HMHSE - 1

Shen Rong dreamt of rolling around with someone.

With a rustle, the clothes fell to the ground. The person’s arm reached out, strong and powerful, wrapping around her waist.

The candlelight flickered dimly, casting a glow over the man’s broad shoulders as they flexed before her eyes. Beads of sweat trickled down his skin in the light.

She was overwhelmed, instinctively reaching out for something to hold onto. Her hand found the garment that had just been pulled off.

Glancing over, she realized it was her wedding gown—the one she wore on her wedding day.

She abruptly turned to look at the man’s face…

And then, startled, she sat up abruptly.

Pale morning light seeped through the window lattice, stretching long and slanted across the floor, all the way to the foot of the bed.

Shen Rong clutched the thin blanket tightly to her chest, her back drenched in sweat-soaked clothing.

Her breathing was labored, each breath heavy, as though she hadn’t fully escaped the scene from her dream.

“Miss?” Zi Rui, her maid waiting outside, heard a slight noise and called out, “Are you awake? Perfect timing—Master has already ordered us to prepare to depart.”

Shen Rong took a moment to steady herself, then responded with a faint “Mm,” her voice hoarse in an eerie way.

Zi Rui pushed the door open to help her rise. As her hand touched Shen Rong’s body, she gasped: “Why are you sweating so much, Miss?”

Shen Rong’s eyes were half-closed, dismissive as she muttered, “Just a dream.”

Zi Rui was even more surprised: “That’s strange. You’ve never been troubled by nightmares before.”

She was right. Shen Rong touched her burning cheek.

“It must be this place being so remote—it’s made you unwell,” Zi Rui murmured, turning to fetch some fresh water.

They were staying at a Daoist temple, indeed far from civilization. It had taken them over half a month to arrive here from Chang’an, even without any delays along the way.

Shen Rong didn’t respond. She finally opened her eyes fully but seemed still lost in thought. She raised her hand to her neck, finding it damp with sweat.

Not just her neck—her entire body felt like it had been pulled out of water. She wiped her palms absently, still thinking about that dream...

As the temple bell rang softly, signaling the start of the day, the sun had yet to rise. The Daoist monks were already gathered, respectfully waiting at the mountain gate.

Even the two young boys tasked with sweeping had not missed their post, standing solemnly at the end of the line, clutching brooms taller than themselves.

The sudden arrival of the prestigious Changsun family, descendants of founding heroes and generations of nobles from the capital Chang’an, to this remote mountain temple was an unexpected event that caught everyone off guard.

When their group arrived two days ago, even the reclusive head priest, who had secluded himself for spiritual practice, had to make an exception to greet them personally.

Today, as the esteemed guests prepared to leave, the monks naturally stood ready to bid them farewell with equal care.

Though the Changsun family traveled lightly, their entourage still numbered several dozen people, nearly filling the small temple—a display of grandeur rarely seen in such a humble place.

The monks stood silently, watching as attendants and guards bustled about packing luggage, saddling horses, and loading carts. They exchanged glances, silently marveling at the opulence of these aristocratic families from the mortal world.

At the front of the caravan stood a young man dressed in a round-collared robe, his fair complexion and graceful demeanor exuding nobility. This was Changsun Xin, the leader of the journey.

Beside him stood the head priest, holding a whisk, bowing deeply: “Forgive me, Master, for our humble accommodations in this remote area. We hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”

Changsun Xin smiled: “It’s no trouble for me, as long as the ancestor inside hasn’t complained.” He gestured behind him with a wave of his hand.

A servant immediately stepped forward, presenting a gift of money as thanks.

As the head priest accepted it humbly, he recalled the “ancestor” Changsun Xin mentioned—it must have been the woman traveling with him.

When she arrived, the priest hadn’t dared to look too closely. He only noticed that everyone treated her with utmost respect, even Changsun Xin himself following behind her as they entered the temple gates, yet no one found it odd—it seemed natural.

Later, the priest inquired discreetly and learned that the woman was supposedly this master’s younger sister.

But he also heard that this master held a high-ranking position in the Ministry of Works, serving as a young official in the imperial court and was the heir to the Changsun family. Yet his presence and influence paled in comparison to his sister’s.

Furthermore, the affectionate tone in Changsun Xin’s words earlier revealed how extraordinary his relationship with his sister truly was.

