At that time, Wu Junji had just entered the imperial palace. He understood nothing, his frail frame unable to fill out the luxurious robes, like brocade wrapped around skin and bones.
He was bewildered as he was pushed into the center of the banquet to receive toasts from the guests. He recognized no one among the men and women, only the emperor seated at the highest place.
But clearly, the other had no intention of helping him.
A clattering sound of beads hitting the floor, and a sixth-rank official exclaimed in shock: “Your Highness the Crown Prince, why did you touch my pouch?”
“These are silver beads bestowed by His Majesty! Oh dear, they’re all spilled!”
The surrounding crowd jeered:
“Big brother, even if you want silver, you shouldn’t steal it.”
“Big brother is too careless—these were bestowed by our father.”
Each cry of “big brother” dripped with schadenfreude.
The sixth-rank official who had framed him for touching his pouch knelt by his legs, wailing: “If imperial gifts are lost, my entire family will be beheaded!”
Wu Junji was dizzy from drinking. He was certain he hadn’t touched the pouch, yet everyone claimed to have seen him do it. In the end, even Wu Junji himself wasn’t sure whether he had touched it or not.
The emperor above issued a command:
“Whoever caused this shall pick them up.”
All eyes turned to Wu Junji.
So Wu Junji crouched at the feet of the crowd, picking up the beads one by one. Sometimes his hands were stepped on, sometimes he was shoved. He stumbled and fell onto his backside, provoking a chorus of laughter.
Where people stood too densely, he couldn’t reach the beads, and they wouldn’t make way. So he knelt, stretching out his hands, desperately groping, his face pressed against legs until it became misshapen.
A slight bend of their knees could knock his face away.
If he accidentally touched a lady’s foot, he would be met with a disgusted click of the tongue. He whispered apologies; those with good temper avoided him like the plague, while those with bad temper kicked him a few times.
His ill-fitting clothes grew dirty, his hands dirty, and slowly his face dirty too, his hair disheveled. Once again, he became a beggar.
A beggar who, clinging to his status as a prince, knelt in the court to beg.
He found only ninety-nine silver beads, but the sixth-rank official insisted there were a hundred.
He simply couldn’t produce the hundredth bead.
Everyone urged him, pushed him, accused him of pocketing it, saying it might be hidden in his shoes, his clothes, or even his mouth.
They wanted to strip him naked, inspect his mouth and tongue, as if selecting livestock.
Wu Junji no longer knew what shame or humility meant.
His knees knelt before the feudal system; his dignity was nothing under the hierarchy.
The lofty emperor, perhaps having savored enough of his humiliation, finally deigned to end the game:
“The hundredth bead is here with me, Wu Junji.”
The three words “Wu Junji” struck down, and Emperor Zhou jolted awake.
He clutched his chest, gasping for breath, an inexplicable gloom clogging his heart, impossible to expel.
Consort Xiao leaned over from the inner side of the bed. The bed curtains were drawn aside, and the night-watch maid held up a glass lamp, lighting all the candlesticks on both sides of the canopy bed, illuminating the emperor’s sweat-drenched face.
Consort Xiao tenderly wiped the sweat from Emperor Zhou’s forehead:
“Did Your Majesty have a nightmare?”
“Once a nightmare is spoken aloud, it becomes false.”
Emperor Zhou lay on his side, leaning against the headboard, his brow tightly furrowed as he recalled that absurd dream.
Silver beads, a frail youth like a dog, crawling on the ground, picking them up one by one on his knees.
He was always smiling—smiling when others framed him, smiling when they stepped on him, smiling when they made him crawl between their legs. Even with disheveled hair, dirty clothes, and bleeding hands, he still smiled.
Like a sickly Guanyin on a high platform, his smile was the only alms he bestowed upon the world.
Others stood like dogs, while he crawled like a martyr prostrating before the Buddha’s altar.
He picked them up, offered them, one short.
Others wanted to strip his clothes, inspect his teeth, so he undressed piece by piece, his gaze fixed on everyone present as if to forever remember their faces. He was still smiling—a beheading smile only those facing death could comprehend.
At that moment, Emperor Zhou empathized as if he were there himself—this youth would make the court run with rivers of blood.
Detaching from the dream’s emotions, Emperor Zhou felt only that the version of himself in the dream was sick.
Wu Junji.
He couldn’t believe the one kneeling, crawling, passing under legs, being trampled, despised, shoved, and humiliated in the dream was named: Wu Junji.
Wu Junji, that was Wu Junji?
An emperor’s dreams were no ordinary matter—they could very well be unresolved knots from past and present lives.
Yet Emperor Zhou laughed at the absurdity of the dream. Grabbing the bewildered Consort Xiao, the muscles at the corners of his mouth twisted into a strained, forced smile.
“Wu Junji…”
He asked in a leading tone, “Tell me, who is Wu Junji? Huh?!”
