A thick, damp fog suddenly surged forward, engulfing Song Nanxing completely.
The Nightmare unfurled its grotesquely twisted four pairs of wings, feathers coated with sticky tar dripping as they fluttered. Its dark red eyes scanned through the dense mist, searching within Song Nanxing’s dream for the things he feared most to weave a nightmare.
This was the Nightmare’s specialty.
Once inside its domain, falling into a nightmare was effortless. It could dig out the things its target most dreaded to face, the deepest fears they tried to avoid, trapping them in an eternal nightmare of terror and despair.
Eventually, they would die in agony, their souls consumed to nourish the Nightmare.
The Dream Demon searched eagerly, but the twisted smile on its face gradually froze: “Why is it so sparse?”
It had never seen a human dreamscape so barren before, as if the person never dreamed at all.
Humans spend at least half their lives asleep, their dreams numerous and fragmented, covering almost their entire lifetime. But Song Nanxing’s dreams were unnaturally clean, as if they had been artificially scrubbed.
The Nightmare persisted and finally found, at the deepest part of the dream, a rusted bronze door.
The door was mottled with verdigris, teetering on the verge of collapse, with moss creeping along the cement walls on either side, giving off an ancient aura.
The Dream Demon folded its wings and landed, staring at the iron door with excitement, its palm pressing down impatiently.
Among humans, there existed a rare type who could subconsciously control their dreams, hiding their most precious and shameful memories deep inside.
Even Dream Demons could not easily find them.
Such people were few, but once found, the careful concealment of their memories made them prime prey. By plunging these individuals into their worst nightmares, twisting their souls with unbearable pain, they became the best nourishment for the Nightmare.
It had been many years since the Nightmare had encountered such a person.
Licking its lips greedily, it smiled with excitement and pushed open the bronze door—
The door creaked loudly under the strain as it swung open to both sides.
The Nightmare retracted its wings and stepped inside. Surrounded by towering stone statues, it saw a child sitting with their back turned, collapsed in a pool of blood.
The child looked very young, perhaps about ten years old, frail and pale. Blood stained their body and even dripped from their hair, as if they had bathed in blood.
The Nightmare’s excitement deepened, sensing this was a deeply tragic and painful memory.
Its grotesque wings suddenly spread wide, tar-like drops falling from the matted feathers. Step by step, it approached the child’s back, barely able to contain its excitement as it said, “Got you now.”
The child turned around, eyes pitch black like ink. From the dense darkness behind them, a pair of massive crimson eyes slowly appeared and opened.
Caught off guard, the Nightmare met those eyes and was instantly overwhelmed by a terrifying dread. An unprecedented look of horror appeared on its face, its lips trembling as it tried to retreat: “No! No! No!!!”
A blood-curdling scream rang out as the Nightmare’s body exploded into a mist of blood droplets scattering everywhere.
The child on the ground turned their head as the verdigris-covered bronze door slowly closed behind them…
*****
“Huff—”
The massive three-headed Dream Demon Crow suddenly opened its eyes, dark red orbs still flickering with fear.
It looked around the familiar nest, finally realizing it had narrowly escaped death.
“Thank goodness…”
Thank goodness it had always been cautious and never appeared in its true form before anyone. Although losing one important incarnation was a heavy loss, it still had three heads. As long as it consumed enough humans, its severed heads would quickly regrow.
But before that, it had to return and report its findings to the High Priest.
The three-headed crow struggled to rise from its nest, black tar-like blood dripping steadily from its severed neck.
It had no time to tend its wounds, and its six pairs of grotesque wings flapped like those of a giant bat as it left the nest.
Just then, a black tentacle tore through the thick dreamscape’s barriers and slithered inside.
“Found you.” Shen Du stepped leisurely through the rift in the dream.
He wore a white half-turtleneck knit sweater and black trousers that accentuated his long legs, standing upright like an ancient medieval gentleman stepping out of a painting.
But behind his glasses, his eyes were cold and indifferent, the corners of his mouth curling into a sinister smile.
Behind him, countless black tentacles surged like an overwhelming tide.
The Dream Demon Crow sensed immense danger but could not discern what Shen Du truly was. All three heads raised high, the Dream Demon Crow—
Shen Du’s gaze was cold and unflinching.
The writhing tentacles flooded forward like a tidal wave, engulfing the Dream Demon Crow’s hideous, filthy body. After rummaging inside for a while, a faint smile appeared at the corner of Shen Du’s mouth: “Still got some value after all.”
His long search hadn’t been in vain.
*****
Song Nanxing stood dazed in a dim cave.
Around the cave were tall stone sculptures, their faces blurred and unrecognizable. Judging by the raised platform at the center, Song Nanxing guessed this was an ancient sacrificial site.
Most likely for some cult—the platform was the center, and countless scattered remnants of flesh and limbs lay across the ground. Congealed blood soaked the floor, creating a dark red-black hue.
