The soldier tried to shout louder than the crowd but it was a useless effort. Ten thousand people were shouting “Prince Hadjar” all at once. No one knew who started it—maybe one of the young soldiers couldn’t stand it any longer and drew their sword or, maybe, someone from the crowd threw a stone because they felt angry and powerless.
Regardless, a rebellion broke out in the square that day. It wasn’t the first and clearly wouldn’t be the last. It was quelled right then and there, flooding the street with blood. But not even that could prevent the common people from spreading the legend.
They spread the news that the Prince was gathering his army somewhere far to the north. And that, very soon, he would take the capital by storm, destroy the mine, and free his people from the tyranny of his murderous uncle.
And none of them knew that Hadjar, feeling ashamed, had actually fled from the square before the sword even killed the boy.
Wrapped up in his black clothes, he returned to the brothel, where he sat in his room until nightfall.
In the evening, the mistress’ daughter came to him. Her smell was a combination of a meadow full of flowers and a mountain stream. She sat down on her knees, in front of him.
“Give me your hands, Hadjar,” she asked.
“I can do it myself,” the cripple said. “You don’t have to…”
“I don’t mind,” the girl’s smile was so warm that it could’ve melted a glacier.
Hadjar moved the edge of his cloak aside. Eina didn’t flinch like the rest at the sight of his scabs and ulcers. She gently applied a special cream to his wrists and hands, which kept them healthy
“Thank you,” Hadjar said.
“You’re welcome,” Eina replied. “I owe Stepha.”
Hadjar looked out the window.
It was getting dark.
The lights had already been lit and well-dressed officials, as well as ordinary rich people, were already gathering in the courtyard.
“There’s no way you owe her enough to justify taking care of me for the past five years.”
Eina smiled at him. Sometimes, Hadjar felt that, for the sake of this girl’s smile, he would gladly cross even the impenetrable Eternal Mountains to find the potion he needed. He would do anything to insure the horrors of this world never touched her angelic smile.
He wasn’t in love with her.
Love was unattainable for someone like him.
But he felt gratitude toward Eina.
During his ten years of wandering, Hadjar had come up with a simple code he would live by. Those who showed him kindness and treated him well would have it repaid a hundredfold. Those who hurt and mistreated him would get a hundred times worse in return.
Unfortunately, not many people were in the former category.
“Would you believe me if I said that my mother asked me to do this?” She pulled a bandage out of a small medical box.
She then carefully wrapped Hadjar’s hands with the bandage. She even put his gloves on for him, to spare him the trouble.
“I wouldn’t.”
They looked at one another for a while. She was a beautiful girl whose mother took care of her and treasured her. Despite the fact that Eina had been living in the brothel since childhood, she hadn’t ‘slept’ with any man.
Few people wanted to get on Senta’s bad side. She knew many secrets and a lot of people owed her. On top of that, the mistress of ‘Innocent Meadow’ was at the Formation stage.
Suddenly, Eina asked: “Is it true that if you love someone and they love you back, you will turn into a beautiful beast?”
Hadjar just laughed.
“That’s an old story I made up so I could eat meat for dinner.”
The girl laughed as well. Hadjar rubbed his neck mechanically as he watched the tinkling, leaf-shaped pendant on her collar. It was unlikely that he would ever be able to put something around his neck again and not wake up after having a nightmare about being a slave once more.
“I thought so as well,” Eina said.
She helped Hadjar stand up and handed him his instrument.
“Mother’s asked you to play on the Dream Floor today.”
The Dream Floor? That was where ‘the crème de la crème’ went to have fun. Only the people at the very top of the food chain ever had the opportunity to visit the Dream Floor. Hadjar hadn’t played there yet.
“What about Leila?”
“She hurt her throat,” Eina sighed, sad about her friend’s misfortune.
Hadjar didn’t want to know how exactly the singer (and a brothel worker) had hurt her throat. But, because she had, Hadjar would get the chance to play for the elite today. Maybe he’d finally be able to learn something about a potion to restore his nodes and meridians. Maybe there was even another way.
“Will you tell me a new story today?” the redhead asked him.
“Of course,” Hadjar answered distractedly.
He often told her fairy tales and stories from Earth, adapted to the local way of thinking, of course. It was the only way he could thank her for her kindness.
As he climbed the stairs, Hadjar missed the sad look Eina gave him.
Chapter 19
Refusing Eina’s help, Hadjar climbed the stairs with difficulty. Facing the gates to the ‘World of Dreams’, he held his breath for a second and tried to calm his wildly pounding heart.
He hadn’t experienced the difficulties that came with puberty in his past life because he simply hadn’t been able to feel his body. It hadn’t been ideal, but it had still been much better than his current situation. Now, living in a brothel, he would constantly find himself desiring something he couldn’t afford.
Even if he had a hundred times more savings and suddenly decided to spend it all on indulging his wants—no girl would’ve agreed to it.
When the doors opened, Hadjar was calm. But he still felt a powerful surge of desire, even through his forced serenity.
