Han Qian, who fell asleep at his desk after being drunk, seemed to be experiencing a completely different life in his bizarre dreams.
An iron box with four wheels runs faster than a purple-maned horse, and a huge iron bird filled with people flies in the sky...
Towering towers and high-rise buildings crowd the earth...
In the palm-sized metal box, there are many little people wearing strange costumes and performing plays inside...
What the hell is this?
Han Qian, who had a bad temper, didn't know why he had such a strange dream, as if he was trapped in a strange world that was completely different from the current one.
Han Qian struggled to wake up, but an indescribable feeling of paralysis controlled his body. As soon as his eyelids moved, the bizarre dream seemed to have been hit hard by a hammer, and it was instantly shattered.
Then, it felt like a sharp metal object was piercing into the heart, stirring violently.
Day, it hurts so much.
I just drank half a bottle of wine, how could I feel so uncomfortable?
The severe pain seemed to tear his soul out of his body and tear it into pieces. The pain was so painful that Han Qian wanted to yell, but he just held it in his throat and couldn't scream!
There was the sound of rummaging through boxes and cabinets in the room, like the sound of wind. Maybe the window was open and the wind was blowing in and blowing the pages of the book.
Han Qian tried hard to open his eyes.
"Huh?" A suppressed exclamation came from not far away.
"What's wrong?"
"The Seventh Lang of the Han family just moved?"
"The wine was mixed with phantom poison powder given by Madam. This guy looked like he had died of a sudden illness just now. His breath had been cut off. How could he still be moving? Don't be suspicious..."
A man and a woman were whispering in the room, looking for something; the woman's voice sounded familiar.
The severe pain in his chest made it difficult for him to think. He didn't understand what the two men meant, but there was no hint of kindness towards him from their tone.
"Shichiro..."
There was a burst of rapid and thin footsteps outside the house.
Someone called him in a low voice outside the yard. It seemed that he was aware of something unusual in this room, but he was afraid of disturbing the people here and did not dare to shout loudly.
"Don't tell me that Qingyun is asleep and dreaming, right? How could you hear a woman in the young master's room at this time? We still don't want to go in. With the young master's temper, if he really wakes him up, there will be another call.
The random swearing is really unbearable." People outside the yard hesitated to come in.
"Someone is coming, let's go..."
The two people in the room discussed in low voices, and then heard the window being pushed open.
Han Qian opened his eyes, his vision was blurry at first, and his consciousness was not fully awake. He vaguely saw two figures, like geckos, rushing out of the window one after another.
When the petite figure behind jumped over the window, he looked back, and his eyes met with Han Qian's. Unexpectedly, Han Qian was actually not dead, and his delicate and beautiful face showed a shocked look.
The black outfit wrapped up her petite figure without leaking, but her fair, palm-sized face was as stunning as a hibiscus flower that had just bloomed under the moonlight.
Yao Xishui!
Why is she dressed like this?
At this time, Han Qian thought of what happened yesterday.
Yesterday was the forty-seventh day that he was sent to the Qiuhu Mountain Villa by his father Han Daoxun for self-cultivation. He was extremely bored and irritable. He took out his anger on his maid Qingyun and kicked him out. However, the door of the courtyard was locked by the family soldiers from the outside.
Can't escape.
He was sitting in his study sulking, and he didn't expect Yao Xishui to come to visit suddenly. He walked into the study and asked someone to prepare wine to drink and have fun with him.
Accompanied by a beautiful woman, Wu's music was soft and waxy in his ears, and although the Rouge Zui from Wanhonglou had a slightly sour and pungent taste, Han Qian didn't care.
It's just that he didn't drink a few glasses of wine. Taking advantage of his drunkenness, he just boldly stretched his hand into Yao Xishui's clothes and fell asleep...
At nightfall yesterday, Yao Xishui was wearing a purple dress when he went into the house to drink. After drinking the wine, his beautiful face was as red as red. Under the moonlight, the beauty of the sky was intoxicating. But at this time, Yao Xishui in front of him was wearing a black outfit, as if
The female thief who walks at night still looks shocked when she opens her eyes?
Perhaps hearing someone approaching from outside the yard, Yao Xishui squatted on the window sill and hesitated for a while, and then his body was like a flimsy feather, submerged in the dark purple velvet-like night.
The deep purple night outside the window really gave people a strange feeling, so strange that Han Qian suspected that he had not woken up from his dream.
The severe cramping pain subsided slightly at this time, like a tide.
Han Qian woke up from a daze and saw his body lying on a dark-colored, fine-textured book table facing the window. Waves of twitching pain came from his numb limbs.
