Before Zhao Zilong was known as a warrior, before his name was sung across the empire, he was simply the son of Zhao Jing and Lady Wei. Their home lay nestled in the silent hills of Changshan, where peach blossoms bloomed each spring and the river carried whispers of forgotten dynasties.
Lady Wei was known for her quiet strength. She carried herself with dignity even in hardship, for though the Zhao family descended from noble blood, war and corruption had stripped them of wealth. Yet her heart was rich, devoted to her son and to the values of loyalty and righteousness that her husband had instilled.
But what few knew was that Zhao Zilong's story began long before his first cry. It began on a night when the heavens themselves stirred.
The Dream
It was the seventh month of summer, years before Zilong's birth. Lady Wei had gone to the riverbank at dusk, offering incense to the ancestors. Her heart was heavy, for the land groaned beneath famine and rebellion. She prayed not for herself, but for the people of the empire.
That night, as the moon rose crimson, she dreamed.
In her vision, the sky cracked open, and from the void descended a dragon of silver and flame. Its scales shimmered like stars, and its eyes burned with both fury and compassion. It coiled around the heavens, and with a voice like thunder it spoke:
"From your womb shall come the child of destiny, the Son of the Dragon. He shall wield the spear of justice, guarding the innocent and striking down the corrupt. Through him, kingdoms shall tremble, and the Han shall see both ruin and hope."
Lady Wei knelt in awe. The dragon lowered its great head and touched her gently upon the brow. In that instant, she felt a warmth spread through her being, a fire that seemed to sink into her very soul.
When she awoke, her hands trembled, and she found upon her chest a faint scarlet mark the same shape that would later appear upon her son's skin.
A Mother's Burden
From that day forward, Lady Wei knew her child would not be ordinary. Even before he was born, she sensed his strength. When she carried him, her dreams were filled with visions of battles, rivers stained with blood, and a lone warrior shining like a star amid chaos.
She told no one of the dream, not even her husband. For how could one speak of such a prophecy in a time when superstition ruled hearts and suspicion brought ruin? Instead, she bore the burden alone, raising her son with both love and an iron will.
"Zilong," she would whisper as she rocked the infant in her arms, "you are not mine to keep. You belong to Heaven. But while I still breathe, I shall shape your heart so you may never lose your way."
The Lessons of the Dragon
Though Zhao Jing taught his son the way of the sword, it was Lady Wei who taught him the way of the heart.
She told him stories each night by the fire tales of ancient heroes like King Wen of Zhou, who won not by force alone but by virtue of Guan Zhong, the wise minister who saved a kingdom through loyalty of Jing Ke, who failed in his mission yet was remembered for his courage.
"Strength without compassion," she would say, "is like a sword without a hilt. It cuts all, even the one who wields it. Remember, my son, the dragon is not feared because it destroys, but because it protects."
Zilong listened with wide eyes, his young mind absorbing every word. Even then, the mark upon his chest glowed faintly when he dreamed. Sometimes he told her of visions a great horse of snow, a spear of light, a sky painted red.
Each time, Lady Wei would hide her trembling hands and smile, though fear gnawed at her heart. The dragon's legacy was awakening.
The Omen at the River
When Zhao Zilong was nine years old, a strange event occurred that confirmed Lady Wei's fears and hopes.
The boy had wandered to the riverbank to play. There, a group of older children mocked a poor farmer's son, shoving him into the mud. Zilong, small but unafraid, stepped forward and shouted:
"Leave him be!"
The bullies laughed and pushed him down. Yet when Zilong rose, something in his eyes startled them an intensity far beyond his years. He seized a branch from the ground, and though no more than a child's toy, he wielded it with such precision that the bullies fled in fear.
As they ran, the skies above suddenly darkened. Clouds swirled, and for a brief instant, the reflection of a dragon shimmered across the river's surface, visible only to Lady Wei, who had come searching for her son.
Her heart froze. The dream was unfolding before her very eyes.
The Weight of Silence
That night, as Zilong slept soundly, Lady Wei sat by his bedside. Her husband Zhao Jing had long since passed, leaving her alone to raise the boy. She brushed the hair from her son's brow, tears glistening in her eyes.
"How can I protect you, when your destiny is to leave me?" she whispered.
Yet she knew she could not deny fate. Her dream had been clear the dragon's child was born not to live quietly, but to walk a path of storms. All she could do was prepare him to give him the foundation of love and virtue, so that when war tore at his soul, he would not forget who he truly was.
Years passed, and the boy grew strong. His spear lessons became sharper, his spirit steadier. But always, behind every lesson, every story, was the shadow of the dragon the inheritance of a dream his mother dared not fully reveal.
And in the silence of the night, when the wind whispered across the hills of Changshan, Lady Wei often looked to the sky and wondered:
When the crimson heavens return, will my son remember the heart of the dragon?
As Zhao Zilong entered his fifteenth year, the empire trembled. Word spread across the provinces: the Yellow Turban Rebellion had broken out, and the Han court was in disarray. Villages burned, warlords rose like shadows from the earth, and the land itself seemed to cry out in anguish.
