Chapter Twenty-One: Interpreting Dreams

Lu Chenyan and Qian Dahai emerged from the kitchen shoulder to shoulder, and before they reached the counter, they heard several local idlers at a nearby table laughing loudly in a mocking tone.

One of them slanted his gaze toward the four burly strangers who had just moved into the corner and said in an exaggerated voice, “Hey, brothers, I heard that the Listening Tide Pavilion by the sea is the best place to watch the tides. I suppose the rooms there cost a fortune, don’t they?”

His companion immediately caught on and replied with a laugh, “Of course! I’ve heard that today some heroes found the feng shui there too good to handle, couldn’t suppress their own luck, and specially moved here to our Ten Thousand People Beach. Who knows if it’s true?”

Their words were laced with sarcasm, and everyone could tell they were ridiculing the four men for being thrown out of the high-class inns near the sea.

At once, many people cast playful looks their way.

Those four men were wandering cultivators, proud of their reputation—how could they endure such public humiliation?

The most hot-tempered among them, a bearded man, slammed his wine bowl down with a loud bang, sending liquor splashing everywhere, and roared,

“What nonsense are you spouting! We brothers chose this place for its peace and quiet. If we had to squeeze in with those pretentious young lords, it would only pollute our ears!”

The local idler chuckled and replied, “Well said, hero. That’s true—the Listening Tide Pavilion is full of noble heirs and sect scions. Any ornament they wear is worth more than a lifetime’s earnings for ordinary folks like us. We can’t provoke them, nor can we compare.”

Though he sounded self-deprecating, he was actually pushing the four men toward the label of ‘paupers.’

The bearded man instantly flushed red, veins popping on his neck, and sprang to his feet, pointing at the idler and cursing,

“What do you know! Gold and silver are vulgar things, how can they compare to the rare treasures of heaven and earth? We brothers roam the Southern Seas, and by chance obtained a rare artifact—when nobles see it, even they envy us!”

At these words, the hall fell silent.

Everyone knew that at the decennial Tide Watching Festival, many wandering cultivators from overseas brought rare treasures to trade.

The idler’s eyes gleamed, knowing his provocation had worked, and feigned disbelief,

“Oh? What sort of treasure could be so precious? Are you joking, hero?”

“Joking?”

The bearded man, furious, let out a cold laugh, puffed up his chest, and declared with pride,

“I’ll tell you, the treasure in our possession is called the Bright Moon Jade from the Vast Sea! Inside it is a radiant moon that calms the mind and suppresses impurities! You frog in the well, have you ever heard of it?!”

The moment the words “Bright Moon Jade from the Vast Sea” were spoken, the hall erupted.

Recently, rumors about this jade had been rampant throughout Zhenhai River; people had heard its name but never seen it, and now the owners were right here.

All at once, countless gazes—greedy, suspicious, curious—were fixed on the four men.

Even the idler who started the ruckus was stunned, then recovered and laughed,

“So it’s you gentlemen! My apologies! But with such a lively tale, we’ve only heard rumors. Seeing is believing—why not show us the jade, so us ordinary folks can broaden our horizons?”

“Yes, show us!”

“Let us bask in a bit of immortal aura!”

A chorus of voices echoed around.

The bearded man, already fired up, now found himself riding a tiger—unable to get off.

The steadier man beside him quickly grabbed his arm and scolded in a low voice,

“Third brother, don’t speak foolishly! How can we display such a treasure so lightly?”

Then he stood up, clasped his fists to those around, and said gravely,

“Forgive us, this item is of great importance and cannot be shown in public. My third brother is hot-tempered and offended many—please accept my apology on his behalf.”

Though his words were courteous, his attitude was resolute; no matter how the crowd clamored, he only shook his head and declined.

Seeing there would be no spectacle, the crowd gradually lost interest and turned away, though the murmurs continued unabated.

Lu Chenyan watched the entire farce unfold, unmoved, considering it nothing more than the usual banter of wanderers.

He shifted his gaze, intending to observe Qian Dahai’s reaction, wondering how ecstatic he would be to hear that such a treasure was now in his own inn.

Yet Qian Dahai’s usual merchant’s smile, so full of prosperity, seemed frozen on his face.

His perpetually squinted eyes showed no trace of delight, only an inexplicable anxiety and irritation, his features so drawn with worry they nearly collapsed inward.

This expression lasted only a moment.

When he noticed Lu Chenyan’s gaze, his sorrow vanished, replaced by his genial, profit-seeking smile, as if that brief lapse had been a mere illusion.

Lu Chenyan said nothing, but quietly memorized the subtle detail.

The warmth brought by those two steamed buns had not yet faded, yet a wisp of suspicion crept silently into his heart.

…

Shangguan Chuci emerged from the Bureau of Demon Suppression as dusk approached, intending to return directly to the Listening Tide Inn, but slowed her steps near the Taibai Tavern.

