Chapter 608: The Field of Jisang Like a Grave (1)

Chapter 608: The Plowed Field as a Grave (Part One)

The second dream came without incident. Zuo Siqiu still won effortlessly, even more so than the previous round. In this dream, the rules remained largely the same as before. The only difference was that Zuo Siqiu was no longer the black-clad gang leader who once dominated the underworld, but a reclusive scholar living in prosperity within Guangzhou Prefecture.

Zuo Laoye was a man of benevolence and generosity, valuing loyalty and righteousness above all. His talent for winning hearts through virtue had gathered a cadre of formidable martial artists—men who, though once feared across the Jianghu, now served as his household guards. Among them, the most notorious were "The Old Madman's Slayer" Li Jin and "The Soul-Binding Taoist" Chen Qisheng. Beyond these two, the "Sea Ghost King" Ma Wangye, who had terrorized the southwest provinces, and the "Killing Nun" Yuan Mingfei—both once infamous for their cruelty—had also been subdued and reformed under his patronage.

Yet what truly filled Zuo Siqiu with pride was not the taming of these once-feared villains, but his own son, the qilin-born Zuo Donghuang. The child’s talent was astonishing, a gift from the heavens. Upon entering the Yin-Yang Sequence at a young age, his rank soared like a thousand miles a day—barriers that would take ordinary men a lifetime to overcome were no obstacle to him. His character was equally impeccable. The boy obeyed his father without question, clinging to him with unwavering devotion. Humble and self-effacing, he attributed all his achievements to his father’s bloodline and teachings. Even the "Old Madman Slayer" Li Jin, once a ruthless killer who had slaughtered countless innocents, had once muttered in drunken solitude: "If I could be reborn, I’d choose to be born into the Zuo household. Even as a distant relative, to bask in the Zuo family’s fortune would be a blessing beyond measure. To not be a Zuo heir is to live in vain."

This saying spread like wildfire across the Great Ming Empire.

As the sworn enemy of the Zuo household, the sorceress Qiu of the Autumn Cult, found herself in a vastly improved position in this dream. No longer a lone assassin, she now ruled vast estates as a landlord. Rumors claimed her feud with Zuo Siqiu stemmed from a love that could not be.

It was said that young Zuo Siqiu had once earned the reputation of the "Three Absolutes." The first was his peerless beauty, capable of making the entire Jianghu swoon at first sight. The second was his cunning, a mind as sharp as a blade, once thwarting the rebellious ambitions of the Grand Chancellor himself and saving the nation from collapse. The third was his unmatched martial prowess—though few had ever witnessed it. The only known feat was his single-handed defeat of the dragon and tiger heads in Guangxinhu, Jiangxi.

It was this very man—this face, this legend—that had haunted Qiu’s dreams since youth, yet she had never once glimpsed his true form. Her obsessive longing had cost her a lifetime.

Zuo Siqiu, ever the devoted husband, had no room in his heart for anyone but his wife, the guardian spirit who had borne him a son. Love unrequited bred hatred, and such was the fate of many a lovesick youth. Though such tales were common, only Qiu had the audacity to turn them into reality.

As a landlord, Qiu had spent years cultivating a loyal army, secretly allying with the remnants of the former Grand Chancellor’s fallen faction to annihilate the Zuo household. But Zuo Siqiu had anticipated everything. The moment Qiu’s forces entered Guangzhou, Zuo Donghuang intercepted them, crushing them with a single strike. Qiu never even reached the Zuo estate’s gates before being reduced to a broken, dying figure.

As she gasped her last breath, she still never saw the face she had longed for. A fleeting encounter in youth had stolen her future.

Tragic. Pitiable.

With this, the dream ended. Zuo Siqiu returned to the gambling table, his tiny form dwarfed by the chips. His eyes glazed over, a drunken grin plastered on his face as if still lost in the dream. "Wasn’t that more exciting this time?" he mused. "Better than being a Zuo heir, that’s for sure! When I rise to power, that’ll be the Zuo family’s motto!"

He wiped his mouth, sighing. "I finally get it now, Old Zhao. How do you dream so vividly?"

"Day has thoughts, night has dreams. A good dream isn’t about the dreamer’s skill, but the dreamer’s heart," Zhao Rongze replied.

