Chapter Twenty-Eight: Matters of Dreams

Her body felt unbearably heavy.

What was she doing? Falling? Yes, she was falling! Jiang Lan looked down and saw an endless abyss beneath her feet. Where was this place? Suddenly, she stopped, her body twisting as her toes touched something cold and icy. It seemed she had reached the bottom.

She glanced around—darkness everywhere. No, not true darkness, but sunlight smothered under a black shroud, so that only the immediate space around her was dimly visible.

This was the endless abyss, lying beyond the bounds of the Six Realms and within the void. She had been here before.

Beneath her feet was glacial, pitch-black rock, so cold it pierced to the bone. No force could damage it in the slightest. There was something uncanny about it: it drained away all magic.

The Divine Obsidian Stone was the crystallization of these black rocks after countless millennia. To find even a sliver was near impossible—let alone to take it away.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her gave way; Jiang Lan tumbled down, landing not with the pain she expected, but onto something soft, suffused with the fresh fragrance of spring grass.

She lifted her eyes. Now the surroundings had grown much clearer, though the sky still pressed down, dark and oppressive—or perhaps there was no sky at all.

There was neither day nor night in the endless abyss, only the breadth of her own vision.

Jiang Lan rose and walked deeper into the gloom.

In the distance, she could just make out an earthen hut, faint wisps of smoke curling from its roof.

Someone was there!

Jiang Lan grew wary, quietly unlatching the fence and slipping inside without a sound.

She had only taken a few steps when a voice called out to her.

“Yao Yao, dinner’s ready—come quickly.”

Jiang Lan started; “Yao Yao” was her childhood nickname, known only to her family.

She turned around—and beheld a scene as gentle as the spring breeze.

Beneath the peach blossom tree stood a man in white robes, his hair unbound and dark as ink, tumbling freely in the wind like a silken waterfall. His face, though smeared with dust as if brushed with charcoal, bore a kitchen apron at the waist—he had clearly been cooking.

It was just as in her dreams, and yet not the same.

Was she dreaming now?

She did not know. She only remembered that when she emerged from the void, she had lost a beloved pet and a stretch of memory.

Through the tens of thousands of years that followed, that man called “Ruoru” had often appeared in her dreams. But always just a fragment, a phrase, a glance, a single breath—never as vivid as today.

She gazed at the meal before her: two dishes, one soup, two bowls of rice.

Simple, unadorned, passable in appearance; as for taste... Jiang Lan glanced at the man across from her, who looked as though he had just come from battle, and decided not to expect much.

The man was busy, constantly tidying up dishes and sweeping the floor... Jiang Lan sat quietly on the small wooden stool at the table, dazedly watching his bustling figure.

Night fell swiftly; but how could there be night here?

Was this not the endless abyss? Or was it another place within the void? Or perhaps not the void at all?

Lying in bed, all was silent. The only sound was the gentle breathing from the next room—he seemed to be asleep.

Listening to his steady breaths, Jiang Lan’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until her own breathing slowed and she slipped into dreams.

Coughing fitfully, she opened her eyes to see a thin haze of smoke—the scent of incense burning.

It was a shrine! Such a grand ancestral hall—how had she come to be here? Her legs ached terribly; how long had she been kneeling? And whose ancestral hall was this? Rubbing her eyes, she looked around: the Jiang Clan Ancestral Hall, with the spirit tablets of Jiang Jie and Lady Xue placed in the center.

So it was Jiang Lan kneeling here—but why?

A small door opened in the corner, and a little maid slipped inside.

“My lord, my lord, the young miss sent this with me—please eat quickly, the duke doesn’t know.”

Jiang Lan looked at the young girl, no more than ten years old, and reached out to take the white steamed bun hidden in her arms.

But her own hand was tiny, her arm short and stubby. It was not the grandeur of the ancestral hall that dwarfed her—Jiang Lan herself was only three years old.

Why would anyone punish a child so harshly at that age?

Jiang Lan tore into the bun ravenously. The little maid’s eyes welled with tears. “The duke is so cruel. My lord is still so little and has been kneeling for a whole day and two nights, yet he won’t give in.”

What! A day and two nights? Was he even human, to treat a three-year-old child like this?

The maid didn’t dare linger, promising to return tomorrow.

Jiang Lan said nothing, only knelt numbly on the prayer cushion.

Time passed quickly. Morning sunlight filtered through the window, pale and cold, bringing no warmth—only a chill to the heart.

But it wasn’t the sunlight that chilled her. It was the people.

Jiang Lan looked up at the old man before her—though “old” was not quite right; his face was still youthful, but his hair had turned completely white.

His gaze was terrifying, like a demon risen from the depths of hell, a surging murderous intent beneath his cold indifference.

Did he want to kill her?

Why?

Jiang Lan lowered her head, not daring to meet that undisguised malice.

“Today is the anniversary of your parents’ death. Kneel. If not for them, you would be the one dead!”

What did he mean—she should have died?

Jiang Lan did not ask, only remained kneeling properly.

Perhaps her calm demeanor angered the man, for he slammed the table with a heavy hand, making her flinch.

“Why wasn’t it you who died?”

What?

The old man stormed out, leaning angrily on his cane.

The scene shifted. She was squatting beneath a bookshelf, a scroll of history in her hands. The lighting was poor; Jiang Lan dusted herself off and stood, book still in hand.

He appeared again, snatching the book away and tossing it aside.

“Go back.”

“I—I want to read,” the words slipped out, beyond her control. How strange!

“You shouldn’t read. Go back!”

He was fierce—truly fierce! Feeling him on the verge of anger, her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her out of the study.

She squatted under the study’s window, listening to the voices inside.

“It would be better if she hadn’t lived…”

Jiang Lan covered her mouth and nose. She wanted to cry—or rather, this body wanted to cry.

The scene shifted again, to a dark, windy night.

Not at the Jiang Manor, but a desolate, abandoned house.

She seemed to be waiting for someone, filled with both anticipation and anxiety.

Suddenly a figure in black appeared, standing in the shadows.

“My lord, about the secret you wish to know—the princess says she can help you, but only if you agree to do something for her.”

“What is it?”

Before Jiang Lan could hear his answer, tens of thousands of arrows rained from the sky, and hundreds of black-clad men surged in from all sides.

She dodged the arrows, but could not escape the blades and spears that followed.

Jiang Lan died. From then on, Yin Xun lived in this world.

...

Jiang Lan snapped awake. Her whole body was drenched, as if fished from a river.

Familiar surroundings. The familiar folding screen...

She was back?

She was still wearing the same clothes she had worn on her return with Xue Mingrui—untouched.

Outside, night had fallen completely.

Her movements stirred the air, and Xi Chi from the side room soon entered.

“Prepare a bath.”

Soaking in a tub half her height, Jiang Lan examined the wounds on her body. Sure enough, their locations matched those inflicted in her dream. Even now, touching them, she could still clearly feel the pain of torn flesh and the unwillingness that had filled her former self.

Lying in the water, Jiang Lan pondered: If her dreams of Jiang Lan were true, then what of her own dreams? What was it the previous owner had been trying to uncover? What danger had it brought her?

And that hazy, indistinct old man with the cane—who was he? Why had he forbidden her from reading, even wished her dead?

What had caused all of this?