The moon was bright and the stars were sparse; crows and magpies flew south.
Zhang Yang was dreaming.
How strange. He was actually dreaming, and he even knew that he was dreaming.
He wasn't sure whether he was already in the Dream Dimension, because he hadn't seen any Dream Guardians or his own Dream Fortress. Although that Dream Fortress had been shaken apart halfway by Zhang Yang's own Soul Tremor last time, logically speaking—
Zhang Yang let out a long sigh and mourned those Dream Guardians in his heart. In the Fourth Sequence, those fellows equivalent to Antivirus Hunters were practically fighting alone.
There was gray mist ahead, gray mist behind, and even gray mist to the left. Only on the right did there seem to be black-and-white mist.
Zhang Yang patted his own mind, feeling helpless about the strange thought that had suddenly popped into his head. This really isn't my fault.
Deep in his memories, he rummaged and rummaged. He didn't know how long he searched before finally finding a book—or rather, a bamboo slip. It was something the Dream Spirit Captain had given him back then, called Three Hundred Self-Rescue Strategies for Dream Survival.
Amazing, wasn't it? He was clearly dreaming, yet Zhang Yang really did pull a chilly bamboo slip out of thin air. As his fingers slid across it, the bamboo slip became slick and greasy, like the hand of someone who had just been chopped down. But this trick was way too low-level, wasn't it?
Zhang Yang looked a little disgusted, but in the next instant, under his gaze, the woman's hand formed from the bamboo slip took root, sprouted, blossomed, and unfurled leaves. The flower was one he had never seen before, its stamens swaying in the breeze. It was beautiful—but on closer