"Shut up." I shouted, my eyes fixed on the female ghost. Lowering my head, I muttered an apology, then looked up again, meeting her gaze with seriousness.
"Thank you. You helped me back then, didn’t you?"
I couldn’t help but recall when my cousin and I snuck into the crime scene through the warehouse’s small window. The shelves collapsed, yet, miraculously, some unknown force flung them aside, leaving both my cousin and me unharmed.
"Room 216, right? Thank you. Once I deal with this damned freak and get out, I’ll go after the killer. If he’s still alive, I’ll drag him out and hand him over to the police."
The female ghost’s mouth moved. Though I couldn’t hear her, her lips parted twice—forming the words ‘thank you.’
"Ah, there’s no need." I smiled, twisted off Room 216’s doorknob, and with a creak, the door opened. I stepped back into the purple-tinted space, surrounded by wails of resentment.
"Hmph, Ethan Zhang, I didn’t expect you to find your instincts so quickly. You’d better thank John Chou. That bastard would do anything for you, it’s sickening! Just wait—the next dream won’t be so easy."
"Do whatever you want, screw you!" I cursed, as Mona Ouyang shrieked almost hysterically.
"I’ll kill you, Ethan Zhang! Next, I’ll torment you bit by bit in your dreams. Don’t worry, I won’t let you die quickly. When the time comes, you’ll be begging and screaming…"
"I won’t beg, and I won’t scream. Since I’m here, I’m going to find Old Moe and John Chou, and bring them back."
I kept falling, Mona Ouyang’s eerie laughter echoing above me. Suddenly, in the purple-tinted void around me, I caught a glimpse of black. I smiled, swinging my arms desperately in the air.
I grabbed it—I caught the malignant energy seeping from the darkness. Yanking hard, I plunged myself into the blackness.
Earlier, Granny Zinian told me that as long as the Core Dream wasn’t completely devoured, it would slowly recover. I could use this opportunity—when entering the next dream—to return to the Core Dream and try to contact John Chou.
A familiar apartment building appeared before my eyes. I spread my black wings in midair and swooped down onto the small pavilion outside the building. Looking around, I saw that much had returned, but only half the building remained—so many places were shrouded in darkness, empty and void.
No matter how powerful Mona Ouyang was, she couldn’t control everything at once. My sudden return to the Core Dream meant she couldn’t attack me right away, giving me a brief moment to breathe.
But I had no way to contact John Chou. It seemed I could only wait for him to reach out to me.
After experiencing that last dream, I vaguely sensed what was happening. The so-called dream framework was probably built from human desire, consciousness, and emotion—layer upon layer, taking shape before me as a dream.
But dreams are always incomplete, unstable. The scenes inside are never as clear as reality. I couldn’t make out faces, or even the details in that hallway.
Only what I had seen, heard, or experienced before could appear in my dreams. Watching the apartment building gradually restore itself, I finally felt a bit of relief.
Even if John Chou didn’t contact me, I’d have to find clues Old Moe left behind in the dream. But how to find them was another matter. Though the Vermilion Bird once said that even an idiot could spot Old Moe’s clues, it was easier said than done.
Thinking back, the last time Old Moe was trapped in a dream, it was probably inside Vivian Ouyang’s dream. Realizing this, I knew I had to enter Vivian Ouyang’s dream.
"You little brat, how dare you mess with me."
Mona Ouyang’s mocking voice echoed, and all around me, those gray Dream Wraiths appeared again. I smiled, spread my wings, and flew toward the entrance to the courtyard, glowing with purple light.
As soon as I entered, I crashed into two soft masses. Two hands grabbed my head, squeezing tightly.
"What’s wrong, Ethan Zhang? Are you so desperate for a woman you’re losing your mind? Want me to give you a little fun?"
Her voice was full of allure, and a faint fragrance wafted to my nose. My eyes widened—it was Mona Ouyang, radiating a sinister charm. She gazed at me with soft, watery eyes, and I couldn’t help but blush.
I hurried to push her away, but Vivian Ouyang kept both hands pressing my head against her chest.
