Chapter 153: The Bald Man

It was another night of rain, and once again, the group failed to reach a village or town, forcing them to spend yet another night cramped inside the carriage.

Rainy nights invariably breed irritation and restlessness, but Chen Jin possessed cultivation. To him, the patter of rain was far quieter than the steady thumping of his own heart and the rushing of his blood. Thus, Chen Jin easily slipped into a state of meditation.

The others were utterly exhausted from the arduous journey, so after swallowing a few mouthfuls of dry rations, they had all fallen fast asleep.

Sharing the carriage with Chen Jin were the coachman and little Mao.

The coachman snored rhythmically, while little Mao drooped at the mouth as he slept, a thin trail of saliva pooling on his chin.

At that moment, Chen Jin's body stirred slightly—specifically, his hands.

With a gentle flick, the slender fingers of both hands began to dance nimbly in the air.

He was casting a spell: Entering Dreams.

It was no simple magic. Unless one's spiritual will was firm and unshakeable, it could not be performed. Consequently, this art was typically reserved for practitioners at the Spirit-Fixing Realm, or those who utilized magical artifacts. Lü Dongbin had relied on an artifact when he used it previously, but Chen Jin was casting it purely through his own power, without any external treasures.

Still, Chen Jin's current cultivation was drawing ever closer to the Spirit-Fixing Realm. In truth, aside from lacking the five-element genuine qi, there was little difference between him and a standard Spirit-Fixing Realm cultivator.

As Chen Jin's fingers fluttered and gradually came to rest, gently folding over his crossed legs, little Mao's breathing instantly grew rapid.

The scenery before Chen Jin's eyes underwent a drastic mutation the moment his hands settled upon his lap.

A vast, chaotic expanse of hazy gray fog filled his vision, a scene closely resembling the primordial creation myth Chen Jin had always imagined.

Yet, after lingering in this primordial chaos for a short while without catching a glimpse of Pangu cleaving the heavens and earth, Chen Jin had no choice but to part the clouds himself to gaze upon the mortal world.

At this moment, Chen Jin possessed no physical body. He felt as though he were nothing more than a pair of eyes, leading him to deduce that his true form within this dream was simply vision itself.

Yet, even limited to a pair of eyes, Chen Jin could easily part the chaotic clouds. These were merely constructs of imagination, effortlessly swept aside, and all the more so since this was spun from the mind of a mere child like little Mao.

As the gray, chaotic mist parted, Chen Jin beheld a small village. It consisted of only thirty or so thatched mud huts. Though the settlement was quite populated, the faces of the villagers were remarkably indistinct. It was not quite correct to call them blurry; rather, the moment one looked away, the mind simply failed to retain them. Even with Chen Jin's formidable memory, he found himself unable to recall their features, needing to look back repeatedly just to confirm what their faces actually resembled.

These people wandered aimlessly through the village, their intentions entirely inscrutable. They behaved much like background NPCs in a shoddy online game, endlessly performing utterly meaningless chores. For instance, a group would repeat the task of drying rice grains over and over and over again. Even when Chen Jin shifted his gaze away from them, they continued the labor unabated.

Elsewhere, a child chased a dog through the alleyways, the hound fleeing round and round the village while neither of them showed the slightest sign of fatigue.

The overarching hue of the village was a drab, ash-white. Anyone immersed in it would feel a profound sense of desolation and decay, utterly devoid of sunlight or color. Though Chen Jin found this palette unpleasing, he could do nothing to change it; after all, he was not the master of this dream. Perhaps even little Mao could not alter it, having already cemented this foundation unless he were to concoct an entirely new dream.

Chen Jin toured the village, visiting every single household, yet he failed to find the protagonist of this dream world.

He had no great expertise in the study of dreams. After all, he had no desire to turn into a dream demon and torment children, so he simply continued wandering the alleyways, figuring the protagonist simply hadn't spawned yet.

At present, the village resembled an isolated island—an island severed and sealed off by chaotic fog, completely unknown to the inhabitants within. Only Chen Jin was aware of it.

Yet, if the protagonist was not here, did other worlds exist beyond this wall of chaotic mist?

Dreams were truly wondrous things. Though neither entirely real nor entirely false, figures of immense power could effortlessly shift space-time, turning falsehood into truth. Therefore, dreams could never be outright dismissed as fake—who could say when a dream might truly manifest into reality?

Yet, what was real and what was false?

Stop right there. Chen Jin was no philosopher wrestling with deep existential paradoxes.

Since the thought of what lay beyond the chaotic fog had crossed his mind, it was only natural for him to wish to pierce through the mist and take a look.

