AEDBE CHAPTER 14

A Eunuch’s Dream of Being Emperor by Li Ximin

Chapter 14

Abao could not fathom why Li Hongtang would voluntarily hand Dongzi back over to the Li family estate. In Abao's eyes, the grand compound of the Lis was nothing short of a colossal tomb, and every soul moving in and out of its gates was a ghost—save for Dongzi.

This was the morning of New Year's Eve.

Abao was jolted awake by the concussive rattle of firecrackers.

Stumbling drowsily out of his bedroom after dressing, he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight: the beaming, smiling face of his father, Zhang Faqiang. It had been an age since he had last seen his father smile. Furthermore, Zhang Faqiang had no intention of working wood today; all his carpenter's tools had been packed away and stowed. Naturally, no one labored on New Year's Eve, nor did anyone conduct business; every shop along the commercial streets of Tang Town had shuttered its doors by the previous night.

The Lunar New Year was the most paramount festival of the year for the denizens of Tang Town.

A massive crimson lantern sat right in the center of the main hall.

Abao’s gaze locked onto the lantern, a stray thought dawning on him: why did this lantern look identical to the ones hanging from the gates of the Li family estate?

Zhang Faqiang smiled and beckoned, "Son, come along, help your father hang the lantern outside."

Father and son stepped out to the front threshold.

Climbing atop a bamboo ladder, Zhang Faqiang secured the lantern to the lintel, turning down with a grin to ask, "How does it look?"

Abao nodded, "It looks nice."

Every single household along the narrow lane was excitedly hanging identical crimson lanterns.

Clambering down from the ladder, Zhang Faqiang ruffled Abao's hair and said, "Abao, you must be wondering where this lantern came from, right?"

"Yes!" Abao replied.

Zhang Faqiang explained, "This year is different. Tomorrow is New Year's Day, and the Shunde Emperor is ascending the throne. He declared that he wants all the common folk to enjoy a prosperous holiday, so he dispatched men to distribute these lanterns to every household to brighten the festive atmosphere. And that's just a minor detail—early this morning, the Shunde Emperor even sent out provisions of chicken, duck, fish, and an entire jar of glutinous rice wine to every single household, free of charge! Do you have any idea how much silver that must cost? It's clear the Shunde Emperor is a magnanimous ruler who genuinely looks out for us ordinary people. It's truly unprecedented! From the day I was born until now, I've never laid eyes on a benefactor as benevolent as the Shunde Emperor. It seems I was guilty of petty suspicions; building the town walls was entirely for our own protection, yet I harbored resentment—how shameful of me! A person must always retain a sense of public virtue!"

Today, Abao found his father unusually verbose.

A crimson lantern hung from the lintel of Dongzi’s house as well. Whether Li Hongtang had put it up was a mystery; he hadn't caught a glimpse of her in two days, and her front door remained bolted shut, just as it was now. Thin wisps of cooking smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of every surrounding home, but the chimney above Li Hongtang’s dilapidated dwelling stood cold and rigid in the morning light, utterly devoid of smoke.

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Abao felt an urge to march over and rap on Li Hongtang's door, but stopped himself, withdrawing his outstretched hand mid-air. He reasoned that she was likely still sleeping; she was utterly exhausted and deserved extra rest. Perhaps once she woke refreshed, her white hair would revert to raven black, and her cheeks would regain their former youthful bloom.

Abao indulged in this wistful daydream.

Zhang Faqiang hauled the bamboo ladder back indoors, pausing at the threshold to warn, "Son, don't wander too far off, and make sure you're back home in time for breakfast!"

Abao gave no reply, his thoughts drifting instantly to his dearest friend, Dongzi. Last New Year, the two of them had bounced out of bed at dawn to play together, setting off firecrackers and getting into mischief. But now? He had no idea what world Dongzi was inhabiting. Abao felt a crushing, solitary isolation—like a lone wild goose drifting through an empty autumn sky, severed from its flock.

