“Bi Zhi…?”
A similar, yet not entirely identical voice, as if breaking through countless layers of fog, finally settled beside his ear.
The shopkeeper trembled slightly and found he was still in that familiar warm chamber of Xianyang Palace, except there were no longer mountains of bamboo slips in the chamber, no longer that handsome young man’s companionship—only an empty room and several guests who shouldn’t be here.
“Bi Zhi, you don’t seem very happy to see me.”
In the doctor’s body, it was Fu Su’s soul that had awakened. Though he had fantasized countless times about seeing Fu Su again, the shopkeeper had never imagined he would face such a scene.
The shopkeeper gripped the glasses in his hand tightly, smiling bitterly: “Your Highness, it’s been a long time.”
Fu Su blinked, only then noticing there was no bloody hole pierced through his chest by guards, but instead he wore strange clothing. He sat up and looked around, finding himself in the familiar warm chamber of Xianyang Palace. His gaze finally fell upon Hu Hai, who stood frozen to the side.
Since hearing that call of “Bi Zhi,” Hu Hai had stood rigid as if his acupuncture points had been pressed. Only when he met those unmistakable complex eyes did his body tremble, struggling to utter two words: “Imperial Brother…” Upon speaking, Hu Hai discovered his voice was terrifyingly hoarse.
Fu Su paid him no attention. Though he was curious why Hu Hai’s hair and eye color had changed, he didn’t consider him a good subject for inquiry. He turned his gaze back to Bi Zhi kneeling beside him, asking in a low voice: “Bi Zhi, what is happening here?” He could naturally see that though this place strived to imitate the warm chamber of Xianyang Palace, it wasn’t the real thing. Moreover, his right index finger now had a thin, long callus, as if formed from regularly holding some instrument.
This wasn’t his body at all.
The shopkeeper steadied himself but didn’t know how to answer immediately, unconsciously loosening his grip on the Book of the Dead in his other hand. The pharaoh on the side unceremoniously chattered away in a stream of ancient Egyptian.
Since the doctor still wore the other gold-plated earring in his ear, Fu Su could understand the pharaoh’s ancient Egyptian without any difficulty. Fu Su touched the short hair on his head, still somewhat incredulous. He had died? Then lived again? Over two thousand years had already passed?
Setting aside whether this strangely dressed foreign man’s words were true, Fu Su turned toward Bi Zhi, who hadn’t looked directly at him since he opened his eyes, instinctively sensing the other’s rejection and struggle.
What was this about? If all this was true, then why would Bi Zhi have such an expression upon seeing him wake up? Every brick and tile here was rebuilt according to the warm chamber of Xianyang Palace. Even with just a quick glance, one could appreciate the care put into reconstructing this place.
Fu Su narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
“Imperial Brother…” Hu Hai on the side tried to step forward twice, but inexplicably stopped. Now his imperial brother had awakened as he wished, but what could he say? The Qin Empire had been thoroughly ruined in his hands. His imperial brother didn’t yet know the history of that time—if he found out, he would surely despise him even more.
Moreover, though it was Zhao Gao who overstepped his authority to issue the execution order back then, everyone in the world believed he was the one who acted. Even at the moment his imperial brother closed his eyes, wasn’t it him he resented?
It was good that he had awakened. What he owed his imperial brother was merely a life. As for the throne of the Great Qin Empire, he had earned it through his own abilities. Now they were even.
Absolutely refusing to admit he was speechless, Young Master Hu maintained a stern expression, offered no further explanations, and walked directly past Fu Su sitting cross-legged on the ground toward the door. Lu Zigan, who had been staring blankly at the longevity lock in Hu Hai’s hand since awakening, unconsciously followed him out.
For a moment, in the vast room, aside from the phantom young pharaoh floating in the air, only the shopkeeper and doctor remained—or rather, Bi Zhi and Fu Su.
The shopkeeper kept his head lowered, staring at the blue brick patterns on the ground like a puppet whose soul had been extracted, not knowing how to react.
He knew Fu Su was saying something to the pharaoh, but he didn’t spare the mental energy to listen. His heart felt as if it had been forcibly torn in half—one side rejoicing at this reunion after two thousand years, while the other side suffered the condemnation of conscience and morality.
Why had he hesitated when gripping the Book of the Dead just now? Why hesitate? Why was there need to hesitate?
Then, in his opinion, what should the correct choice be? Crush the Book of the Dead? Let Fu Su’s soul be reduced to ashes? Or hope for Fu Su to possess the doctor’s body?
Why couldn’t there be compromise? Why did he have to face such a difficult choice?
Either his life, or his death…
“Bi Zhi, is the person whose body I now inhabit someone very important to you?” A gentle voice sounded beside his ear. The shopkeeper looked up in a daze, gazing at this face that seemed somewhat unfamiliar due to its changed pair of gentle eyes.
