that off too.

Liu Dahu sat down, wiped his hands with the slightly damp cloth hanging from his belt, and carefully picked up one of the reports.

He read not only the problem and circumstances recorded on it, but also Chen Xianba’s written response, so he read very slowly.

In truth, Zheng Fan had personally chosen Liu Dahu to remain at his side as a bodyguard for reasons that went far beyond the fact that he was the Sword Saint’s son.

The logic was simple. If Zheng Fan wanted to keep the Sword Saint bound to his side as protection, then keeping the man’s son beside him as well created a dangerous question. At the crucial moment, would the Sword Saint protect his own son, or Prince Pingxi?

If Zheng Fan merely wanted to promote the boy, he could have sent Liu Dahu under some commander long ago and let him gain experience.

He kept him close because Liu Dahu was dependable.

Whether the boy was slow-witted depended entirely on whom you compared him with. Put anyone beside a monster like Chen Xianba, whose brilliance could eclipse even the Heir of Prince Zhenbei, and no family’s child would look especially clever.

But that steadiness was rare.

Prince Pingxi had once, for the briefest instant, worried that when Chen Xianba grew up enough to stand alone, a rebellious bone might emerge from the back of his head.

He had never harbored the slightest such suspicion toward Liu Dahu.

That child, so long as Zheng Fan needed him, would always stand in front of him with a saber in hand.

Outside the command tent, Zheng Man was already asleep and snoring.

On the other side of the curtain, the sleeping Prince Pingxi suddenly furrowed his brow.

At the same time, the red stone placed beside the bed stood upright. A black infant silhouette slowly emerged from it.

The Demon Child tilted his head and stared at his sleeping father, seemingly very hesitant.

His father was dreaming.

And it did not seem to be a pleasant dream.

But it had nothing to do with him. He was not the one playing tricks.

Normally, when someone was trapped in a nightmare, you should wake him up. In other words, “rescue” him.

Yet the Demon Child understood something even more clearly. With a “natural baleful thing” like himself constantly accompanying his father, ordinary evil spirits and even disturbances of the mind basically had no chance of invading him.

It was like a Savage from the snowfields spending winter in Jin and thinking: what a wonderfully warm and gentle winter.

So his father should not have been having nightmares at all.

Yet now he was.

Could it be...

The Demon Child was violent by nature. That did not mean he was a stupid child.

A stupid child could hardly have secretly performed a ghostly vasectomy on his own father for several years.

The Demon Child turned slightly, seeming to glance toward the two idiots sitting outside.

One idiot was reading reports with enormous seriousness.

The other idiot, apparently somewhat less idiotic, was gnawing toasted mantou while blood qi surged through his body.

Neither seemed particularly useful at a time like this.

In the end, the Demon Child did not call anyone.

Instead, he floated onto the bed, bent down, stretched out a small hand, and placed his palm on his father’s forehead.

...

Am I dreaming?

Zheng Fan had actually already realized that he was.

He was standing in a place filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers. Green grass spread around him, and a rich floral scent hung in the air.

He remembered where he was. He knew he was currently at war. There was no possible reason for him to be standing here.

But when he looked up and saw the figure seated on the hillside with his back toward him, Zheng Fan deliberately prevented his consciousness from forcibly tearing the dream apart.

Dreaming was like diving underwater.

Once you realized you were dreaming, buoyancy would usually push you back toward the surface.

In other words... you woke up.

But some people could control the continuation of their own dreams.

Zheng Fan could.

That was not because he possessed any unusual talent in psychic power. The Blind Man specialized in psychic power. Zheng Fan did not.

The reason was that the Demon Child had possessed Zheng Fan’s body many times before. In essence, possession itself was a method of using the mind to forcibly stimulate the flesh.

Every time the Demon Child possessed him, Zheng Fan’s actual strength still depended upon his own body. The Demon Child merely overlaid his own combat experience and instincts on top, allowing Zheng Fan to perform beyond his normal level.

Anyone possessed by a ghost again and again was bound to change somewhat.

It was like a river channel repeatedly battered by floodwaters. Eventually, the channel would naturally widen.

Zheng Fan could not use psychic power, but the toughness of his mind had already become frightening. At the very least, within his own consciousness, he could exert far more control than an ordinary person.

He started walking uphill.

The slope was not high, but the farther he climbed, the more exhausting it became. The air seemed to thin. Soon, he was panting.

Still, he clenched his teeth and continued, almost dragging each foot upward one step at a time.

At last...

Zheng Fan reached the top.

He turned his head toward the man sitting there.

At exactly that moment, the man turned around too.

Zheng Fan saw... himself.

Yes.

The man sitting on the hillside looked exactly like him.

“You’re disappointed?”

Zheng Fan sat down, still catching his breath.

“A little.”

“Then who did you want to see?”

Zheng Fan did not answer.

“I know. You wanted to see Prince Jingnan.”

