Chapter 595: Single Rider Breaks the Dream

Chapter 595: Single Rider Breaks the Dream

One by one, tears fell like raindrops; soaked through, Zou Siqi finally awoke at that moment.

What the hell is this, some imitation Buddhist sequence in the ground‑level agrarian country?

It is plainly a bizarre, sinister dreamscape of Huangliang.

Having seen through this, Zou Siqi's thoughts no longer tangled; he instantly grasped the whole story's origin and development.

Because it was not a collision, erosion, or overlay of the Buddhist realm, Yuan Mingfei, as a Sequence Three, fell to her knees, easily crushed by the other side.

In Zou Siqi's view, when entering that valley, his group had already fallen into the trap.

But when would a Huangliang dreamscape pull in Chen Qisheng, a purely flesh‑and‑blood old‑school Daoist sequence?

Could it also be the overlapping method of the Buddhist realm and the dreamscape?

Zou Siqi had used this method when sending Chen Qisheng into Zhao Yalong's celestial cave.

Although at that time he had joined forces with Yuan Mingfei, for those who liked stitching different sequences together, it was possible to do it alone.

Moreover, the way this dreamscape was constructed was indeed wickedly evil.

It could precisely capture and target the fears within everyone's consciousness, amplify inner desires, and silently, step by step, drag everyone deeper into the dream.

Yet, as he thought of this, a new doubt surfaced in Zou Siqi's mind.

If it is a Huangliang dreamscape, why does he feel no known backdoor?

That is his very foundation for existence; no matter how bizarre the channel's means, it cannot block all backdoors.

It is precisely because of this that he was pulled into the dream without warning.

Among all sequences involving 'Huangliang', there is a common understanding: to regard 'Huangliang' as an ocean that can carry and nurture all fantasies.

The Huangliang dreamscape is a man‑made creation, with various 'sea beasts' parasitizing within.

But in this dreamscape of the channel, Zou Siqi feels extremely alien.

Such a situation is almost impossible for a Yin‑Yang Sequence Four, the Zhuang Zhou Butterfly.

Unless this is not the 'Huangliang' that Zou Siqi controls many backdoors over.

And Zou Siqi is certain that the foreign Buddhist sequence also planted a foot in here; otherwise the Huangliang dreamscape would not fuse with the ground Buddhist realm so perfectly.

"Those damn bastards of the Eastern Palace, their shadows are everywhere! And now it seems they have managed to pull out something truly remarkable this time!"

Zou Siqi was shocked, instinctively flicked his tongue, panting with a rough breath.

This is a brand‑new 'Huangliang'!

If they truly managed to create this, the entire Ming Empire would erupt in a storm.

Its coverage area is vast, its impact immense, far from inferior to a new wave of technological gates!

When the use of 'Huangliang' no longer depends on the inherent host, and its nature is no longer shared, it will no longer be limited by permissions like Baijuying.

Take the channel as an example: a Sequence Three can unfold such a massive, powerful Huangliang dreamscape; its intensity so high it could even drown a Sequence Three of the Buddhist realm, leaving them unable to extricate themselves; Zou Siqi had never heard or seen such.

Although this is somewhat related to the channel seizing Yuan Mingfei's inner weakness, it is still shocking to achieve this step.

And as a Yin‑Yang Sequence, Zou Siqi clearly knows what this new technological gate means.

It means that a sequence master who masters this gate is a mobile 'Huangliang'.

His mind is the Huangliang host, his will the Huangliang permission; a thought births a dream, all things sink.

Extending this logic, the eventual scenario could be that an overwhelmingly powerful being, by a single force, pulls everyone in the Ming Empire into the dream, even pure flesh cannot escape.

At that time, the boundary between reality and illusion would cease to exist.

That powerful being that constructs the dream is the creator in the agrarian sequence, the divine will in the Yin‑Yang sequence, the Buddha in the Buddhist sequence.

It is a person, and a god.

It is all things, as long as, as long as, as long as...

The originally quiet village began to hear voices.

Doors on both sides of the village lane were flung open one after another—old and young, men and women—grabbing bricks, swinging woks, they pursued Zou Sijiou.

Though the enemies were many, Zou Ye surged left and right through the crowd, and none could stop him.

Everything relied on the technique imparted by Zhao Mengze to Zou Sijiou; anyone or anything that approached him was, without exception, shrunk to his size.

Although its range was only about a zhang, it at least temporarily preserved Zou Sijiou's life.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

People the size of a dog are nothing to fear.

But stones the size of a dog can be deadly!

Zou Sijiou dodged the hidden projectiles thrown from behind, and soon spotted the stilted building with a balcony.

The yellowed iris lay mired in a bottomless ravine, already on the verge of withering.

In a life‑or‑death instant, Zou Sijiou’s dangling broken leg twitched; his three good legs bent and thrust, launching him into a leap while he sprinted.

Aooow!

A low growl, swinging claws, shrinking houses, a terrified woman.

Zou Sijiou was like a tiger descending the mountain, fierce and mighty; with a slap he sent the woman flying, then turned and smashed the pot holding Changjun’s plant, and from the claw‑dug hole in the scattered soil he dug out a palm‑sized rusted sword.

Without pause, the black dog seized the rusted sword and raced straight out of the village.

He meant to awaken Chen Qisheng!

Diyuan naturally knew what Zou Sijiou intended; surrounded by the crowd, his eyes icy, he gripped the middle of the broom, stepped forward, and flung it!