Staring at the platform and the scattered remains, Song Nanxing’s heart began to race.
He stepped forward slowly, moving toward the platform.
Suddenly, a voice called from behind: “Xingxing, Xingxing.”
It was the voice of the puppet rabbit, one Song Nanxing had only heard once but never forgotten.
Perhaps sensing danger, the childish voice grew more urgent and anxious: “Xingxing, Xingxing, Xingxing…”
Without hesitation, Song Nanxing glanced once at the sacrificial platform, then turned and followed the voice of the puppet rabbit.
He started walking briskly, then jogging, and finally running faster and faster.
Song Nanxing raced through the dense fog, his heart tightening with every urgent call of “Xingxing,” pushing him to hurry.
Finally—he burst out of the fog and snapped his eyes open.
The puppet rabbit sat beside him, its short paws shaking his arm, worry shining in its red eyes.
Behind it, the two Jingyao sighed in relief upon seeing him awake and reached out their hands. “Are you okay?”
Song Nanxing didn’t take her hand. Staring at the worried-turned-joyful puppet rabbit, he suddenly hugged it tightly.
His nose prickled, and tears threatened to spill, as if he had finally found a lost treasure.
The puppet rabbit was held tightly, its short paws clutching at his shirt as it quietly buried its face in his chest, silent now.
The two Jingyao didn’t know what Song Nanxing had experienced in the dream and reminded him: “The Nightmare domain is collapsing. We have to find the exit quickly. If the domain collapses, we’ll all be buried alive here.”
Song Nanxing calmed himself, gathered the puppet rabbit, and went with Jingyao to search for a way out.
At that moment, a thick blue tentacle emerged from the mist, excitedly reaching toward Song Nanxing, trying to rub against him.
Song Nanxing nimbly dodged, silently troubled by the blue tentacle that stirred some unpleasant memories.
The little octopus had ripped through countless dreamscapes before finally finding Song Nanxing. It happily tried to nuzzle him but was coldly avoided. Its tentacle bent up in confusion, almost forming a question mark.
Song Nanxing forced himself to overcome his psychological barrier.
The blue tentacle shared similarities with the persistent tentacles that harassed him but was clearly different.
He gently touched the tip of the tentacle and asked, “Where are you? Is the puppet with you?”
Only one tentacle appeared, indicating they were not in the same place.
The tentacle immediately brightened. The little octopus excitedly touched Song Nanxing’s brow with the tentacle’s tip, and a voice echoed, saying, “Together, exit.”
Song Nanxing breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed the little octopus and the puppet had found the exit.
He looked at the cautious Jingyao: “This is my… friend, I guess. It found the exit. Let’s follow it.”
Jingyao’s suspicion didn’t fully fade. She frowned, looking at the lively tentacle, then glanced at Song Nanxing with a complex expression.
Since the Nightmare domain began to collapse, she had completely broken free of her restraints and regained her memory.
The enormous creature behind the tentacle did not look like a species that would befriend humans.
To them, humans might not even count as food.
But Song Nanxing obviously hadn’t considered this. Holding the puppet rabbit, he said to the little octopus, “You lead the way.”
The blue tentacle shook vigorously in refusal, then happily curled around Song Nanxing’s waist and swiftly disappeared back into the mist.
The two Jingyao, left behind, glanced after the tentacle vanishing into the fog, then swiftly followed.
The giant blue octopus flickered in and out of the fog.
Its eight tentacles stretched out casually, undulating through the mist like giant serpents. In front of its massive body stood a small security door, guarded by a shabby puppet.
The puppet caught a familiar scent and clumsily stood up to greet them.
The little octopus reluctantly let go of Song Nanxing, its tentacle tips brushing against him.
Song Nanxing petted the puppet’s head, then looked at the enormous octopus in the fog. His PTSD flared again.
He sincerely said to the little octopus, “You’re still cuter when you’re small.”
A creature that big inevitably reminded him of the tentacles hiding in the dense mist.
Hearing this, the little octopus immediately shrank back to its small jelly-like form, swimming quickly through the fog before settling contentedly on Song Nanxing’s shoulder.
Jingyao arrived a moment later and, seeing the pet-like little octopus perched on Song Nanxing’s shoulder, looked even more conflicted. Her gaze shifted to the puppet, which stood quietly beside Song Nanxing’s leg, well-behaved.
Jingyao withdrew her eyes.
Song Nanxing opened the door and, seeing the familiar scene outside, relaxed. He gestured for Jingyao to go first.
Without hesitation, Jingyao stepped outside, and Song Nanxing followed. The puppet remained inside, standing still.
Song Nanxing looked at it curiously: “Why aren’t you leaving? We’re going home.”
The puppet’s black hole-like eyes brightened slightly, but it shook its head—there was still something unfinished, so it closed the door.
Though Song Nanxing knew the puppet wasn’t ordinary, he waited outside the door anxiously.
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