The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Epilogue Chapter 1031 - The Dream of Heaven Part 1
Luo Yaoguo lay on the hospital bed, the bright incandescent light overhead stinging his eyes. The room was filled with the smell of disinfectant, mixed with the scent of rain drifting in from outside, creating a slightly pungent, damp atmosphere.

This was a four-person hospital room, but he was alone at the moment. A corner of the white curtains was gently lifted by the wind, revealing the gray sky outside. Raindrops tapped against the glass, pattering softly, like some kind of endless lullaby.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind buzzing, as if someone had stuffed a tangled mess into his skull.

"Who...am I?"

He raised his hand, looking at the back of his young, wrinkle-free, age-spot-free hand. These hands had never held a knife, never fired a gun, never been stained with blood on the battlefield, and never signed orders that determined the lives of millions.

"I am not 86-year-old Luo Yaoguo... I am not the Wu King of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom..."

Yet those memories are so real—from the sudden fall of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom at Suoyi Ferry, to the fall of Changsha, then to the capture of Wuhan, the conquest of Jiangdong, the deception of Shanghai, the pacification of the Southeast… and finally becoming the de facto ruler of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, single-handedly creating the hegemony of the Pacific Empire… those battlefields of blood and fire, those court struggles with swords and shadows, those secret talks in the dead of night with Feng Yunshan, Xiao Chaogui, Shi Dakai, and others…

"Could it be... that it was all just a dream? That everything... never existed?"

He gripped the bed sheet tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Impossible...impossible..."

How could a life of over sixty years be just a dream?

He closed his eyes, trying to recall his "real" self—an ordinary college student who failed his postgraduate entrance exam, joined Meituan as a food delivery driver, and then... and then a car accident?
"boom--"

The sounds of brakes, crashes, and screams from my memory echoed in my ears once again.

It was a rainy night. He was riding his electric scooter, turning at an intersection, his yellow delivery box swaying behind him. Suddenly, a black sedan came hurtling towards him out of control, its blinding headlights illuminating the rain, the screeching of its tires piercing his eardrums. He instinctively twisted the handlebars, but it was too late—

"boom!"

A sharp pain swept through his body, throwing him into the air before slamming him heavily onto the wet asphalt. The dull thud of his helmet hitting the ground, the crackling of the electric scooter battery exploding, the distant scream of a woman, all mingled with the warm liquid streaming down his forehead—it all felt so real!
"No, no."

He always felt like something was wrong.

At this moment, the door to the ward was pushed open.

When the door to the ward was pushed open, Luo Yaoguo was staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Old Li, how's my student? How badly is he injured? When will he be able to get out of bed? I'm going to the US on a business trip next month, can I take him with me?"

A dignified male voice rang out, thick with a Cantonese Hakka accent, the last syllable rising slightly, exuding an unquestionable sense of authority. Luo Yaoguo shuddered, abruptly turning his head to look at the doorway—the voice was all too familiar, just like the tone of the question uttered by the man sitting on the dragon throne during the meetings at the Heavenly King's Palace years ago.

A tall, middle-aged man walked in, followed by a doctor in a white coat. The man was probably in his early fifties, his dark gray three-piece suit impeccably pressed, and his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses was sharp as an eagle's. Most striking was the neatly trimmed mustache on his chin, which trembled slightly as he spoke.

Luo Yaoguo's pupils suddenly contracted, and his fingers unconsciously gripped the bed sheet tightly.

"King Hong Hong?!"

He almost blurted it out, but something seemed to be blocking his throat, and he only managed a muffled murmur. That man—he looked almost exactly like Hong Xiuquan! Even the imposing, dignified air between his brows was identical.

The man walked to the bedside, looking down at him with a slight frown. Sunlight streamed in from the window, casting dappled shadows on his sharply defined face, adding to his imposing presence.

"Ah-Guo, Ah-Guo," his voice softened, carrying a hint of an elder's concern for a younger person, "Can you hear me?"

Luo Yaoguo opened his mouth, his throat as dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper: "Professor Hong Hong?"

"Looks like his brain isn't completely broken." The man—Professor Hong—smirked slightly. He turned to the doctor behind him, his condescending air returning: "Old Li, looking at his condition, can he come with me to America next month?"

The doctor—the middle-aged man called Lao Li—adjusted his glasses, a respectful smile plastered on his face: "Professor Hong, your student's injuries aren't serious, just a slight concussion. He'll be able to get out of bed in three days at most." He glanced at Luo Yaoguo on the hospital bed and added, "It shouldn't affect his ability to accompany you on your business trip to the United States next month."

“America?” Luo Yaoguo repeated subconsciously, his voice filled with disbelief.

Professor Hong turned his head, and his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses suddenly became sharp, as if he were doubting something.
“Yes, the United States.” Professor Hong’s voice was calm. “There’s an American history symposium at Stanford University in California next month, and I’m going to give a presentation. You’ll have to come with me.”

