She simulated every scene, every person, in her dreams.
She simulated Nan Gong Jin. Simulated the night they drank together atop Fallen Immortal Ridge, simulated the off-key song Nan Gong Jin sang while tapping her chopsticks against the wine bowl after getting drunk, simulated the texture of that old scar on her ankle when she propped her foot on her knee.
She simulated it over and over, relived it over and over, and then, over and over, faced the empty room upon waking.
The reason was perilous wasn’t because the cultivation method itself was difficult—it was because those who practiced it had to repeatedly confront the act of waking up.
She herself was the first one trapped.
Trapped in the dream she had woven, for a very, very long time.
Later, she walked out.
Not because she had let go, but because she had learned to coexist with the dream.
She carved the core techniques of into several fragmentary scrolls and scattered them across the cultivation world, like casting a handful of seeds into the sea.
Whether they sprouted depended on fate.
She didn’t care whether anyone practiced it, didn’t care whether anyone mastered it.
She merely thought, what if?
What if there was another person in this world, someone who also had a person they could never see again but thought of day and night?
Then this cultivation method would be her gift to that person.
At the same time, she harbored a playful mentality—watching others struggle, sink, or transcend within their dreams…
On the night of the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion’s Flower Queen Competition, Xie Shilan sat in a corner of the eastern side chamber.
She hadn’t come to watch the Flower Queen; she had come to drink.
The osmanthus wine at the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion was unmatched, and she came every year at this time to down a few jugs.
The excitement of the Flower Queen Competition had nothing to do with her.
The handsome men on stage were, in her eyes, nothing more than unripe children.
Then Shen Mo walked onto the stage.
The moment the Huanxue Mian was removed, the hand holding her wine stopped midair.
He resembled someone.
Not in appearance—in elegance.
She drained the remaining osmanthus wine in one gulp.
And bought Shen Mo’s collection of portraits.
She didn’t scream at the images in the jade slip like those young female cultivators did.
She merely, late at night, quietly lurked.
She had once secretly admired Ah Jin.
After being warned by Nan Gong Jin, she reluctantly let go for the sake of her sister.
That was simply her nature—she didn’t like to fight.
She preferred to observe.
To observe the most extreme spectacles of this fleeting, floating world.
With her abilities, she could have directly located someone with her divine sense, or pressured the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion—but she preferred the method of quiet observation.
She had simply been busy with other matters lately and hadn’t yet taken action.
This time she came to the Southern Wilderness, ostensibly to visit friends, but in reality to see whether the Flower Queen who had piqued her interest was truly here.
Xie Shilan lay on the bed in the eastern courtyard guest room, eyes closed, yet her divine sense drifted in midair, listlessly sweeping across the entire estate.
The moment she swept through, the lingering sweet and faintly rank scent of fierce lovemaking in the air made even this old hand raise an eyebrow.
She gained a new understanding of her sister’s appetites.
She wasn’t intentionally prying—it was a habit.
Having grown up as a loose cultivator, she couldn’t sleep without first understanding her surroundings.
Then she caught an extremely familiar trace of breath.
The spiritual energy fluctuation of in operation.
Though the practitioner’s skill was still shallow, that unique dream-weaving, reality-simulating dao rhythm—she could never mistake it.
Xie Shilan halted with keen interest, a hint of surprise flickering across her stunningly beautiful face.
Judging by the intensity and nature of this dream fluctuation, the practitioner seemed to be in a state of… extremely intense, profound, and mentally agitated dreaming.
That breath came from very far away—at least a thousand li from here.
But the propagation of within dreams never relied on spiritual power—it relied on obsession.
She slipped into the source of that breath, like a fish swimming upstream along an impossibly thin current.
The current grew warmer, thicker—and then she saw Shen Mo, sleeping in each other’s arms with his wife.
With a single thought, Xie Wuwang slipped into the dream.
Beneath a bamboo grove, Lin Jingzhe was pinning Shen Mo down on the soft grass, kissing him passionately, lost in a haze of desire.
The cultivation boost and forbidden pleasure brought by ‘s frantic circulation were like poison, and she reveled in it.
Beneath her, Shen Mo responded with practiced warmth, tears and gasping breaths intertwined, as if trying to vent every ounce of guilt through this intimate contact.
“Tsk, the real man is even more enticing than in the portraits—that little smile, that air of reluctant surrender… no wonder that girl Nan Gong lost her mind over him.”
She appraised him inwardly, like admiring a masterpiece of erotic art.
Her gaze was clear, devoid of any lust—only pure appreciation of beauty.
She didn’t wish to disturb them, so she remained still.
Then, her gaze shifted to Lin Jingzhe.
“Hm? This Su Wan’er is fake?”
She easily saw through the disguise—meticulously constructed by the cultivation method, imitated to perfection.
Beneath the disguise was a young woman’s face—delicate yet sharp, flushed with desire at this moment.
She was an easygoing person by nature. Having lived to her age, there were few things in this world that could stir her.
Seeing a junior use her own cultivation method, wearing someone else’s skin, to sleep with someone else’s husband—she merely found it amusing.
Besides, it was only a dream. Shen Mo’s true body wouldn’t suffer any real harm.
Let the little girl have her fun in the dream. No harm done.
“Interesting. Very interesting.”
As it happened, she knew Lin Jingzhe.
“A disciple pretending to be her master, sneaking a taste of her own Master’s Husband in a dream? And practicing my ? What is all this… the Jiaoyue Peak sect sure has a messy web of relationships.”