A joyous spark failed to ignite in Abao's chest. Even when he overheard murmurs that grand theatrical plays would be staged that night, his spirits remained leaden, his mind involuntarily conjuring the shadow of Zhao Hongyan. Wearing a dazed, melancholic expression, Abao drifted aimlessly through the festive, bustling lanes of Tang Town. Not a single soul spared a glance for his heartbreak.

To his bewilderment, Abao noticed a glaring exception: Hunchback Li’s funerary goods shop was the sole establishment along the street entirely devoid of a red lantern.

Then, Abao spotted Wang Hairong scurrying past, looking thoroughly panicked and stripped of his usual swagger.

Is he in some kind of trouble? Abao wondered.

Clutching a festive lantern, Wang Hairong hurried up to the shuttered doors of the funerary shop.

The shop remained tightly bolted.

Lifting his fist, Wang Hairong hammered aggressively against the timber: "Old Hunchback, open up!"

A moment later, the door cracked an inch, and Hunchback Li’s sharp, irritable voice snapped from within, "Stop banging on the door like a lunatic, you'll rattle my brains out!"

Wang Hairong complained, "Do you have any idea how much I've run my legs ragged today?! I've made two trips just trying to deliver this lantern to you."

Hunchback Li retorted coldly, "What business do you have bringing me a lantern? Who asked for your charity?"

Wang Hairong insisted, "This is a supreme grace bestowed by the Emperor himself—do you want it or not?"

Hunchback Li sneered, "Open your blind eyes and look: this is a funerary shop, dealing exclusively in goods for the dead! What business does a death shop have hanging a crimson celebration lantern?"

Scratching his head in utter bafflement, Wang Hairong had no retort.

Hunchback Li slammed the wooden panels shut with a heavy thud.

Wang Hairong shivered involuntarily, turning away with the rejected lantern to trudge back toward the Li family estate.

An unpropitious, morbid thought flashed through Abao’s mind: If I were to die, would Dongzi buy me a paper horse to burn for my soul?

It was a deeply ominous premonition.

Dongzi was adorned in brand-new ceremonial vestments—an imperial-yellow robe embroidered with azure dragons.

Smiling benevolently, Eunuch Li (李公公) settled a matching yellow cap upon his head, crooked his fingers into an orchid gesture, and beamed with undisguised ecstasy, "Splendid! My grandson looks magnificent!"

Not a trace of a smile touched Dongzi's face; inwardly, he spat, Who the hell is your grandson!

Dongzi’s emotional state was infinitely gloomier than Abao's, his mind trapped in a relentless loop chanting the names of his mother, his elder sister, and Abao.

Rolling his eyes in a sudden calculation, Dongzi ventured, "Imperial Grandfather, I... I have a request—"

Eunuch Li cooed, "My precious grandson, speak your mind. Grandfather will grant you anything!"

Dongzi tested the waters, "Truly?"

Reaching out to stroke the boy's cheek, Eunuch Li laughed, "When have I ever lied? Out with it!"

Dropping his gaze, Dongzi murmured, "I want to go home to see Elder Sister. She's all alone, she must be terribly sad!"

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A dark shadow of displeasure flashed across Eunuch Li's eyes, though his tone remained sugary: "Isn't this your home now? That hovel is no longer your place. However, if you miss her so desperately, I can dispatch guards to escort her here into the palace so you may reunite! How does that sound?"

Dongzi suppressed an inward groan of despair. He knew full well that the withered creature would never honor such a promise, nor did he believe for a second that her sister would ever be safely brought inside these gates.

Eunuch Li chuckled, "Grandson, won't you accompany Grandfather for a stroll in the courtyard?"

Dongzi blurted out, "Imperial Grandfather, I haven't slept enough, I want to go back to bed."

With a show of reluctant indulgence, Eunuch Li nodded, "Very well, go rest."

