Chapter 29 Dreaming

Chapter 29 A Dream

The sounds of battle ceased, and a purple-gray hue suffused the sky above Qiuze County.

The entire city fell silent, its long streets a scene of utter devastation. Broken weapons, scattered arrows, and uncleaned pools of blood littered the ground.

In the homes of ordinary citizens, doors and windows were tightly shut, not a flicker of light daring to escape. Only the shop banners lining the streets rustled in the wind, occasionally emitting a soft, sighing sound.

Amidst the silence, the rebel army began to emerge onto the streets in an orderly fashion. Their footsteps were heavy and synchronized, as they systematically fanned out to secure the city gates and seize key locations.

Their primary focus was the county government office and its residential quarters.

The county magistrate of Qiuze had, at the first sign of the rebel attack, fled in a panic with his gold, silver, and valuables. However, the hundreds of thousands of taels of silver hidden within his residence were left behind, entirely confiscated by the rebels.

Moreover, in a secret chamber beneath the study, several large chests lay open, overflowing with a mountain of diverse jewelry and ornaments—jade bracelets, pearl necklaces, gold hairpins, and jade hairpins.

Walls were adorned with calligraphy and paintings by renowned scholars, while tables displayed antique curios and jade artifacts. Even the residence of a prince or noble would scarcely boast such a collection—yet this was merely the private hoard of a minor county magistrate.

Most significantly, the grain taxes collected that autumn, originally destined for Xianyang, remained untouched, fully stockpiled in the official granaries.

Jing Xun surveyed the newly presented granary inventory, his expression one of delight. He immediately ordered half of the grain to be distributed to the city's populace to stabilize public sentiment. The remainder was to be reserved as military provisions for future needs.

"Uncle," Jing Su interjected suddenly, "I believe we should return all of this grain to the people."

His words caused everyone present to exchange uncertain glances.

Jing Xun frowned slightly, stating, "We must not act on impulse."

But Jing Su slowly shook his head. "This grain was earned by the people of Qiuze County through their sweat and toil. Since we have raised the banner of righteousness, what we seek is not merely cities, but the hearts of the people."

He swept his gaze across those in the hall and continued, "Qiuze County is no ordinary place. It is the first city our Jing Army has truly captured. Our actions here are being watched by the entire world."

"If we return only half the grain, how are we any different from the oppressive government? It would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black." Jing Su looked at his uncle. "With this one granary of grain, we can win the allegiance of countless hearts, firmly plant the banner of our Jing Army among the people, and secure an endless source of soldiers and support for the future."

A profound silence fell over the hall.

Jing Xun’s expression softened with emotion. He understood that Jing Su was charting a broader, more far-reaching path.

He let out a heavy sigh, then issued the command: "Pass down the order: open the granaries and return all the grain to the people!"

According to the county registry, each person in Qiuze County would receive ten jin (approximately 11 pounds) of rice. For wealthy households, ten jin might be insignificant, but for the many impoverished people who had long run out of food and survived on wild plants and bran, it was nothing short of life-saving manna.

The military order, as unyielding as a mountain, swiftly spread throughout Qiuze County.

Initially, the long-exploited populace remained skeptical, fearing it might be another ruse to drain them dry.

However, rebel soldiers pushed carts and bags of grain to distribution points set up at various street intersections, issuing the grain according to the household registry.

At that moment, concepts like "court law" or "rebel factions" paled in comparison to the tangible ten jin of rice. For these common folk, whoever fed them was their savior.

Afterward, the Jing Army posted recruitment notices at the city gates: "Oppose the corrupt court, execute greedy and cruel officials, join the righteous banner, and restore peace and justice to all under heaven."

The response was overwhelming.

Half a month later.

The former training ground east of Qiuze County had now become the drilling ground for the Jing Army's new recruits.

During these days, after Jing Su brought him into the city, he forbade Duan Lingwen from moving about freely, citing his waist injury. Knowing that Jing Su was busy with pacifying the people and securing the borders, Duan Lingwen spent his days reading, writing, and recuperating in the courtyard, quietly awaiting Jing Su's return.

But the days grew unbearably dull, making him recall Chen Huan’s words from that day.

That evening, he informed Jing Su that his waist injury had fully healed.