Vats of water were positioned along the perimeter of the huge hall. Girls in wet, translucent silk capes danced in them. It would be impossible to call these capes clothes. The girls were graceful and seductive beyond all reason. They weren’t naked, but the wet cloth stuck to their bodies and inflamed the imagination. It somehow looked even more alluring than simple nakedness.
The branches of various fruit trees hung from the ceiling. One could just raise their hand and pluck a juicy, sweet fruit right off of one. Other girls smeared the lips of addled guests with this juice, which was full of the fragrant aroma of flowers and fields. Only the highest-ranking officials were in here. Hadjar even noticed the sons of the most important military and economic leaders among them.
They were hugging several of the ‘fairies’, pushing their hands underneath their clothes and causing them to make languid, sweet sighs in response.
Some officials, unable to endure it any longer, were busy in the corners covered with thick fabrics. There, the things that had made the ‘Innocent Meadow’ famous were happening.
Half-naked ladies were walking around and lightly kissing men. This ensured even the more reluctant patrons were coaxed into participating. It was all so exciting.
Hadjar closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
He tried his best to calm the surge of heat that had arisen just below his waist.
“As you asked, honorable Eternal Stream, here he is,” Senta suddenly appeared in front of the tables.
She was dressed in red, loose clothes and unsettled people with her cold, unapproachable beauty. No one would dare to even think about touching her, let alone trying to paw her like the rest of the girls.
“Is this your best musician?”
Hadjar couldn’t believe it, but it seemed like the heavens had finally taken pity on him and had sent a famous Scholar to help him. Eternal Stream had managed to become famous throughout the whole Kingdom in the last six years.
No one knew the true story of this man’s life, but it was said that he was the heir of some famous clan that had
gone on a journey to learn more about the world and its mysteries.
People said that he could make medicine that cured thousands of diseases and knew the answers to all questions.
He was dressed very plainly, in green clothes that were belted with a simple leather strap. His calm, gray eyes were alert, despite the situation.
There wasn’t a single trace of a beard on his face, and his thick hair had been tied into a tight ponytail.
He looked young, but in this world, age was difficult to discern.
“Yes, he is.”
“And what is this musician’s name?”
“Hadjar, venerable Eternal Stream.”
The Scholar immediately looked more interested, even if only for a moment.
“What a simple name, hopefully, the musician is better.” He said sluggishly.
No one mentioned that this was the name of the Prince of the Kingdom. Nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the local general, whose son was, at present, groping some of the most desirable women that Hadjar had ever seen in his life. And that was saying a lot, when you took into account that, in his past life, he had practically lived his life on the Internet.
“Can you play ‘The Song of Claird’?” The Scholar asked.
Hadjar knew this work well. Men with broken hearts often asked him to play this difficult song, but Hadjar played it skillfully and with ease.
“I can,” he nodded.
“Could you play ‘A Summer’s Day’?”
That was an even more complex piece of music, and few talented musicians would risk playing it without rehearsing it for a long time beforehand.
“I can.”
What about ‘Six Moments before Life’?”
The hall became a little quieter.
‘Six Moments before Life’ was a legend about the birth of the world. It told the story of ancient gods that, tired of their loneliness, exhaled their six lives into the vast void, creating this majestic world. They sacrificed their lives to let others live.
A piece of music more complicated than that one would be impossible to find in this world (at least in the Kingdom itself). And yet, at the same time, this was the easiest task of all for Hadjar.
His mother used to sing that song to him every night before bed. He remembered all the notes and chords easily, but every time Hadjar played the song, he remembered the smiling Queen and her scent… her warm, gentle hands holding him.
“I can.” Hadjar sighed forlornly.
Many people took his sigh as a sign of impending disaster. Perhaps the Scholar thought so as well.
“Play.” He waved his hand imperiously, leaning back against the pillows.
And so, Hadjar began to play. With each new note, the heat in his heart was quickly replaced by the cold of the desert night. He was no longer interested in the dancing girls or the carnivorous, greedy laughter of the visitors. All that mattered to him in that moment was the memory of his mother.
He remembered her laugh, how she would run after him in the garden, how they’d painted Elaine’s nursery together.
What was happening to his sister right now? What horrors was Primus subjecting her to?
And the longer Hadjar played, the quieter it became. The people stopped what they’d been doing before, plunging into the sad music which was full of hope for a new dawn. They listened, but not for long.
Everyone soon resumed laughing, speaking and even yelling. The musician no longer interested them and only the scientist was still listening to the music, as if he were looking for answers to some of his own, hidden questions.
“Did you like it, venerable Scholar?” The Mistress bowed low.
“I'm satisfied,” Eternal Stream nodded. “I haven’t heard this melody performed so well for a long time. May I ask you for a room where I can talk to Hadjar in private?”
“My musician isn’t an employee of this institution, honorable Scholar. But I’m sure that if you look for…”
“And I’m not a fan of men, dear Senta.”
She bowed immediately.
“Forgive me!”
The Scholar waved it off casually.
“I want to reward this musician, but to do so, I have to know his desire. So, do you have a spare room we can use?”