Tearing away, Dongzi retreated straight to his bedchamber, slammed the heavy door, and dropped the wooden security bar into place. He refused to lay eyes on a single breathing soul within the Li compound. This was, without question, the most desolate, bleak, and agonizing Spring Festival of his entire life—even if, to the ignorant masses of Tang Town, he was supposedly living a life of supreme imperial luxury.

At that moment, a specific image flickered across Dongzi’s mind: a horse.

A white paper horse—handcrafted out of bamboo frames and tissue paper by Hunchback Li.

Dongzi yearned desperately for that paper steed to sprout wings and carry him far away, spiriting him to some pure, untainted sanctuary, while sweeping his sister away with him. He harbored a fierce faith that in such a paradisiacal realm, he might find his loving uncle once more, and perhaps even reclaim his mother from the thick fogs where she had vanished.

Where on earth was that white paper horse?

Right now, he was nothing more than a caged animal trapped in a stone dungeon.

Consumed by a crushing wave of grief, Dongzi crouched beside the charcoal brazier, pulling his knees tightly against his chest.

He wished to weep, yet his tear ducts remained bone dry, as though every drop of moisture had been drained from his body. To grieve so deeply that one could no longer produce tears—what level of absolute despair was that? Dongzi understood bitterly that his sister's tears were equally exhausted. On the night of their final parting, both of them had wept until dawn, trading a lifetime of words as though standing at the absolute precipice of death and life. He knew with crystalline clarity that his sister had delivered him back to the Lis solely to shield him; had he refused to return, the monsters would have butchered them both. They both recognized that their father was no longer a protector, having devolved into a cold-blooded, merciless executioner! By the time dawn broke that morning, all tears had been shed and all words spoken, leaving his sister as rigid and silent as a windless tree as she took his hand and led him out into the world. Elder Sister— Dongzi cried out silently in his soul, entirely ignorant of the fact that his sister had collapsed into a death-like slumber, locked in the relentless loop of her waking nightmare.

Dongzi dropped his gaze, staring at the dark gap beneath his bed frame.

His heart gave a sharp, violent jolt.

After a moment's hesitation dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled straight under the bed platform.

Dongzi slipped downward into the hidden subterranean tunnel—a stifling, terrifying cavern of claustrophobia.

Two branching tunnels yawned before him: one snaked directly toward Eunuch Li's forbidden secret chamber, while the other plunged into an unknown, uncharted abyss—perhaps leading straight to the underworld, or perhaps to paradise.

Hesitating for a few breaths, Dongzi ultimately began crawling down the mysterious passage that led into the unknown.

Shen Zhuniang had likewise scrubbed herself clean and dressed in her finest garments today. No matter how slovenly a woman might be, New Year's Day demanded a respectable facade, in the hopeful superstition that the auspicious air of the holiday might invite fortune. Having received her share of red lanterns, chicken, duck, and fish courtesy of the imperial decree, she retained a lingering spark of gratitude; had she relied solely on Yu Gouzi's meager earnings, she shuddered to think how they would have survived this winter. Furthermore, she nurtured a secret, swelling fantasy: the abundance distributed by the militia must surely be evidence of Li Saogu's hidden affection. Despite his cold public demeanor, she convinced herself his heart still belonged to her. This intoxicating illusion flooded her veins with reckless desire, putting a vibrant bounce in her step as she strolled down the lane, her eyes radiating a flushed, intoxicated glow.

Witch Wang crossed her path, casting an unreadable, scrutinizing stare directly at her.

Shen Zhuniang froze inwardly. Coming face-to-face with the mysterious old crone who rarely ventured out onto the public streets always sent a cold shudder down her spine. She made to skirt around Witch Wang, but it was already too late. Bracing her nerves, she forced a brave front—why should I be afraid of her?

Witch Wang halted directly in her path.

With a tense, guilt-ridden smile, Shen Zhuniang offered a stiff greeting, "Immortal Auntie, wishing you a joyous New Year!"

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Witch Wang reciprocated with an uncharacteristically gentle smile, "A joyous New Year to you as well!"

