The moment I opened my eyes, everything around me had turned to rubble. All the houses near my shop were destroyed. I stared in shock as a bright white light appeared—white branches wrapped around a monster. Instantly, I realized the hideous, vicious creature before me was once an Artisan.
"She’s turned into one of these nightmare fiends too."
I stood up in astonishment. Across from me, Rachel Lan was waking up, and Heavenly Soul was drenched in sweat, holding up one hand.
"Has Qingyuan already infused the Wish Balloon with power?"
After dinner, Samantha Chen sat at the table, using green grass she’d picked to make little dolls and animals. The table was covered with them. She watched her creations with delight.
"Samantha, why is a girl making these things? When you grow up, you’ll be married off."
"Mama, I just like it!"
Samantha Chen replied cheerfully.
"It sped up after those three were finished off. Now that it hasn’t completely devoured everything, I suspect it’s because you’re here."
After Mrs. Chen coaxed Samantha Chen to sleep, she continued weaving. Midnight had passed before David Chen finally returned, humming a tune and slightly drunk.
"Mrs. Chen, I’m home."
I smiled at the happy family. David Chen worked hard outside, Mrs. Chen managed everything at home, and their daughter Samantha was sensible and sweet. Most importantly, David Chen was a master craftsman—he could make anything and often studied new techniques.
I watched them for seven days and finally figured it out—the little girl, Samantha Chen, was the Artisan.
But that night, after David Chen came home, he didn’t say a word. Although he’d been drinking, he wasn’t drunk—he seemed troubled.
It’s fine. Stay here and wait for me. Try to hold on—Heavenly Soul, I’m counting on you. I’m going into this one’s nightmare now.
Black Specter Webs stretched toward the struggling Artisan.
I quietly sensed the wild aura coming from the Artisan, closing my eyes and focusing. The Specter Webs had begun to connect with her.
"Instinct... coexistence..."
Suddenly, I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, countless shards of memory flashed before me—crystal-clear fragments, all belonging to the Artisan.
I understood immediately, but many of those radiant shards were gradually fading away, stained with black. After being affected by the dark disaster dream, the nightmares she created were devouring her memories. If all these memories disappeared, she would likely vanish too.
I had to find a way. I needed to enter one of the memory fragments. All these past memories had now shifted into the dream, which was dangerous.
Just then, a dazzling white light appeared in the distance. I flew toward it—it had to be the Artisan’s strongest dream, and judging by the color, a Wish Balloon. I saw a wall of white light, several meters high like a giant mirror. Without hesitation, I plunged into it, and my consciousness was instantly submerged.
It was soil. I took a deep breath and stretched out a hand, releasing a faint trace of Deathbane Aura. It was weak, but still usable—my power was almost completely suppressed.
Specks of light appeared far away. I walked toward those glowing spots. Luckily, I was a ghost—under this starlit night, I could see everything around me. Slowly, I floated up; my power was unstable, but I was still a ghost at my core. That saved me trouble—people couldn’t see me.
A rustling sound caught my attention. I looked over and saw light coming from a low, tiled house. I immediately extended a Specter Web inside. A woman around thirty, her head bowed, worked at an ancient loom, while a little girl with braided hair lay on a bed behind her.
I looked around and saw nothing unusual. This was probably the Artisan’s dream, though I couldn’t tell what era it was. But it was definitely the Living World. It seemed the three had all spent time here, maybe even lived several lives.
After all, I’d never heard of the Undertaker, Sleeper, or Artisan in the Living World, nor had I ever seen them. Only Old Cat became famous after founding the Nether Syndicate, and then there was Loraine Locke, who bore the inherited fate of Mother Goddess Nuwa in the Living World.
"Where is the Artisan, really?"
Suddenly, there was a commotion. I looked over and saw a drunken man in coarse clothes staggering by. I quickly stepped aside. He knocked on the door of the low house near me, and the woman inside immediately got up to help him, guiding him to a larger bed.
"Wife, I’m late tonight. The bridge at the village entrance is finally finished. Had a few extra drinks at the village chief’s place. Is Xiaomin asleep?"
The woman nodded and turned to look at the adorable little girl lying on the small bed. She walked over and pulled up her covers.
I didn’t think much more and continued to observe. Judging by the moon overhead, it was about two or three in the morning. Most families in the village were already asleep. I quietly pondered.
What exactly is the Artisan’s dream? Where is she? These questions troubled me. I waited until dawn, but as the roosters crowed, a shiver ran through me—a wave of danger surged into my mind.
I looked around—I had to find a shaded spot to hide, or I’d be finished. Right now, I was just a regular ghost. If the sun hit me, I’d die in this dream.
Soon, I found a woodshed. Moss was already growing in one corner. I sighed with relief, my body immediately feeling better. I was in the backyard of the weaver’s house; the roosters crowed all around, and I covered my ears, my head throbbing painfully.
"Mama, let me help you."
A voice came from the yard. Peering through the woodshed cracks, I saw the rosy-cheeked girl with braided hair bouncing beside the woman. The woman smiled and led the girl to the vegetable patch, where they started picking vegetables. After a while, they brought back some old greens and began chopping them. Chickens flocked around, and the mother and daughter started feeding them.
Judging by their clothes, this must be an era close to the Spring and Autumn or Warring States period. But now I couldn’t move—if sunlight touched me even a little, I’d be burned.
Dreams are hard to pin down—sometimes they last only a moment, sometimes days.
I kept watching, listening to the sounds around me. People came by and greeted the mother and daughter. The little girl seemed well-liked in the village—visitors would hug her or give her small gifts.
As sunset approached, I relaxed a lot. I also learned the family’s names: the husband was David Chen, his wife was Mrs. Chen, and their daughter was Samantha Chen. David Chen was a craftsman—he could do carpentry, blacksmithing, and make little trinkets. He was clever and skillful. Whenever someone in the village needed something built or fixed, they’d come to him.
At night, I could finally come out. Tonight, David Chen hadn’t returned home yet. The mother and daughter ate early; as soon as evening fell, Mrs. Chen started weaving. During the day, she did farm work and cared for young Samantha Chen. David Chen would go out early to work for families in need, often not charging—just a meal. For big jobs, villagers paid him. The family lived well.
After dinner, Samantha Chen sat at the table, using green grass she’d picked to make little dolls and animals. The table was covered with them. She watched her creations with delight.
"Samantha, why is a girl making these things? When you grow up, you’ll be married off."
"Mama, I just like it!"
Samantha Chen replied cheerfully.
"You’re not so young anymore, and you sure talk a lot. Time for bed!"
After Mrs. Chen coaxed Samantha Chen to sleep, she continued weaving. Midnight had passed before David Chen finally returned, humming a tune and slightly drunk.
"Wife, I’m home."
I smiled at the happy family. David Chen worked hard outside, Mrs. Chen managed everything at home, and their daughter Samantha was sensible and sweet. Most importantly, David Chen was a master craftsman—he could make anything and often studied new techniques.
I watched them for seven days and finally figured it out—the little girl, Samantha Chen, was the Artisan.
At first, I was puzzled. The names given by the dark will were all different. I was the Watcher, which fit my nature. But I never understood those three—the Undertaker, the Artisan, the Sleeper. What did those names mean?
But that night, after David Chen came home, he didn’t say a word. Although he’d been drinking, he wasn’t drunk—he seemed troubled.