Zheng Fan still said nothing.

“But this is your dream. Your own dream.”

Zheng Fan laughed.

“So I’m not allowed to look at anyone else inside my own dream?”

“What would be the point? My face can become anyone’s. Prince Jingnan. Prince Zhenbei. The late Emperor. Little Sixth. Even Siniang, Xiong Liqing, Liu Ruqing, or the Princess Consort of Prince Fu. Want to see? But if you do, what would it mean? At the end of the day, what you see would still be me. Still yourself. Nothing more than another skin. Inside your own dream, there’s no need to deceive yourself.”

“I’m getting lectured by myself in my own damned dream?”

“Is that strange? The words I’m saying are the words you’re saying. You’re merely talking to yourself. I’m part of you to begin with.”

“This conversation is painfully cliché. If you start telling me you’re my inner demon, some other personality split off from me, I’m genuinely going to throw up.”

“You’re a Martial Artist. What inner demon would you even have? Do you qualify?”

“Fuck!”

“What? Angry? Why bother? Everything I’m saying is already somewhere in your own head. Though, to be fair, you’ve done far, far better than a pig. Really, you’re already very capable. Very impressive. Look back at who you were in the inn at Tiger Head City. Look at who you are now. Look back at what your relationship with those Demon Kings used to be, then look at it today. You’ve gradually taken more and more of the initiative. In a real sense, little by little, you’ve begun becoming their Master. One of the Demon Kings is even pregnant with your child and preparing to give birth for you.”

“I refuse to believe that’s truly how I think about Siniang.”

“Why would I need to lie to you? Why would I lie to myself? When Siniang said she wanted to bear your child, much of what you felt was the male satisfaction of conquest.”

“I’m done with this dream. This is the first time I’ve ever thought I was a complete idiot.”

“How could anyone’s heart truly be clean? Even a child looks innocent, but when he plays with ants on the ground, how cruel can he be? Looking directly into your own heart is painful. Most of the time, you never even realize how much filth is hidden down there. But what you think inside is secondary. What matters is what you actually do. You’ve always done very well. Truly. And your feelings for Siniang are genuine. For the other women, they fall far short. Oh, and that recent Princess Consort of Prince Fu. When she suggested having Zhao Yuannian wait outside the room, you were actually rather eager to try it. That was even more exciting than doing her right in front of her husband—”

“Shut up!”

“I understand how you feel. Thinking these things yourself and suddenly having another person say them aloud to you, even when that person is also you, are completely different sensations, aren’t they? Like staring at a sketch you drew from your own photograph. The longer you look at it, the more unfamiliar it begins to feel. Just like that scene you once drew in the Demon Child comic. When the Demon Child stared at himself in the mirror... he felt fear.”

At that moment, banks of dark clouds appeared across the sky.

Then an infant’s face emerged among them.

The Demon Child had come in.

He saw the two men sitting on the hillside.

Then... the Demon Child got angry.

Immediately afterward... he left.

He had thought something damned serious had happened to his damned father.

It turned out the man was simply playing with himself inside his own head.

And in the process... he had frightened the hell out of his own son.

So the Demon Child got angry.

And went back out.

“So why am I having this dream?” Zheng Fan asked.

“Because you’re doubtful. Afraid. This is the first time you’ve truly gone on campaign as commander-in-chief, personally directing this many troops. There is no Prince Jingnan. There is no Liang Cheng. When you first marched out, you were already a little panicked. You were afraid you had grown too confident. You’ve won too many times. You can no longer afford to lose. It isn’t the State of Yan that can’t afford defeat. It’s you. This is your second life. A life you want to grasp properly and live properly. You don’t want to leave some stain across it. In Zhao and Liang, facing that Qian-Chu coalition with its head pulled into its shell, you had no real way to break the board. You looked as though every pearl of wisdom lay in your grasp, but inside, you were anxious. So... you chose the road you were most accustomed to. You took a lone army deep into the State of Qian. You tried to achieve your objective in the manner you knew best. But before, Prince Jingnan was there to catch you if you fell. This time... he isn’t. You’re afraid. You think this march into Qian has gone far too smoothly. It feels as though you calculated everything in advance, while the Qian have spent the entire journey being led around by the nose. And now... to your north... an old man over eighty is leading several tens of thousands of rabble to stop you. You think it’s a joke. Once you smash him, you can turn south. Before long, you’ll arrive beneath the walls of Shangjing again. It has gone too smoothly. Far too smoothly. And the closer you get to victory, the more you fear everything collapsing in a single instant.”

“Yes. I admit it. So can you tell me what I should do?”

“You are me. I am you. How could I know something you don’t?”

“Ask your own heart. Isn’t that supposed to be the eternal highest answer? Follow the reflection of your own heart and let it guide you forward. Aren’t you my heart?”

“Meaningless snake-oil philosophy. You don’t believe it yourself. Why are you asking me?”

