Chapter 4: This Is Not A Dream

Chapter 4: This Is No Dream

For an instant, Zhao Changhe nearly thought, "It's just a dream, I'll hit him anyway."

But he held back with effort.

His experience in Zhao Village had taught him that reckless bravado was useless—he couldn't win a fight, so what was the point of throwing his life away? Even if he "died," he'd just wake up to reality, but the deed would remain undone. What meaning would that have?

Besides, he was beginning to doubt whether this place was truly a dream. With his own twisted imagination, he couldn't have conjured someone so vile. How could a dream produce such a person?

The villagers of Zhao Village, slaughtered without mercy—innocent children—all because someone was "frustrated in his pursuit of a village girl."

Yue Hongling had ridden a thousand li to deliver a warning, her righteousness reaching the heavens, yet all they thought of was how to take advantage of her.

Zhao Changhe felt sick to his stomach. He had never known that "hatred" could taste like this—a violent emotion that had never sprouted in his peaceful, scholarly life, now spreading and growing within him.

Whether this place was real or a dream, Zhao Changhe no longer wanted to "wake up" so soon. He truly wanted to kill that father and son first.

Maintaining his "simple country boy" persona, he was accepted into the Luo family's outer sect. That very night, he was given a set of clothes, daily necessities, and a temporary dormitory.

The temporary dormitory wasn't assigned to him alone—it was the private courtyard of the senior outer disciple, meant for the senior to teach Zhao Changhe basic rules and common knowledge. Likely, he'd be moved to a shared dormitory in a day or two.

On the surface, the arrangement seemed considerate. If Yue Hongling ever visited and heard that "supplies were issued that very night, and the senior disciple took him under his wing," it would sound like decent treatment. As for whether he learned anything or wasted his life in the outer sect, that would be his own fault, and Yue Hongling would have nothing to say.

Zhao Changhe saw through the scheme immediately, but he didn't care. Did he really want to become a disciple of Lord Luo? How disgusting.

The senior outer disciple was called Luo Qi, reportedly a servant born into the household, taking the Luo family name. He might eventually hold a position in the manor. This glimpse revealed the template of a martial arts clan.

Though called "senior brother," Luo Qi was actually younger than Zhao Changhe, around sixteen or seventeen, with delicate features and fair skin—rather effeminate.

"You're Zhao Changhe? Big and sturdy, looks like you've got some strength." Luo Qi's tone was cold and displeased—having a stranger suddenly move into his private courtyard would sour anyone's mood.

His voice was also a bit effeminate, thin and soft. Zhao Changhe didn't bother suspecting cross-dressing; he just smiled innocently: "Yes, I just arrived. The master told me to learn the rules from you, senior brother."

"There aren't many rules." Though Luo Qi's tone was cold, he was curious: "I heard Yue Hongling brought you to the manor? Why didn't you cling to her thigh and become her disciple?"

Zhao Changhe played dumb: "Maybe I'm too stupid."

To his surprise, Luo Qi agreed: "Probably."

Zhao Changhe: "?"

Luo Qi said, "It's not about your brains, but your age. You're eighteen or nineteen, right? Starting to learn at this age—what can you possibly achieve? You might pick up a few moves to guard a house and earn a meal, but why would Yue Hongling take on a disciple like that? She's about your age and already famous across the land... sigh..."

Zhao Changhe was expressionless.

Too old—he'd heard that before. Even in sports, you had to start young to reach a high level. He was a nineteen-year-old college student; he'd never heard of anyone starting at this age and reaching national-level skill.

How many Kou Zhong or Xu Ziling were there?

But then again, setting aside the Luo family affair, his goal in this "dream" didn't seem to require a high level. It was just a chaotic battlefield of minor soldiers—he'd already killed a few with his current skill. The demoness, being in such a battle, was probably weak, certainly not at Yue Hongling's level of cutting down a group with one strike.

Joining the Luo family to learn martial arts—finding and killing the demoness—that seemed to be the proper flow of this dream.

He thought for a moment and asked, "Senior brother, what does 'nine passes' mean?"

Luo Qi said, "The human body has nine passes. Breaking through them allows one to glimpse the three great treasures. If all are opened, one reaches the realm of transcendence, omnipotent. Ordinary people don't need to worry about that. Just the nine passes themselves are nine heavens, each step incredibly difficult. People like Yue Hongling and our master—wherever they go, others must show respect. Above them are grandmasters, rarely seen."

"Is the master at the ninth pass?"

"Supposedly the eighth." Luo Qi's face showed reverence: "I don't know when I'll reach such a level."

Zhao Changhe barely suppressed a sneer.

At his age, being on par with Yue Hongling—no wonder he feared her so much. He might even lose in a fight. But it proved that the eighth pass was indeed formidable—Lord Luo ruled the region, and Yue Hongling roamed the land.

"What about you, senior brother?" he probed.

Luo Qi said proudly, "I've broken through the first pass!"

Zhao Changhe: "..."

Yue Hongling was only two or three years older than you, and she's at the eighth pass. What exactly are you so proud of?

Not receiving Zhao Changhe's flattery, Luo Qi knew what he was thinking and smiled without explanation.

Outsiders might think the first pass was just an entry level, and that was true. But few considered that Luo Manor wasn't a prestigious sect. An outer disciple with low-level techniques—what level could he be? Breaking through the first pass at this age was already a formal entry into martial arts, not easy.

Not everyone could use Yue Hongling as a benchmark. In fact, Luo Qi's qualifications should have long since earned him a place beyond the outer sect.

He hoped that when Zhao Changhe, after ten years of hard training, found breaking this barrier harder than moving a mountain, he would remember today.

"It's late. Sleep first. We'll talk tomorrow." Luo Qi stretched lazily and pointed to a small hut outside the courtyard: "I've cleared that room for you. You can stay there. You don't expect me to teach you martial arts tonight, do you? Or do you want to sleep in my room?"

"No, no. Thank you very much, senior brother." Zhao Changhe smiled apologetically and retreated.

Back in the cramped storage room that had been cleared for him, Zhao Changhe lay on the hard bed, his smile vanishing.

He and Luo Qi weren't close; asking too many questions at once would only get him ignored. Tomorrow, then. But sleeping itself was a key point.

How to get back?

Sleeping... If this were a dream, could someone sleep within a dream? If he fell asleep here, would he continue the nightmare of slaughter, wake up to reality, or "dream" of the real world?

Which was the dream, which was real?

Zhao Changhe took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.

Though his mind was chaotic and sleep elusive, the bed hard and cold, he had been exhausted by nightmares lately. He could fall asleep anywhere. After tossing and turning for half an hour, he finally lost consciousness.

He slept.

No dreams.

This was the first time in over half a month that Zhao Changhe had no nightmares. He slept deeply. But if he had a choice, he would have preferred otherwise.

As night deepened, a sudden clamor of chaos jolted Zhao Changhe awake. He instinctively sprang up, hearing shouts of battle and roars of fury all around. Flames consumed the manor, painting the night red.

Faintly, he heard voices: "Leave no one alive!"

Zhao Changhe's face turned grim.

His first conclusion: He could sleep here, sleep without dreams, and wake up still here—this proved it wasn't a dream. This was a damn transmigration!

The difference between transmigration and a dream: not only could he not return, but if killed, he would truly die.

His second conclusion: The Blood God Sect's attack—the very thing Yue Hongling had warned about—was happening that very night.

Lord Luo's plea for help to the capital might not even have been dispatched yet. Yue Hongling had left in the evening; by now, she was likely asleep in a nearby city.

Now, there was no one left to lend a righteous hand.