The wind howled; the broom flew swift as an arrow!

Pfft!

Zou Sijiou heard the vicious sound behind him, leapt desperately aside, yet the broom still struck his waist.

The black dog staggered, rolled on the ground, but did not fall; instead, bloodied and dusty, it rose again and sprinted wildly out of the village.

“Chase!”

Diyuan’s visage was ferocious; he issued the order in a cold tone.

Outside the village fields, a farmer who looked exactly like Zhang Chongyuan had long been waiting on the ridge.

“You filthy beast, don’t even think of approaching my karma tree.”

“Anyone who blocks me dies!!”

Zou Sijiou let out an angry roar and lunged forward.

On the ridge, the fist‑sized black dog bowled the man over, then its two short paws rained a furious stomp on his head.

The ludicrous scene was laughable, yet every bit a matter of life and death.

Pursuers closed in from behind; if Chen Qisheng did not awaken, Zou Sijiou would meet his end here today.

Clang.

The half‑dead Changjun spun down like a weed stuck in the soil.

“Stop dreaming, you stinking ox‑nose; if you keep sleeping, Old Zou will be cut down!”

Barks rang out; on the ridge, the black dog’s tail wagged like a flywheel.

Why did Zou Sijiou forsake the near for the far, not awaken Yuan Mingfei who was in the same courtyard, but instead desperately charge out of the village to find Chen Qisheng?

The reason lies in the conversation between them.

“You aren’t the True Martial Herdsman?”

“You aren’t the Master of the Millet Dream?”

It was precisely this remark that let Zou Sijiou know Chen Qisheng, though unable to move, was far less sunk than Yuan Mingfei, making awakening more likely.

“Wake up, please, Daoist Lord, Master Chen—I’m begging you.”

Amid the urgent cries, the fruit atop the karma tree split with a crack.

Zou Sijiou felt a weight on his back, then a teasing laugh drifted down from above his head.

“Zou Sir, we’re all brothers; no need for such politeness. But I must say, you look quite distinctive right now.”

“What time is this, and you’re still taking advantage of me?! Moreover, do you really need to ride on my back? Since you’re awake, get down and fight them!”

Zou Sijiou tried to twist his head backward, but a hand pressed it back.

“I’m also a mortal here; I don’t share your longevity of heaven and earth—how can I fight so many?”

Chen Qisheng rode the black dog’s back, spine straight, his gaze piercing the crowd and locking onto Diyuan’s face.

“Cut the chatter—I just want to know if you want to kill this bastard.”

“Daoist Lord, you’re seated securely!”

Zou Sijiou gave a low growl, his forelegs continually scraping the ground; he curled his tongue, holding the tuft of grass he’d seized in his mouth.

Touch my wife, and today I won’t spare you—I’ll take your surname!

“Charge!”

At the command, the dog burst forth like a tiger!

A two‑inch‑tall person astride a fist‑sized black dog charged from this end of the ridge toward the dense throng.

Clang!

Chen Qisheng gripped the black dog’s mane, bent down, and pulled the rusted sword from the soil; killing intent gathered in his brow.

“Kill!”

Pfft!

The dog plunged into the crowd, like a tiger among sheep!

Chen Qisheng wielded the iron sword, slaughtering in all directions; no one could stand against him in a single clash.

The woman who had wanted to smother Changjun was also there, her face streaked with blood, claw marks clear, her eyes brimming with venom and hate.

“Give my sword back to me.”

Chen Qisheng, ever accommodating, immediately returned Changjun’s sword to its owner.

The rusted sword thrust straight into the woman’s bottomless chest; her tiny body resembled a ragged ragdoll impaled on the blade.

Chen Qisheng flicked his wrist, flinging her away.

As blood spattered, the corroded blade gleamed a little brighter.

In the distance, the crowded figures loomed like mountain ranges; up close, the battlefield was as tiny as a mustard seed.

The scene descended into chaos; seeing the tide turn, Diyuan withdrew from the crowd and ran toward the compound.

There, he still had a chance for a final reversal!

Men were like tigers, dogs like dragons.

A lone rider rode through the fields, leaving behind a single severed limb in the rear.

He entered the village, and the path of the village had already turned into a battlefield!

Here, the duo of Chen Zhiguang and Shu Shiguang remained fearless and unyielding, with villagers constantly rushing forward, unable to stop them.

As long as they dared to approach, the next moment would be a flash of blade, and their necks would be severed.

They could only scatter their pots and pans, hastily trying to seize the moment to escape.

"Quick, hurry up!"

The heart raced with anxiety, and they were forced to relive the dreamer's ability, instantly shifting past.

But only if he dared that much would the pursuers behind him instantly break free.

The only fortunate thing was that Shu Shiguang wasn’t seriously injured; the pain in his waist and legs was slowing his swift advance.

One chase, one escape—eventually, the island vanished beneath the waves.

The echoes of thunder rolled through the sky, and the heavens roared in fury, nearly toppling the earth beneath their weight.

The boiling waters near the surface had dried up, revealing countless statues of the Buddha buried in the mud at the bottom of the lake.

On the island, the plants withered, and the Daoist hermit stood before the living tree, its blade aimed at the dreamer's face.

"You broke my dream, but don’t forget, Yuan Mingfang hasn’t even woken yet."

The Daoist hermit’s face softened, revealing a sneer, his eyes fixed on the dreamer’s blade.

"Your words are worthless. You’re just another fool to mock me. You think you can win with your strength? You’re just a fool!"