"Don’t be so hasty, Ethan Zhang. If I let go, you’ll fall into the next dream."
"What are you trying to do? Do you know something?"
I asked again, but in an instant, Mona Ouyang’s voice rang out. I looked up—it was that vicious Dream Sovereign, Mona Ouyang, right above us.
"Bitch, get out of here. This is my domain—you have no right to interfere."
"Ethan, looks like we’ll only meet again if fate allows. Next time, when that damned freak above isn’t watching, I’ll secretly tell you more about the Ouyang Family. Hehe."
With that, Vivian Ouyang—her face full of sinister charm—let go of me, and I started falling. I looked up and down, seeing two Vivians with different auras, which was bizarre. All I knew about Vivian was her relationship with Rachel Lan, her wealthy family, and that she was warm-hearted inside but cold on the outside.
As for why Vivian Ouyang became the vessel for this Dream Sovereign, I had no idea.
Light gradually swallowed my form from all sides.
Suddenly, I heard the clatter of dishes. My consciousness returned—I was home. My father and mother were serving food, and I held a large bowl of soup. Abruptly, I moved, and the soup crashed to the floor with a bang, shattering the bowl. Hot soup and food spread across the floor.
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"Oh, Ethan, you’re so careless."
I looked up—it was my father, young and frowning, but clearly not planning to blame me.
"Dad, sorry."
During dinner, our family was cheerful and laughing together. I felt good, but then I realized—this dream couldn’t be that simple. It wasn’t going to be a good one.
I looked around. On a brown cabinet sat a big color TV, with teacups and a plate of fruit beside it. The apartment was small—three bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen. Each room was barely ten square meters, and the largest, the living room, connected to the kitchen, was less than thirty.
After my father adopted me as a child, I lived here. Whenever his friends visited, the place felt cramped and crowded.
After dinner, my parents started praising me. I was confused until they pulled out a primary school award certificate, saying my grades had improved and I should keep working hard.
Though I was happy, I was also puzzled. Back in primary school, I always lagged behind in my studies—my grades were average at best, sometimes even poor. I never received any awards.
But seeing my parents so happy in the dream, I joined in their boasting. Deep down, I thought maybe this was just a reflection of my lifelong wish to be praised by them.
Growing up, my father never placed high expectations on me. He just wanted me safe and sound—after all, I almost died in that terrible incident.
Later, I worked hard at my studies, but maybe I was born slow-witted. My grades were always mediocre, never great. Compared to my cousin, who barely studied but scored high, I felt inferior. That’s why, despite his troublemaking, teachers and my uncle always forgave him.
I smiled knowingly. My cousin once told me, back in high school when I was still in junior high, that to avoid getting scolded by parents or disliked by teachers, you had to get high scores. Even if you were mischievous, teachers would just say you were quirky—as long as you didn’t go too far, there’d be no real trouble.
I got up and went to the kitchen to help my parents wash the dishes. My father was watching the news, my mother was sweeping the floor, and I stood at the sink, looking out at the cold, empty courtyard.
It really felt like I’d returned to childhood. I couldn’t tell if this was reality or a dream anymore.
Suddenly, a shadow flashed past the window. I jumped, nearly dropping the bowl in my hands. A ghost, face bluish and swollen, flickered past outside my window.
Though I only caught a glimpse, I felt something was wrong. Of course it was still a dream. I quickly finished cleaning up the dishes, glancing around.
I returned to my room, muttering to myself.
"Is that damned freak planning to use my childhood dreams against me?"
But then I thought, I never had dreams like this as a kid. Suddenly, there was a knock at the window. I opened it in surprise—it was my cousin. My mouth hung open in shock.
It was my cousin from childhood, with messy hair and lots of trinkets, grinning at me.
"Come on, little brother, let’s go play!"
I shook my head. My cousin reached out his hand. I really wanted to take it, but after a moment’s thought, I sighed and grabbed it, following him out the window from the second floor.
Outside, the sun was blindingly bright—a vast stretch of farmland. Looking back, I still saw my home, the window open, but beyond it was nothing but endless fields.
"What the hell is this? Damn, it really is a dream, isn’t it?"