Noticing that Witch Wang's expression lacked its usual chilling malice, Shen Zhuniang relaxed slightly, concluding the old woman meant her no harm today.

Without warning, Witch Wang murmured, "Come with me, let us step aside where we may speak in private."

What could she possibly want to discuss with me? Shen Zhuniang wondered nervously.

She could never quite decode the inner workings of this ancient witch's mind. Yet, refusing Witch Wang was out of the question—in all of Tang Town, how many souls dared utter the word "no" to her? Desiring no confrontation, Shen Zhuniang meekly trailed behind the old woman until they slipped into a secluded, deserted alleyway, halting face-to-face in a shadowed nook. A heavy dread gripped Shen Zhuniang's chest; being singled out by a creature like Witch Wang invariably signaled impending catastrophe.

The gentle, amiable mask vanished instantly from Witch Wang's face, replaced by a dark, sinister gloom.

Confronted by that chilling expression, Shen Zhuniang felt her blood run thick with ice, convinced she was walking into a slaughterhouse.

In a voice that felt scraped across a tombstone, Witch Wang hissed, "Shen Zhuniang, do not panic; I have no intention of taking your life. However, the matter I am about to impart to you is dead serious—not a game for children..."

Leaning forward, Witch Wang pressed her lips directly against Shen Zhuniang's ear, whispering a string of horrific revelations in a breathless rasp.

As the words registered in her mind, Shen Zhuniang’s eyes dilated in unadulterated terror.

Her message delivered, Witch Wang offered no further explanation, turning away to stroll down the lane as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Staring at the swaying, aged spine of the crone, Shen Zhuniang broke out in a violent, full-body tremor.

Why on earth would she disclose such a monstrous secret to me? Shen Zhuniang’s mind spun helplessly, utterly incapable of grasping the rationale behind the warning.

Before the noon hour could strike, a terrifying rumor swept through the streets of Tang Town like wildfire: the Earth Goddess had descended in a dream to Witch Wang, bearing a dire prophecy that an atrocious demon had infiltrated Tang Town! This malevolent entity had possessed a mortal body, transforming its human host into a monstrosity bearing flaming red hair, pale blue eyes, and a beak-like hooked nose. Unless this demon was hunted down and exterminated, it would unleash an apocalyptic cataclysm upon the populace of Tang Town. Furthermore, the bizarre, incurable plagues currently rotting the bodies of Li Hongtang and Shangguan Wenqing were allegedly direct symptoms of this demonic contamination. Fortunately, the valiant Commander Li Cilin had successfully captured the fiend, locking him away in a secure underground vault. However, executing a demon of this magnitude required a specific, brutal ritual: he must be subjected to a thousand slices of death, his flesh boiled in massive cauldrons, and his remains distributed among the townspeople to be consumed by all, thereby utterly destroying the demon's soul and preventing any chance of resurrection!

Every single soul who caught wind of this blood-chilling decree immediately associated the description with a singular individual: the foreign missionary, John.

Shangguan Wenqing heard the harrowing whispers circulating through the crowd.

Rejecting the notion that his supernatural bodily decay bore any connection to the foreigner, he secretly regarded the missionary as a rare soul of genuine integrity and compassion. Though ignorant of John's precise dungeon cell, his heart ached with profound anxiety for the captive's fate. Earlier that morning, Zhu Yueniang had dressed him in clean garments, crowning his newly shed, smooth pink scalp with a brand-new skullcap. Following his horrific skin-shedding ordeal, he suffered no physical debility, though his frame had shrunk yet another tier, and the tender pink skin rapidly oxidized into a deep, dark walnut hue—leaving him looking precisely like a charred length of firewood when stripped.

The thoroughfares buzzed with festive traffic and holiday celebration. The terrifying rumors failed to dampen the official holiday atmosphere, merely casting an ominous, lingering shadow across the collective consciousness of the town.

