When people were in Qin, they captured Zhao and questioned Qin.

Chapter 12 Dreams

At three quarters past eight o'clock in the afternoon, as the sun began to set in the west, the copper lamps in the dining hall were already lit.

A long table was placed in the center, with Han Shi sitting in the main seat and Zhao Heng to her side.

According to etiquette, the seat of the lord should be left vacant until Lord Chunping returns to Zhao. However, the seat is empty at the moment, with only a bowl and chopsticks on the table. The bowl is empty and the chopsticks are placed horizontally. This has been the rule in the mansion for many years. Although the lord has gone far away, the banquet is still left vacant in anticipation of his return.

Madam Fu stood behind Madam Han, holding a long-handled copper ladle, responsible for serving the dishes. Two maids stood downwind, holding palm-leaf fans, gently waving them to drive away the mosquitoes of early spring.

Zhao Heng had just recovered from his illness, and according to the doctor, he still needed to restrain his diet. Therefore, the dishes on the table were very light, consisting of only four items: millet rice, roasted meat, stir-fried green onion, and a bowl of soup.

A very ordinary dish.

Zhao Heng's attention lingered on the plate of stir-fried mint for a long time.

The dish was stir-fried, glistening with oil and emitting a wonderful aroma.

In fact, Zhao Heng had already noticed the anomaly in this time and space.

In his memory, although the original owner of this body had never left Handan, nor had he heard any strange rumors about gods or ghosts, judging from the details after his awakening, this time and space was very different from the Warring States period he knew.

For example, this plate of stir-fried mint.

As far as he knows, due to limitations in iron smelting technology, oil supply, cooking utensils, and even dietary concepts, the technique of "stir-frying" did not truly become widespread until the Song Dynasty. Before that, it certainly existed, but it was mostly "boiling" or "frying," and the heat and oil temperature were difficult to control precisely, so it was not a systematic approach.

But in this time and space, stir-frying seems to be a well-established technique. Just now, he took the opportunity of serving the dishes to ask his mother, Han, who said that there were indeed food shops in Handan that specialized in stir-frying, and that wealthy families often cooked for them.

Ordinary households mostly use boiling, steaming, and roasting. After all, stir-frying is expensive in terms of oil and fuel, making it a luxury.

Qin's Moon (2010)

Zhao Heng had a vague idea in his mind, but he didn't delve into it. There were more important things to do right now.

"Please enjoy your meal, young master."

Madam Fu served the dishes herself. Standing beside Madam Han, she placed the roasted meat into Zhao Heng's bowl and ladled out half a bowl of soup.

Madam Han kept looking at Zhao Heng, her gaze filled with affection, but also with a hint of hesitation, a hesitation hidden in her eyes, occasionally surfacing and then suppressed. Only after Madam Fu finished setting the table did she speak, her voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"Heng'er, eat more to nourish your body. The doctor said your qi and blood are still weak, so you need to take good care of yourself."

Zhao Heng nodded and picked up his chopsticks.

Han didn't eat either, just watched him. Every now and then, she would pick up a piece of food with her chopsticks and put it in his bowl, mostly roasted meat, which she thought was the most nutritious. Zhao Heng didn't refuse, and picked it up and ate it.

The hall was quiet, with only the soft sound of chopsticks touching bowls.

Halfway through the meal, Han finally couldn't resist anymore.

She put down her chopsticks, looked at Zhao Heng, and hesitated before speaking, "Heng'er, today... those eight bolts of silk you asked Madam Fu to fetch..."

She glanced at Fu's mother beside her, as if she had suddenly remembered something.

When Zhao Heng went to reward his retainers, Madam Fu had already explained the principles of "personal friendship and gratitude" to him. Madam Han was not unreasonable, but she was soft-hearted and easily flustered. Now that she knew her son had thought things through, she stopped asking about the silk and changed her tune.

"During the three days you were unconscious, did you see anyone else in your dreams besides your father? Or did you hear anything else from your father?"

She asked cautiously, but her eyes were urgent.

Zhao Heng's performance during the day was too astonishing. She was both delighted and uneasy, and urgently needed an explanation. Ideally, there should be some kind of "divine inspiration" or some extraordinary reason that could convince her that her son's sudden change was reasonable, a blessing from heaven, and not something terrible.

There were some thoughts she dared not even think about deeply, for they sent chills down her spine.

Zhao Heng chewed the millet rice, swallowed it slowly, and then drank a mouthful of soup to moisten his throat before looking up at his mother.

