Chapter 699: Shuhuo

When a red dot turned to point at Qingque's direction, she could feel the oppressive pressure of tens of thousands of eyes watching from countless angles at once, seeping from the skin's surface, climbing up through her veins, all the way to the back of her head.

The bark itself was also moving.

Beneath the golden outer skin seemed countless independent muscles twitching on their own; some spots bulged, some sank into pits, and whole sections of bark peeled back, revealing a darker, redder inner layer.

That wasn't wood; it was living flesh.

Qingque's brain crashed.

Completely crashed.

From the moment the tree began growing to now was only a few dozen breaths, yet her sense of time had completely collapsed the instant she first saw the treetop stretching beyond the horizon.

Her mouth was open and wouldn't close.

Her eyes were open and wouldn't blink.

Her body still held the pose of both hands braced behind her, neck arched back to the limit, like a doll paused by someone's button.

The fish beneath her had retreated dozens of kilometers, but the tree's expansion was faster; whatever distance it withdrew, it grew that much, and the golden branches stretched toward the sky like wall‑climbing tigers following their retreat.

Her field of view remained packed to the brim.

Unconsciously, her lips kept moving.

"Ahhhhh—why is it still growing? No, what is this thing? What did this tree eat to become like this? What's its mother's surname? No, this is a dream so I don't need common sense. But this already exceeds the no‑common‑sense limit!"

She muttered while continuing to lean back; the angle of her lean had reached the point where a normal person would flip over, yet she didn't.

Her body no longer understood balance; after all, a dream doesn't require it, so she kept the bizarre posture, watching the giant tree that occupied the whole sky.

Then a name floated up in her mind, not one she thought of, but appearing out of nowhere.

As if someone had directly inserted it from outside into her brain, carrying an inexplicable certainty, as if the name had always waited at its designated spot for her, only previously suppressed; now the tree's terrifying aura cleared that layer, and the name popped out automatically, matching the Golden Giant Tree before her, and began generating related information.

Shuhuo.

Qingque blinked.

The muttering stopped for a beat, then changed tone.

"Shu—what? Uncle Uncle—Shuhuo?"

"Wait, Shuhuo? That Shuhuo?"

"Abundance Envoy Shuhuo?"

Information about Shuhuo began auto‑popping in her mind.

Each fragment was knowledge she should never have learned, yet now clearly listed in Cognition: Abundance Envoy, once fought Luofu, specific battle details unknown, current whereabouts unknown.

The text came with its own annotations and illustrations, those pictures identical to the giant tree before her, only from different angles.

It wasn't her own reasoning; it was a fully automatic push, like someone had installed a data‑projection system deep in her consciousness, linked to an encyclopedia of Abundance‑related entries, then hit play.

Fine.

She didn't care.

Why is there Shuhuo in a dream?

No idea.

Why do encyclopedia entries auto‑pop in her brain?

No idea.

She changed posture.

Earlier she was leaning back; now she was lying flat.

The back of her head rested on the fish's back, legs crossed in a figure‑four, arms crossed under her neck.

Her ash‑gray long hair spread over the fish scales, lit by the teal‑blue glimmer of the scales, giving a soft sheen.

Jade‑like plaques drifted lazily on both sides of her body; two of them, tired from drifting, fell directly onto her belly, and she was too lazy to brush them off, just letting them rest there.

That giant tree, Shuhuo, kept changing wildly.

The golden foliage on the canopy rearranged every second, branches tangled then dispersed, crimson eyeballs on the trunk spun nonstop, and the flesh beneath the bark continuously contracted and expanded.

The whole tree resembled piles of golden meat on a mountaintop fighting each other, each piece writhing and breathing, every inch shouting to all who saw it, "I'm huge, I'm weird, I don't care what you think~"

Qingque's crossed leg twitched.

Her mindset had leveled; people are like that—when faced with overwhelming terror, they either go mad or lie down.

She chose to lie down.

After all, it's a dream; she'd reminded herself three times that being scared to death in a dream means waking up to nothing.

What's there to fear?

Better to use this chance to closely observe what the legendary Abundance Envoy looks like, then back at the Tai Bu Si colleagues brag about it—though the brag is about a dream, she often mixes truth with fiction anyway.

So this is the Abundance Envoy.

First time seeing it.

Qingque lay on the fish's back, swinging that crossed leg back and forth, her tone shifting from earlier panic to a museum‑tour commentary.

Honestly, she'd only read records in dossiers before, saying Shuhuo was an Envoy under the Seat of the Plague‑Ancestor, and had left many deeds in Xianzhou Alliance history.

Now seeing it with her own eyes, even if in a dream, she felt this thing truly lived up to the title of Envoy.

This size, this aura, this bizarre aesthetic of eyes sprouting on every branch watching you while the bark writhes as if about to speak the next second—seeing it once is worth a century, it broadened her horizons, truly increased her knowledge.

The fish beneath her still retreated, but she was no longer in a hurry.

The jade plaques seemed to sense her complete relaxation; several landed directly on her, face down, lying quietly.

Save this place.

The sentence Xing had said rang in her mind again, then she dismissed it.

Save what?

Beat Shuhuo?

She raised one hand, spread her five fingers, and aimed at the constantly writhing golden canopy in the sky.

An azure glimmer flashed at her fingertips, then vanished.

She withdrew her hand and rested it again beneath her neck.

Did I hit Shuhuo?

Will it win?

It's a death sentence.

She yawned, and a small physiological watery shine welled at the corner of her eye.

She now just wants this damned dream to end quickly.

If being dealt with by Shuhuo could wake her from this series of absurd nightmares, then she truly wants to thank that commanding master.

The nightmare dissipates, all thanks to Shuhuo.

Her crossed legs swung twice more, then came to a complete stop.

She lay entirely on the fish's back, peacefully waiting for the dream's conclusion.

One hand propped her neck, the other rested on her belly, pressing down the few fallen jade plaques, while her ash‑gray long hair spread across the fish scales.

Her mouth stopped trembling, her eyes ceased widening, and her expression fully relaxed.

She even tilted her head, finding a more comfortable supine angle, so she could continue watching that Golden Giant Tree that occupied the whole sky and kept growing endlessly.