The study faced east. The mountains weren’t exactly steep or perilous, but the ridges rolled on and on, thin and delicate in the deep purple night, like layers of paper cutouts stacked together, each with a faint, different hue.

At the break of dawn, the clouds above the distant mountain ridges gradually brightened, and the grassy forests on the hills became clearer, revealing that the cliffs weren’t actually far from here.

“…Creak…”

At this moment, the door was finally pushed open, and in came a young girl whose face was covered by a large dark red birthmark, carrying a copper basin.

“You really have changed, young master, actually sitting at your desk all night. If you could do this in the city, it would be more than enough to make the master angry.”

The ugly maid didn’t notice Henry Foster’s oddness. She set the copper basin of face-washing water on the wooden stand, saw that the bedding in the inner room hadn’t been laid out, and truly believed that Henry Foster had been reading all night without rest.

“Shut your annoying mouth!”

Seeing this ugly maid, Henry Foster felt irritated and wanted to scold her, but his throat was so hoarse that he couldn’t make a sound.

He struggled to stand up, thinking to grab the copper basin full of face-washing water and smash it into the annoying maid’s face, cursing her for making him sit by the window all night without even thinking to come in and serve him.

Henry Foster braced himself on the desk, trying to stand, but nearly toppled headfirst from the chair to the floor.

The ugly maid was startled and quickly supported Henry Foster. Seeing how pale he looked, she reached out to feel his forehead:

“Oh dear, why is it so hot? Didn’t I say you shouldn’t read with the window open at night? The mountain air is wickedly cold. Young master, you must have caught a chill—The master strictly forbade us maids from coming in to serve you at night, and Master Fan is careless too, didn’t even think to close the window. With your forehead burning like this, what are we going to do?”

The ugly maid helped the now powerless Henry Foster to the inner room and laid him down on the bed.

Henry Foster’s mind was still a muddle, his body weak, so weak he didn’t even have the strength to curse. He could only watch as Ethan Carter bustled about, tending to him as he lay down. At some point, he drank a bowl of bitter medicine, not knowing what was in it or if it would harm him. In a daze, he wondered if everything before his eyes was still a dream, and that there was no need to take any of it seriously.

Afterwards, he drifted back into a hazy sleep, plagued by broken dreams.

But this time, what Henry Foster dreamed of was no longer that bizarre, fantastical world, but blood-soaked, muscular warriors, the cold gleam of blades and spears, corpses strewn beneath ruined city walls, rivers of blood, the setting sun shining on reeds by the riverbank…

In the grand library far from the empire’s center of power, the collection of books seemed as vast as the sea…

In the shadowy The Foster Family mansion, a withered figure sat in the cold darkness, their delicate yet piercing gaze giving the sensation of being pricked by needles…

The autumn Pu River reflected candlelight, the water at night like shimmering black satin, tiny waves lapping against the boat’s side like jade. Inside the boat, bodies as soft and smooth as jade lay unclothed, murmuring in their sleep, exuding a deadly allure…

This was the world Henry Foster was familiar with, the world he knew as the son of the Secretary Minor Supervisor, as the hopeless, lawless “The Seven Foster Brothers” who relied on his family’s power to run wild in Xuanzhou and Jinling!

When he opened his eyes, Henry Foster saw the sun was already slanting westward. He felt a bit better. At the bedside was a bowl of vegetable porridge, still steaming, probably just brought in by the ugly maid Ethan Carter.

Henry Foster, famished, didn’t care about anything else and picked up the porridge, gulping it down.

After the hot porridge went down, he broke out in a sweat and finally felt revived. There was no longer the weakness and confusion of being poisoned, and everything before him felt all the more real.

Yet the more real it felt, the stranger last night’s dream seemed to Henry Foster.

The memories of Simon Blake’s life in the dream were so vivid and real in his mind that Henry Foster began to wonder if he’d been possessed by a ghost from a thousand years in the future.

At this moment, the ugly maid Ethan Carter heard movement inside, came in, and saw the young master Henry Foster sitting there in a daze, his expression a bit fierce. She didn’t dare say much, just tidied up the dishes and left.

Henry Foster picked up the beast-knobbed bronze mirror by the bed and looked at himself. It was still the same pale, slightly long-faced, thin-cheeked youth of eighteen or nineteen—

This made Henry Foster feel a little better. At least it was still the face he knew. For a moment, he’d almost thought he’d become that orphaned, middle-aged man named Simon Blake from his dream.

Henry Foster walked out to the study.

Against the wall was a row of bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, filled with books old and new.

Most were thread-bound volumes, but there were also some paper or silk scrolls, and even some ancient-looking bamboo slips—all his father David Foster’s collection. On the shelves were two beast-headed bronze incense burners, and some uniquely shaped stones in white, black, brown, or other colors serving as bookends…

Against the west wall was a couch. Henry Foster remembered that last night, that little slut Yvonne Bailey had drunk with him there, but now the small table on the couch was empty—no wine pot, no cups, not a trace that Yvonne Bailey had ever been there.

Had he been sent to the Qiuhu Mountain villa by his father for so long that he’d lost his mind?