The morning light was bright and clear, a gentle breeze drifting through the air. Xiao Meng tidied everything up, and the two of them left the cave. Lü Bu suggested they first take refuge at his farmhouse on the outskirts of Yewang City, and plan their next move from there.
Xiao Meng was puzzled. “A bloody incident has occurred at the Sima household — it’s bound to cause a stir. Shouldn’t we be putting distance between ourselves and Yewang City first…?” Lü Bu smiled. “The townspeople of Yewang City will gossip for a few days, but the imperial court won’t take any real action — and whatever they do will be brushed quietly under the rug.”
Seeing Xiao Meng’s skeptical look, he explained, “Sima Yi harbors the ambitions of a wolf. Would a hero of Cao Cao’s caliber not know this? And he’s not the only sharp-eyed one in Cao’s camp. But the Sima family has deep roots and vast wealth, and Cao Cao has had to rely on their influence. Sima Yi is both cunning and patient, so Cao Cao has had to tread carefully — reluctant to strike at the rat for fear of breaking the vase. So Sima Yi’s death? Cao Cao is more than happy to see it happen.”
Xiao Meng understood at once. “Right. In this world, what matters most is that people meet their end.” Lü Bu seemed to be in fine spirits, speaking lightly. “With Sima Yi alive, his family’s connections and commercial influence were things Cao Cao had to be wary of. Now that he’s gone, everything that centuries-old family has accumulated becomes a piece of meat ripe for the taking.”
Xiao Meng felt uncomfortable listening to this, and with a darkened expression said, “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Let’s go.” She said nothing more. Lü Bu’s expression also faltered for a moment, and he silently cursed himself for his poor timing — for ruining the beauty of this fine morning.
By the time they reached the farmhouse on the city’s outskirts, it was already noon. Lü Bu told Xiao Meng to wait while he went ahead to inspect the farmhouse, and only once he was sure it was safe did he bring Xiao Meng along.
Xiao Meng followed Lü Bu as he pushed open the bamboo gate of the outer garden and stepped inside the farmhouse. It consisted mainly of two earthen rooms — one large, one small — with a stable not far off, all enclosing a generous open space. The two buildings were simple and sturdy, and kept in remarkably tidy order. The farmhouse was surrounded by a canopy of trees, making it quite well-concealed.
She followed Lü Bu into the main room. Though not particularly spacious, it was far from cramped. Just inside the entrance was a common living area, with a firepit at the centre. Along the back wall stood a wooden table and two wooden chairs; in one corner was a water vat, and along the other side was a wooden rack holding hunting tools, bows and arrows, and various odds and ends — yet every item was arranged with neat precision and careful order, which rather surprised Xiao Meng.
The inner room was Lü Bu’s sleeping quarters, its furnishings even more spare: a wooden bed positioned by the window, then a table, a chair, a cabinet — nothing more. Lü Bu gave the inner room to Xiao Meng, and arranged a sleeping mat for himself in a corner of the outer room as his place to rest at night.
Xiao Meng had been about to decline, but then thought that Lü Bu would certainly insist on giving her his room — so why go through the trouble? She agreed without further fuss.
The two of them tidied up and settled everything into place. By the time they were done, dusk was drawing near. Lü Bu went off to prepare something to eat, while Xiao Meng casually picked up a cup from the table and scooped some water from the vat to drink.
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Lü Bu stood before the stove, stirring the vegetables and braised meat in the pot with a wooden ladle, and turned to say, “Xiao Meng, that cup is mine.” “Yours? That cup?”
Xiao Meng looked at the small, delicate wooden cup nestled in her palm and couldn’t help but smile. “…I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so particular. But isn’t it a little small for you?” The image of a big man drinking from such a tiny cup was rather amusing.
“I think it’s just right.” Lü Bu stood up, took a larger ceramic cup from the rack, and handed it to Xiao Meng. “Use this one.”
