“Shen Zong? What is it?”
It wasn’t until Wen Zhihan opened his eyes and spoke up that Shen Zong snapped out of his trance, his heart hammering like thunder.
Unsure of what had come over him, he could only hurriedly excuse himself and bolt from the room.
After who knows how long, Wen Zhihan finally wrapped up his immediate tasks, recalled the Nascent Soul that had been detached from his body for three days, and returned to his bedchamber with weary steps.
There awaited a bed belonging to him, alongside another bed he had specially prepared for Shen Zong.
Shen Zong appeared to have already lain down to rest.
The Leaving-Man Tree had been placed by the window, refusing to enter the room because it found the indoor temperature too stifling.
Noticing that Wen Zhihan was also preparing to turn in, the Leaving-Man Tree extended a slender, tiny twig from the flower pot, wrapped it around Wen Zhihan’s strands of hair, and began to speak.
The clues you asked for have been found.
Wen Zhihan immediately prepared to ask for details, only for the tree to cut off his impending words.
Shh, keep your voice down. Your disciple isn’t fully asleep yet, he’ll hear you.
The lingering soul you’re looking for is indeed severely injured and amounts to nothing.
Although its exact location is unknown, I found traces of its recent activities, it seems to be practicing ghost cultivation lately, but its soul is incomplete! Cultivating to make up for that is practically impossible, so just as you instructed me, I purposely cast out a piece of bait.
Wen Zhihan nodded.
Previously, when the Leaving-Man Tree had complained to him that tracking down Bai Chixin was too troublesome, searching for a single lingering soul in the vastness of heaven and earth was practically like finding a needle in a haystack, he had proposed fishing.
That selfish scoundrel Bai Chixin feared death above all else, so Wen Zhihan had instructed the Leaving-Man Tree to deliberately leak word to the outside world about an ancient spiritual medicine capable of repairing the soul and helping ghost cultivators reshape their physical bodies, appearing only once every ten millennia.
This was precisely what Bai Chixin needed most at present.
Wen Zhihan wasn’t worried about him taking the bait, because such a treasure was entirely fictitious to begin with. Having cultivated in this world for over a century and thoroughly read the original novel, he knew better than anyone that a magical artifact capable of simultaneously repairing a ghost cultivator’s soul and reshaping their physical body simply did not exist.
If merely one of those conditions were proposed, such as reshaping a physical body, it could naturally be accomplished.
Yet attempting to achieve all of these feats simultaneously was utterly impossible. Once the path of ghost cultivation was chosen, nothing could reshape a physical body, only the original, native body could be used. Conversely, abandoning ghost cultivation in order to reshape a physical body made it impossible to repair the deficiencies of the soul.
Ghost cultivation, physical bodies, and soul restoration were three mutually exclusive things that could never be attained simultaneously for someone like Bai Chixin, who had arrived in this realm through possession.
Yet trapped in a desperate impasse, Bai Chixin would likely find it difficult to discern this truth.
Judging by the Leaving-Man Tree’s intelligence, that fellow had indeed resorted to ghost cultivation to prolong his existence, turning into a living-dead monster.
This truly was the only way to scrape by and survive beneath his lethal strikes.
Sure enough, a mere two days had passed before Bai Chixin began inquiring everywhere, searching frantically for this spiritual medicine.
On the third day, to heighten the illusion of authenticity, Wen Zhihan borrowed a term mentioned in the original story called the Mirror Lotus, claiming that this was one of the core medicinal ingredients of that spiritual medicine.
Legend had it that a senior predecessor who achieved holiness through their physical body had relied precisely upon this item to cheat death and reshape their physical body.
Next, things unfolded just as you said, Wen Zhihan.
As the Leaving-Man Tree recounted the latest news, it still seemed rather spooked, shuddering its leaves.
Once the rumor spread, people began fighting over a non-existent prize. That lingering soul suddenly remembered my existence, seemingly convinced that I hold all the secrets in heaven and earth, and has already begun searching for me.
Well then, shall we go wait by the stump for the rabbit to crash into it?
Wen Zhihan shook his head, speaking in the softest possible whisper,
“Let’s wait a little longer.”
What he wanted was not simply to capture Bai Chixin’s lingering soul.
The lingering soul, he would capture, the truth, he would also bring to light. He intended to strip away all places for Bai Chixin’s crimes to hide, letting the various immortal sects know that this fellow had possessed him, and how he had abused and smeared his disciple Shen Zong.
He wanted the entire world to know that the hardships Shen Zong had endured over these past eight years were all unwarranted accusations and unprovoked suffering.
