Behind the myth

Fei Chuan woke up, crying.

He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. A lingering sorrow and emptiness remained in his chest, as if his heart had been hollowed out.

That strange dream again.

And for whatever reason, it had made him cry in his sleep.

Fei Chuan sat up, frowning. Not only did he have a severe headache from drinking all night, but the dream also weighed heavily on his mind. He wasn't the type to cry—yet here he was, weeping in his sleep like a child.

Was it because the man… looked like him? Was that why he felt an unfamiliar sense of empathy?

His gaze fell on the bedside table, where a glass of water and a bowl of warm soup sat. Feeling groggy and hungover, he reached for the soup, but then he paused.

It wasn't his favorite dish.