Luo Yaoguo was completely stunned. Go to Stanford University in the United States to lecture on American history to a group of American scholars? Does China have such a distinguished history professor?
"Wait a minute." Luo Yaoguo swallowed hard. "Am I really your student?"

Professor Hong's brows furrowed immediately, the vertical line between them appearing even deeper. His gaze turned stern, his lips pressed into a straight line: "What? Did you lose your memory after the accident?"

Doctor Li quickly tried to smooth things over: "Professor Hong, concussions can indeed cause short-term memory confusion, but it usually doesn't last too long."

Luo Yaoguo felt his head buzzing, as if countless bees were buzzing around him. He clearly remembered failing his postgraduate entrance exam, getting a job delivering food for Meituan, and then getting into a car accident. But now, he was actually a postgraduate student? And under a professor who looked exactly like Hong Xiuquan?

"Professor Hong," he asked tentatively, his voice unconsciously softening, "are you a researcher of American history?"

Professor Hong's brows furrowed even more, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes. "My main research area is the history of the Taiping Rebellion," his voice turned colder, "American history is just something I study incidentally."

When he said the word "by the way," the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, revealing a smug smile, as if studying American history was some trivial matter.

Luo Yaoguo noticed that when Professor Hong mentioned the words "Taiping Heavenly Kingdom," a strange light flashed in his eyes, a kind of fanatical obsession, just like the expression on Hong Xiuquan's face when he talked about "Heavenly Father and Heavenly Brother."

"Alright, get some rest." Professor Hong put his glasses back on and patted Luo Yaoguo on the shoulder. The gesture seemed friendly, but Luo Yaoguo could feel the strength in that hand—it wasn't comforting, but an order. "I'm going to America next month," Professor Hong said firmly, "you have to help me organize the data, don't let me down."

After he finished speaking, he turned to leave, his leather shoes making a crisp sound on the floor.

Luo Yaoguo suddenly called out to him, "Professor Hong! What's your name?"

Professor Hong stopped and slowly turned around. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Luo Yaoguo with an expression as if he were a fool, a proud smile playing on his lips.

"Hong Tianjue, what's wrong?"

Hong Tianjue?
Luo Yaoguo was taken aback for a moment, then immediately remembered something: Hong Tiangui's descendants all had the character "Tian" (天) in their names, generation after generation, to show that they were descendants of the Heavenly Father or Heavenly King.
Is this Hong Tianjue most likely a descendant of Hong Tiangui? That's royalty from the American Empire! No wonder Stanford University invited him to lecture on American history.
Professor Hong looked at Luo Yaoguo's shocked expression, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. He straightened his suit cuffs, turned and left, his footsteps gradually fading at the end of the corridor.

Silence returned to the ward, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. Luo Yaoguo stared blankly at the doorway, a thought flashing through his mind:
What is going on in this world?

After the ward door closed, Luo Yaoguo stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Hong Tianjue, a graduate student of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom"

He sat up abruptly, feeling dizzy, but he didn't care and reached for his phone on the bedside table.

The phone is still there, the screen has a crack, but it still works.

With trembling fingers, he unlocked the browser, opened it, and typed in "Yunshan University, Department of History, Hong Tianjue".

The search results popped up instantly—"Hong Tianjue, Marquess of the American Empire, member of the royal family, professor of the History Department of Yunshan University, doctoral supervisor, expert in the study of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, author of monographs such as 'A Study of the Military System of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom' and 'A Study of Luo Yaoguo's Relationship with the Heavenly Father and Heavenly Brother'..."

Luo Yaoguo's fingers froze.

He then searched for "Yunshan University".

"Yunshan University, located in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, was formerly known as National Guangdong University, founded by the first Southern King, and later renamed Yunshan University..."

Luo Yaoguo's breathing became increasingly rapid.

He opened the photo album and looked through his pictures—

In the photo, he is wearing his master's gown and standing in front of the gate of Yunshan University, next to Professor Hong Tianjue.

Flipping further back, there's a photo of him researching in the library, with the book spread out on the table: "A Collection of Archives of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom".

Further back is a photo of him graduating from his undergraduate studies, with the background showing "Tianjing University, Department of History".

Tianjing University.

Luo Yaoguo's fingers trembled slightly.

"What exactly is going on in this world?"

He abruptly threw off the covers, staggered out of bed, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the rain curtain of Guangzhou stretches out, with towering buildings and a constant flow of traffic in the distance.

but.
In the rain and mist, he could vaguely see a towering monument with a dragon flag atop it.

The dragon flag of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.

Luo Yaoguo's pupils suddenly contracted.

This is not the world I used to live in.

He slowly raised his hand and pressed it against his chest.

"This is a parallel world where the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom won—the Heavenly Kingdom World!"

(End of this chapter)