Jing Su responded with an "Hmm, the doctor said it wasn't serious."

Before he could finish, Jing Su drew him into an embrace and asked, "Really healed?"

"...Hmm." Duan Lingwen sensed something was amiss but nodded honestly.

Yet, in the next moment, Jing Su scooped him up bridal-style and carried him toward the inner chamber. Duan Lingwen was still dazed; he wanted to say something, but his words were swallowed.

In the lingering afterglow, Duan Lingwen lay with his back to Jing Su, his shoulders rising and falling slightly beneath the brocade quilt, clearly quite vexed.

Jing Su reached out, his fingertips barely brushing Duan Lingwen’s shoulder before being rudely shrugged off.

"...Don’t want to talk to you," Duan Lingwen’s muffled reply emerged from beneath the covers.

Jing Su chuckled softly. Instead of withdrawing his hand, he pressed closer, his warm chest against Duan Lingwen’s back, his arm tightening to encircle him.

Duan Lingwen let out a soft hum.

Jing Su nuzzled his slightly damp temple and asked knowingly, "Angry?"

The person in his arms didn’t answer, only shrinking further under the covers.

Jing Su kissed his earlobe, his voice low and husky, coaxingly, "Starting tomorrow, I’ll teach you myself. I won’t go back on my word."

Hearing this, Duan Lingwen suddenly turned over, the redness at the corners of his eyes not yet faded, his earlier anger melting away like snow. His lips parted slightly, a smile shimmering in his eyes as he asked softly, "Then... what should I prepare for tomorrow?"

Jing Su’s gaze darkened abruptly, his heart filled with tenderness, though he feigned contemplation. "In martial arts, the most important thing is foundation. First, I need to assess your endurance."

Duan Lingwen, unsuspecting, asked, "How will you test it?"

As soon as he spoke, Jing Su reached out to gently caress his cheek, then suddenly pressed him down beneath him, leaning in until their noses almost touched, their breaths mingling. His voice was hoarse and teasing, "Then... you’re not allowed to complain about being tired."

Duan Lingwen still felt something was amiss but nodded obediently, though his breathing grew somewhat uneven. "I can endure hardship..."

Jing Su responded with a soft "Hmm," then grasped his wrist, slowly, almost imperceptibly stroking the skin on the inside of his wrist, each touch sending a slight, tingling sensation.

Duan Lingwen instinctively tried to curl his fingers, but Jing Su held them firmly, forcing his fingers to stretch out one by one, intertwining and locking tightly together.

Jing Su’s thin lips lightly brushed against his, just a faint touch at the corner of his mouth before pulling away.

Instantly, Duan Lingwen’s heart raced, the earlier sensations from their intimacy surging back. His mind went blank, unsure whether Jing Su was deliberately teasing him or genuinely testing his endurance.

Jing Su’s lips covered his again, their mouths intertwining, breaths merging. His other hand wandered over Duan Lingwen’s body, persuading it to open fully to him.

The next day.

Knowing he had been somewhat excessive the previous night, Jing Su took Duan Lingwen to inspect the city defenses. Standing atop the wall, they could see from a distance the hundreds of newly recruited young men on the training ground, formed into neat formations, practicing slashes, cuts, and parries in unison.

Duan Lingwen watched intently. He felt that he should have been one of them, holding a weapon, training alongside them.

Afterward, Jing Su kept his promise. He personally taught Duan Lingwen martial arts, starting from basic stances and footwork, progressing to more expansive, deadly techniques.

Autumn turned to winter, frost adorning the branches. Before the end of the twelfth lunar month, the Jing Army's influence, centered around Qiuze County, rapidly expanded outward. Commanders like Deng Tong, courageous and skilled in battle, brought the surrounding prefectures and counties under the banner of the Jing Army.

Meanwhile, the Jing Army, from an initial one thousand soldiers, rapidly swelled to nearly eight thousand, and their reputation grew formidable.

The weather grew colder, with the north wind carrying a damp, biting chill as it swept over the walls of Qiuze County.

As the harsh winter set in, various factions hunkered down, hoping to pass the season uneventfully.

Jing Su’s burdens lightened somewhat; his daily tasks mostly involved consolidating defenses, managing internal affairs, and stockpiling provisions in preparation for the upcoming spring campaign.