Meanwhile, Changsun Xin had glanced toward the temple entrance several times, still not seeing her. He couldn’t help but ask those around him: “Where is she?”

The servant who had just handed over the money had encountered Zi Rui earlier and knew the reason. Leaning close, he whispered into Changsun Xin’s ear.

Changsun Xin frowned upon hearing this: “We’re leaving now, and she didn’t even get a proper rest.”

The head priest shuddered, fearing they had somehow offended this “ancestor” of theirs, and quickly interjected: “May I ask, Master, where do you plan to go next?”

Changsun Xin, who had been staring at the temple entrance, snapped back to attention. Turning around, he replied: “To Youzhou. Do you know the fastest route there, Master Daoist?”

The head priest thought carefully, then nodded: “If you’re heading to Youzhou, this path is indeed the quickest. The distance isn’t far, but Youzhou… well, it’s not exactly a safe place these days.”

Changsun Xin clasped his hands behind his back, unperturbed. What did it matter if it wasn’t safe? There was no place under heaven the Changsun family couldn’t reach.

Just then, the person he had waited so long for finally appeared.

Shen Rong, having finished grooming and changing clothes, and having eaten breakfast, emerged slowly from the temple gates, accompanied by Zi Rui.

It was early autumn, and she wore a wide crimson cloak that caught everyone’s attention. Even the monks, usually stoic as wooden statues, couldn’t help stealing glances at her.

But all they could see was a tall, elegant figure. She glanced briefly at Changsun Xin before walking straight ahead.

As she moved, her arms were tucked beneath the cloak, cradling something partially concealed—a long, box-like object visible through the folds.

The head priest stole another glance at her, recalling that she had been carrying this same item when she arrived. But what was inside?

These aristocrats were truly inscrutable.

Changsun Xin hurried after her, waving his hand to signal an attendant. A quick-footed servant rushed ahead to place a footstool by the carriage.

“We were just waiting for you,” he said, catching up to Shen Rong. He took the opportunity to glance at her face and whispered: “You don’t seem well. I heard you had a nightmare. What did you dream about?”

Shen Rong stopped abruptly, her gaze flickering uncertainly: “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about it, Brother. Please don’t ask.”

Changsun Xin was puzzled: “What did you dream of? I really must know. I just want everything to go smoothly for you on this journey. Don’t let anything upset you.”

By now, they had reached the carriage.

Changsun Xin hadn’t exaggerated—this trip’s carriage for Shen Rong had been carefully selected to ensure her comfort, choosing the largest and most luxurious one available.

When she casually mentioned wanting to see the scenery along the way, he immediately arranged for the windows to be widened halfway through the journey, adding fine gauze to keep insects out.

And that was just one of countless details—he practically treated her like his own precious eye.

Shen Rong placed one foot on the footstool but hesitated, pulling it back. Her expression became strange, almost tinged with a blush: “If I tell you, you’ll probably think I shouldn’t have said it.”

Changsun Xin patted his chest confidently: “How could that be? I’m your brother. You can trust me…”

“A man.”

The sudden words startled Changsun Xin, and he quickly looked around. Fortunately, Zi Rui was quick-witted and had already led the other servants away while the siblings spoke.

Still cautious, Changsun Xin waved at the monks, signaling them to leave and stop gawking. Turning back, he whispered: “In broad daylight, what are you talking about? It’s improper!”

Shen Rong rolled her eyes skyward.

Hadn’t she warned him? He had insisted on asking.

But Changsun Xin leaned closer again: “What man?”

He wasn’t the kind of rigid, conservative person—he simply wanted to protect his sister’s dignity as a noblewoman.

Whether it was an illusion or not, Shen Rong’s expression seemed to freeze momentarily before dissolving into something ethereal and distant.

“I don’t remember,” she said, tucking her cloak in and climbing into the carriage, still holding the box.

Changsun Xin grew even more curious. What kind of man could she possibly dream about?

Aside from her father and brother, she had few close male acquaintances. Who could have entered her dreams?

Could it be…

He glanced back and saw the monks still standing there, unwilling to move until the esteemed guests departed. Realizing it wasn’t appropriate to say more, he waved his hand and ordered: “Depart!”

The convoy rumbled down the mountain, and only then did the monks come alive, bowing deeply as they bid farewell under the guidance of the head priest.