Darting through the shifting legs of the crowd, Shangguan Wenqing remained entirely invisible, ignored or overlooked by every passerby.

His wandering steps carried him directly to the shuttered threshold of Li Hongtang’s house, where he sank onto the stone stoop, settling into silent vigil.

Abao spotted him sitting there.

At first glance, Abao failed to recognize the figure entirely.

When did Tang Town spawn yet another dwarf—one even shorter than Shangguan Wenqing? Abao thought. Moreover, this creature was exceptionally dark-skinned—though Abao’s own complexion was hardly pale, this man looked as though he had been charred in a forge. Why was this charcoal-black dwarf lingering outside Li Hongtang's locked door? A surge of protective suspicion stiffened Abao’s spine. Striding directly up to the stranger, Abao demanded in a gruff, hostile pitch, "Who the hell are you?"

Shangguan Wenqing lifted his head, whispering, "Abao... do you no longer recognize me?"

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His gaze remained preternaturally clear and limpid, carrying an ocean of sorrow far deeper than Abao's own.

Frowning in deep confusion, Abao shook his head, "I've never laid eyes on you in my life."

Shangguan Wenqing offered a desolate, rattling sigh, "Has my voice altered so drastically that you cannot perceive it either?"

Abao ransacked his memory, searching for any echo of that vocal timbre within his mind, coming up entirely empty: "I've never heard your voice before, none of this makes sense."

The brutal reality struck Shangguan Wenqing with the force of a physical blow: his facial features had morphed beyond recognition, and his vocal cords had been warped by the skin-shedding curse. If even Li Hongtang fails to recognize me upon sight, that will be the ultimate, supreme tragedy of my existence.

Straightening slightly, Shangguan Wenqing murmured, "I am the living immortal of Tang Town!"

Weren't those the exact words Shangguan Wenqing habitually brandished like a badge of honor? Could this charred dwarf truly be him? Abao stood paralyzed by disbelief. Stammering, he asked, "You... are you actually Shangguan Wenqing? How on earth did you end up looking like this?"

With a bitter, helpless shrug, Shangguan Wenqing replied, "I understand it no more than you do."

An icy shiver raced down Abao’s spine, stirring a deep, primal dread.

While most households across Tang Town were undoubtedly feasting upon bountiful New Year's Eve banquets, surrounded by the warm laughter of reunited family members, anticipating the evening's grand theatrical performances that made this holiday distinctly superior to years past, Li Hongtang's existence remained utterly divorced from such joy.

Her reality was defined by chilling isolation.

She dragged herself out of slumber as dusk bled across the sky.

The concussive, rolling thunder of firecrackers erupting across Tang Town acted as her alarm.

It was an unwritten tradition in Tang Town to ignite strings of firecrackers prior to sitting down for the New Year's eve feast.

Li Hongtang’s mouth tasted of bitter gall, her stomach hollow and clawing with hunger. She had no concept of how many continuous days and nights she had surrendered to sleep.

Stumbling upright, her first instinct was a hoarse, automatic cry: "Little brother—"

The syllable died in her throat as consciousness fully returned. Dongzi was gone—surrendered to the Li estate. For all she knew, he was currently seated at a lavish banquet hall sharing a festive meal with an insane, castrated old eunuch.

Let him find joy, she thought bitterly. Let him eat his fill of rich delicacies and banish thoughts of me. If suffering must be endured, let it crush me alone; my soul was shattered into dust by stones of grief long ago.

Her legs felt as though they were stepping on thick tufts of cotton wool—weak, trembling, and uncoordinated. As she navigated the staircase down from her loft, her foot missed a riser entirely, sending her pitching forward in a near-fall. Dragging herself into the kitchen, she discovered the work surface laden with a lavish array of holiday delicacies sent in tribute. She felt no gratitude; she knew with absolute certainty that these offerings were the patronizing charity of her monstrous father. Remembering past New Years—when their meager board lacked such luxuries, yet radiated genuine familial warmth and human affection—she was struck by the horrifying realization of how utterly their world had collapsed. A thriving, wholesome family reduced to a solitary, rotting outcast.