Xiao Meng took the ceramic cup, her brow furrowing slightly — her expression clearly saying “this one’s a bit too big for me” — but seeing that Lü Bu had no intention of changing his mind, and that she was a guest being sheltered under his roof, she thought it best not to make a fuss.
Lü Bu turned back to attend to dinner. What Xiao Meng didn’t notice was the faint, ambiguous smile that crossed his lips as he bowed his head — and how relieved he felt, inwardly, that he had never carved his name into that cup.
What followed was exactly as Lü Bu had predicted. The mysterious death of Sima Yi and the overnight annihilation of the Sima household sent shockwaves through all of Yewang City, and caused a stir in the imperial court as well.
Strangely, the commotion died down within days. Neither the local county office nor the court in Xu Chang made any move to thoroughly investigate the unsolved case.
Instead, stories began to circulate: that the Sima family had been afflicted by malevolent spirits; that Sima Yi had been possessed by an evil entity and, in a fit of madness, slaughtered his own kin with his own hands. Another rumour held that Sima Yi’s forebears had conducted their business dishonestly in earlier years, causing the ruin of another noble family, whose dying patriarch had laid a curse upon the Simas — that they would not survive three generations — and that the curse had now come to pass. Amid a torrent of increasingly outlandish and absurd rumours, the massacre of the Sima family was quietly buried and forgotten.
More strangely still, those people and clans with close ties to the Sima family — whether in the court or beyond — were swiftly and systematically eliminated one by one. The vast estates and enormous commercial interests that the Sima family had accumulated over centuries were absorbed by the Cao clan and families allied with them. As for these two fish who had slipped through the net — no one paid them any mind at all.
And so Lü Bu and Xiao Meng spent an entire summer in that little farmhouse, in perfect peace and quiet.
In that small farmhouse, a typical day for Lü Bu and Xiao Meng began like this.
Before dawn, Xiao Meng would rise. She was a light sleeper, and every morning at this hour she would be woken by the sounds of Lü Bu training in the front garden.
Practising martial arts at the hour of Mao was a habit he kept without fail, rain or shine. Xiao Meng would lean against the window and steal glances outside, her heart stirring every time she watched — the shadow of his halberd flashing and spinning, his movements swift as wind and thunder. It was as though the very air around him was drawn into his motion. Xiao Meng could see that his martial skill was advancing at a breathtaking pace each day, already surpassing the level of an ordinary military general.
Then Xiao Meng would get out of bed and begin her day’s work: first, carrying water from the stream beside the farmhouse, then heating it and preparing the morning meal, and readying hot water and a clean change of clothes for Lü Bu inside the cottage.
This routine had begun the day they first settled into the farmhouse. One day, after Lü Bu had finished his training, Xiao Meng came out and handed him a set of clothes, then directed him to wash up before coming to eat — “because I’d rather not punish my nose.”
Xiao Meng had said this with perfect seriousness. After Lü Bu had washed and freshened up, the two would eat breakfast together. After the meal, Lü Bu would head out into the mountains to hunt, and occasionally venture to the villages outside the city to buy food or necessities — all paid for with the silver Xiao Meng had taken from the Sima household.
Xiao Meng had once suggested that she go out on errands from time to time, but Lü Bu reminded her that she was still a fugitive wanted by the court, and insisted she stay behind to mind the house. While Lü Bu was away, Xiao Meng would spend time practising archery, then wash up and take a short nap.
When Lü Bu returned, he would prepare the evening meal — insisting on cooking himself — and they would dine together once Xiao Meng had woken. Over dinner they would talk freely about everything under the sun. Xiao Meng was particularly curious about his childhood, and the customs and landscapes of his hometown, Bing Province. By unspoken agreement, however, neither of them ever brought up the Sima family or the time in Xiapi.
After dinner, Lü Bu would go to the stable to tend to the horses, and occasionally make repairs to tools around the farmhouse. Xiao Meng would sweep and tidy the house, or mend clothes. Then each would retire to bed, rounding off another full and tranquil day.
