There was a type of dream called a lucid dream. You knew you were dreaming, and such dreams could bring people unimaginable pleasure—or torment.
The space was pitch-black, yet Mr. Truman stood clearly visible across from him, wearing the formal suit he had worn when he was sworn in as Federal President.
The ground beneath their feet was black water. He could feel faint waves rippling across its surface, yet they could not wet his shoes.
The pitch-black night sky seemed to contain starlight from some distant corner of the universe. The sky had lost its original meaning, worn away by infinite space until only a concept remained.
When he looked up, he saw stars, not the sky.
Mr. Truman clasped his hands together in front of him, palms facing each other, and calmly looked at Lin Qi with a faint smile.
"This is a dream." Lin Qi pursed his lips. The two of them were only a few meters apart, yet he had no desire to walk over. It was as if those few meters were an untouchable distance.
Mr. Truman laughed. "Who knows?"
"What is a dream? What are dreams? Do we really understand them?"
"If science could truly explain everything that happened in this world, then what are we doing right now?"
Lin Qi did not argue. If this world was materialistic and science could explain everything, then how could science explain his presence here? If everything he had experienced in another world was merely a dream, then what was this? People should maintain reverence toward the world, the universe, and the truth of all things.
Only reverence could make people humble.
After a few seconds, Lin Qi looked at him and said, "That doesn't sound like something you would say. Why did you come looking for