Ming Dynasty Assassination

Epoch of Order, Year 1139.

Dreamscape.

Chaos flowed gently around him, like thick white paste dripping into clear water, yet never blending. Mian stood in this familiar yet unfamiliar void; the ground beneath his feet felt unreal—soft as if treading on clouds, yet at any moment, it seemed he might plunge into an endless abyss.

“Feels like… it’s been a long time since I was last here,” Mian murmured, gazing at the vast whiteness around him.

This was his own dream.

For a while now, he had been drawn involuntarily into Aise’s dreams, glimpsing fragments of Aise’s memories. Returning to this space now, he found it oddly nostalgic.

Every night after falling asleep, Aise would engage with him here—friendly and cordial exchanges.

And yes, they truly were friendly and cordial exchanges, no sarcasm intended. Aise had never harmed him. Perhaps, after so much slaughter alone beyond the world, he simply craved someone to talk to.

Still, most of the time, the conversation circled back to Xia Lun.

Mian had a solid grasp of history—after all, his teacher was Enlaisi.

He told Aise quite a few parable-like tales about warriors.

“Those stories are all fake,” Aise had sneered without disguise when he learned of them. “Many are pure fabrications, lacking even a shred of logic. That so-called tyrant of the East—I’ve heard his name before. But during his reign, my father never set foot in the Eastern Continent. They couldn’t have met. How could he have opposed him to protect common folk? Such clumsy lies, and yet they spread so widely…”

To that, Mian had no rebuttal. After Aise finished, he merely said, after a moment of thought, “Sometimes, what an era needs from a story matters more than the story’s truth… When people live in fear and shadow, they need a symbol—a beacon to cling to for hope. And the Warrior… his deeds and image just happen to be the perfect vessel for those expectations.”

“Didn’t expect you to be so perceptive,” Aise had remarked, surprised. “Not as shallow as I thought.”

“Those were Enlaisi’s words,” Mian admitted, rubbing his head sheepishly.

“Ah, Enlaisi, was it? He was indeed an interesting fellow. A pity he’s dead.” Aise offered that assessment.

Mian pulled his thoughts together and walked toward the only structured area in this chaotic space—a reception hall created by Aise at its center.

Even though this was his own mental space, Aise seemed to have greater control over it than he did.

So far, at least, Mian couldn’t even conjure a chair beneath himself on his own.

As expected, Aise was there.

Aise lay sprawled on a sofa, looking utterly wrecked. A burnt, acrid smell wafted from him; the sofa near his back bore a large, twisted black scorch mark. The wound on his chest was ghastly—flames still smoldering beneath the skin, dark charred tissue occasionally spitting out a spark.

“Are you… okay?” Mian couldn’t help asking.

Aise looked up at him. “You already asked that last time.”

“But you didn’t answer me then,” Mian insisted stubbornly.

“And do I look like I’m okay to you?” Aise coughed a few times, as if tickled by Mian’s persistence. He pointed to the gaping, blackened sword wound on his chest, the smile on his face laced with deep meaning.

Mian fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Is there any way I can help you?”

“You’ve got it all wrong, haven’t you, Mr. Mian? If I’m in this state, you should be happy,” Aise jeered. “Have you lost your mind? I’m the demon trying to take control of your body—you should be wishing I’d burn to death.”

“That’s not how I see it, Aise.” Mian shook his head.

“Ah, I get it now. You’re afraid that before I die, I’ll drag you down with me, right?” Aise’s face lit up with feigned understanding, then twisted into a vicious grin. “Don’t worry—I will. Haha, you think I’d let you off so easily? You should know, killing is like the sweetest wine to me…”

“But I don’t think you really want to do it,” Mian cut him off.

“What are you talking about?” Aise’s gaze darkened.

“You’re consumed by a terrible lust for slaughter, but deep down, you don’t actually want to commit those acts, do you?” Mian looked Aise straight in the eye, staring into those eyes burning with pain and savagery. “You don’t want to take any life. Only, your emotions can’t fight your urges.”

“Don’t act like you know me just because you’ve seen a few pieces of my past,” Aise scoffed. “Mian, you arrogant bastard. Are you trying to pity me? Don’t get it twisted—I made this choice myself. I’ve never regretted it…”

Then, clutching his chest as if the pain had seized him again, he let out a wild laugh. “Hahaha… No matter what you say, I’ll take you down with me when I go.”

“Are you covering something up?” Mian stared unwaveringly at Aise.

Aise grew annoyed. “What are you driving at?”

“You’re in pain, Aise. I want to make it better for you.” Mian’s voice was startlingly calm.

He looked at the ashen wound on Aise’s chest. As the man’s torso rose and fell, the gruesome interior flickered into view.

The flames inside Aise… they seemed unquenchable.

It was hard to imagine how Aise endured the constant burning.

“Oh? And what do you plan to do?” Aise suddenly relaxed again, lounging on the sofa with his legs crossed, watching Mian.

He couldn’t deny it. With injuries like this, the searing pain gnawing at his soul was pure agony—worse than death.

Xia Lun had shown no mercy. Those two fearsome slashes of sword wind: if Aise had taken them head-on, his soul would have been incinerated into nothingness long ago. Even the backlash alone had this devastating effect.

Mian paused for a moment. A dagger materialized in his hand, its blade rippling with a violet glow.

The Soul Judgment Blade, given to him by Aina long ago.

“You want to kill me? But don’t forget, Mian—the mana from that spiritual mine inside you. If it weren’t for me suppressing it, you’d blow up in an instant and level everything around you.” Aise mocked him. “Do you still intend to kill me?”

“Lady Aina has warded my room with a barrier,” Mian said flatly. “It can withstand the blast.”

“And what about you?” Aise’s gaze sharpened.

“I don’t care.”