She looked at the utterly dependent expression on Shen Mo’s face in the dream, then at Lin Jingzhe’s enraptured features, and suddenly felt… this scene possessed a strangely twisted harmony.
“She’s a good seedling for the dream dao, but her mind is set on the wrong things.”
She commented inwardly, yet had no intention of offering guidance.
Everyone has their own path of fate. Everyone has their own personal hell.
She only sowed the seeds. Whether they grew into poisonous weeds or immortal flowers—what did it have to do with her?
Still, she wanted to see something even more interesting.
Xie Shilan raised her hand, gathering a point of spiritual light at her fingertip, and gently flicked it toward Lin Jingzhe.
In the dream, Lin Jingzhe was leaning over Shen Mo’s neck, her lips pressed against his collarbone.
She had no idea her appearance was undergoing a subtle transformation.
The meticulously constructed facade of her honored teacher was peeling away, bit by bit.
Shen Mo’s body stiffened violently. He grabbed his rumpled daoist robe and hastily covered himself.
He stared intently at Lin Jingzhe’s face.
This proud, stubborn disciple who humiliated him endlessly in reality yet burned her true essence to save him at the brink of death—this person who flew into a rage when he sought death.
“Jingzhe?! H-how… how is it you?!” He shoved the person on top of him away, but his arms were weak, and he glanced frantically at the still-hazy moonlit scenery around them, his mind in chaos.
“This… is this a dream? No… where’s Wan’er? You… why are you disguised as Wan’er? You… toward me…”
Lin Jingzhe touched her own face.
What her fingers met was the familiar contour of her own features—not Su Wan’er’s soft curves!
The disguise… had been seen through?!
When?!
How could a dream constructed by have such a flaw?!
Was it backlash from the nightmare creature?
Or had her own mind been too agitated to maintain the illusion?
In an instant, she flushed crimson.
Disguising herself as her honored teacher in a dream, committing such unspeakable acts with her Master’s Husband—and being caught red-handed by the very person she was impersonating!
This was more unbearable than any torture!
She was like a cat caught stealing fish, not knowing where to put her hands or feet.
But the panic lasted only a moment before she forcibly suppressed it.
This was a dream, after all. Shen Mo was just an illusion! A creation of her desires! Why should she fear him?!
“Shen Mo! This is your fault! You think of something by day, you dream of it by night! This is YOUR dream! These filthy thoughts are in YOUR subconscious! You dragged me in here! It’s you… it’s YOU who’s molesting ME!”
Turning the tables, striking first to seize the advantage.
She shoved all the blame and shame onto Shen Mo, who had yet to fully recover from his shock.
Dreams were inherently indistinguishable from reality—who could say whether this was her desire or a projection of his subconscious?
Shen Mo was stunned speechless by her shameless accusations.
His face cycled through red and white, lips trembling: “You… you’re talking nonsense! How could I… I only have master-disciple feelings for you, Jingzhe. I…”
Just as the two were locked in a stalemate, a gentle voice suddenly emerged from the depths of the dream.
“Alright, that’s enough from both of you.”
An achingly familiar female voice sounded beside them.
Shen Mo and Lin Jingzhe’s bodies stiffened simultaneously. They turned their heads in terror.
There, in the shadows of the bamboo grove, stood a figure in plain white—having appeared at some unknown moment.
She wore that unchanging white-patterned daoist robe, her expression mild, her eyes carrying that hint of simpleton sluggishness, exactly as she always was.
“Honored Teacher?!” Lin Jingzhe cried out in shock, her face instantly turning pale as paper. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the ground.
The person she most dreaded facing had appeared in this manner!
And in such a shameful scene, no less!
“Wan’er?!” Shen Mo was both shocked and terrified.
He wanted to rush over, but hesitated, rooted in place by his earlier disgrace, overwhelmed with shame.
Xie Shilan laughed softly inwardly.
She had disguised herself with great care.
“Honored Teacher…”
But Su Wan’er walked forward and helped Lin Jingzhe up.
Her movements were gentle, carrying her usual tolerance—but if one looked closely, one could spot a trace of mischievous glee hidden deep within those eyes that didn’t fit the persona at all.
But Lin Jingzhe was so frightened her soul was scattering, and Shen Mo stood frozen with his head bowed, silent. Neither noticed.
“No need to explain. I saw everything.” Su Wan’er said calmly, her tone so placid it didn’t resemble a wife who had just caught her disciple in an affair with her husband.
“Jingzhe, your feelings… your teacher… has actually sensed them for some time.”
Lin Jingzhe’s entire body trembled violently.
“Mo’er… his appearance and bearing are indeed beyond the ordinary. As you’ve grown older, having such thoughts is only natural.”
“What happened today was born of your heart’s longing. Enough. Your teacher… does not blame you.”
Doesn’t blame?
She doesn’t blame even this?!
She’s practically squatting on your head and shitting!
Lin Jingzhe listened blankly, convinced she was hearing things.
Her honored teacher hadn’t flown into a thunderous rage, but instead… forgiven her?
Xie Shilan’s gaze turned to Shen Mo. She looked him up and down, like appraising a piece of porcelain.
“Shen Mo—he truly is handsome. I am a woman too, so naturally I understand why others would be moved by the sight of him.”
“Mo’er,” she walked up to him, reached out, and gently stroked his pale, panicked face.
Her fingertips were ice-cold.
“It’s my fault. All these years, I’ve been consumed by cultivation and neglected you. I’ve let you… suffer injustice.”