Wen Zhihan fell asleep.
He still drifted into an uneasy slumber, though not due to any turbulence in his soul, but because he was once again reminded of many forgotten memories.
During his battles in the alien realm, he had also experienced wavering in his Dao heart, once contemplating on the brink of life and death, if he were to accept his own death, cultivating with his soul as the foundation and becoming a ghost cultivator, his power would undoubtedly grow far greater.
Becoming a ghost cultivator would mean he wouldn’t be drained of his full strength due to his soul leaving the physical body without a vessel, he wouldn’t face the constant near-destruction of his soul time and again, which inflicted severe trauma upon it.
Yet, if he were to compromise and become a ghost cultivator like that, perhaps he truly would never be able to return.
The prerequisite to becoming a ghost was accepting death.
He did not want to die.
He wanted to use a living person’s physical body, standing in the sunlight just as he had on the day of his departure, carrying warmth, a heartbeat, and breath, returning to his Qiongwu Peak to stand upright and proud before his disciple.
In his dream, Wen Zhihan recalled the hesitation and unease of that period once more. On one side lay greater strength, meaning the ability to earn sufficient points more rapidly, on the other side lay the idyllic prospect of returning to set everything back on track.
Yet ultimately, until his Dao heart fractured, Wen Zhihan never became a ghost cultivator.
He feared that severing the final thread of connection between himself and his physical body would leave him forever unable to prove that he truly was Wen Zhihan.
Fortunately, he had persevered.
Wen Zhihan accumulated more and more points. Although arduous, his situation turned out far better than most people’s.
Until one particular time, when he performed exceptionally well and completed yet another mission, the system informed him that he had won an opportunity for an Additional Reward.
Such a reward would not consume his accumulated points, yet it could fulfill a minor wish of his.
As long as the original point value required for that wish was less than ten thousand, it could be realized free of charge.
Wen Zhihan’s wish was simple, to return. He had never contemplated any other desires. The first time he encountered such an Additional Reward, he stood in place pondering for a long time.
He was powerless to change anything, nor could he accomplish much, a point value of ten thousand was too small, and when most people received it, they used it to secure personal benefits and advantages for themselves.
Yet what he truly desired was far, far more costly than ten thousand points, with a mere ten thousand, he couldn’t even heal a single wound for Shen Zong, who was far away in another plane.
He couldn’t come up with anything else, and the system did not rush him, simply displaying a countdown timer in the boundless expanse of space. If the time ticked down to zero, it would be deemed as forfeiting this reward opportunity.
When only the final ten seconds remained, Wen Zhihan finally arrived at his Wish.
He asked the system, “Can I send a dream?”
The countdown paused, and the system materialized instantly.
Of course you can, but you only have the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.
The time of a burning incense stick was already long enough.
Wen Zhihan hadn’t anticipated that it would truly be possible. His eyes widened slightly, bringing a long-absent sense of heartbeat-accelerating anticipation.
He could see his disciple.
Even if it was only within a dream.
Wen Zhihan looked forward to it immensely. In fact, due to being overly nervous, he failed to fall asleep successfully for a long time, his mind incessantly spinning through numerous things he wished to say to Shen Zong.
Yet when he truly entered the dreamscape, seeing his disciple’s back standing quietly not far away, he suddenly found himself struck dumb.
What could he say?
Wen Zhihan merely smiled quietly at his disciple, cooperating with the dream setting by pretending not to know this was merely a dream, and accompanied his disciple through a most ordinary game of chess.
The chess pieces in the dream were even blurry and indistinct, making it impossible to tell where the game had progressed or to calculate who was winning or losing.
They sat together beneath the afternoon shade of the trees, mirroring the routine of many days past.
Merely hearing A-Yuan address him as Master seemed to provide a sense of sufficiency that required nothing more.
It wasn’t until the time of the burning incense was nearly spent that Wen Zhihan stood up, gazed deeply at Shen Zong’s face, and spoke softly,
“Then I’m heading out.”
In the dream, he stepped onto a cloud boat for a distant journey, while Shen Zong stood at the threshold of the courtyard, remaining silent until he woke.
Wen Zhihan remained lost in thought for a long time after waking up, before finally letting out a bitter laugh.
Why on earth had he thought the time of a burning incense stick would be enough just moments ago?
The system asked him with genuine incomprehension,
Since you’re so worried about the protagonist of that plane, why didn’t you say more while guiding the dream?
Wen Zhihan shook his head.
“I cannot speak of it.”
