Chapter 29: Dreaming

The Zhou Prince’s mansion did not issue an order for human sacrifice today; when the Princess Consort stepped out, leaning on Qin Nai’s arm, Shi Shi and the others had already changed into mourning clothes and knelt on the ground weeping.

She paused, then said: “You all heard the quarrel inside just now. We’ll wait for the Heir’s memorial to the Emperor before making a final decision. For these few days, you must weep faithfully before the coffin—don’t entertain foolish thoughts, and certainly don’t commit suicide on your own.”

She crouched halfway down, staring into their eyes: “I know you’re afraid of waiting to die. I’ve waited this long—I’m afraid too. But now you’re six as one. So if you die, don’t let your death drag someone else’s life down with you.”

Shi Shi trembled and hurriedly replied: “Princess Consort, rest assured—we won’t commit suicide on our own.”

If even one of them took her own life, the others would be forced to follow. So they must live together, or die together.

Indeed, some were breaking under the crushing pressure, thinking that whether they died now or later, death was inevitable—better to end it quickly and be rid of this daily terror.

Yet they were willing to die themselves, but didn’t want to be responsible for another’s life.

To unjustly take a life—if in the next life they were still forced to be a concubine of the imperial family, with no control over life or death—how terrible would that be?

The Zhou Prince stood beside the Princess Consort at this moment; hearing this, he sighed. His usual liveliness vanished, replaced by a chilling, gloomy aura.

He drifted back to Pan Yun’s side. “This system is deeply damaging to virtue and to the human heart. I wonder when it will ever be abolished.”

Isn’t this all the sin of your ancestors?

Pan Yun said nothing.

The Zhou Prince was also deeply pained, so he spoke aloud—not because he expected an answer.

The Zhou Prince’s funeral pavilion had already been erected. Zhu Zijin and Zhu Tongqie stood guard over the coffin; Zhu Zihou and Zhu Zidan silently accompanied them. As night fell, the two urged Zhu Zijin to send Zhu Tongqie back: “He’s too young to stay up all night. His health must come first.”

After refusing twice, Zhu Zijin allowed Gu Shi to carry Zhu Tongqie away to rest.

As Zhu Tongqie was carried out of the funeral hall, he saw Pan Yun standing by the door and pointed to the empty space beside her, calling: “Grandpa, Grandpa…”

Gu Shi wiped her tears as she soothed him: “Grandpa’s asleep, Qie’er must be good…”

Zhu Tongqie tilted his head, watching his grandfather standing beside his sister. He knew his mother was lying—Grandpa was clearly standing there. When Grandpa looked over, he happily waved.

The Zhou Prince was startled again. “He can see me? Could my grandson have a rare talent for cultivation?”

Pan Yun was unfazed. “Children’s eyes are pure; their heavenly eyes haven’t fully closed yet—they can see a little.”

She paused, then added: “But this child does have some talent. Why not give him to Sanqing Temple?”

The Zhou Prince hesitated, then shook his head—he couldn’t bear to let him go.

Zhu Zijin had only one son. If the Daoists took him away, what would become of the Zhou Prince’s lineage?

He rolled his eyes thoughtfully. “We can visit often. Let him be a lay disciple for now. If he grows older and still shows this talent, and if he truly succeeds in cultivation, Sanqing Temple can take him then.”

He now fully believed in Sanqing Temple’s power. With so many frauds in the world, finding one truly capable was rare. He’d been lucky to meet them—he wouldn’t let this chance slip away.

First, establish a good connection. Then keep visiting, maintain ties. Should the Zhou Prince’s mansion ever face disaster, he could seek their aid.

The Zhou Prince said: “Help me send another dream to Zijin.”

Pan Yun: “Dreams aren’t that easy to send…”

“I’ll give you another tray of silver.”

Pan Yun: “Of course. Of course.”

Pan Yun led him toward the guest quarters. Seeing that Zhang Physician’s and the eunuch’s rooms were dark, she formed a hand seal and wove a dream, then guided the Zhou Prince into it.

The Zhou Prince vanished in place. Xuan Miao, standing beneath the tree, watched the entire process, her brow furrowing.

Pan Yun’s gaze locked onto her. In the darkness, they stared at each other for a moment—then Xuan Miao stepped forward.

Neither spoke. They simply waited.

At that moment, the Zhou Prince was weeping bitterly in Zhang Physician’s dream, bowing repeatedly, begging him to return to the capital and fulfill this final wish.

“This has become an obsession. If I don’t see it done, I can’t rest—even in death.”

Zhang Physician rolled over, deeply annoyed. He tried to expel the Zhou Prince from his dream, but the Zhou Prince kept jabbering incessantly inside his mind.

Frustrated beyond endurance, Zhang Physician rolled over again, suddenly opening his eyes—Pan Yun’s dream trigger shattered instantly.

The Zhou Prince zipped back to Pan Yun’s side, still dazed. “Why did he wake up?”

Pan Yun said: “It’s fine. The dream’s already been sent. If he refuses to act, tomorrow I’ll make him sleep all day, trapped in endless dreams until he believes it’s real—and has no choice but to fulfill your wish.”

The Zhou Prince nodded. “Next, the eunuch Qian.”

Pan Yun was about to form the hand seal and weave the dream when Xuan Miao pressed her hand down, expression unreadable. “You mean your ‘sending dreams’ is you fabricating the dream yourself?”

Xuanmiao glanced at Prince Zhou, formed a hand seal with one hand, and sent a streak of spiritual light into Prince Zhou’s soul-body; with a flick of her wrist, Prince Zhou shot away with a hiss and floated gently into the eunuch Qian’s chamber.