Even if snarling, clawed monsters lurked on the other side, Chen Jin would not flinch. After all, he was not a native 'living soul' of this dreamscape.

Floating slowly toward the chaotic mist, Chen Jin entered the vapor and pushed steadily forward. Though he knew human senses could be easily manipulated by environment, he maintained his own cognitive sense of direction, pressing straight ahead without any navigational coordinates.

Sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds had passed, calculated by the internal clock within his own mind.

Finally, Chen Jin broke through the chaotic fog and emerged into a brand-new space-time. Or at least, it ought to have been a new space-time.

Although the village remained the same village, its environmental color palette had undergone a dramatic shift, transforming from desolate ash-gray into warm, sunlit hues.

Chen Jin's gaze swept across the colorful village. There were still thirty-two houses... No. Previously, Chen Jin had failed to accurately tally the structures. After counting once, the number of houses was thirty-one. Upon counting again, it became thirty-two, and a subsequent count raised it to thirty-three. The number perpetually fluctuated, peaking at thirty-eight and dropping as low as thirty, leaving Chen Jin certain only that there were 'around thirty' houses.

This warm-toned village sent a shiver of unease through Chen Jin's heart. For in this seemingly vibrant village, he could not spot a single living person—not a single soul, not even a blade of grass. There was only barren earth and vacant wooden houses.

Shifting his gaze once more, Chen Jin saw the chaotic mist surrounding the village begin to churn. The spectacle resembled a small island encircled by a towering waterfall plunging from the heavens, and now that encircling cataract was roaring and crashing down upon the settlement.

Rumble...

In truth, there was no sound. The thunderous audio effect was entirely conjured by Chen Jin's own imagination.

The village was submerged.

Yet Chen Jin was not submerged. Like a heavy ship's anchor, he remained firmly fixed to the earth beneath the village.

Yet the ground itself was rapidly dissolving, until nothing of the terrain remained at all—save for Chen Jin, lingering like an isolated anchor.

"You... who..."

As Chen Jin struggled to hold his ground, a voice suddenly reached his ears. It was little Mao's voice.

The garbled words were unclear, accompanied by static interference that made the sounds distinctly bizarre.

Nevertheless, Chen Jin was now able to pinpoint the origin of the voice, so he slowly drifted toward that specific direction.

Once again, he pierced through the chaotic mist and emerged into a new scene.

This scene was finally no longer a small village.

Instead, it was a mountain recess.

The recess glowed with warm hues, complete with trees, green grass, and small creatures such as frogs, grasshoppers, and beetles.

Most importantly—little Mao had appeared.

Accompanying little Mao was another figure.

The face of this person... bore a striking resemblance to Chen Jin's current visage. Or more accurately, it strongly resembled the face of the body he currently occupied: Zhang Junbao.

This person had noticed Chen Jin. Why was Chen Jin so certain, dispensing even with words of doubt? Simply because the figure was genuinely staring straight at him, and even smiling.

As he smiled, the scenery of the mountain recess grew all the more brilliant, as if late spring had arrived in a single breath.

What caught Chen Jin's attention most was not the man's face, but his head. There was not a single strand of hair upon it; the fellow was completely bald.

'Hello, we meet again.' The man's lips moved without producing any sound, but Chen Jin's lip-reading skills were passable, allowing him to decipher the intent behind the motion.

With those spoken words, a rush of memories flooded Chen Jin's mind—memories he had somehow overlooked.

That very night...

Chen Jin had extracted the location of that temple from the old fox demon's memories, then sought it out with the intent of capturing the three fox spirits.

However, he had stumbled upon a completely different temple instead, and within its walls, he had engaged in a cordial exchange with the monks residing there.

After departing that sanctuary, little Mao had gently pointed out to him that no temple whatsoever existed upon that mountain ridge. Furthermore, upon leaving, Chen Jin's extraordinary memory had bafflingly failed to retain the appearance of the monk he had encountered inside.

Now, Chen Jin finally remembered the monk's face. It was the exact face of Zhang Junbao.

The moment this memory reawakened within him, Chen Jin felt the scenery before his eyes blur. He was being expelled from the dreamscape...

'Hah...'

Drip, drop...

The nocturnal rain had finally ceased, though residual droplets trapped on the carriage canopy were slowly trickling down, splashing against the ground. The sound was sparse, the frequency steadily dwindling as the rainwater, lacking replenishment from the storm, dried up at last.

Little Mao remained fast asleep, but Chen Jin was wide awake.

Observing the steady rhythm of the boy's breathing, Chen Jin harbored a tumult of thoughts in his heart.

He closed his eyes once more.

The mental energy consumed just now had been substantial; he needed to rest quietly to recover his strength.