Someone very important? The shopkeeper thought seriously and found he couldn’t deny it. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded gravely. He didn’t speak, because the soul within the body of the person before him was also a very, very important person to him.
Pale, slender fingers pressed against his forehead, intimate just like in the previous dream, except this time the fingertips were slightly cool.
“Bi Zhi, you’re still the same as before. When caught in a dilemma, you’ve always found it difficult to choose.” Fu Su carefully wiped away the fine sweat from his forehead, a indulgent smile appearing at the corner of his lips.
“It’s alright. As in the past, I’ll help you choose.”
“I just asked that pharaoh. That person’s soul should be resting in the pale jade at my neck, temporarily unharmed. Three days from now, on the night of the full moon when spiritual power is at its peak, I’ll return this body to him.”
The shopkeeper stared at him blankly, slowly loosening his tight grip on the glasses, not knowing how to respond.
Even after two thousand years had passed, he was still the same as before, liking to make decisions for others and brooking no objection.
“So now, with three days remaining, won’t you introduce me to where this is?”
The shopkeeper carried tea implements as he pushed open the door. The Dumb House had a basement where he usually lived, containing only one bedroom and a separate bathroom. His room was simple—aside from an antique Ming Dynasty nanmu canopy bed, there was only a bookshelf full of books. Many were ancient texts, but not specially collected—rather, casually read in daily life.
Naturally, among them were various historical records.
He knew Fu Su’s decision. If the body was returned to the doctor after three days, Fu Su’s soul absolutely couldn’t withstand another soul possession. So there was no need to prepare a backup body. The shopkeeper planned to have Fu Su’s soul attach to the He Shi Bi or the pale jade—fine jade could not only nourish the human body but was also suitable for soul cultivation.
This time, what did it matter if he accompanied him for another few thousand years?
As soon as the shopkeeper pushed open the door, he saw Fu Su uncomfortably flipping through a book in his hands. Paper hadn’t yet appeared during the Qin Dynasty. Early ancient books followed the writing habits of bamboo slips—vertical printing from right to left, top to bottom. But now in Fu Su’s hands was a recently published “Twenty-Four Histories.” Fu Su had never seen simplified characters and wasn’t accustomed to horizontal formatting from left to right.
The shopkeeper wasn’t surprised. Just looking at the well-worn ancient “Records of the Grand Historian” beside Fu Su, he knew he had already read through the general content in a very short time. History, whether long or short, ultimately came down to one sentence:
Under heaven, what has long been united will surely divide, and what has long been divided will surely unite.
The Crown Prince of Great Qin was incomparably wise and naturally wouldn’t get bogged down in trivial, complex details.
Moreover, how much of what was written in those historical records was true and how much was false was impossible to know.
The shopkeeper’s gaze fell on the glasses on the red sandalwood desk. Fu Su definitely wasn’t used to wearing glasses, because the doctor’s eyes weren’t actually nearsighted. According to what he said, after laser surgery for myopia, he wasn’t used to the emptiness on his nose bridge, so he wore plain glasses.
“Bi Zhi, is what’s written in these books all true?” Fu Su combed his overly long bangs back behind his head, revealing his smooth forehead. His mood wasn’t good. He had flipped through all the historical records about the Qin Dynasty in the room and couldn’t believe that after his death, in merely four years, the Great Qin Empire his father had built with his own hands had collapsed with a thunderous crash. Only four years! Even Fu Su, who rarely showed anger, couldn’t help but be furious. He somewhat understood why that boy looked so uneasy when he saw Hu Hai today.
He was simply history’s most prodigal of prodigal sons!
The shopkeeper knew Fu Su would find this hard to believe. Actually, even he, who had personally experienced everything, found it incredible. But this was the law of history—the collapse of an empire was always much simpler than building one.
“Have some tea first.” The shopkeeper didn’t answer directly, passing over the blue and white porcelain covered bowl in his hand. Fu Su, who had never seen such exquisite and delicate porcelain, was indeed distracted.
Several shrill bird cries came from overhead. Fu Su paused while holding the tea bowl, sniffing the tea fragrance as he looked questioningly at the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper smiled calmly: “Just caught a trespassing feathered beast.” The room was simply covered in bird feathers. He didn’t know where San Qing and Ming Hong had gone to fight. When the shopkeeper was brewing tea earlier, he saw both birds collapsed on the ground. He naturally wouldn’t easily let Ming Hong return, directly stuffing it into a birdcage. San Qing enjoyed the best treatment, but that fellow was heartbroken over its fallen feathers. Judging by the commotion above, he was probably waiting outside the cage for an opportunity for revenge.
Fu Su didn’t ask more questions. After drinking several sips of the fragrant clear tea, he no longer pursued the matters in the history books. Instead, he tugged at the tie and suit he wore, smiling as he asked: “Bi Zhi, do you have replacement clothing? I really can’t get used to wearing this type of clothing.”