“So you dragged me in here...”

“No. You needed this yourself. You needed to separate yourself out so you could think carefully and weigh things again. You needed this place, so it appeared. You needed this dream, so it appeared. Otherwise... with the Demon Child beside you, how could you possibly fall into a nightmare? Oh. Right. You noticed just now. The Demon Child came in, then stormed off angrily again. To him, you’re simply lying around with nothing better to do, amusing yourself with yourself. Your anxiety became this dream. Before you fell asleep, what you were thinking was this: if Old Tian were leading the army right now, would he be like you? Beneath that eternally calm expression, had he ever felt uneasy too? Did you once look at Old Tian the same way Chen Xianba and Liu Dahu look at you now? Seeing something utterly real... and utterly false at the same time? You wanted this dream to become another version of that scene on Mount Tianhu. You even wanted Old Tian to lead you down the mountain once more. But you also thought that would make you look too childish. More importantly, you didn’t want to waste time on fantasies that would provide no practical help. You have to walk the road yourself. Before, you could cross the river with your hands on the shoulders of those who went before you. Now it’s your turn to put both hands beneath the water and feel for the stones yourself.”

“I don’t know whether I should trust my instinct.”

“If you trust your instinct and win, that becomes a victory of instinct. If you reject your instinct and still win, that becomes a victory of reason. A victory of self-restraint.”

Zheng Fan nodded.

His gaze turned toward the foot of the hill.

One side of the slope was covered in lush green grass.

But down the other side, the side before him now... corpses lay everywhere and blood flowed like rivers.

Atop one mound of bodies, Zheng Fan saw Li Fusheng, drenched in blood and leaning on a great saber.

Li Fusheng looked up toward him.

Their eyes met.

Li Fusheng was probably smiling.

Heh...

When Zheng Fan turned back, the other “himself” had disappeared from beside him.

Looking downhill, he saw that other self standing directly before Li Fusheng.

Zheng Fan rose and began descending.

Going down was much easier than climbing up.

He reached the bottom quickly.

The mountains of corpses and seas of blood around him would have been the stuff of hellish nightmares for an ordinary person.

Zheng Fan had long since grown accustomed to such sights.

He climbed onto the mound of corpses and stopped before Li Fusheng.

Li Fusheng seemed frozen in place.

Or perhaps he was already dead.

Zheng Fan looked at the other self.

“And then?”

“This is the knot in your heart.”

“I know.”

“Not merely because he died.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a saying: use history as a mirror. This is where your unease comes from. Ever since you led the army into Qian, the journey has gone smoothly. But inside your heart, you have asked yourself the same question Heaven knows how many times. That question is... when Li Fusheng came out through South Gate Pass back then, was his state of mind exactly the same as yours is now?”

“And then?”

“You shouldn’t ask me.”

“Right. You can’t answer anything for me either.”

Zheng Fan nodded.

“But I can ask him.”

“Mm.”

Zheng Fan looked toward Li Fusheng.

At that moment... a wind rose.

Li Fusheng’s lips and expression changed.

Leaning on his saber, he shouted:

“Brother Zheng! Your elder brother had a damned satisfying time killing this round!”

Zheng Fan continued standing before him, watching calmly.

This was no summoning of souls.

No sacrificial rite.

The Li Fusheng before him was exactly the same as that other self.

Zheng Fan was searching for the source of the unease buried deepest within his own heart.

And dissecting the nature of that unease.

After shouting, Li Fusheng paused.

His body swayed twice, but he stubbornly forced himself steady.

“The Qian are still the same Qian. Still the same herd of pigs. But your elder brother... somehow got driven into a dead end by those pigs.”

The next instant...

Li Fusheng suddenly raised his head.

He glared at Zheng Fan standing before him and barked in a low voice:

“Brother Zheng! Don’t repeat your elder brother’s mistake!”

Buzz!

...

Prince Pingxi suddenly sat bolt upright beneath his blanket.

Beside him, the red stone rocked a few times, roughly conveying:

Finished playing with yourself?

Perhaps, in the Demon Child’s eyes, deliberately immersing yourself in your own dream and refusing to wake up was an exceedingly childish thing to do.

Zheng Fan raised a hand and rubbed his face.

There was no dramatic cold sweat pouring from his body.

After all... it had not really been a nightmare.

His movement woke Chen Xianba and Liu Dahu outside.

The two immediately came over.

They had not realized the Prince had awakened suddenly from a dream. They assumed he had simply woken naturally and immediately began preparing to help him rise.

Irregular sleep during a military campaign was completely normal.

Liu Dahu brought tea.

Chen Xianba brought a washbasin and towel.

Zheng Fan did not take the tea.

Instead, he seized the towel and scrubbed his face hard several times, then threw it back into the basin.

He licked his lips.

“Xianba.”

“Your Highness?”

“We’ve walked into a trap.”

[End of Chapter 854]