Many were now interested in their conversation. They were jealous of Hadjar’s luck. Receiving a reward from one of the most famous scientists in recent years was an incredible success.
“Of course,” the owner nodded. “Let me show you the way.”
They went down a floor, and she opened the doors to a rather spacious room. There were several screens, mattresses and silk sheets there. Nothing superfluous, but still a relaxing enough atmosphere to indulge one’s desires in.
Senta, after a quick glance at the musician, went out and closed the door behind her.
Hadjar, without any hesitation, fell to his knees in front of the Scholar and pressed his forehead to the floor.
“Please, venerable Scholar, tell me if there is a cure that can restore meridians and nodes in the human body after they’ve been destroyed.”
The seconds passed as if they were years. Hadjar didn’t hear an answer, and the only thing that intruded on the silence were the echoes of the eternal feast in ‘Innocent Meadow.’
Suddenly, Hadjar heard the exact same sound that his own forehead had made a few seconds ago.
“Don’t you remember my saying?” A voice asked through tears. “Have you forgotten what I’ve taught you, your Highness?!”
Hadjar slowly looked up.
He saw the haughty scientist kneeling before him in a low bow, in the same pose Hadjar himself had been in.
“I’ve been looking for you, my Prince... I’ve been looking for you for so long…” the Scholar sobbed.
“Your saying…” Hadjar repeated.
An almost forgotten scene from his childhood flashed before his eyes. An old, strict man, and his saying, “Southern winds breeze over internal streams bringing cold winters with them.”
The First Royal Scholar had called it the eternal cycle of life in the world, where the death of one person always gave birth to another.
“Teacher?!”
Chapter 20
“My Prince,” repeated South Wind, who was now named Eternal Stream.
“But how?” Hadjar asked while clumsily attempting to get his Mentor to stand back up.
Finally, after hugging, they sat down on a long, narrow bench. Neither of them wanted to ponder why it had been placed next to the bed and what sort of acts were usually performed on it.
“First, I must tell you a story, my Prince,” and so, South Wind began to talk. “I managed to escape from the Palace the same day the coup happened. For six months, I traveled alongside a trade caravan. We went to the Hot Valley…”
Hadjar’s eyes opened wide in surprise. The Hot Valley wasn’t just far away, it was unimaginably so. How could they have possibly gone there in just half a year? Apparently, South Wind had gotten lucky by joining up with a rich trade caravan that had strong and durable animals who were perhaps more than mere horses.
“What happened to Nanny and the Master?”
“I don’t know,” the Scholar answered sadly. He continued talking. “A terrible storm struck. The caravan was almost completely destroyed, but some lucky people, including me, managed to hide from it in a cave. Unfortunately, the exit out of the cave ended up completely blocked off, so we ventured deeper into it. We had been walking for almost a month and had run out of food and water, but then we stumbled upon a city.”
They walked through the cave’s tunnels for a month?! How deep was that cave?! And they found a city? Hadjar thought in astonishment.
“I won’t go into all the details, but I’ve managed to become the disciple of a great Scholar, a cultivator of the Lord Stage.”
“The Lord Stage?” Hadjar asked. “What’s that?”
“The Stag most Imperial cultivators can only dream of. The level that almost borders on the ma
gical. Look here, my Prince.”
The Scholar took a rectangular piece of yellow paper out of his pocket. Unknown symbols were inscribed on it in red ink.
South Wind held it between his index and middle finger and began to murmur something. At some point, the talisman flashed and a ghostly, golden diagram began to circle above their heads.
“Analyze!”
[The request is being processed ... The request cannot be processed. Error —’Unknown Object’]
“What was that?!”
“Don’t be afraid, my Prince, it’s only a small spell. You see, even though I’ve only reached the stage of Transformation, it’s not difficult for me to use the knowledge of the great sage.”
A spell? There are spells in this world? Fortunately, the neural network had managed to record everything in great detail for later.
“As you can see,” South Wind pointed at his strong, young hands and smooth face. “The great Scholar can easily rejuvenate a person. He did it as soon as he accepted me as his disciple. But, alas, I am only talented by the standards of our Kingdom and can’t do the same for you.”
The Scholar looked longingly in the direction of the east, where the vast desert lay.
“My abilities are below average by the metrics of this world as a whole. I learned only a little from the wise man, and that knowledge was enough to make me the ‘Honorable Eternal Stream’.”
“And why have you returned?”
“To find you, my Prince,” the old man responded with a nod toward Hadjar. Admittedly, he now looked young and was very handsome. “During my apprenticeship, a caravan came to the city. As it turned out, some cunning merchants knew about his existence and had decided to bring him goods that can’t be acquired underground. Some of them had heard about the situation in our Kingdom.”
There was a pause.
“Please, will you allow me to examine you, my Prince?”
The Scholar reached for the black cloak covering Hadjar. He hesitated but eventually allowed him to pull off his hood.
“I hope demons eat Primus’ body and soul!” South Wind breathed out, lowering his hand. “After bribing some greedy officials, I managed to find out about some of the things that happened to you, but this…”
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