Xuan Miao glanced at the Zhou Prince, formed a single hand seal, and sent a streak of spiritual light into his spirit-body. With a flick of her wrist, the Zhou Prince shot away, floating gently into Qian the Eunuch’s room.

Pan Yun’s eyes widened. She opened her heavenly eye and saw the Zhou Prince glide effortlessly into Qian’s dream.

The Zhou Prince immediately noticed the difference. Earlier, with Zhang Physician, he’d been in his room, bowing and pleading—that was Pan Yun’s fabricated dream. But here, with Qian…

Qian the Eunuch was dreaming of imperial glory. Wang Zhen, whom the Zhou Prince recognized, knelt at his feet, helping him slip on his shoes. His fingers were loaded with gold rings as he delicately sipped tea with exaggerated poise.

The Zhou Prince suddenly appeared before him. Qian was startled.

But he quickly steadied himself, pinching his fingers. “Zhou Prince, what brings you here?”

The Zhou Prince disliked Wang Zhen—but he didn’t like Qian either.

This creature bowed to Wang Zhen in his dream—clearly a hypocrite, arrogant and overbearing. Once in power, he’d likely be worse than Wang Zhen.

So he didn’t beg. He simply scowled. “I have a task for Eunuch Qian.”

Seeing the Zhou Prince so bold even in his dream, Qian instinctively piled on every possible calamity: the Emperor discovers his treason, strips his title, exiles him, beheads him, confiscates his property—no logic, just how horrific could it get?

But the Zhou Prince wasn’t made of clay. Before Qian could summon the execution, the dream shifted. The Zhou Prince allied with the Imperial Clan Court and slaughtered wildly—not only capturing Qian, but killing Wang Zhen as well.

This dream was utterly free. Unlike the last one, rigid and bound, here they could act without restraint. And the Zhou Prince wielded his freedom better than the dream’s owner—so now it was Qian who suffered.

Qian vaguely sensed he was having a nightmare. He tried to wake up—but his eyes wouldn’t open, his limbs wouldn’t move.

He told himself: It’s just a dream. Don’t fear. Open your eyes. But when he thought he’d opened them, he saw only darkness—his eyelids hadn’t lifted.

He tried to move his limbs—but half his body was numb, as if a thousand-pound stone crushed him. He couldn’t turn over. Not even a finger stirred.

Cold sweat poured from Qian. Suddenly, he remembered: the Zhou Prince was dead. He was being haunted by a ghost.

The dream shifted. The palace vanished. It became Qian’s own room. Qian knelt on the floor, weeping, begging: “Your Highness, your servant had no idea it was you—I thought it was just a dream. Forgive me! Whatever you ask, I’ll obey!”

The Zhou Prince, still savoring his victory, lowered his gaze and said: “Nothing major. Just ask you to return to the capital tomorrow and plead for me with the Emperor…”

The Zhou Prince forced Qian to promise, made him repeat it twice, confirmed he wouldn’t forget—then reluctantly left the dream.

The moment he drifted out, Qian’s foot jerked in the air. His whole body shuddered. He snapped open his eyes.

But he was drenched in sweat, his limbs icy, his heart racing. Trembling, he sat up on the bed, certain he’d been haunted and had dreamed of the Zhou Prince.

Terrified, he collapsed to his knees, bowing wildly. “Your Highness, forgive me! I didn’t know it was you in the dream—I thought it was just a dream…”

The Zhou Prince floated back to Pan Yun, satisfied. He bowed respectfully to Xuan Miao, then said: “Pan Xiao, could you do the same kind of dream for Zhang Physician?”

He spoke to Pan Yun, but his eyes kept glancing at Xuan Miao.

Xuan Miao smiled faintly. This time, she didn’t even form a hand seal. She simply flicked her wrist—the Zhou Prince tumbled through the air, laughing, and vanished into Zhang Physician’s room.

Zhang Physician had just fallen asleep. His dream had just begun: a table full of exquisite dishes. Suddenly, the Zhou Prince sat across from him.

Seeing the Zhou Prince, Zhang Physician, experienced in dreams, tried to wake up—but this time, he couldn’t.

Pan Yun’s face was expressionless. Inside, she marveled: [Xuan Miao is incredible. Is this a technique from this world? It seems even more powerful than my dream-weaving.]

“Meow—” Pan Xiaohei took two steps along the branch, then lay down, looking down at the two below. “Your past civilization was incomplete. You knew only fragments. Countless cultivation methods and spells were lost by the 26th century. Dream-weaving is called a restored ancient technique—but how much of it is truly ancient, and how much is your own invention? You know the answer.”

“Clearly, here, there are superior methods for letting spirits enter dreams.”

Xuan Miao heard the continuous meows. She looked up at the cat on the branch. Rarely speaking, she asked: “I’ve long noticed—you seem to communicate verbally with this black cat. Is it only this cat, or can you speak with other animals too?”

Pan Yun said nothing.

Xuan Miao said: “You’re young, yet your cultivation is deep. Your knowledge of spells is scattered. I don’t know your master, but many of your paths are misguided. I advise you—before returning to Sanqing Mountain—stop cultivating. Don’t risk harming your body or leaving lasting damage.”

She glanced back at Zhang Physician still dreaming, then said to Pan Yun: “To let a spirit enter a dream, you don’t need to place a trigger on the living person. Spirits already dwell in the third realm. Dreams are another dimension. Attach a trigger to the spirit itself—it can then connect to any dream. Wherever it wishes to go, it goes.”

The lucky numbers for today and tomorrow are all ending in 5. Screenshot as proof.

The ten lucky numbers for today and tomorrow are all numbers ending in 5, screenshot as proof.

(End of chapter)