There was another unspoken understanding between them: neither ever mentioned “what to do next,” or “where to go from here.” It was as though they had been living here since time immemorial, and would naturally, as a matter of course, go on living this way.
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On a midsummer night filled with the ceaseless singing of cicadas, Xiao Meng lay in bed and thought: aside from sharing a bed, his life with Lü Bu now was really no different from that of an ordinary married couple — they might even have reached the stage of an old husband and wife…
Young as Xiao Meng was, his youth had been spent amid the flash of blades and the storm of blood. The last time he had known such leisure and idleness, he recalled, was just after Dong Zhuo had been slain — during the days when Lü Bu had kept him under detention at the General’s Mansion.
“Rather than say detained, I would say — sharing the world together.” The words Lü Bu had once said to him echoed in his mind again. He remembered vividly: Lü Bu had fixed his gaze on him as he spoke those words, clad in gleaming general’s armour, his brows sharp as swords, his eyes bright as stars, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. How full of vigour and spirit Lü Bu had been then — second only to the Emperor himself, just one step away from the pinnacle of power.
After Dong Zhuo’s death, rumours had swept through the city: that Lü Bu had been seduced by a beautiful singing girl — that is, by Xiao Meng himself — had fallen out with Grand Tutor Dong, and ultimately committed the heinous act of killing his own foster father.
And yet even so, Lü Bu had not killed him to prove his innocence. Even when Sima Yi held the imperial decree accusing Lü Bu of treason — evidence left by Dong Zhuo — making an enemy of the Sima family would have come at a heavy price, but it was not entirely impossible.
Xiao Meng stared blankly at the ceiling, thinking that at the time, they had been enemies rather than friends. For someone as ruthless as Lü Bu, that was a kind of devotion that had gone far enough. Unwilling to let me go, he kept me detained at the General’s Mansion, even trying to force me to “submit.”
Xiao Meng thought: if he had truly been willing to comply back then, Lü Bu seemed perfectly prepared to accept the infamy of having committed patricide for the sake of a beauty. A man of intelligence ranking among the Eight Extraordinary Strategists — and yet he had been prepared to do something so foolish. Was he a hero, or a madman?
Xiao Meng also wondered: if he had revealed to Lü Bu then that he was a eunuch, what would Lü Bu have done? It was a question that had long intrigued him.
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“Don’t call me Mother — I am not. And you know, I am a…”
“Father knows you are a eunuch, but I know he has feelings for you — he simply never said so aloud. The room you are staying in now is the one my mother used to live in.” During the days in Xiapi, the little one had once said this to him. Xiao Meng understood — the outcome would have been the same regardless. It made no difference.
“Men all share a common weakness — either a lust for power, or a lust for beauty.” This was something Lü Bu used to say often.
But when both power and beauty are placed before you, you lose your head. This is what Xiao Meng thought. Perhaps Lü Bu never understood: to reach the pinnacle of power, one must first become its slave. One’s own feelings and desires must be made so worthless before power that they can be cast aside like a worn-out shoe. But he could not do it — because he loved himself too much, and cherished his own life too dearly.
He would not allow himself to become a slave to any person, thing, or cause. And this was precisely why that “one step away” was a threshold he could never, no matter what, cross.
If everything were to begin again — would he have made different choices? … Xiao Meng let out a long sigh. He already knew the answer — just as he knew himself.
The outcome would be the same, after all.
Xiao Meng tossed and turned in bed. He sensed that Lü Bu was the same. In these past days, he had noticed that Lü Bu did not sleep very well.
Xiao Meng breathed a quiet sigh, for he knew what it was that kept Lü Bu from sleep. Turning this over in his mind, his eyelids at last slowly grew heavy…
It was a sweltering night. That night, I had a dream.
I dreamed I was back at the old royal city of Luoyang. Zhang Lei, Guo Ang, and I had been completely surrounded by Lü Bu’s forces. I left the two of them behind, and step by step, walked toward Lü Bu. When he was right before me, his towering figure took my breath away.