Li Hongtang threw open her front door.

Gathering every single gift basket and prepared delicacy left by Li Cilin’s messengers, she hurled them viciously out into the muddy public lane.

In her fevered, delirious vision, every single crimson lantern suspended along the street instantly warped and morphed into a row of freshly severed, bleeding human heads.

She blinked hard, scrubbing her palms across her eyes, staring again—yet the hallucination persisted: the lintel of every home in Tang Town was adorned with a dripping human skull.

Even the lintel of her own doorway bore a freshly lopped head.

Driven to the brink of raving madness, Li Hongtang snatched up a heavy wooden carrying pole, leaping upward to smash and knock down every lantern hanging from her eaves, before slamming and bolting the heavy timber door shut.

On this ominous New Year's Eve, Li Hongtang boiled a simple, watery pot of plain rice gruel, refusing to prepare a single side dish. She forced bowl after bowl down her throat until her stomach distended painfully, the thick porridge threatening to spill back out of her esophagus, before finally setting the bowl aside. She sat in motionless silence before the table, her eyes glazed and vacant. As the distant strains of operatic singing began to drift over the town walls to mark the commencement of the night's festivities, a gentle, discreet knock rapped against her front door.

The rapping was feather-light, yet pierced the silence with crystal clarity.

The sound instantly snapped her out of her catatonic trance.

Who could be knocking at this hour? It certainly wasn't her father—he never knocked; he battered doors down with his boots! Could it be her mother? If her mother had quietly returned home on this sacred night, she would gladly drop dead of sheer, unadulterated joy! Or perhaps Dongzi had sneaked away to find her? Though she knew deep down he shouldn't have risked returning, her heart ached with the desperate hope that he missed her. Who was standing on the other side of that wood?

Li Hongtang dragged her feet to the threshold.

In a thread-thin voice, she asked, "Who is there?"

A strange, unfamiliar voice filtered through the grain: "Hongtang... it's me."

She asked again, "Who are you?"

The voice replied, "I am the living immortal of Tang Town."

Unbolting the latch, Li Hongtang pulled the door open, staring down in absolute astonishment at the unrecognizable, charred figure of Shangguan Wenqing.

Gasping in shock, she whispered, "In God's name... what happened to you?"

Shangguan Wenqing smiled faintly, "If you can undergo transformation, why not I?"

Stepping aside, she murmured, "Come inside, it's freezing out here."

Shangguan Wenqing crossed the threshold, and Li Hongtang secured the heavy bolts behind him.

She scolded softly, "I told you never to seek me out again. Why did you return? Aren't you afraid I'll lose my temper and toss you back into the snow?"

Shangguan Wenqing replied steadily, "I fear nothing anymore. I am a man with one foot in the grave—what terrors are left for me?"

She scoffed gently, "Hush! Such unpropitious talk on New Year's Eve!"

He countered, "What does the New Year matter to me? I long ceased to care."

"Did your mother grant you permission to wander out?"

"They are all preoccupied with the theatrical performances."

Seated side by side across the wooden table beneath the flickering, unstable flame of an oil lamp, the two pariahs silently studied one another's mutilated faces. They exchanged no grand declarations, for none were required; words were entirely superfluous. Li Hongtang felt an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and cradle his tender, baby-smooth, child-like hands, though she ultimately restrained the impulse.

To Shangguan Wenqing, this fleeting moment felt like the pinnacle of mortal bliss. Even if he were fated to endure ten thousand skin-shedding tortures and plunge into fiery infernos of agony, sitting beside the woman he adored on this silent night made every drop of suffering infinitely worthwhile. Perhaps all the unimaginable torments he had survived were merely cosmic trials designed by Heaven, and Li Hongtang was the ultimate, supreme reward granted at the end of his pilgrimage.

To share this microscopic sliver of existence with Li Hongtang felt as expansive as a lifetime.

