"Ethan Zhang, could you wait a moment? If a fight breaks out here and this dream shatters, that guy will never wake up again."
I quietly stared at the sharp-faced, monkey-like guy, especially the one beside him wearing a dark gold mask. The mask was just like those of the Immortality Society, except this one had two interwoven spirals.
"Who exactly are you? What do you want?"
"You should've heard from your future self. We are the products of the dreams of your future self and your daughter. As long as the two of them are alive, we can't be killed."
I continued to size up the guy with the dark gold mask next to me. He looked silent and reserved, his eyes icy cold.
"In short, we plan to survive in this world, so we invaded the dreams of those three and controlled them to enter Emperor Huang's Domain, activating the Nightmare Weapon."
"Nightmare Weapon?"
The sharp-faced, monkey-like little demon nodded.
"Because this darkness has a will of its own and is hindering our actions, we had no choice. With only the two of us coming along with Qi, we can only try to eliminate the will of this darkness. It's just a will, nothing to worry about, Ethan Zhang. Once we've dealt with the will of this darkness, I'll tell you how to stop it from corrupting everything."
I smiled and shook my head, then glanced at Old Qi standing beside me.
"Do you take me for a three-year-old?"
As soon as I finished speaking, the smile faded from my face. I wasn't going to waste words with these two anymore. The dream seemed to have stalled under their influence, and I had to quickly use the Good Dream in my hand to stabilize the Undertaker's dream.
In an instant, I moved behind the little demon. He stared, wide-eyed, unable to react. My Deathbane Aura Blade stabbed straight down.
With a creak, the guy in the dark gold mask beside me grabbed my Deathbane Aura Blade. I stared in surprise as the gray blade shattered bit by bit in his hand. Instantly, I was sent flying backward. With a boom, the masked man punched at me. It was indeed an Immortality Society technique, but it felt different—indescribable. After taking the hit head-on, my consciousness started to blur.
The scene around me flickered. The two figures didn't attack again, and the masked man had vanished.
Suddenly, my eyes widened—Elder Quinn was gone. Only Tyson Warren was left, still crying and shouting.
"What did you do?"
I shouted, while the little demon in front of me grinned wickedly.
"Sorry, Ethan Zhang. From the very start, the dream you entered was one we designed together."
I immediately understood. The sensation I felt when I attacked, and when I was hit, was fake. Even the feeling of my Deathbane Aura Blade being shattered was unreal—completely fabricated.
"Goodbye. You failed, Ethan Zhang."
With a whoosh, I lunged forward. Just as I tried to grab the little demon, my hand passed right through his body—I couldn't touch him.
"You've noticed, haven't you? Heh, you have no power now. But in this dream, we've set you up as a special observer. Everything is already decided—we've fully taken control of the Undertaker's consciousness."
The little demon vanished. The dream started moving again. I swallowed, quietly watching Tyson Warren below, who looked lost, sitting silently in front of the cart.
The dream began to shift once more. I kept thinking—how could I get out of here, find the Undertaker, and wake him up?
Dream creation?
Suddenly, I remembered something—I had encountered this kind of situation before. Without hesitation, I took out my Wish Balloon. With a crack, the balloon began to split, shining with light. But soon, the light was absorbed back into the balloon, which immediately returned to my body.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
I looked around in frustration. Usually, dreams created by them are based on an existing dream, often drawn from real events in the Undertaker's life. But since this is a dream, there must be differences—places that have been altered.
The Undertaker's consciousness has been drawn into this altered dream, reliving a nightmare from the world of the living. But this dream has been tampered with by those two—I have to find where it's been changed.
Tyson Warren got up, dazed, and walked down the mountain. I quickly followed. There was a faint light in his eyes, as if everything Elder Quinn said to him before leaving had truly reached his heart.
As soon as he entered the city, Tyson started talking to people. Some even cursed at him. He walked with his head down, silent, back to the courtyard where he lived with Elder Quinn. There was a Nine Ghosts Seal pasted on the door—the residence had already been sealed off.
