Chapter 706: Really Awake?

Inside the Star Chariot.

She lay on the Star Chariot's seat, the safety belt still fastened, her hair hanging from her shoulders onto her chest.

It was brown.

Qingque lifted her hair to her eyes and examined it carefully for two seconds.

Brown, the ends tied with a black ribbon, a few stray strands hanging from the forehead, the tips slightly curled upward.

It wasn't grayish‑white.

It was her own hair.

She looked down at her clothes: a black sleeveless high‑collar knit top, a short teal waist‑fitted jacket embroidered with cloud and bird patterns, a golden clasp and red tassels at the waist.

Under the layered teal skirt was a white underskirt, its edge trimmed with embroidered wave‑like stitching.

They were her own clothes.

There were no asymmetrical wide sleeves, no single‑sided long socks, no anklet on the ankle.

It was the standard uniform of Pu Zhe of the Tai Bu Si.

I'm back.

Qingque raised her hand and touched her face, pressing a finger against her cheek.

It was soft, warm, the fingertip feeling the texture of the skin.

This sensation was real, not the false texture of a dream.

She pressed harder, it hurt.

The pain made her grit her teeth, and she quickly released.

Good, it's not a dream.

I'm truly awake.

She let out a long sigh, then slumped on the seat in a terribly undignified pose, limbs splayed, head tilted back, her emerald eyes staring blankly at the ceiling lamp.

That earlier dream—Pioneer singing on her fish‑head, that towering Shuhuo Giant Tree—was all false.

All a dream.

Even though she didn't know why the dream was so long, it was still just a dream.

She woke up, she woke up, she finally woke up!

Qingque couldn't help but stretch lazily.

She raised her arms over her head, vertebrae stretching segment by segment, fingertips nearly touching the metal ceiling before pulling back, her whole body loosening from fingertips to toe tips.

Then she noticed the Star Chariot had stopped.

Outside the cabin window was no longer clouds and sky, but a row of wooden platform signs, bearing a few standard seal characters of the Ministry of Works.

We've arrived.

She braced the seat armrest and stood, shifting the numb half of her buttocks, her gaze sweeping the empty seats ahead—where a few Cloud Cavalry brothers had sat before, now perfectly vacant, the cushion still bearing their indentations, but the people gone.

Qingque scratched her head; eight members of the Cloud Cavalry—surely they weren't all staying to guard her lazy sleep, they must have disembarked to attend to business while she slept.

It was a bit odd they hadn't called her, since by protocol they should escort her to Shen Ce Fu to complete their report, but then again, they were regular staff with busy duties; they couldn't waste time with an idle Tai Bu Si employee.

She brushed the dust off her garment, pushed the matter to the back of her mind, yet the dream still lingered in her thoughts.

Shuhuo—far too absurd.

How could she dream of Shuhuo?

Not to mention she'd never seen it with her own eyes; she hadn't even flipped through a few Tai Bu Si files on Shuhuo, and all concrete information about this Abundance Envoy came from snippets heard in tea houses and casual legends from colleagues.

Yet in the dream Shuhuo was rendered vividly concrete: the towering tree trunk, the blood‑red eyes, the human face bulging out of the eye sockets, and that overwhelming Abundance aura thick enough to make grass grow in one's lungs.

Is her subconscious a monster‑level screenwriter?

And the Pioneer.

As Qingque rose toward the Star Chariot's hatch, she silently muttered to herself—why did she dream of the Pioneer?

In the normal plot they were merely acquaintances, yet in the dream the Pioneer lay on her fish‑head singing "What does this pain in the storm matter," and finally spoke to her in a dying, entrusting tone, urging her to save this place.

Absurd, far too absurd.

In the dream she felt apologetic—not that she didn't want to help, but she truly couldn't; it was Shuhuo, and what could a slacking Diviner do by rushing in?

Raise a hand to toss a jade tablet and get slapped into a score sheet?

She had already realized in the dream: you can't force others beyond their limits; that principle holds everywhere.

Qingque shook her head, shaking off the lingering guilt, stepped down the gangway and onto the platform.

Many people hurried across the platform, faces tense with the same expression; from the mouths of two passing Cloud Cavalry members she caught words like Giant Tree, Dan Ding Office, Grand Diviner, likely indicating another incident over there.

Since the Giant Tree Rebirth, Luofu hasn't been quiet; she's long grown accustomed to this atmosphere.

Qingque stood at the platform exit, glancing in a certain direction.

Shen Ce Fu should be in that direction.

She identified the street's orientation, confirmed the direction, then stepped onto the street.

Walking, she drafted a mental outline, pondering how to explain today's events to Fu Xuan.

On the street, someone publicly used a jade tablet to blast three demon shadows, the commotion shattering the blue‑stone slabs across half the street.

If this were reported, Grand Diviner could tear her apart on the spot.

To be frank?

She dreamed that a Marshal taught her martial arts?

No, that's too far‑fetched; Fu Xuan would think she's just playing around.

Simplify it?

Just say she ran into demon shadows on the road, dealt with them casually, and was then summoned by the Cloud Cavalry.

As for why she was late, she fell asleep on the Star Chariot.

The excuse is embarrassing, but at least it's true, and Grand Diviner had long been prepared for her slacking off and sleeping in.

Qingque nodded and thought the plan could be approved.

She walked down the street with her head down, rehearsing the exact wording in her mind, completely unaware of what was happening around her.

It was the surrounding sounds that first pulled her out of her thoughts.

First, someone on the street stopped and shouted something.

Then more people stopped, more heads lifted, and they let out the same restrained exclamations.

The noisy crowd fell silent as if someone had hit a mute button, then erupted again in an even more uncontrolled frenzy.

Shouts traveled from one end of the street to the other, first a vague murmur, then she heard distinct sentences.

"Look up at the sky!"

"What is that!"

"Abundance—it's a Abundance Offspring!"

"Run! Go find the Cloud Cavalry!"

Qingque raised her head, bewildered.

The sky split open.

A fissure tore open from the exact center of the heavens, its edges uneven, as if someone had crudely scratched it open from behind with fingernails.

Inside the crack was golden, dense and countless, pressing outward.

Branches.

Golden trunks crawled across the surface of the sky in all directions.

The thinnest were as wide as a street; the thickest were three times wider than Luofu's main street.

The trunks were covered with faces, perfect geometric visages—eyebrows were eyebrows, noses were noses, and the curvature of the lips was so clear it seemed carved stroke by stroke with the finest chisel.

Each face bore blood‑red eyes, as if immersed in a viscous crimson, standing out strikingly against the golden countenances.

Qingque's eyes widened, her emerald pupils snapping shut within her sockets.