Beneath the tavern, the crowd bustled, hawkers’ cries rising and falling, but one corner was unusually tranquil.

A battered square table, a faded cloth banner, with the words “Guessing Hearts” written upon it.

A woman in azure robes reclined lazily on a legless bench, appearing half drunk, half awake.

It was none other than Lu Chenyan’s master, Mistress Situ.

Shangguan Chuci stood at the street corner, her eyes narrowing as she observed from afar.

She had long been deeply curious about Lu Chenyan’s master, and seeing her demeanor now only piqued her interest further.

Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, she smiled, folded her fan, and approached the table.

Meanwhile, Lu Chenyan, coming from the other end of the street, was about to seek out his master when he spotted the pale figure and felt a jolt in his heart.

He hadn’t expected Shangguan Chuci to encounter his master, so he suppressed his curiosity and did not approach, instead squatting by a nearby clay figurine stall, pretending to browse, his ears alert.

He heard Shangguan Chuci’s clear voice as she clasped her hands in greeting and smiled,

“Mistress, greetings. I have a strange dream that lingers in my mind, defying all understanding. Would you be willing to interpret it for me?”

Situ did not even raise her eyelids, simply shook the red wine gourd in her hand and replied indifferently,

“I have no interest in your dream.”

Ordinary people would have left in a huff at such coldness.

But Shangguan Chuci’s smile did not fade in the slightest,

“Don’t be hasty, Mistress. My dream is unlike those of ordinary folk. I dare say, once you hear it, you’ll find it fascinating.”

Only then did Situ slowly lift her head, her peach blossom eyes sparkling in the dusk.

She sized up Shangguan Chuci, her gaze initially placid, then sharp for a fleeting instant, before returning to laziness.

“Oh? Tell me, then.”

Delighted that Situ had agreed, Shangguan Chuci began,

“What I dreamed was not a fleeting illusion, but a different, strange life. That life was vivid—landscapes, customs, human affairs—all utterly unlike this world. Only…”

She paused, a trace of melancholy crossing her face,

“Only that dream is now gradually fading. So many things, so many people within it, are like sand paintings after the tide recedes—no matter how I try to recall, I cannot hold onto them. Mistress, is there a way to make the dream last?”

Situ’s expression did not change as she asked,

“A dream is but illusion. What does it matter if you forget?”

Shangguan Chuci shook her head,

“You do not know, Mistress. I tried recording what I saw in the dream, so that I might remember.”

“But curiously, when I truly forget something, and look back at the words I wrote, even they become unfamiliar—I recognize their shapes, but their meanings elude me.”

Hearing this, Lu Chenyan felt a shock beside them.

He found the tale bizarre, yet it bore an uncanny resemblance to his own dream of the Immortal Emperor.

Situ finally burst out laughing.

“Yours is indeed a strange dream.”

Shangguan Chuci laughed as well,

“Every word I say is true; I wouldn’t dare deceive you, Mistress.”

Situ’s smile slowly faded.

She raised the wine gourd to her lips, not drinking, but simply gazing quietly at Shangguan Chuci.

After a while, she spoke in a languid tone,

“You think your dream is interesting, but you don’t know what truly makes it interesting.”

Shangguan Chuci was stirred, her expression solemn,

“Please enlighten me, Mistress.”

Situ gently placed the wine gourd on the table and said,

“One day, when you forget everything from that dream, clean and complete…”

She raised her eyes, her peach blossom gaze calmly fixed on Shangguan Chuci, and uttered a thunderous conclusion.

“You yourself will have died.”

At her words, Shangguan Chuci’s usual serene smile froze in an instant.

…

When Shangguan Chuci’s figure had disappeared, Lu Chenyan remained squatting, his mind tumultuous and hard to calm.

The old man selling clay figurines beside him, seeing Lu Chenyan linger, thought a customer was coming and was about to speak, but Lu Chenyan stirred, gently placed the figurine back, and walked toward the azure-robed figure.

As dusk thickened, the market’s bustle faded like the ebbing tide, leaving only a few late travelers.

Lu Chenyan halted beside Situ, hesitating, unsure how to begin.

She did not glance at him, but raised the wine gourd to her lips, took a small sip, and spoke languidly,

“Heard it all, didn’t you?”

Lu Chenyan froze, his face warming slightly, then chuckled,

“Nothing escapes Master.”

Situ laughed lightly, turned her head, and looked at him,

“You’re a clever boy. That talk just now—listen and let it go, don’t take it to heart.”

She paused, seeing confusion still in Lu Chenyan’s eyes, and said with some annoyance,

“As for your supernatural dreams, forget them if you can—that’s the proper way.”

Lu Chenyan was moved, and blurted out, “And what about Young Lord Chuci’s dream?”

Situ’s eyes flickered, but she did not answer.

She took a long swig of Autumn Dew White, and said quietly,

“The weather’s getting cold. Let’s go back.”