Chapter One: A Dream of a Thousand Years

　　A dream.

　　A bizarre and fantastic dream.

　　Henry Foster, who had fallen asleep at his desk after drinking, seemed to be experiencing a life completely different from his own in this strange and colorful dream.

　　Iron boxes with four wheels ran faster than purple-maned horses, and giant iron birds filled with people soared through the sky...

　　Towers and skyscrapers pierced the clouds, crowding the land...

　　In a palm-sized metal box, many tiny people dressed in strange costumes performed plays inside...

　　What the hell are these things?

　　The hot-tempered Henry Foster had no idea why he would have such a bizarre dream, as if trapped in a world utterly unlike his own.

　　Henry Foster struggled to wake up, but an indescribable numbness controlled his body. As his eyelids twitched, the fantastic dream seemed to be smashed by a heavy hammer, instantly shattering into pieces.

　　What followed was as if a sharp piece of metal stabbed into his heart and stirred violently.

　　Damn, it hurts.

　　He had only drunk half a pot of wine—how could he feel so awful?

　　The intense pain felt as if his very soul was being torn from his body and shredded to pieces. Henry Foster wanted to roar in agony, but the breath caught in his throat and he simply couldn't let it out!

　　There were sounds of rummaging through boxes and cabinets in the room, like the wind—or perhaps the window was really open, and the wind was blowing the pages of books.

　　Henry Foster tried hard to open his eyes.

　　"Huh?" came a suppressed gasp from not far away.

　　"What is it?"

　　"The Seven Foster Brothers just moved a little?"

　　"The wine was laced with the hallucinogenic poison powder given by Madam herself. That bastard clearly looked like he died of a sudden illness just now—his breath had already stopped. How could he still move? Don't let your imagination run wild..."

　　A man and a woman whispered to each other in the room as they searched for something; the woman's voice sounded familiar.

　　The stabbing pain in his chest made it hard to think, and he couldn't understand what the two were talking about, but from their tone, there wasn't a hint of goodwill toward him.

　　"Seventh Young Master..."

　　Hurried, light footsteps sounded outside the room.

　　Someone was calling him in a low voice from outside the courtyard, seeming to sense something unusual in this room, but afraid to disturb them, not daring to call out loudly.

　　"Could it be that Ethan Carter is half-asleep and dreaming? How could there be a woman in the young master's room at this hour? We'd better not go in. With the young master's temper, if we really wake him up, he'll start cursing again—no one can stand it." The people outside the courtyard hesitated, unwilling to come in.

　　"Someone's coming, let's go..."

　　The two inside whispered, then he heard the window being pushed open.

　　Henry Foster opened his eyes. His vision was blurry at first, his mind not fully awake. He vaguely saw two figures, slipping out the window one after the other like geckos.

　　The petite figure at the back glanced back as she leapt through the window, locking eyes with Henry Foster. She hadn't expected Henry Foster to actually be alive, and her stunningly beautiful face showed a look of shock.

　　Dressed in tight black clothes that covered her petite figure completely, her small, fair face—no bigger than a palm—looked like a lotus blossom blooming under the moonlight, breathtakingly beautiful.

　　Yvonne Bailey!

　　Why was she dressed like this?

　　At this moment, Henry Foster remembered what had happened yesterday.

　　Yesterday was the forty-seventh day his father, David Foster, had confined him to the Qiuhu Mountain villa for self-reflection. He was in a foul, irritable mood, took it out on the maid Ethan Carter, kicked her out after a couple of kicks, but the courtyard gate was locked from the outside by the family guards, so he couldn't escape.

　　He was sulking in the study when Yvonne Bailey suddenly paid a visit, entered the study, and had someone prepare wine so they could drink together.

　　With a beautiful woman for company, her soft Wu accent in his ear, and the rouge wine from Wan Hong Lou, which tasted a bit sour and bitter, Henry Foster didn't mind.

　　But after only a few cups, as he grew tipsy and his hand was just about to boldly slip into Yvonne Bailey's collar, he drifted off into a drunken sleep...

　　Last night, when Yvonne Bailey came to drink, she wore a purple silk dress, her beautiful face flushed from the wine, and under the lamp and moonlight, her natural beauty was intoxicating. But now, the Yvonne Bailey before him was dressed in black like a night-thief, looking shocked to see him awake.

　　Perhaps hearing the people outside the courtyard approaching, Yvonne Bailey crouched on the windowsill for a moment, then, as light as a feather, disappeared into the deep purple, velvet-like night.

　　The deep purple night outside the window truly gave off an eerie feeling—so strange that Henry Foster wondered if he had really woken from his dream.

　　The intense pain now ebbed a little, like a receding tide.

　　Henry Foster's hazy mind cleared. He saw his body sprawled over a dark, finely grained desk placed by the window, his numb limbs wracked with spasms of pain.

　　Henry Foster gasped for breath, like a fish pulled from the water.