Why?
Because I might not be able to return alive, what could I possibly say?
Wen Zhihan sat huddled in the corner, lowering his head bit by bit and burying his face in the crook of his arm as a heavy nasal tone crept into his voice,
Tell him I’m still alive, that that master isn’t me, and then have my soul scatter here, leaving him to wait for me for a lifetime?
Apologies.
Beside the bed.
Shen Zong was not asleep.
He stood at the head of Wen Zhihan’s bed, motionless and utterly silent, gazing fixedly at that sleeping face for who knows how long.
Long enough for the potted plant by the window to emit a sound of Goodness, you’re a ghost, long enough for Wen Zhihan to seemingly murmur in his sleep.
Clutched tightly within his hand was a set of venomous silver needles capable of sealing blood upon contact, while unable to kill a cultivator possessing a Nascent Soul, they were enough to force them back into their physical shell.
In the depths of his eyes blazed a fiery crimson red resembling churning magma. The harder he strained to catch the murmurs of Wen Zhihan’s dreams, the louder his inner demon cursed beside his ear, rendering everything entirely unintelligible to him.
Taking advantage of the rest period, he had forcibly practiced a secret mind-art acquired from his past life, using brute force to elevate his cultivation realm to the late Foundation Establishment stage, ultimately triggering the backlash of his inner demon right then and there.
He ought to have hidden away, sealing the weakness of his inner demon tightly out of sight, rather than standing before Wen Zhihan’s bed, practically leaning over his body, solely to catch a few snippets of sleep-talk.
Shen Zong felt he might have gone slightly mad, yet at the same time he experienced an acute mental clarity, his cognitive faculties sharp as crystal. He knew what he was doing, and he knew he ought not to be doing it, he had simply lost control by a fraction, this was hardly the first time, and he was entirely capable of enduring it.
He recalled hearing somewhere in his past life that if a person fell asleep while another’s gaze stared unblinkingly at them without being able to wake, they would experience nightmares.
It sounded like a baseless rumor, a story meant to trick children.
Yet Shen Zong suddenly recalled this notion and found himself unable to resist staring intently at Wen Zhihan for a prolonged period. As he watched, an urge to kill began to stir within him.
And then he witnessed it, Wen Zhihan indeed began to dream, and he appeared thoroughly unsettled in his sleep.
Shen Zong couldn’t help growing curious, what kind of nightmare could that possibly be?
A nightmare of being sliced to pieces by him, his disciple?
Or a nightmare of his crimes being exposed to the world and his reputation ruined?
Or perhaps simply a nightmare of impending death?
These were all nightmares that the hypocrite Wen Zhihan he knew ought to have experienced. Yet judging by Wen Zhihan’s actions over the past two days, alongside his current uneasy sleeping posture, it didn’t look like a nightmare of that style at all.
He leaned in closer to observe, unable to resist conjuring fantasies under the instigation of his inner demon, what an immense pleasant surprise it would be if he could simultaneously slaughter his master within his nightmare.
Just as he was gripping the poisonous needles with lethal intensity, he suddenly caught sight of something through the moonlight…
Wen Zhihan was crying?
Because of a dream?
A wave of unprecedented shock struck Shen Zong. At the sight of that single teardrop, his mind went entirely blank, silencing even the incessantly chattering inner demon in a rare moment of synchronization. His chilled fingers reached out on pure instinct, brushing against the damp sensation at Wen Zhihan’s temple.
“…”
Wen Zhihan was sleep-talking once more.
The next second, the person still caught within the dreamscape fluttered their eyelashes, gazing out with half-closed eyes and unfocused pupils.
“A-Yuan…”
This murmur was finally caught clearly by Shen Zong.
“Mn, go back to sleep.”
Wen Zhihan’s eyelids felt exceedingly heavy. Without a moment’s thought, he yanked the figure beside the bed straight into his arms, flipped back the duvet, enveloped the massive bulk of Shen Zong entirely within it, and pulled him tight in a fierce embrace.
His right hand even gave him a couple of gentle, coaxing pats as if lulling him to sleep.
“…”
What?
Shen Zong stiffened all over, his eyes flying wide open in the darkness as he froze completely.
A steady, tranquil breath brushed against the crook of his neck, piping hot and moist, controlling his entire body far more powerfully and effectively than any binding incantation.
“Mas… ter?”
Wen Zhihan had already plunged back into deep slumber, offering no response whatsoever.
Several breaths passed, and the inner demon that had clamored noisily within Shen Zong for so long fell miraculously silent.