"Exactly right! Compared to your two dreams, all the others I’ve had were just dog’s dreams," Zuo Siqiu said, eyes gleaming with admiration. "The Yin-Yang Path—you must teach me properly."

"I’ve already taught you all I can in these two dreams. People seek different dreams based on their desires," Zhao Rongze said softly. "When you find the dream that makes you feel most alive, you’ll qualify as a Third Dream Master."

The words sank in, and Zuo Siqiu fell into deep thought, oblivious to the chips vanishing from the table. "Still giving lectures? What’s your relation to this Zuo Siqiu?"

Zhao Rongze swept his hand over the table, a mist rising to shroud Zuo Siqiu’s contemplative form. "He’s Zuo, I’m Zhao. No tea shared, no bows exchanged—no master-student bond."

"Just a mentor then?" Qiu scoffed. "A stranger, maybe even a rival."

"Stranger? That’s all you are to me," Zhao Rongze said. "You think I’m helping him? Or is he helping me?"

"Why do you assume I’m the one doing the helping?" Qiu countered. "I’m only repaying a debt. You’ll never understand. Your kind has no humanity—worse than pigs and dogs."

"But even if he helps, what’s your chance of leaving this table alive?" Qiu sneered.

"Not bad. I only came to win. I didn’t come to leave."

A crystal-clear chip clattered down, catching Qiu’s eye. "Betting so much? You’re determined to die?"

Qiu raised her gaze. Across the table stood an elderly man, his once-united robe now tattered, clinging to a skeletal frame. His hair was streaked with white.

The dream had shifted. The stakes had changed. And the game was far from over.

A gaunt, withered face, yet its eyes were sharp enough to make one dare not meet them directly.

"Can one live and yet not live? Zhao Mengze, what hidden ace do you keep?"

Though he had already probed two lives, the Wu Shrine still harbored doubts.

He suspected Zhao Mengze was constantly tossing bait, waiting for her to bite; should he likewise choose to burn his lifespan to seize control of the dream, he would instantly fall into the other's trap.

"With such meager courage, you still dare to consort with the people of the Eastern Imperial Palace?"

Zhao Mengze laughed boisterously, turning a lifespan chip between his fingers.

"Your technique is indeed ingenious, actually managing to implant four consciousnesses into a single mind."

'But I must remind you, what we wager now is not the lifespan written in the Book of Life and Death, but our understanding of the word "alive." No matter how much flesh your agrarian sequence can proliferate, how many lives you can replicate, once your chips are gone, you must die!'

Zhao Mengze sneered, "If you're afraid, then you had best roll out of this dream right now!"

"Whether you're luring the enemy deeper or merely goading me, Zhao Mengze, you have succeeded—I now despise you."

A pile of chips equal in number scattered across the gambling table, yet unlike Zhao Mengze's gleaming, crystal‑like chips, these were wrapped with distinct veins and sinews.

"To have devised the 'Heaven and Earth Share Lifespan' technique and pushed it to this extent already marks you as a foremost figure."

Wu Shrine's visage darkened, his voice carrying a bone‑chilling cold.

"But if you think this will force me to retreat, you are mistaken. Not only you have the guts to stake your life on the table!"

Mist rose from the gambling table, instantly engulfing the two who stared each other down.

At the same moment, Zou Jiujiu, lost in the fog, regained his senses.

In the darkness, a voice seemed to urge him forward; upon bursting through the mist, Zou Jiujiu froze in place.

Under the night sky, lights blazed like fire, laughter rose like waves, a splendid Ming‑style edifice clung to the cliff.

The scene felt eerily familiar; Zou Jiujiu's memory remained vivid.

Hongya Mountain, Golden Pavilion.

The backdrop of this dream’s unfolding was none other than Chongqing Prefecture!

"Wait… how do I know this is a dream?!"

Zou Jiujiu jerked in shock, realizing his memory had not been sealed; everything remained crystal clear.

"Trouble—Old Zhao failed to seize the dream‑weaving authority?"

The illusory dream stacked layer upon layer, while in the waking world thunderous booms followed one another.

Li Jun donned helmet and armor, grasped his spear, and stood atop a high tower; behind him, the armored plates flared, spewing turbulent gusts that fanned the black flames clinging to his body, spreading them yards into the air.