Consort Xiao was terrified by Emperor Zhou’s state, her voice trembling with tears:
“Your Majesty, please don’t frighten your consort. That is the Crown Prince’s name.”
Emperor Zhou nodded repeatedly. “Right! Correct! This is the Crown Prince of Great Zhou!”
His words grew more agitated with each syllable.
By the last four words, he nearly shouted himself hoarse!
He overturned the dressing table by the bed.
Roaring and screaming.
“Ahhh—!”
“Ah!”
The servants of Yuxun Palace knelt on the ground, trembling.
Consort Xiao was panicked, not daring to approach.
“Your Majesty, please calm your anger!”
Eunuch Qian Deli, hearing the commotion, rushed over from the side chamber.
“Your Majesty, what has happened?”
Emperor Zhou’s eyes shot toward Qian Deli like blades, killing intent erupting. Qian Deli’s legs went weak, and he fell to his knees with a thud.
Emperor Zhou thought for a moment; the man didn’t seem to appear in the dream. Snorting coldly, he draped his outer robe over himself, balanced on one leg to put on his shoes, and strode out disheveled, like an old man out for a stroll.
Qian Deli scrambled to his feet and followed.
Consort Xiao felt all was lost—the Emperor had dreamed of something and was now delirious!
Emperor Zhou’s legs moved so fast they left afterimages. Eunuch Deli hurried after him with a fur coat, jogging to keep up.
“Your Majesty! The night is cold and the dew heavy, do not catch a chill, Your Majesty!”
The gatekeepers of Taiji Palace saw from afar what looked like a lion, its mane bristling with a kill-all-who-stand-in-its-way ferocity. Terrified, they opened the gates and knelt, kowtowing.
Emperor Zhou rushed in like a whirlwind, his state clearly abnormal. The servants dared not report, only kneeling in welcome or following along.
The final door opened.
Sandalwood incense drifted slowly. Hastily lit lamps illuminated the dragon bed.
Emperor Zhou walked step by step toward it. Eunuch Deli had no idea what was happening, only fearing the Emperor might snap and strangle the Crown Prince in a fit of madness.
Trembling, Deli appeared to support Emperor Zhou but was actually ready to restrain him.
“Your Majesty, the young Crown Prince is fast asleep. Perhaps we could visit tomorrow during the day?”
Emperor Zhou shook him off and strode forward, pulling back the bed curtains. Qian Deli lunged forward, clinging to Emperor Zhou’s leg.
“Your Majesty, you must not!”
If Emperor Zhou killed the Crown Prince, what a scandal it would be! Everyone in Taiji Palace and Yuxun Palace would lose their lives!
The child on the bed was nestled in piles of silk, surrounded by glittering silver beans. He slept soundly, pillowed on a bed of them.
And Emperor Zhou, afflicted with a madness at the sight of silver beans, gripped the little Crown Prince under the arms, lifted the sleeping kitten-like child, and shook him violently.
“Don’t sleep, wake up, open your eyes and see who I am!”
Wu Junji felt an earthquake in his dream.
He was so sleepy his eyes could only open a slit—how could he see who you were?
The kitten with its body stretched out long, annoyed and meowing wildly, kicked its legs and waved its arms randomly. All that was heard was a series of crackling, continuous slaps, and the whole world fell silent.
“Old geezer… get lost.”
Wu Junji mumbled incoherently, tilted his neck, and slept like the dead, oblivious to heaven and earth.
Emperor Zhou, his face tilted from the slap, suddenly felt calm and pleased.
Look, such a fiery temper—he dares to slap my face! And curse me! This definitely isn’t the Wu Junji from the dream.
It must just be the same name.
He lifted the child in his arms again.
Thinner—fatten him up.
The Wu Junji in the dream was so thin his bones were sharp to the touch—how could he be my Crown Prince?
My Crown Prince will be a little chubby one.
The Wu Junji in the dream was sickly and frail—how could he be my Crown Prince!
My Crown Prince will be healthy and strong, skilled in both literature and martial arts!
My Crown Prince is dignified and noble, of imperial lineage, second only to one and above all others. Commoners and ministers alike bow before him. If the Crown Prince stands, they cannot sit! If the Crown Prince kneels, they must lie flat!
Emperor Zhou hugged his son tightly. Two protesting whimpers sounded in his ear, then fell silent.
This little one loves cleanliness—brushing his teeth, washing his face, soaking in fragrant baths every day, still drinking milk, his whole body smelling of milk and sandalwood.
Emperor Zhou ordered all the Crown Prince’s silver beans confiscated, replaced with little gold fish, little gold cats—even if he wanted golden poop, Emperor Zhou would carve it for him. Just no beans!
The emperor, having finished his delusional episode, felt better again. Holding his son, he lay back on the dragon bed, his voice calm, his expression serene.
“Extinguish the lights. I am going to sleep.”
Qian Deli, suffering his fate: “…As you command, Your Majesty.”