But… I still spoke. “I… am only a mercenary. I do not wish to die without knowing why. If General Lü is willing to spare me, then I… I will be yours…”
I even reached out and took his hand, placing it on my shoulder. “As long as the General takes me away… I… am willing to do anything for you!” The hand of this man — as awe-inspiring as a god — rested on my shoulder, and in silence, slid gently up toward my neck. He gazed at me, his eyes a tangle of sharpness and bewilderment.
I felt him reading me carefully, excavating me. Utterly and thoroughly. Every part of my past, every secret I held — all the way to the darkest, most hidden corner of my heart, the last sliver of shadow I could never let another see — lay bare before him. Simply knowing this, even within the dream, was enough to make my soul take flight.
At last, he looked deep into my eyes, pinning my very spirit in place. At this closeness, I noticed for the first time that his eyes were deeper than other men’s, yet his irises lighter. His lashes were longer than other men’s, and curved faintly upward. Such eyes, set in his face of proud and piercing handsomeness, were — unexpectedly — extraordinarily tender and full of feeling…
Wait. I remember… there was something else I was supposed to say. But I had no time to think, for his face was drawing nearer and nearer. And then — he kissed me.
Hm? Something is wrong with this dream…
Where is the blade hidden in my mouth? How is it gone? No hidden blade — only the fierce, urgent tangle of lips and tongue, here in this old royal city, beneath the gaze of thousands of encircling soldiers. I do not know how much time passed before he finally released my lips.
His face appeared before me again. He smiled at me, bewitchingly, and I heard him say — “So… I am not the only one who feels something. Am I right…”
Xiao Meng jolted awake.
He sat bolt upright, his whole body drenched in a warm sweat, damp hair clinging to his flushed cheeks, his bright and beautiful eyes wide with confusion — making him look breathtakingly lovely.
He gasped, his racing heart only slowly beginning to settle. “Xiao Meng, what’s wrong?” Lü Bu’s gentle voice came softly from beyond the bedroom door.
“It’s nothing. I just had a bad dream.”
“…Would you like a cup of hot water?”
“No need.” Xiao Meng answered quickly. “I’ll sit up for a moment and then go back to sleep — it’s not even dawn yet!”
“…All right. Rest well, then.”
Xiao Meng heard Lü Bu walk away. Only then did his small hands rise to cover his face. He drew his knees up to his chest, trying to conceal the trembling of his body.
He was frightened. Shaken to the core. For this was the most real dream he had ever had. Not because the dream itself had felt real — but because, within it, he had known with perfect clarity that it was a dream.
Worse still, this was not a replay of the past. Because every word he had spoken to Lü Bu in the old royal city of Luoyang had been false — every word a lie crafted to lure him into a trap.
But in this dream… he could not deceive himself. He remembered the feeling in the dream — every word he had spoken within it. Every word… had come from the heart, spoken with longing, and with sincerity.
I do not wish to die without knowing why…
If you are willing, then I am yours…
As long as you take me with you, I will do anything for you…
“So I am not the only one who feels something. Am I right.”
In the dream, Lü Bu had said this to him.
On that day beneath the old royal city of Luoyang, those had been the lies he had told Lü Bu. But now…
Heavens.
“I am not the only one who feels something. Am I right.”
Now, Xiao Meng asked this of himself.
That night, Xiao Meng did not sleep again. The vivid dream he had just had, and the real-life deception of the past, surfaced and intertwined over and over in his mind.
Until he began to believe — that back then, when he had tried to play this little trick before Lü Bu, he had not managed to fool him. But he had managed to fool himself.
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End of Chapter 11
Copyright Notice: Chapter 11 of “Records of a Burning Dream” — “A Kiss That Topples Kingdoms” — is an original work written by Jing Xixian (Vampire L). All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, reprinted, adapted, redistributed, translated, or used for commercial purposes in any form without the author’s prior written consent. © Jing Xixian (Vampire L), All rights reserved.
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