20 A Glimpse of the Incompetent and Ignorant

Consciousness drifted hazily, as if rising with the moon and then falling back into his eyes.

Qin Duo knew he was dreaming again.

In the dream were memories belonging to Wen Qinghe. Whenever he fell into deep sleep late at night, these memories would surface—some blurry, others clear.

Tonight’s dream was exceptionally vivid.

It seemed distant, and it took Qin Duo some time to realize that these were probably Wen Qinghe’s childhood memories.

The streets bustled with hurried crowds, faces marked by sorrow.

“Disease,” “famine,” “harsh winter”—words tinged faintly with exhaustion and despair floated up from the ragged passersby and slipped into his ears.

Qin Duo’s gaze followed the river’s yellow-green surface, its waters blending smoothly into one. From the river’s reflection, he saw the body he inhabited now, appearing to be about seven or eight years old.

These were memories of Wen Qinghe at that age.

Suddenly, a ruckus arose from one side of the neighborhood. Screams pierced the air as the crowd scattered like frightened birds.

He looked over to see a golden carriage breaking through the throng, recklessly trampling through the busy market. The pageantry was unlike anything Qin Duo had ever seen—an extreme display of opulence.

Guards rode ahead on tall horses, driving the pale, gaunt commoners to kneel along the roadside, heads bowed, unable to look up.

The banners seemed embroidered with golden threads and the most precious silks, dusted with powdered gold and gems, their brilliance stark against the drab street.

Clang—The drums and gongs thundered.

“The Emperor approaches—Poor commoners, yield!” A eunuch’s sharp voice shouted above the din.

At the same time, the guards brandished whips fiercely, driving the people apart.

In the memory, Wen Qinghe moved with the crowd. Qin Duo was powerless, unable to intervene or move, forced to watch this absurd spectacle silently.

Anger ignited within him, his expression cold.

An emperor’s procession should be grand, with guards and musicians escorting the carriage in majesty.

Yet, if such a procession were to pass through, the people should be warned in advance, so they could prepare and avoid harm.

But observing the terrified faces of the people on the street, their helpless submission made clear that this emperor’s cruelty was no isolated incident.

What kind of unworthy descendant was this? Qin Duo thought this son’s name should be struck from the family records—should it belong to the Qin family? He was not worthy.

The way of the emperor should always place the people first.

The principles Qin Duo had written, faithfully upheld, and wished to pass down for centuries were trampled bare by this despicable creature!

Even within this memory, if he could act, Qin Duo would surely drag the beast from the golden carriage and punish him severely.

But it would not ease the suffocating rage within his chest.

He calculated briefly: Qin Xuanxiao, the current child emperor, had reigned only four years. So this emperor must be the “former sovereign” Qin Xuanxiao mentioned yesterday.

The commoners knelt like frightened quail, obediently remaining on their knees until the imperial procession faded into the distance. Qin Duo’s gaze rose with the memory, watching the golden carriage retreat.

Suddenly, the carriage halted.

Qin Duo saw a somewhat fat, bloated arm extend from behind the curtain, pointing sharply.

The guards suddenly understood, charging aggressively into the crowd.

A woman screamed sharply.

A burly guard grabbed a woman’s arm, pulling her from the crowd.

She was beautiful, with slender, elegant brows. Qin Duo felt a pang of familiarity but had no time to dwell on it.

The crowd stirred as a woman hurried forward, clutching the girl frantically.

They were mother and daughter. The guards tried to tear them apart, fists pounding the woman’s body.

“Mother! Don’t hit my mother!”

“Daughter, daughter, don’t worry about me—run!”

A eunuch flicked his whisk arrogantly: “Common scum! Release her at once! To be favored by His Majesty is a blessing your daughter earned through eight generations of merit!”

The mother and daughter clung tightly, their pleading eyes searching the crowd for help. But under the weight of imperial authority, how could commoners hope to resist?

“Sigh, another poor girl.”

“The body of that last girl still lies at the market entrance; her family dares not claim it.”

“There’s nothing to be done—His Majesty likes to visit taverns and snatches beautiful girls from commoner households.”

“Shh! Keep your voice down! If... if they hear you, it’s a capital offense!”

Heavy, regretful sighs rose from the crowd, reaching Qin Duo’s ears.

No! This was not the first time!

Qin Duo drew a deep breath, nearly grinding his teeth, unable to quell his fury.

Bastard! Beast! Worse than swine! Unworthy of being human!

He hated that these were just memories, that he could only watch helplessly as tragedy unfolded.