Within the freezing shell of her ruined life, Li Hongtang absorbed a profound warmth—a warmth bestowed by the ugliest, most diminutive man in Tang Town. Yet that warmth translated into pure solace, fierce devotion, and the single most authentic, soul-searing love she had ever known.

As the theatrical performance concluded, young Abao remained slumped alone upon a low wooden bench before the empty stage, stubbornly refusing to depart.

Through the dense crowd, he clearly witnessed Zhao Hongyan and the members of her traveling troupe escorted by a heavily armed phalanx of militia enforcers toward the imposing main gates of the Li estate, casting a lingering, mournful glance back in his direction as she passed.

That single look sent Abao’s soul hurtling out of his body. Earlier that evening, when she first made her grand entrance upon the stage playing the valiant warrior-maiden Hua Mulan, Abao had detected that identical veil of profound melancholy shadowing her eyes; beneath the brilliant armor and heroic facade, her heart was as fractured and grief-stricken as his own.

As her troupe marched away, Abao spotted a flutter of white fabric detach itself from her sleeve and drift down into the dirt. Lunging forward, he snatched it up: it was a delicate white silk handkerchief, upon which was meticulously inked the portrait of a young woman—none other than Zhao Hongyan herself.

The fabric retained a faint, haunting fragrance, reminiscent of blossoming jasmine.

Fiercely pressing the handkerchief against his chest, he shoved it deep into his pocket.

Sitting entirely alone in the deserted public square while freezing nocturnal gales whipped around his ears, the young boy's heart sank into an infinite, shoreless ocean of adolescent sorrow.

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The festive, illuminated night of Tang Town—so painstakingly draped in crimson warmth and artificial joy—was stretched into an agonizing eternity by the weight of Abao's grief.

Deep into the night, the brilliantly lit compound of the Li estate finally descended into heavy, foreboding silence.

Tomorrow marked the formal coronation ceremony; consequently, Eunuch Li had retired to his private bedchamber early to preserve his energy.

Security around the compound remained ironclad; not a single militia enforcer had been granted leave to visit their families for the holiday.

Following his meager New Year's eve meal, Dongzi had retreated straight to his quarters. Aside from the relentless ache of missing his mother and sister, his mind burned with an obsessive curiosity to explore the hidden depths of that mysterious subterranean tunnel. Earlier that day, he had crawled down the passage for a considerable distance without locating its terminus, eventually retreating out of sheer claustrophobic panic. Where those tunnels terminated remained an impenetrable enigma.

A strange, reckless boldness—coupled with an insatiable, escalating curiosity—was steadily taking root in Dongzi's chest.

He found himself half-wishing that chilling, spectral voice would echo once more through the dark, bringing him face-to-face with that ominous shadow. Perhaps that entity would guide him deeper into the labyrinth of secrets—perhaps revealing the true staging behind the opera house visions, or unmasking the identity of the masked man who had hanged the victim, or confirming whether that corpse was indeed the owner of the rotting foot he had stumbled upon in the grassy shallows during the Mid-Autumn festival! Yet, since that fateful night, the shadow had vanished without a trace. Could it truly have been a wandering ghost? Was it genuinely exorcised from the premises by Witch Wang's rituals?

A sudden thought struck Dongzi: What is Eunuch Li doing right now?

Surely the old eunuch had not fallen fast asleep yet; after all, tomorrow morning he would awaken as the absolute, undisputed Emperor of Tang Town! Even during their New Year's dinner, Dongzi had observed the nervous, manic twitching of the eunuch's fingers every time he reached for his chopsticks.

Dongzi's thoughts drifted directly to the forbidden secret chamber.

Making up his mind, he slipped off the bed and dropped to his hands and knees.

