Chapter 685: Definitely a Dream

Grand Diviner pinches her face?! Grand Diviner speaks in that tone?! Grand Diviner's face shows that expression?!

She has been slacking off in the Tai Bu Si for so many years, has seen all sorts of things, yet has never seen Fu Xuan display such an expression.

Her brows twitched slightly, the corners of her mouth dipped a little, though she wasn't really angry; the light in her eyes was warm and soft, as if something had melted within.

She actually saw a ghost.

Qingque whispered those three characters in her mind three times.

First, she can confirm this is absolutely a dream.

Evidence A: She was just a second ago in Shen Ce Fu slapping herself to verify pain, and the next second she was lying on a bed being pinched on the face.

Evidence B: Her soul is drifting beneath the ceiling, watching herself, something obviously impossible in the real world.

Evidence C: Fu Xuan would never address her in that tone in reality—this certainty comes from her years of crawling and surviving in the Tai Bu Si.

All in all, this is a dream.

Although she doesn't know why the logic of this dream is so tight, from Yan Qing's flowing dialogue in Shen Ce Fu to Fu Xuan's current hand feeling as he pinches her face—yes, she can even sense the temperature and pressure of the two fingers on her cheek—it truly seems outrageous, yet a dream is still a dream.

The problem now is how to wake up.

Normally, after realizing you're dreaming, you can usually wake up.

Qingque attempts to wake herself up.

She focuses, trying to drift down from the ceiling back into her body, or to have the entire scene go black and then open her eyes.

She tried for about two or three seconds; nothing happened.

The scene stayed the same, the bed was still that bed, Fu Xuan was still pinching her face.

Then Qingque watched Fu Xuan lower his head.

That delicate face gradually grew larger in her view.

The tip of his nose was about to meet Qingque's nose.

The gap between their lips was sliding from a dangerous level toward a disastrous one.

A warning alarm blared in Qingque's mind.

No!

Wait, wait, wait!

What the heck?!

What is this supposed to do?!

Is the direction of this dream a bit off?!

It's getting ambiguous!

This is a dream!

She knows this is a dream!

No doubt, it's a hundred percent certain dream!

But even if it's a dream, even if it's a dream you can't just watch your direct superior kiss you right before your eyes!

How can I stare straight at Grand Diviner after I wake up!

If I'm caught skipping class and this scene automatically replays in my head, what should I do!

Qingque suddenly opened her eyes.

Her emerald almond eyes and pink pupils met within less than a palm's length.

The pink eyes were up close, the light in the pupils flickered and contracted suddenly from the sudden turn of events.

Then Fu Xuan's expression was like a window being shut, withdrawing concern and tenderness layer by layer, finally settling on the state she knows best—expressionless.

Silence.

A long silence.

Qingque felt she should say something.

In this moment, at this distance, in this posture—she lies on the bed, Fu Xuan leans over her, his hand still hovering by her chin; anyone witnessing this would think something remarkable is about to unfold.

Remaining silent would only make the atmosphere more awkward.

Qingque opened her mouth, the voice forced out of her throat, dry and hoarse.

"Um. Good evening?"

Fu Xuan's expression stayed unchanged, his voice calm.

"You were awake the whole time just now?"

Qingque's face flushed bright red.

She hurriedly pulled her hand from the blanket and waved it aimlessly in the air.

"Uh—no! No, no! Absolutely not! I just woke up! I woke up right at the moment you—at that—moment! Really! Not early at all! Not late at all! It was just you—anyway, I just woke up!"

Fu Xuan stared at her silently.

Qingque realized that the word "that" she just used was far too obvious.

She opened her mouth to say something to make amends, but the language center of her brain had clearly lost its link to her mouth.

The emerald eyes and the orange‑pink eyes stared at each other, one frantic, one calm, exactly like the classic tableau when she tipped over a teacup in the Tai Bu Si.

Fu Xuan gave her no chance to recover.

Grand Diviner leaned down, one hand resting on the pillow beside Qingque's ear, the other hand cradling her chin.

The motion was fluid as if rehearsed countless times; of course Qingque knew Fu Xuan couldn't have practiced such a move, yet it unfolded in one seamless flow.

Lips met lips.

It wasn't a brush.

It wasn't a press.

It's the real deal, with no ambiguous contact.

Fu Xuan's lips were soft, a little cooler than expected, with a very faint flower tea scent.

That sensation traveled through the nerve endings on her lips into her brain, and every inch of her cerebral cortex burst into fireworks.

In that second, Qingque's mind went through the following: first, denial—this couldn't be happening; it must be an angle thing, Grand Diviner just got too close and accidentally bumped into her.

Then came certainty—no, this was a kiss, lips to lips, no need to wash.

Then came logical analysis—why did he kiss her? Why would Grand Diviner kiss her?

She had just become a general—no, this is a dream, Grand Diviner in the dream kissing her—what does that mean?

Does it mean her subconscious expects Grand Diviner to kiss her?

Damn, I can't explain it any further.

Finally, all of the above processes short-circuited simultaneously.

Whether it was the white-haired general, Qingque lying on the bed, or the omniscent-view Qingque, everything was put on pause at that moment.

She even forgot to blink, to breathe, that she had hands she could use to push him away.

Then the dream shattered.

It wasn't a metaphor.

It literally shattered.

It was as if someone had smashed a pane of glass in her brain, crashing, and all the images exploded at once.

The bed, ceiling, screen, floor lamp, and Fu Xuan all shattered into countless tiny fragments that flew outward from the center, fine threads of light still linking the pieces.

Qingque jerked upright.

Her vision blurred, her heart hammered in her chest, and her temples throbbed.

She gasped, gripping the chair seat beneath her so hard her knuckles turned white.

Cold sweat seeped from her forehead, tracing down her temples, sliding over her cheeks, and dripping onto her collar.

Her vision slowly came into focus.

The surroundings gradually emerged from the blur: metal bulkheads, an arched ceiling, and cold-light strips set into the bulkheads.

Star Chariot.

Standard Luofu Army Star Chariot interior.

She sat in a window-side seat, still buckled in, opposite a row of Cloud Cavalry.

The Cloud Cavalry opposite looked as if they'd all seen a ghost.

The young officer at the edge dropped his sword scabbard, bent to pick it up, but froze mid-motion, afraid to move.

The older veteran in the middle gripped his knees, knuckles white with strain, lips pressed into a line, a sheen of visible sweat on his forehead.

The squad leader nearest Qingque was the decurion who'd been stunned by a fish in the alley earlier; his eyes bulged wider than the face of an Imperial Wall Jade tile, his whole body pressed into the chair back, as if trying to shrink himself.

The entire cabin fell silent for about three seconds.