Chapter Seventeen: Dreams at Both Ends

Looking into the distance, the figure was already gone.

Once again, he was left all alone, dragging a suitcase behind him. Han Bingyan thought bitterly as he walked along the deserted street. A cold wind swept by, making him shrink his neck to keep the chill from seeping into his collar. The sun had already set, and the street, on the eve of the new year, seemed especially desolate. Perhaps all those who once walked these roads were now gathered with their families.

The sky had darkened, and all around was silent, like some natural ice cellar. The February wind howled without restraint. With his hand still bleeding, clutching his luggage, Han Bingyan found himself unconsciously walking onto a broad highway. Alone on the road, cars occasionally sped past him, their drivers perhaps eager to hurry home to their loved ones. But Bingyan had no idea where he could find shelter, nor did he hold out any hope.

Tossed about by fate, was he dreaming or awake? Han Bingyan was lost in confusion. This dream was too powerless. If it was a story, it was too elusive to grasp. Everything happened too quickly and faded just as fast. Perhaps it was all just a dream; and isn’t life itself a dream—half asleep, half awake, deeply intoxicated, and yet endlessly evocative.

By the time he came to his senses, he realized he was already standing in the wild grass, having reached an unfamiliar place. The silent hillside was devoid of life. Han Bingyan simply flung his suitcase aside and sat down on the ground. The bleeding in his hand had stopped, but a faint sting remained. The green grass around him, under the dim sky, seemed all the more eerie and chilling.

A cold gust swept past, making his neck feel suddenly cold. Han Bingyan reached into his collar and drew out a jade pendant carved with a dragon motif. “Father, who are you? Where are you?” For a brief moment, Han Bingyan longed intensely to know the identity of his father. He wanted to confront him face-to-face and ask why he had abandoned his mother and him. Yet even Bingyan himself could not say whether he felt more hatred or longing.

His clear eyes glimmered in the darkness, and in that uninhabited place, he felt a strange sense of freedom, as if riding the wind away. The bright moon hung above, and he recalled Li Bai’s “Bring in the Wine”—raising a cup to invite the moon, seeking to drown his sorrow in drink. Yet where was the wine now? All he could do was start anew.

After a long time, Han Bingyan suddenly stood up, picked up his fallen suitcase, and murmured softly to himself. It seemed he had suddenly remembered a place to go. If memory served him right, there should still be a small hut there, enough to offer shelter from the wind and rain. It was better than nothing; he no longer hoped for a luxurious dwelling.

He hurried along, his memories growing clearer with each step. Sure enough, half an hour later, Han Bingyan arrived before a thatched hut. “This is it!” he said, gazing at it closely and smiling from the heart.

The hut stood alone on the hillside. Though it was still midwinter, the trees around it were already lush and green. Not far away, a small stream flowed, the hut facing it; the gentle sound of water passing before the door lent the place a serene and unworldly air. Yet all around the hut, wild grass grew unchecked in tangled disarray.

“There’s work to be done,” Han Bingyan thought with a wry smile.

Though the hut had existed since he was a child, it was built of large stones with skillful craftsmanship and stood firm even now. It seemed it would last for many years yet.

He pushed open the door, and as expected, found everything inside thick with dust. Apart from a small bed built of stone, there was nothing else. Sweeping away a layer of dust, he set down his suitcase, which contained nothing but a few daily necessities and a change of clothes.

A person lives but one life and cannot escape death in the end. Whether you are rich or poor, the final destination is the same. We carry too much baggage along the way, only to discover in the end that it is all meaningless. Why bother? Han Bingyan recalled something he had once read in a book—truly words of wisdom.

Yes, whatever the world brings, so long as you are true to your own heart, that is enough. The opinions of others are merely scenery along the road. If we are children of the sea, then we must have the mind to embrace all rivers.

“This will be my home!” Bingyan declared boldly, but his voice was tinged with an inexplicable emotion—a certain pallor, a desperate urge to weep. Unable to restrain his feelings any longer, tears spilled from his eyes. He had held them back until now, not shedding a single drop at the Han family home; now, he simply wanted to let them flow freely.

After letting it all out and wiping away his tears, Han Bingyan began to make his bed. In the dead of winter, he had no desire to sleep in the cold. Then he took out some dried fruits and ate a few to fill his stomach before starting on his winter vacation homework.

Han Bingyan was filled with uncertainty about the days ahead, not knowing how to get by. He had little money left. After what Han Bingwu and his second uncle had forcibly taken from him, he had only a few thousand left, and he still needed to pay for school. He could not believe the Han family would continue to pay his tuition.

“Sigh—everything will have to rely on myself now.” After his confusion passed, he began to make plans. He could not just drift through life; he needed a careful arrangement. What should he do? He couldn’t simply starve to death, but for the moment, he could think of nothing.

From this point on, Han Bingyan began his life alone...

※※※Feather※※※Emperor※※※

Gazing up at the starry sky, the heavens were dotted with light. Tonight was New Year’s Eve—a time for family reunions. Yet little Bingyan could only play a solitary role. Curling up in a not-so-warm quilt, he looked through the glassless window and saw clearly, at the foot of the mountain, a blaze of lights—that was the Han family residence.

“The laughter belongs to them, not to me.” Bingyan gave a self-mocking smile, buried his head beneath the covers, and whispered, “Better just sleep.”

Alone, isolated, his soul endured torment. Half-awake, half-asleep, Han Bingyan drifted into dreams—perhaps into a nightmare...

When the clouds have shed all their tears, the blue sky will heal; when the autumn wind has blown away every leaf, the branches will be laid bare; the city grows ever more clamorous, the night so cold—where have the butterflies gone, and the dust become nothing but the language of dreams...

At the Han family residence

“Where are you going?” A stern voice sounded behind Han Bingran. She shuddered and turned hesitantly. “Grandmother, I—”

“I... I want to go find my brother.” Pouting, Han Bingran mustered her courage to speak.

“Tonight is New Year’s Eve, and you still want to run off? Besides, do you even know where that boy Bingyan is?” Han Liang’s voice, devoid of any warmth, entered Han Bingran’s ears. Strangely, she felt deeply aggrieved. Was this still her gentle, loving grandmother? Why did she treat her and her brother so differently?

“And starting next term, you don’t need to go to school. Wait until you’re older, then you can go back. For now, go home.”

“Did you hear me? Go!” Seeing Han Bingran still frozen in place, Han Liang shouted again.

Casting one last glance at her now-unfamiliar grandmother, Han Bingran stomped her foot hard, covered her face, and ran off.