Creeping toward the wall, Dongzi spotted a thin sliver of golden candlelight bleeding through the door frame of the secret chamber, confirming his suspicion that Eunuch Li was locked inside. A cocktail of nervous terror and intoxicating curiosity churned in his gut. Crawling forward, he pressed his eye directly against the crack in the timber. Holding his breath, he knew that discovery by the eunuch would trigger consequences too horrific to contemplate.

Tonight, however, Eunuch Li was not weeping.

Attired in full court eunuch regalia, he knelt prostrate before the portrait of the richly adorned matriarch, hammering his forehead against the floor in rapid kowtows as he babbled, "Old Buddha, this humble slave deserves death, I have failed you!" Abruptly halting his kowtows, Eunuch Li raised his palm and struck his own cheek with a sharp, resounding slap. Pausing to catch his breath, he resumed bowing, then lifted his face toward the painted visage, his voice dropping into a venomous, chilling hiss: "Old Buddha, this slave confesses I despise myself as well—how could I commit such treasonous, unforgivable blasphemy? Yet I have already crossed the Rubicon, stepping onto a path of no return. I can no longer serve your august person; wait until our next reincarnation, and I shall redeem myself! Old Buddha, tomorrow I hold my grand ascension; if you possessed awareness in the netherworld, you would surely vomit blood with rage! But I shall never permit you to know—nor will you ever discover the truth. Yet, I am acutely aware of what you loathed above all else: you despised the foreign devils! Let me ease your spirit: this slave shares that hatred with every fiber of my being! We are irreconcilable enemies! I have captured a foreign devil, and I refuse to grant him a merciful end—I shall carve his flesh slice by slice, toss those strips into boiling oil to fry, and boil his very bones down into broth—"

Springing abruptly to his feet, Eunuch Li ripped off his eunuch vestments.

He pulled the brilliant yellow dragon robe over his shoulders.

A series of high-pitched, rodent-like giggles escaped his lips.

His laughter sounded precisely like the squeaking of trapped rats.

"Who could have foreseen it—who could have imagined this old master would live to ascend the dragon throne! Tang Town lies crushed beneath my boots, and I command whatever my heart desires! Every single soul in this town is nothing more than my personal slave! In my eyes, every last one of them is castrated and broken! Father... this unfilial son has forgiven you at last. Without your abandonment, I would never have attained this glory! Father, I shall construct a magnificent imperial mausoleum for you, allowing your soul to rest in eternal peace. I shall posthumously elevate you to the rank of Supreme Retired Emperor, granting you the adoration and kowtows of millions! You will never need to beg for scraps again, nor wander the open roads—Father—"

Eunuch Li abruptly cut off his monologue.

Tilting his head, he strained his ears as though catching a faint, distant whisper.

Dongzi locked his muscles, freezing into an absolute statue without darf-ing to exhale.

Eunuch Li burst into another round of shrill, scuttling giggles.

In a bizarre, altered cadence, he muttered, "Father, you are speaking to me, aren't you? Yes... I hear your voice clearly. You are cursing my mother, aren't you? She had no right to abandon our father-son bond during your darkest hour, running off to elope with another man—she had no right! Father, all women are treacherous bitches, filthy bitches!"

Eunuch Li’s entire skeleton convulsed with tremors.

His voice shook violently as he continued, "Father... just wait. When I raise your imperial mausoleum, I shall select the most exquisite young maidens in the realm to be buried alive alongside you, ensuring you enjoy pleasures beyond mortal imagination! And since you always adored theatrical performances, I shall herd a troop of actors into your tomb so you may listen to operas for all eternity—"

Eunuch Li’s hands sawed wildly through the air, his facial expressions twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated madness. To Dongzi, it felt as though the eunuch were actively carving his flesh and boiling his bones in real-time. A creeping, paralyzing terror locked around Dongzi's throat, making him shiver violently from head to toe! In Dongzi's terrified worldview, Eunuch Li was a creature infinitely more horrifying than any phantom of the underworld; ghosts were formless and ethereal, whereas the eunuch was a living, breathing demon whose palpable cruelty made flesh crawl and blood freeze in the veins.

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