In both his lifetimes, he had never been so furious and so powerless.

Before the golden carriage, the woman’s head was smashed open, blood trickling down, yet she shielded her daughter tightly behind her. Kneeling on the ground, she knocked her head repeatedly, crying out:

“Your Majesty, I am the wife of Minister Lin Zhongqiu of the Ministry of War. My daughter is already betrothed. I beg Your Majesty to spare her life. My husband and I will serve Your Majesty like beasts of burden in this life and the next!”

Her face was bloodied, but her gaze remained clear, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the carriage. Not a single tear fell.

She could not back down; behind her stood her daughter.

Silence fell inside the golden carriage, as if those within were weighing their options.

Time dragged on agonizingly.

Finally, that fat hand extended once more, but only waved dismissively.

“Take care of it,” a greasy voice called from inside the carriage.

The guards received the order and struck hard. A whip cracked across the woman, blood seeping instantly through her clothes.

“Mother!” The girl’s eyes widened in horror as she reached out, catching her mother.

The woman coughed up blood but still clung tightly to her daughter. Seeing this, the guard swung the whip again, wrapping it tightly around her neck, pulling her back. Another guard seized the girl’s shoulder and arm, wrenching them apart.

“Ho... ho... Xi’er...” The woman choked, the guard’s grip so fierce her neck nearly twisted out of shape. Her face turned ashen, but her hands still weakly clawed towards her daughter, leaving bloody marks on the ground.

“Mother!!”

The girl was dragged into the golden carriage, her heart-wrenching screams echoing inside.

The carriage slowly moved away again, receding into the distance.

Until the procession vanished completely.

On the market street, the nearly numb populace slowly stood and dispersed.

Only at the street corner lay the woman’s corpse, a grim testament to the emperor’s vile crime.

The ground bore the lazy arc of the carriage’s tracks—measuring the dark radius of the people’s suffering.

The Son of Heaven... in the street... cruelly... harmed... the people...

Suddenly, Qin Duo’s heart was pierced by a sharp pain, so intense he struggled to breathe.

He wanted to bend deeply, to press his hand tightly over his heart.

The scene before his eyes spun, darkness rising from the depths of his vision.

His limbs went numb, hands and feet icy cold, nearly paralyzed. His heart still throbbed sharply, his chest crushed under a massive stone wheel, unable to breathe or struggle, as if drowning in an endless, pitch-black sea.

“Hu... hu...” Qin Duo jolted awake, sitting up in bed, drenched in cold sweat, staring wide-eyed into the aimless darkness of night.

His hands trembled slightly, perhaps still shaken by the lingering fury of the memory.

“What’s wrong?” Qin Xuanxiao, a light sleeper, had already awakened at the slightest movement. Reaching out, he found Qin Duo’s cold hands in the dark, holding them gently.

Qin Duo slowly steadied his breathing, waiting for his pounding heart to calm.

It was his heart condition.

In his previous life, after relentless toil, his heart had often ached faintly. He had summoned the imperial physician who advised rest, but where was there rest in building the mighty Wei?

Qin Duo had brushed off the doctor’s advice, continuing to pore over memorials late into the night.

All the brilliance he had poured into building the Wei dynasty’s golden age was now being so ruthlessly desecrated by later generations!

Just thinking this caused a dull ache in his chest.

In the moments before his death in his former life, his heart had throbbed in unbearable pain, as if pierced by countless needles.

This body, too, suffered from heart disease.

Could there be some connection between his own descendants and the Wen family branch?

His thoughts wandered as Qin Xuanxiao shifted beside him, a soft sound as he lit a candle.

The warm glow illuminated their small bedchamber.

“Why do you look so pale?” Qin Xuanxiao held the light close, scrutinizing Qin Duo’s complexion. “Shall I summon the imperial physician to examine you?”

“Cough... no need,” Qin Duo’s voice was hoarse but calm. “Just a nightmare. Slightly startled.”

A soft laugh came from beside him. He looked up, the warm candlelight casting a gentle glow on Qin Xuanxiao’s face, whose brows relaxed with a faint smile, long and graceful.

“My lord, even you are troubled by nightmares? What did you dream of?”

Dream...

Suddenly, Qin Duo looked curiously at Qin Xuanxiao’s brows.

Those brows, the arch, the shape...

They bore a striking resemblance to the woman in Wen Qinghe’s memory.

Usually, the boy wore a sullen expression, furrowing his brow, so it was hard to see. Now, with his features relaxed, Qin Duo found the resemblance uncanny—apart from the difference in male and female bone structure, they looked almost identical.