Chapter 36: I Am Your Father

Today is Sunday, but for Shi Fei and Old Liu, working on Sundays has become a habit. It is perfectly normal for them to only take two or three days off a month. Sometimes, when things get busy, they might only get one day off. In a small city like this, a job that offers a two-day weekend and no overtime pays no more than three thousand a month. If you want to earn more money, you have to pay a price—not just in terms of technical experience, but also in time. Overtime is as normal as it gets; for Shi Fei, a "996" schedule is actually a blessing. That kind of job would be far too easy.

People always dream of a job that is easy, allows for leaving on time, and offers great benefits and pay. If such jobs exist, they never come to the average person. Now in his thirties, Shi Fei understands this well; all he has to do is live his own life well. People of the same age have already become department-level officials, achieved financial freedom, or become senior executives in large enterprises. Yet, he is just an ordinary person struggling in society—an ordinary person who has accepted his own mediocrity.

Hearing Old Liu finish speaking, Shi Fei said, "Past two o'clock—that’s when I just woke up."

Old Liu asked with surprise, "What were you doing up at that hour? Sneaking around? Do you have some part-time job I don’t know about?" He chuckled, "With your looks, you’re in that line of work? The tastes of wealthy women are truly hard to fathom!"

"..." Shi Fei cursed, "Nothing good ever comes out of your mouth."

"Then what is it? Don't tell me you're suffering from insomnia and vivid dreams at such a young age? Kidney deficiency?" he teased.

Shi Fei retorted, "Enough, enough. If you keep talking, I’m going to die young." He added, "But I really have been having a lot of dreams lately."

Old Liu knew Shi Fei wasn't one to spout nonsense, so he asked, "Were you like this before?"

"No."

"Then I think you’d better go see a doctor."

Shi Fei asked, "Go to the hospital? Is it that serious?" In his mind, going to the hospital was reserved for major illnesses.

Old Liu said, "Have you not had a check-up in a long time? Young man, don’t be afraid of the doctor. In this day and age, there aren't many telephone poles left with advertisements on them; if you don’t go to the hospital, where else are you going to get checked?"

Shi Fei let out a laugh and said, "As expected of a bald expert, you certainly know a lot."

Old Liu wore an air of seasoned maturity, though he was actually about the same age as Shi Fei. Perhaps it was the pressure of work, life, or family that had caused him to go bald. Amidst their mutual mockery, the two began their day's work.

***

Having not slept well at night, how could they have any energy during the day? That was simply impossible. By noon, both were yawning, speaking with neither vigor nor strength. With no other choice, Shi Fei took the coffee he had bought the year before out of his drawer, tossed a bag to Old Liu, and brewed a cup for himself. Old Liu returned the favor by buying a can of Red Bull for Shi Fei when he went out for cigarettes in the afternoon.

When they finally finished their work and clocked out, it was already dark outside—past eight o'clock. Shi Fei didn't even eat dinner; he went home, washed up, and went straight to bed. He was exhausted. This time, he didn't struggle to fall asleep; he drifted off quickly. His consciousness drifted as if submerged in a dark ocean.

Then, he woke up.

He opened his eyes and saw a man of about forty looking at him with dissatisfaction. "Fu'er, you’re dozing off again."

"Who are you..." Shi Fei looked at the middle-aged man in front of him and couldn't help but ask.

The man was dressed in a dark green robe with an exquisite jade pendant at his waist. His expression was calm and restrained, and the passage of time had left faint traces on his face, giving him both the fortitude of a martial artist and the elegance of a scholar. Who could this be in his dream?

Murong Bo looked at the bewildered Murong Fu and said, "I am your father!"

"I’m your father!" Shi Fei couldn't help but retort. In a dream, no one could be his father. He wasn't dreaming to be someone’s son!

"Scoundrel!" Murong Bo was enraged. How could a son shout at his father like that?

Shi Fei scanned the room. It was a study. In the center sat a wide desk, neatly arranged with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, along with several open books. Behind the desk stood a large carved screen painted with landscapes—misty clouds and towering peaks—creating an atmosphere of tranquility. On both sides of the study were tall bookshelves filled with various volumes: mostly martial arts manuals, some classics and histories, and occasionally rare books from foreign lands. As for himself, he was dressed in a blue silk robe with slender arms and legs—he was clearly just a child!

Murong Bo was about to reach out to discipline Murong Fu, but he suddenly noticed the vacant look in his son's eyes. It didn't look like an act. He had only been dozing for a moment, how could he...

"Fu'er, what is wrong? Let father check you!" He reached out toward Shi Fei’s hand, intending to take his pulse. Shi Fei, however, couldn't let him grab him; with a light flick, he brushed against Murong Bo’s hand.

Murong Bo felt that this move was effortless yet highly sophisticated; his hand was deflected, making it impossible to take the pulse.

"You..." Seeing Murong Fu display such a brilliant move, Murong Bo couldn't help but rejoice. "Fu'er, what is the name of this technique? Where did you learn it?"

Shi Fei felt his body and pulled a black handgun from his robes. As expected, he had not only inherited the martial arts from his previous dream, but also this thing.

"Fu'er, why are you not speaking?" Murong Bo was displeased to see his son pull out a strange object and ignore him entirely. He had watched his son grow up. He had no patience for literature and only a superficial understanding of the Xianbei script. Among Chinese classics, he had no interest in history or philosophy. As for martial arts, he only pursued those with great power, ignoring the underlying principles.

Yet, these flaws were overshadowed by his strengths. Because, from a young age, Murong Fu had been deeply interested in restoring his country. The Murong family of Gusu had a seven-hundred-year legacy, but not every generation was obsessed with restoration. Just as among normal people, there are sometimes lunatics, a family of lunatics occasionally produces a normal person. Murong Bo was a "restorationist," and his son was, too. It was enough that his son wasn't just playing around as a spoiled brat, but was thinking of continuing his father's work. Even if his talent was mediocre, it was still acceptable.

Shi Fei said, "I am not your son."

Murong Bo replied, "You are."

Shi Fei countered, "Who am I?"

Murong Bo said, "You are my son!"

Shi Fei asked again, "I am asking what my name is!"

Murong Bo said, "You are the eldest son of the Gusu Murong family, the future Emperor of Great Yan. You are Murong Fu, my son."

Murong Fu?

Shi Fei froze. So this was where he had ended up in his dream. Every world he visited was a martial arts novel he had read in his youth.

Shi Fei shook his head and said, "I am truly not your son."

Murong Bo asked, "Then who are you?"

"I am..." Shi Fei shook his head and said, "Forget it. Just treat me as a madman."

Murong Bo said, "No madman ever calls himself a madman."

Shi Fei replied, "Murong Fu will go mad sooner or later; I've just gone mad twenty years early!"