Han Qian was panting violently, as if he was a fish being pulled out of the water.
The cramping pain in his chest gave him an uncontrollable sense of suffocation, making it impossible for him to struggle out of the dream, as if the bizarre and bizarre dream was the real water and the real river that he relied on for survival.
A piece of rice paper is spread out on the desk, with bronze dragon-shaped paperweights at both ends, and a few lines of writing written in official script. The ink is still wet and can penetrate the back of the paper. Several thread-bound books are piled randomly in the corner of the desk.
The brush is placed on the inkstone.
An ancient bronze lamp stands next to the book desk. The lamppost is lifelike, as if there is an ancient monster stretching out a thin and long scaly foot from the void, stepping on the smooth polished stone floor next to the book desk. The lotus-shaped lamp
In the bowl, there is half a layer of lamp oil, and a wick rope as thick as a little finger is burning, scattering bright red light and shining on the desk...
This bronze lamp is going to be put up for auction. I don't know if it will alarm collectors.
auction?
What a weird word!
Han Qian was shocked by the word that came into his mind.
In that strange and bizarre dream, "auction" was an ordinary word, so familiar and cordial. But when I woke up, how could I still think about everything in front of me with the thinking in the dream?
What kind of dream is this?
Why did this dream feel so real to people, so real that it made him doubt that everything in front of him was a dream?
Han Qian endured a severe headache and worked hard to piece together the messy dream fragments.
The dreamland is a world after thousands of years have passed. The emperors and generals he is familiar with have long been annihilated. The low-status prostitutes and actresses have become high-profile performing stars or artists, but they still cannot escape the fate of being played by the powerful.
Man's understanding of the world is much vaster than he could imagine. Even the sun, moon and stars that he can see day and night, like the earth he stands on, will be called planets by people a thousand years later.
Craftsmanship and miscellaneous arts, which were once regarded as heretical practices, have become the mainstream of practical knowledge and have a development that is unimaginable to Han Qian. However, the study of moral principles since the rise of Confucianism in the Han Dynasty has long been thrown into the pile of old paper.
.
The war still did not stop, and the bloody killing efficiency was so high that Han Qian was frightened. Firearms similar to mechanical crossbows could harvest human lives like wheat.
A magical iron egg, thrown from a flying iron bird, can destroy and level a huge city.
The aristocratic families have not completely disappeared. Their power does not seem as prominent as before. They cannot kill their slaves, but they can still control the world through "money" - more obscurely, "capital" - and become the world a thousand years later.
It constitutes the most core factor of power.
In the dream world a thousand years later, he is an orphan named Zhai Xinping, who grew up in a welfare institution, studied in a government-run school, and did not work in a private equity investment fund until his youth.
The accumulation of a large amount of wealth in twenty years also allows him to enjoy the glory and wealth that the world will have in a thousand years, and to be aware of the intrigues in the world in a thousand years.
One night, he came out of a bustling bar with two beautiful girls he had just met in his arms, and was about to go to a hotel to enjoy the ultimate joy of being together. When a black car roared out from the back alley of the bar and drove him
He flew into the air.
The bizarre dream suddenly stopped at that moment, which also marked the end of his dream life.
pain,
it hurts,
What kind of messy dream is this?
"Shichiro!"
The door was pushed open from the outside, and an old man in gray robe with short chin and beard and gray hair stood outside the door. He glanced into the room suspiciously, and stared at Han Qian's face for a while with sharp eyes.
, probably because he didn’t see anything unusual, he said in an explanation,
"Qingyun said that there were unusual noises in the Seventh Young Master's house, and I was worried that a thief had broken into the villa. I hope the Seventh Young Master is fine. I won't disturb the Seventh Young Master's night reading, and will go out first."
After saying this, the old man closed the door and left.
You look like you are fine now?
Seeing that Fan Xicheng, the soldier from his hometown who had been with his father Han Daoxun for many years and had controlled him in the villa, just left. Han Qian was so grumpy that he wanted to call him to stop, but when he opened his mouth, he felt his mouth feel. The base of his tongue was numb and he was speechless.
The numbness in his limbs was still very strong, making him unable to stand up. Although the cramping pain in his chest was not as severe, it was definitely not uncomfortable.
How the hell could this be what it feels like to be drunk?
Thinking of the conversation he just heard, Han Qian felt a chill running up from his tailbone.
Poisoned yourself?
Was it the little bitch Yao Xishui who poisoned him together with the concubine whose only blurred back was visible?
Fan Xicheng, that old miscellaneous dog, took one look and went out. Didn't he know that little bitch Yao Xishui came to visit at night, and didn't he realize that he was poisoned?
