Chapter 709: Dream Within a Dream

She flips her wrist, thumb hooks the front of the jade tile, index and middle fingers clamp the back, engages her waist and abdomen, shoulders drive the arm, arm drives the wrist, the whole body's force rises from the soles, converging at her fingertips; she uses all her strength to hurl the jade tile outward.

The jade tile spun a few times in the air.

The bluish‑white jade traced a faint glint under the dim golden sky light.

Then it struck the side of a golden branch, emitting a muffled thud almost swallowed by the wind.

There was no lapis‑colored vortex.

Nor any fish leapt from the void.

And no surging light at all.

The jade tile, like an ordinary jade token, bounced, slipped off the branch surface, and fell into the roadside pile of rubble.

Qingque widened her eyes.

Her right hand still held the throwing pose, fingers slightly spread, fingertips trembling faintly.

The branch crashed down.

Its arc deviated not at all, striking the street's center with a ruthless trajectory.

The moment it hit the ground, the whole street shivered.

The stone slab road was punched into a massive crater; the shockwave fanned out from the impact point, flinging several still‑running civilians, and shattering the roadside signs and doors.

The mother moved a moment before the branch fell; she thrust the little girl from her arms, using all her strength, both hands pushing, hurling the child toward a narrow side alley.

As the girl flew out, her two small hands flailed in the air, ten fingers splayed, fingertips pointing toward her mother.

She landed on a cloth stall at the alley entrance, rolled twice, half‑buried by a heap of scattered fabric.

Then the mother was engulfed by the falling branch.

Qingque stood where she was, her hand still raised.

The little girl crawled out of the fabric pile; the fur on her Fox Ears dumpling had several tufts scraped off by broken tiles, her face covered in ash and tear stains.

She opened her mouth and let out a vague shout toward the ruin still shedding debris.

That voice, amid the noisy street, was terrifyingly clear, like a needle piercing all the chaotic noise straight into the eardrum.

Qingque still stood where she was.

She felt she should run, should run immediately, yet her legs felt nailed into the stone slab cracks.

Then a golden branch swept over her head, spanning toward Shen Ce Fu; immediately a second, a third, and all the branches at once changed direction, as if receiving a unified command, rushing en masse toward Shen Ce Fu.

Those branches were no longer aimlessly smashing; they now had direction.

They were attacking!

The crack in the sky was stretched to its limit at that moment; from its depths a massive form emerged partially, a sky‑blocking golden canopy, countless golden faces, innumerable blood‑red eyes opening simultaneously, all gazing toward the eaves and brackets of Shen Ce Fu.

The branches poured down like a waterfall, covering the whole sky, swallowing the few remaining rays of light.

Then all the branches fell together.

Boom—

Qingque sat up abruptly.

A short, sharp scream expelled the air from her lungs.

She clutched her chest with both hands; beneath her palms her heart thrashed wildly behind the ribs, beating repeatedly, making her feel her entire thorax vibrate.

Before her was not the street, nor the shattered cloth stall and the little fox girl, but a blue moon.

In the distance, the Golden Giant Tree still slowly expanding.

And beneath her, a translucent lapis‑colored giant fish, its scales bearing a few golden blossoms.

She opened her mouth and gasped several times before gradually slowing her breathing.

Cold sweat streamed down from her forehead, sliding over her cheeks.

Several strands of her ash‑white long hair clung to her cheeks and neck, dampened by sweat.

She raised a hand to wipe her face; as her fingers brushed her forehead she felt the lingering coolness on her skin.

Qingque lowered her head to glance at her ash‑white hair hanging before her shoulders.

The strands glimmered with a pale silver sheen under the moon's pale blue halo, a few stray hairs lifted by the sea breeze brushed her own fingers.

White.

Still white.

The asymmetrical hem draped over the fish's back; the left over‑knee long sock's gilded rim still reflected faintly, and the Silver Feather Pattern Anklet at the right ankle chimed softly as the fish swayed.

She stretched out her hand, fingers splayed before her eyes; the cold‑white skin on the back of her hand and knuckles showed a faint cyan pattern.

It was still the visage of the White‑haired General.

Still within that pure, bizarre dream.

It's okay, it's okay, all just a dream.

She returned.

No—she hasn't woken!

She woke from one dream into another.

Qingque bent over, burying her face in her palm, her fingertips digging into the ash‑white hair, pressing hard against her scalp.

The dream just now—Luofu's crack, the golden branches, that Fox People mother's hand reaching out, the little girl's sharp cries, and the jade tile that bounced after she threw it—all replayed frame by frame in her mind, each frame absurdly vivid, more real than reality.

She slowly realized: it was a dream within a dream.

Huh? She actually dreamed another dream inside the dream, even dreaming that Shuhuo struck Luofu.

Qingque lowered her palm, wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, the tips of her fingers slick with icy beads, rubbing the ends of her ash‑white hair.

Fortunately.

All just dreams.

How could Shuhuo possibly break through Xianzhou?

How could it possibly really get to Luofu?

But that's Luofu, one of the core warships of the Xianzhou Alliance, with the Cloud Cavalry, with General Jingyuan, although the general is asleep now, there is also Grand Diviner, and countless defensive mechanisms.

An Abundance command rampaged unchecked to Luofu's summit, tore a hole in the sky, and slammed a branch onto the gate of Shen Ce Fu; a disaster of this level could never possibly happen.

At most it would only scare her in a dream.

She repeatedly recited these reasons to herself in her mind, as if comforting a child who had been startled awake by a nightmare.

Her fingers were still trembling slightly; she curled that hand into a fist, pressed it against her thigh, and suppressed the tremor at her fingertips.

She smoothed her hair again, brushing the few gray‑white strands stuck to her face behind her ear.

The icy feel of the hair strands against her fingertips was very real; that sensation was genuine, whereas the branch that had just fallen was fake.

The -O- hanging on the blue moon above her head was still asleep, completely unaware of everything happening below.

The giant tree in the distance remained far away, it didn't rush over, it didn't tear Luofu's sky open.

She exhaled again; this breath was much steadier than the previous one.

Then Qingque discovered something.

The voice in her mind vanished.

She listened carefully; there was no "save" anymore.

That half‑dead looping sound was finally gone.

That was probably the only good thing after waking up.