1
The rising sun painted the jade tiles of the Wei family courtyard in strokes of rose and gold. Dew clung to the meticulously manicured bonsai trees, each a miniature landscape representing the vastness of the Eastern continent. Within this haven of serenity, however, tranquility was fractured. Wei Jing, only twelve years of age, lay sprawled on a woven mat, his usually placid face contorted in a tight frown.
His silk sleep clothes, once neatly arranged, were now rumpled and damp with sweat. The sounds of Chang’an, the heart of the Great Zhou Dynasty – the distant rumble of carts, the hawkers’ melodic cries – were swallowed by the high walls of the Wei estate, yet they offered no solace to the troubled boy. He was trapped in nightmare.
Suddenly, his body jerked, and a sigh, ragged and full of vibrations, escaped his mouth. His eyes, when they finally snapped open, were like ancient pools, reflecting not the dawn outside but a light from some far-off, forgotten star.
This was not the Wei Jing who went to sleep each night. This was something… other
What do you think?
Total Responses: 0