Hot flashes

The blanket slipped off his shoulders and piled up at his waist. He looked down at his side; the blanket was laid out neatly, and the other pillow was empty, without even a wrinkle.

He sat there and suddenly felt a void in his chest.

It felt like something had been ripped out of my chest, leaving a hole.

He touched his cheek. His fingertips touched a damp spot, and he froze.

A sudden, sharp pain surged in my chest, as if an invisible hand had gripped my heart and twisted it violently.

He groaned, bent over, and braced himself against the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. The pain came quickly and went quickly. When it subsided, he straightened up, panting heavily. A layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

After that day, Xiao Jue started dreaming.

There's always a person's silhouette in my dreams. I can't see clearly, it's far away, like through a layer of mist. The person is facing away from me, standing in a white, hazy light, their outline blurred, like a painting blurred by water.

In his dream, Xiao Jue chased and ran desperately, his legs feeling like lead, each step requiring all his strength.

But that figure grew farther and farther away, fainter and fainter, until it finally disappeared into the light. A sense of powerlessness washed over him like a tide, engulfing him completely.

The imperial physician examined him and said it was due to overwork, prescribing a calming remedy. Xiao Jue drank it, but it didn't work.

They changed doctors again, but it still didn't work. The imperial hospital tried a whole new set of prescriptions, but his insomnia only got worse.

Later, he stopped taking his medicine and sat in the East Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, reviewing memorials until late at night. After he finished, he would sit there in a daze.

The eunuchs dared not ask, nor dared they offer any advice. All they knew was that His Majesty's hair was turning white faster and faster. At first, it was just a few strands at his temples, but later it grew more and more. In less than two years, most of his once black hair had turned white, like a thick layer of frost.

He was only in his early thirties, but he looked like he was fifty.

Shen Yu knelt below, reporting in a low voice the messages sent back by spies from various places.

Xiao Jue sat on the throne listening, nodding occasionally. After Shen Yu finished speaking, he waited for a while, and seeing that he had no further instructions, he was about to leave.

"Shen Yu," Xiao Jue suddenly spoke.

Shen Du stopped in his tracks.

Do you believe in ghosts and gods?

Shen Yu paused for a moment, then looked up.

The person on the throne leaned back in his chair, most of his face hidden in shadow, only his chin and lips visible. He waited a while, but received no reply, seemingly indifferent.

"Step down," he said.

Shen Yu responded and left the hall.

After that day, Xiao Jue began to summon alchemists.

Some said they could communicate with spirits, some said they could summon souls, and some said they could find people in dreams. But those people searched the Qianqing Palace night after night, and found nothing.

The officials submitted a memorial, saying that His Majesty was obsessed with sorcery and neglected state affairs, and requested that these absurd magic arts be stopped.

Xiao Jue neither stopped summoning the sorcerers nor punished the officials who spoke out.

The rumors circulating in the capital were becoming increasingly unpleasant. Some said His Majesty had gone mad, others said he had been bewitched by a sorcerer, and still others said he was being punished by Heaven.

Xiao Jue's hair had turned even whiter, and he had lost weight. He longed for someone, but he didn't know who that person was. That longing had no reason, no object, yet it was like a dull knife, cutting him day and night.

Two years later, the powerful families made their move.

Led by the Shen family, they united the Cui family of Jiangbei, the Zheng family of Xingyang, and the Li family of Zhaojun. They found a legitimate prince from the previous dynasty who had fallen into obscurity and was to inherit the throne.

The proclamation spread throughout the land. It called Xiao Jue a traitorous minister who had usurped the throne and persecuted loyal officials. It said that the Xie family had been loyal and virtuous for generations, serving the country and its people, yet Xiao Jue had executed the entire family on trumped-up charges. The new policies were portrayed as disastrous for the country and its people, and the imperial examination system as a corrupt system.

The proclamation ended with a resolute statement: "Purge the court of corrupt officials, rectify the government, and restore our Great Zhou."

Those veterans who had fought alongside Xiao Jue felt a chill in their hearts when they saw his appearance.

They watched as Xiao Jue transformed from a decisive young general into a dejected emperor sitting by the window, lost in thought. He was emaciated, his hair mostly white, and sometimes, sitting on his throne, he would drift off into a daze, his gaze fixed on nothing in the distance.

They thought he had changed, that he had been bewitched by a sorcerer, and that he had truly become a tyrannical ruler.

The day the rebels stormed the capital was a sunny day.

Xiao Jue stood on the Chengtian Terrace. The wind was strong, making his robes flutter and his gray hair look disheveled.

He stood there, watching the dark mass of troops surge in through the city gates in the distance, flooding the streets, the imperial road, and the Chengtian Gate like a tide.

They encountered no resistance. The palace gates swung open, the imperial guards were disarmed, and the eunuchs and palace maids knelt on the ground.

The rebel army poured into the palace. On the Chengtian Terrace stood a man in a dragon robe, looking down at the dark mass of people below.

His gaze swept over the armored soldiers below the stage. Those men involuntarily took a step back as he looked at them. Even though so much time had passed, the lingering power of the man on the stage from his battlefield days still terrified them.

This person has killed more people than they have ever seen.

He stood there, unarmed, with half his hair white, and so thin that his cheekbones protruded, yet he was still the man who had crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood.

Xiao Jue withdrew his gaze and turned around. There was a pile of firewood there, drenched in oil, wet and ready to catch fire at the slightest spark.

He walked to the woodpile, stopped, and took out a tinderbox from his pocket. The tinderbox had a copper casing, polished to a shine, with a few cloud patterns engraved on it, though they were already somewhat blurred.

He unscrewed the tinderbox and blew on it. He tossed the tinderbox onto the woodpile. Flames licked at the oil-soaked firewood, and with a whoosh, they leaped up several feet high. The firelight reflected on his face, casting flickering light on his pale, gaunt features.

He looked up at the sky. Suddenly, he remembered the dream. In the dream, the person stood in white light, with their back to him. He didn't know what the person looked like, what their name was, or whether they were male or female.

He only knew that person had existed. He had truly existed at some point in his life. He didn't remember, but he knew.

He wondered if people could go to heaven after they died. He always felt that the person he had lost was waiting for him there.

He thought to himself that someone like him, with blood on his hands, should go to hell.

The fire grew bigger and bigger, and he closed his eyes.

He never remembered who that person was until he died.

Flames shot into the sky, and thick smoke billowed.