He was naturally aware of Han's unease.

Anyone who sees their son seemingly transformed after recovering from a serious illness, even without knowing the term "possession," would likely fall into similar trappings like "evil possession" or "spirit possession"—stories of this kind exist in this era. Rural folklore abounds with such tales.

So he said softly:

"Mother, I was in a daze those few days, and I did have some dreams."

Han leaned forward slightly: "What did you dream about?"

"I dreamt of... a very large lake." Zhao Heng closed his eyes, as if trying hard to recall, "The water was black, and you couldn't see the end. There were boats on the water, many boats, lined up in a row. On the boats stood people in armor, holding torches..."

"Those people were shouting towards the shore..." Zhao Heng's voice softened further, as if afraid of disturbing the scene in his dream, "What were they shouting... 'When will you take over Yunmeng Marsh? We have been waiting for you for a long time'..."

Yunmeng Marsh.

Hearing these three words, both Madam Han and Madam Fu were taken aback.

Ordinary people in Handan might not know this place. But the Han family came from the royal family of Han, and Fu's mother had studied in the palace since childhood. Both of them knew that Yunmeng Marsh was in Chu, stretching for eight or nine hundred miles, with vast expanses of misty waters, and was more than a thousand miles away from Handan.

How could an eleven-year-old child who has never left Handan know about this place? And how could he dream of such a specific scene?

Zhao Heng frowned slightly, as if trying to grasp something from his dream, but continued:

"I also dreamed of a very high mountain, shrouded in clouds and mist. Someone was talking on the mountain, but the voice was far away and I couldn't hear what they were saying... I only remember the words 'Mount Tai,' 'the world,' and 'the general trend.'"

Han was stunned.

Madam Fu's hand holding the spoon froze in mid-air. She looked at Zhao Heng, her face showing undisguised shock. She wasn't faking it; she was genuinely astonished.

She and Han exchanged a glance, both of them showing the same surprise and doubt, while simultaneously appearing thoughtful.

Mount Tai. The world. The general trend.

These words, spoken by a child, are inherently abrupt. But when paired with the dream of "Yunmengze" and "armored ships," and his daytime words and actions... they inexplicably acquire an indescribable weight.

"Anything else?" Mrs. Han pressed, her voice trembling slightly. "What else did you dream about?"

Zhao Heng closed his eyes, his brows furrowing even deeper.

"The rest... are just fragmented." His voice became somewhat strained. "Sometimes I feel like I hear my father speaking, but I can't make out what he's saying...sometimes I feel like someone is teaching me some kind of lesson, but when I wake up I've forgotten it all..."

"I only remember... I only remember..."

At this point, he suddenly groaned, raised his hand to press his temple, and his face instantly turned pale.

"Heng'er!" Han exclaimed, hurriedly got up, walked around the table, came to Zhao Heng's side, and grabbed his hand.

Her hands instantly turned icy cold and were trembling slightly.

"I don't want to think about it anymore! I don't want to think about it anymore!" Madam Han said urgently, her voice trembling with tears. "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have asked these questions, causing you so much distress and harm!"

She paused, tears welling in her eyes, but she held them back, remembering the doctor's advice that the patient should not be overly agitated. So she took a deep breath, suppressing her emotions, and softened her tone:

"Don't force yourself to remember those dreams if you can't recall them. My son is still my son, only... only he's grown up a bit after going through this ordeal."

Zhao Heng let his mother hold his hand, and after a while, his breathing gradually calmed down. He opened his eyes, which showed a slight weariness and confusion.

"Mother," he said, his voice still a little weak, "I'm alright."

However, Han was still worried.

She released his hand, then touched his forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever before letting out a slight sigh of relief. She sat back down at the table, but didn't dare to ask about the dream anymore, instead continuing to put food on Zhao Heng's plate: "Eat more, to nourish your body."

Seeing that Zhao Heng was unharmed, Madam Fu, who had been tense, relaxed her shoulders, and the dining hall became quiet for a moment.

Zhao Heng ate two bites of food.

The mint was refreshing and slightly bitter upon first bite, with a sweet aftertaste. He chewed it, remained silent for a while, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, looked up at Han.

"Mother, besides those eight bolts of silk, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you."

Han wiped away the tears from the corner of her eyes with the corner of her sleeve: "Tell me."

Zhao Heng paused for a moment, then slowly said, "I'd like to go to Weifeng Lane again in a couple of days when I feel better."