"Rumble!" In his dream, Wang Xian was jolted awake as if by a clap of spring thunder.
He waved his hand and mumbled groggily, "Who dares disturb my sleep? I'll slap you dead!"
He opened his eyes and, as if drunk, staggered across a stone bridge and around a mist-shrouded wasteland. Before he knew it, he had arrived at a deserted ferry crossing.
Staring at the vast whiteness before him, he couldn't help muttering, "There's a great battle tomorrow. Hey, old man, can't you let me get a good night's sleep?!"
Alas, there was no one at the wild crossing, and the boat lay sideways on its own—or rather, there wasn't even a little boat here.
Furious, he crouched down and splashed river water over his face.
Perhaps a handful of icy water had washed away his drowsiness, or perhaps he had taken a sudden gulp and found that it tasted wrong.
He jerked his head up and looked around in alarm, then plopped down on the ground and murmured at the sky, "Even if you can't stand me, don't scare me like that!"
He had never dreamed he would come to the Divine River Crossing.
Could it be that you can even conjure up my master, Yang Wanjin?
If you really can, then go on, perform a little magic trick and make her appear! I'll thank your ancestors for eight generations.
After a long while, he stood up and sighed.
Thinking of the battle ahead, he wondered whether the barbarian tribes had another monster like Feng Linglong besides those two he already knew about.
He himself wasn't afraid, but if a monster like that really did show up, countless soldiers before Jinling Crossing would surely die or be wounded.
After all, the great general was in the imperial court,