Duan Lingwen had settled into a routine of practicing martial arts every morning, occasionally joining Jing Su for patrols at noon, and spending his evenings reading and writing. More often than not, however, he ended up curled in Jing Su’s arms while Jing Su read aloud to him.

During the winter, Duan Lingwen often looked unwell, his lips pale as if he were suffering from some illness.

Jing Su knew it was due to the chronic cold in his body. In his previous life, Jing Su had also sought physicians for him, but most were unable to cure the condition completely—it could only be managed through careful nurturing.

Remembering this, Jing Su set the book aside and slid a hand under the robes of the man in his arms. His warm palm pressed against Duan Lingwen’s lower abdomen, gently massaging it.

Duan Lingwen let out an unconscious sigh in his drowsiness but did not wake. He murmured Jing Su’s name softly, pressing deeper into his embrace, and drifted into a deep sleep.

In a blur of dim light, Duan Lingwen drowsily opened his eyes. The scene before him swayed unsteadily. He lay on his back, with Jing Su above him, breathing heavily in the heat of passion.

But he felt terribly unwell.

Perhaps sensing this, Jing Su stopped his movements. "If you don’t like it, I won’t force you."

Jing Su’s voice was colder than ever before. Before Duan Lingwen could even process it, Jing Su had calmly pulled away, grabbed the brocade quilt nearby, and tucked him in tightly.

Then, Jing Su got up, put on his clothes, and left with only a few words: "Rest well."

With that, he walked straight out of the room.

Duan Lingwen felt a pang of hurt. When had Jing Su ever been so distant with him? He didn’t even know what he had done wrong.

The next moment, the door suddenly swung open. Jing Su, his brow tightly furrowed, strode to the bedside, leaned down, and stared at him, his voice tinged with anxiety: "What’s wrong with you?"

Duan Lingwen didn’t understand what was happening. He wanted Jing Su to hold him, but he couldn’t move, as if his body weren’t his own.

A hand slowly grasped Jing Su’s wrist, and in that moment, Duan Lingwen heard his own voice say: "My stomach… it’s cold."

Jing Su silently sat back on the edge of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached under the quilt, his movements somewhat clumsy and tentative as he placed his hand on Duan Lingwen’s lower abdomen. His voice softened involuntarily: "Here?"

His palm was large and warm, but his touch was stiff. The pressure and placement of his massage were off, even hurting him a little.

Duan Lingwen wanted to tell him to be gentler, and that it wasn’t quite the right spot—he needed to go a little lower…

But then he heard his own voice say: "Mmm…"

No.

This wasn’t right.

Duan Lingwen’s groggy consciousness seemed to stir. He shifted slightly, wanting to grasp Jing Su’s wrist, but as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes snapped open.

The room was warm with candlelight. He lay in Jing Su’s warm embrace, and Jing Su’s heated palm was still gently massaging his lower abdomen.

The pressure was even, the placement perfect—everything was just right.

Duan Lingwen blinked in confusion. The distant Jing Su from his dream overlapped with the man before him, then separated, leaving him momentarily disoriented. A strange, indescribable feeling lingered in his heart—the dream had felt so real, as if it had truly happened.

"What’s wrong?" Jing Su noticed his unease and gently stroked his cheek, asking softly, "Did you have a nightmare?"

Duan Lingwen looked up and met Jing Su’s eyes, finding only the familiar tenderness there, nothing like the Jing Su from his dream.

He shook his head and buried his face back into the crook of Jing Su’s neck, breathing in his comforting scent. His voice was muffled: "No… I just had a dream, I think."

Jing Su asked, "What did you dream about?"

"...I can’t really remember," Duan Lingwen said vaguely. He couldn’t explain the absurdity of the dream—how could Jing Su ever treat him that way? It must have been his illness acting up, making him delirious with discomfort.

He nestled closer to Jing Su and mumbled quietly, "I’m just a little cold…"

Hearing this, Jing Su immediately tucked in the edges of the brocade quilt, wrapping him more snugly.

Duan Lingwen closed his eyes again, and the images from the dream gradually faded. Perhaps it was just a dream after all. He let out a soft sigh, his body and mind finally relaxing completely, and he slept dreamlessly through the night.