Changshan, though distant from the capital, was not untouched. Refugees wandered through its hills, telling stories of armies clashing, of lords vying for power while peasants starved.
Lady Wei listened with a heavy heart. She knew the time was drawing near. Her son's childhood had been a brief respite, a calm before the storm that fate had promised long ago.
A Warrior's First Test
One morning, Zilong returned from his training at the river, his brow furrowed. He had encountered a group of men bandits, hardened by hunger harassing travelers. Though still young, he had fought them off with a wooden spear, his courage burning bright.
"They fled," he told his mother, "but I felt… something awaken inside me. As if the spear were not wood, but fire in my hands."
Lady Wei trembled at his words. She had hoped to delay this moment, but destiny could not be restrained.
"Zilong," she said softly, "come sit with me."
The Revelation
They sat together beneath the old peach tree where his father once trained. The blossoms had begun to fall, scattering pink petals like rain. Lady Wei held her son's hands, her eyes glistening with a mixture of pride and sorrow.
"There is something I must tell you," she began, her voice heavy. "Something I have kept hidden all your life."
Zilong listened intently.
"Before you were born, I dreamed of a dragon. It was vast and shining, its voice thunderous, yet its eyes were filled with mercy. It told me that from my womb would come a child chosen by Heaven a son who would carry the dragon's spirit. It touched my brow, and when I awoke, a mark lay upon my chest. Later, that same mark appeared upon you."
She paused, her voice trembling.
"You are that child, Zilong. You are not meant for a quiet life. You were born to walk among storms, to protect the innocent and challenge the corrupt. But this path is filled with blood and sorrow. You will bring hope to many, yet your own heart will bear great pain."
Zilong sat in silence, his young heart thunderstruck. The words struck him like lightning. He remembered the dreams the snowy steed, the crimson skies, the spear of light. He had thought them childish fancies, but now he saw them as fragments of a greater truth.
The Dragon's Legacy
"Mother," he said at last, his voice steady despite the storm within him, "if this is truly my destiny, then I shall embrace it. I will not turn away from the burden Heaven has placed upon me. But I swear, by my blood, I shall never let the dragon within me devour the man you raised me to be."
Lady Wei's tears fell freely, yet her heart swelled with pride.
"Remember always," she whispered, "that true strength lies not in the arm that strikes, but in the heart that restrains. Be as the dragon fierce when protecting, merciful when victory is yours."
The Omen Returns
That night, Zilong dreamed again. He stood upon a battlefield shrouded in mist. Countless banners fluttered, and the cries of war echoed like thunder. In the distance, a colossal dragon coiled across the sky, its scales glimmering like a thousand blades.
The dragon's voice rumbled through the heavens:
"Child of my blood, bearer of my spirit. The empire burns, and rivers of sorrow drown the land. You shall ride into this tempest, and through you, justice shall breathe again. But beware power devours as much as it saves. Guard your heart, or the crimson sky shall consume you."
Zilong awoke, drenched in sweat, the mark upon his chest burning faintly. His mother stood in the doorway, watching silently. She knew. The dragon had spoken again.
A Mother's Farewell
As dawn broke, Lady Wei prepared her son's garments. She had secretly kept his father's old spear, reforged by a local smith. Though simple, it gleamed with quiet dignity.
"This is yours now," she said, placing it in Zilong's hands. "Your father would have wanted you to wield it. May it guide your path, as his spirit guides mine."
Zilong knelt before her. "Mother, I will not fail you. When I return, it shall be with honor."
She smiled through her tears. "Do not speak of returning, my son. Speak only of walking the path Heaven has laid before you. Whether you return or not is beyond even the dragon's promise. But know this my love will walk with you always."
Departure
At sixteen, Zhao Zilong left Changshan. The villagers gathered to see him off, whispering among themselves. Some spoke of his courage, others of the strange mark upon his chest. A few, remembering omens of old, bowed their heads in reverence.
Mounted on a sturdy white steed gifted by a distant relative, Zilong rode forth. His figure was tall, his eyes clear, his spirit aflame. In his heart, his mother's words echoed louder than the dragon's thunder.
The crimson sky of prophecy lingered in his memory, yet now it was no longer a source of fear it was a beacon, guiding him toward the destiny awaiting beyond the hills.
Lady Wei Alone
When he vanished into the horizon, Lady Wei stood long in silence. The wind tugged at her robes, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms.
She closed her eyes, whispering into the breeze:
"Great Dragon, I have given you my son. Guard him well. Do not let him be consumed by the storm."
Above, the clouds shifted, and for a moment, she thought she saw the faint curve of a dragon's shadow gliding through the heavens.
Thus began the journey of Zhao Zilong not yet the invincible warrior who would carve his name into history, but the son of a dream, the child of a dragon's promise, and the heir to both love and destiny.
In years to come, bards would sing of his courage, generals would seek his loyalty, and emperors would tremble at his valor. But beneath every tale, every victory, lay the memory of a mother's dream, and the dragon's whisper carried through the crimson sky.