Beneath his feet, the flesh‑fields that blanketed Xin'an City ceased their stillness, flowing like rivers through streets and alleys; houses swept away by the current collapsed, walls crumbling into the flesh, instantly swallowed and vanished without trace.

The farm beasts forged from parasitized common folk could not escape; their limbs clung fast to the flesh, unable to move.

They were like the docile creatures licked from ant‑hill nests by anteaters, emitting endless mournful cries, yet could not evade being swept along.

The confluence of all those flesh torrents lay before Li Jun.

A mound of flesh nearly ten zhang tall, rivaling the tower beneath his feet, rose as a flesh‑mountain!

Not long before, beneath Li Jun’s spear—unable to resist—the field master had been hoisted and tormented, then willingly melted into a swath of flesh‑field.

Following that, the flesh began to proliferate rapidly; in just a few breaths it attained this colossal scale.

Such a strategy of hoarding strength—no fool would stand idly by, watching the opponent take shape.

Yet his tempered martial sense could find no trace of where the foe hid within the flesh‑mountain, nor could the Horse King locate the field master’s whereabouts.

One man, one armor—his feeling was uncannily unanimous: the field master was the flesh‑mountain, the flesh‑mountain was the field master.

Faced with this bloated, repulsive mass of flesh, Li Jun momentarily did not know where to strike.

"Horse Lord, do you have an upgraded weapon capable of razing a city in a single blast?"

Li Jun waited a moment, then heard a hollow, resonant reply from the red eye.

"If I had such a thing, I would have already produced it; why would I still be waiting?"

Li Jun knew this demand was perhaps too much for the Horse Lord’s close‑quarters ink‑armor, and he sighed helplessly.

"If Old Chen could mobilize the New School’s celestial orbit stars, a single shot would settle the matter."

The Horse King probed: "What if I try contacting the Ink‑Riding Whale? That lad’s kun form might also work."

"It would likely be too late."

Li Jun lifted his chin, squinting: "This thing is about to take shape."

Nearly half of Xin'an City’s flesh‑fields surged into the field master’s body, and the shrouded city finally revealed its true visage.

This visage was truly wretched.

The corroded roads resembled skin stripped away, exposing the underlying earth and stone bedding; within the cracks lingered a mixture of pulverized skin, hair, flesh, and even bone.

Under the rain’s erosion, dark‑yellow torrents soon formed, washing forth scattered mechanical limbs from unknown places.

Once‑busy street shops remained only as square‑frame outlines; everything else had been corroded to nothing.

Viewed from above, Xin'an City now lay half as ruins returned to the world of men, half as an endless hell of sinking.

The field master’s stature had swollen to a terrifying height of roughly twenty zhang.

Even standing on the high tower, Li Jun could only crane his neck upward to behold it.

Boom—

A thunder‑like roar erupted from the flesh‑mountain, like the satisfied belch of one who has eaten and drunk his fill.

The field master finally ceased its growth.

At that moment he resembled a pustule sprouting from the earth, churning under wind and rain into a nauseating wave of flesh.

Crack, crack, crack.

A series of strange sounds rang out, as if something alive within the flesh‑mountain were stretching its bones and sinews.

In an instant, the flesh‑mountain began to undulate inward, contracting; in the blink of an eye it receded to a height of barely five zhang, coalescing into a humanoid silhouette.

Pfft—

Two horrendous arms of sinew and cloth burst from the observing flesh‑cocoon, hands gripping the rim, tearing outward to either side, revealing a massive form entwined with muscle.

The field master’s body was uniformly dark‑red, bare of skin, yet overgrown with patches of varying size and hue—‘scale‑plates’—like a patchwork armor cobbled together from east and west.

In his visage there were no features; instead, countless eyes—some dim, some jade‑green, some fiery‑red—were densely packed, filling his entire face.

Roar—

The field master thrust his head skyward in fury, then, with a backhand, drew from his own flesh‑cocoon an enormous steel longsword.

The blade’s surface was likewise laced with cracks, as if countless metal shards had fused together; within the gaps one could see nauseating flesh squeezed out and overflowing.

Thud—

The giant stepped down; Xin'an City trembled, turbid surges rose skyward, mournful winds wailed amid the ruins.

Half the city’s vengeful spirits coalesced into a single being.

The field peasant roared with laughter, his sword raised to point at Li Jun atop the tower.

"Lord Li, how does my black armor stack up against yours?!"