Because of the two Wraiths, Elder Quinn was branded a fraud. Though he truly was a swindler, he had never done anything against his conscience.
Tyson quickly climbed over a wall, tore off the Nine Ghosts Seal from the door, and went inside. Everything in the house was sealed. He sat at Elder Quinn's usual table, quietly looking at the leftover wine—it had been there for months. Tyson picked it up, took a sip, and tears began to fall again.
"Elder Quinn, you saved me again."
Suddenly, I thought of something and slowly walked over to Tyson, patting him on the shoulder. In that instant, Tyson turned, his eyes filled with fear—and a hint of secret joy.
"Elder Quinn, is that you? Where are you? Come out!"
I quickly waved my hand, and the door to the room creaked shut. Tyson smiled with joy.
I'd figured out what to do. Since they tampered with this dream and captured the Undertaker's consciousness, if the dream continued, and the Undertaker experienced something powerful, maybe he'd return to this dream. I decided to take his place and guide Tyson Warren.
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I looked around—it was the table. I went over and wrote three words with my finger: 'It's okay.'
Tyson immediately sat on the floor, sobbing loudly again. I stood quietly in front of him. After a while, he calmed down, and I swallowed.
I kept writing: Starting today, you must practice reading every day.
Tyson nodded.
"I understand, Elder Quinn."
I looked around, pried open a brick in one corner of the room, and Tyson quickly came over. This was Elder Quinn's secret stash—I'd seen him put money in there every day, and now it had grown into a small fortune. Tyson removed the loose brick, pulled out a cloth bundle, and opened it to find a lot of money inside.
That night, Tyson seemed exhausted and went to sleep early.
Early the next morning, officials came by, apparently to show the house to buyers. Elder Quinn's house had been confiscated long ago, and only recently had a buyer been found.
The commotion woke Tyson. I dipped my finger in water and wrote: Don't move, hide.
A constable brought the buyer in and started talking. The house was just behind the busiest street—a prime location.
With a bang, I waved both hands, and the front gate slammed shut. Instantly, I released a burst of ghostly energy, and a fierce wind swept through the courtyard. The dozen or so people inside stared around in terror.
"Get out."
I lowered my voice and said coldly. Instantly, everyone was so terrified they ran out, stumbling over each other.
"Well done, Elder Quinn! Ha ha!"
After Tyson came out, he laughed. Then I began teaching him to read, using a low voice to pronounce the words instead of speaking directly, and writing them out for him with ink.
Fortunately, I know a lot of traditional characters and can read and write them, though not as beautifully as Elder Quinn. I explained that, as a headless ghost, I couldn't see clearly and could only write like this. Tyson believed me.
Over the next few days, I scared off anyone who came near.
Rumors spread in the city that this was a haunted house. Tyson stopped being mischievous and studied diligently with me every day. Half a month passed—he'd made great progress and learned many words. I began teaching him simple arithmetic.
I had to keep this dream going. Only by connecting with the strongest version of Tyson Warren could I call the Undertaker back into this dream.
Time flew by. In a few months, Tyson could write simple essays. I gave him books and made sure he read every day.
Tyson seldom went out—only to buy necessities, then he'd return. People in the city said he still lived in the old house and was bewitched by Elder Quinn's ghost, but no one dared speak ill of him anymore. Many had witnessed the strange happenings at the house.
From time to time, I'd make sure passersby saw something odd—rain on a sunny day, cold near the house, tripping people, or even making them eat grass. Sometimes I'd block the way so no one could pass.
Gradually, the rumors about the haunted house grew. No one dared come near. Some even said Elder Quinn had died unjustly.
Things were going well. I decided to keep using these methods to clear Elder Quinn's name. It might take a long time, but as I planted ideas in people's minds, they began to spread the story of his wrongful death.