Inside the carriage, Shen Rong leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to catch up on sleep.

The last time she had ridden in such a luxurious carriage leaving Chang’an was three years ago.

But back then, the occasion was far more extravagant, for it was her wedding day.

As the youngest and most beloved daughter of the Changsun family, her marriage was a major event for the entire household. Her husband had been personally chosen by her parents after reviewing countless eligible candidates—

Shan Zong, the eldest son of the Shan family from Luoyang.

The union between the Changsun family of Chang’an, descendants of founding heroes, and the Shan family of Luoyang, a renowned military lineage, was a marriage of prestige admired by all.

Crowds lined the streets to watch, and even the late emperor himself had bestowed gifts in celebration.

At sixteen, she had traveled from Chang’an to Luoyang in unparalleled splendor.

But that brilliance lasted only six months.

During those months, her husband was almost always away leading troops.

When he finally returned, there was no joyous reunion. Instead, it was the end.

That day, his personal attendant knelt outside her room, holding a letter of separation above his head, bowing low as he reported: “Since marrying Lady Changsun, my master has felt no marital affection. Whenever we meet, it feels forced. Now, he wishes... Lady Changsun to accept this letter and bring matters to a close so both may part ways peacefully.”

Shen Rong thought she had misheard until the words were repeated. In disbelief, she asked: “He just married me—is he already dissatisfied?”

The attendant bowed deeply, the letter of separation held steadily aloft: “My master says his mind is made up. He believes he and Lady Changsun are fated to be apart and not suited for each other. There is no need to remain together.”

Who was Shen Rong? She had grown up cherished in the Changsun family, never subjected to such treatment. To her, this separation felt no different from being abandoned.

Furious, she stormed out to find Shan Zong, arriving at the Shan family gates. She didn’t see him but found her carriage waiting, guarded by a contingent of stern-looking soldiers.

The attendant chased after her, bowing again: “Lady... there’s no need to search further. My master has left the Shan family and will never return.”

Shen Rong stared coldly at him, then at the indifferent soldiers, her teeth clenched tightly...

That very day, ignoring the Shan family’s attempts to persuade her otherwise, she turned her back and returned to Chang’an without hesitation.

The entire Changsun family was shaken. Her brother, Changsun Xin, was the first to rush to her side, pulling her aside to ask in confusion: “What happened? Where is your husband?”

Shen Rong’s fingers tightened around the letter of separation hidden in her sleeve. Lifting her head proudly, she declared with righteous indignation: “What husband? He’s dead!”

There were no separations in the Changsun family—only widows.

As far as she was concerned, her husband was already dead.

Her thoughts paused here, and the scene from her dream resurfaced.

Shen Rong opened her eyes, resting her chin in her hand, pondering. Why had she dreamed of such things…

The bridal chamber.

In reality, on their wedding day, the man had received an urgent summons and left immediately. Over the next six months, they rarely met. By the time of their separation, they had never spent a single day as true husband and wife.

She had never dreamed of him before.

Suddenly, the carriage slowed. Changsun Xin’s voice came from outside: “Ah Rong, I’ve thought it over—it was a good dream.”

Interrupted from her thoughts, Shen Rong realized her cheek felt warm where it rested against her hand. She shook herself slightly and raised her head: “What did you say?”

Changsun Xin’s face appeared through the gauze-covered window as he whispered: “It’s about time. You’ve been home for three years now, and that incident is long past. In my opinion, the meaning of the dream is clear—you’re going to experience a new springtime soon.”

Shen Rong thought to herself, what nonsense was this? Was he implying she had been lonely for too long?

“I didn’t know you had become a dream interpreter,” she said, turning her face away. Secretly, though, she replayed the image of the man’s face from her dream.

Truthfully, she hadn’t seen it clearly. In the dream, when she turned to look, all she saw was his strong body—the rest remained veiled in mist.

Her thoughts drifted again, wondering if it was him…

“No, Ah Rong,” Changsun Xin urged her to think positively, speaking earnestly: “Trust me, whoever you dreamed of, don’t overthink it. This is a good omen!”

After a pause, he added: “For now, the priority is to handle the important task ahead.”

Hearing this, Shen Rong turned her head back, glancing at the box in her arms: “Understood.”