Dreams Faded Away
He Wu Post Station, less than a hundred kilometers from Jiangling.
Prince Qin, Bai Ze, opened his eyes, a faint crimson immediately spreading from the corners. After staring blankly at the layered curtains for a moment, he rose with a darkened expression.
He walked to the washing area and began washing his hands repeatedly, then wiping his lips over and over. He didn’t stop until his pale lips were rubbed raw and flushed with blood.
That pretentious, maddening woman—her disgusting kiss, her cloyingly sweet voice. Bai Ze felt his stomach churn again, the nausea driving him to scrub his already raw lips once more.
He seldom dreamed. Even on the rare occasions, months apart, it was always the same recurring scenes. Who was that woman in the dream? That voice, sweet enough to cloy the throat like snow honey, that bewitching, fox-like beauty—he had never seen anyone like her in the capital. Since she was a stranger, why had she suddenly appeared in his dreams?
Bai Ze’s face remained impassive, a faint, mocking smile tugging at his lips. The angry red at the corners of his eyes had mostly faded, leaving only a subtle flush that added an alluring charm.
The sons and grandsons of the Bai imperial family were all exceptionally handsome, but the Second Prince, Bai Ze, stood out the most. The reason was simple: his mother had once been the most beautiful Holy Maiden of the Wizard Clan among the five great nations.
Nestled in the southwestern mountains, the Wizard Clan was a force neither large nor small nations dared engage lightly with, having resided there for millennia. The previous Holy Maiden possessed a celestial beauty, her grace as striking as a startled swan. By chance, she rescued Emperor Bai Yan of Yue, who had strayed into the mountains, and the two fell deeply in love at first sight.
Determined to marry into Yue, the Holy Maiden willingly endured the backlash of gu sorcery, becoming the highly favored Consort Rong. The world believed that once she bore a prince, the position of Empress would be hers.
No one expected that the once-favored Consort Ling, harboring deep-seated resentment beneath a facade of kindness, would bring Consort Rong a bowl of “tonic.” Having long considered each other sisters, Consort Rong drank it without suspicion. That very night, she went into premature labor and gave birth to the frail Second Prince, Bai Ze, before passing away without ever laying eyes on her son.
What followed was the infamous “Wrath of the Son of Heaven” incident, a chilling reminder of the terror of imperial power that still haunted those who recalled it. Emperor Bai Yan personally executed Consort Ling. Flaying and dismembering her failed to quell his hatred. Her entire clan, a hundred relatives, were exiled to Lingnan to mine, and every consort who had ever spoken disrespectfully, mocked, or bullied Consort Rong was uprooted and purged.
Overnight, the Emperor’s temples turned white, a tragedy the world lamented for years.
… …
The night deepened, dew gathered, and the cicadas’ chorus gradually faded. Bai Ze stood by the window, gazing out through the lattice. The cool night breeze soothed him, dispersing some of the anger in his heart.
On his left wrist, he wore a string of agarwood beads gifted by the abbot of Fachan Temple. His slender, well-defined fingers slowly turned the beads. The abbot’s words echoed clearly in his mind: “To live two lifetimes is a blessing rarely cultivated in a thousand years. Prince Qin, do not lose yourself in delusion and commit acts of slaughter. In this life, you may only remove this string when the one destined to guide you appears.”
Bai Ze did not believe in the self-sacrificing ways of Buddhism, nor in the path of Daoism that sought to benefit all under heaven. So, it wasn’t as if he had never tried to remove the beads. Yet, each time he took them off, he was plagued by relentless nightmares for days, leaving him red-eyed and sleepless. Only when he could endure no more and put the beads back on would his mind clear, the suppressed rage and bloodlust receding into dormancy.
Since then, he had worn them constantly, and rarely did he have dreams that stirred his uncontrollable urge to kill.
Except for tonight.
Bai Ze’s fingers gradually slowed their rotation of the Buddhist beads, his killing intent receding like tidewaters until it dissolved into a soft chuckle.
His ink-black hair was tied high, secured only by a single snow-white jade hairpin.
His features were exquisitely carved, and when his indifferent smile surfaced, he resembled a wild rose veiled in morning mist—radiant yet thorny.
“Whoever it may be—”