Dream Marsh Springs from the Heart, Words Roll Like Thunder

Chen Cuo called this vast world "Dream Marsh."

Ever since he had acquired the Gourd, he had come here whenever he fell asleep.

Dream Marsh was mysterious. The pile of books before him, for instance, must have been collected by his friend.

Why did he say "collected"?

Because, as Chen Cuo reckoned, the books had originally been piled up in his friend's home and study. Only after being taken into the little Gourd could they appear in Dream Marsh and pass into his hands.

There was a trick to bringing things in from the outside world—

He had to use the little Gourd.

But there were conditions and limits.

First, the object had to be broken, at least into two pieces. No matter who broke it, anything he wanted to take into the Gourd could not be intact.

Second, no more than an hour could have passed since it broke. After that, the gourd could no longer take it in.

It sounded complicated, but in practice it was simple—

One day in the Marquis's Residence, when no one was around, Chen Cuo smashed a porcelain vase half as tall as a person. Quick as a flash, he pointed the Gourd at the pieces and said, "Collect!" Every shard was sucked inside.

Once something entered the Gourd, he could find it in Dream Marsh.

"Assemble!"

At his word, the shards swiftly gathered and fitted together. In the blink of an eye, a complete vase had formed and dropped into Chen Cuo's hands.

He ran a hand over it, then said, "Another one!"

An outline of the vase appeared in the pale, misty Emptiness, as though someone were drawing its contours. It went from nothing to transparent form, then grew solid. When it finally took shape, it fell, and Chen Cuo caught it. He compared the vases in his hands. They were identical.

That was another property of Dream Marsh: once an object had been brought here, Chen Cuo could restore it with a thought—and even make an exact copy!

Only one copy could exist at a time, however. Any more than that would fail to take shape.

Dream Marsh might be unreal, but the things that appeared here were indistinguishable from real objects.

The discovery kept Chen Cuo excited all night. Once he woke, though, he calmed down. The reason was simple: anything brought into Dream Marsh could not return to the Mortal World. He could only see and touch it in dreams.

That took some of the shine off it.

No matter how wondrous it was, its usefulness was greatly reduced if it only worked in dreams. Besides, Chen Cuo was no inventor. He could only reproduce and copy things that already existed in ancient times, which hardly seemed useful.

But if this world ultimately proved not to be the history he knew, that would change matters.

If Divine Ability really exists in this world, there's another way to use Dream Marsh. So far, I've only brought in ordinary objects. If I can bring in something mystical, like pills or a Paper Crane, and they still work, the possibilities will be enormous. Even with restrictions, it would be a tremendous gain! For now, I need to find something to write and spread around, build up my reputation, then get my hands on such objects and test them properly!

With that thought, he bent over and searched through the pile of books.

Chen Cuo had sorted through these books before. Most were scholarly works, poetry, or fiction. There were no historical records or general histories, much to his frustration. If he had a historian's account, wouldn't that be like playing through history with a guide in hand? Nothing could stop him!

Worse, he had read few scholarly works in his Previous Life, so he had nothing to compare these books against to verify them. He worried they might be inventions of his own dreaming and did not dare bring them out rashly. He had planned to take his time, leaving the books untouched. Now they could finally be put to use.

"This one's good. This one could work too..."

After searching for ages, Chen Cuo found himself unable to choose. He had to stop, weigh his options, and sort through his thoughts.

I only have five days. Time is short. To build a reputation, I need to win over a crowd. Would a gimmick or a scandal do it? Either way, I can't aim too high. The loftier the work, the smaller its audience. But I can't go too far either. However open-minded the Southern Dynasty's Literati Clans are, I'm still a county marquis. I have to mind my standing. If I provoke the authorities into confiscating and banning it, wouldn't all this be for nothing?

As he pondered, his gaze shifted to one spot.

Following that line of thought narrows it down.

He held up three fingers.

First, it has to make people want to read it. It needs a hook, something people will recommend to others—or, put simply, something entertaining that most people will enjoy;

Second, everyone should be able to read or listen to it and understand. That will broaden the audience. The parallel prose popular in the Southern Dynasty is out, then. Not using it might attract critics, but that may not be a bad thing;

Third, people should come away with something that gets them talking. Praise or condemnation, either one creates a topic and helps it spread;

With his thoughts in order, Chen Cuo gradually settled down.

If I manage all three, scholars and men of letters will have something to discuss, while ordinary people can enjoy it too. Whether they love it and sing its praises or curse and denounce it, word will spread quickly. It won't become famous only after I'm dead. A commercial triumph and an artistic compromise!

His gaze settled on a stack of books.

"This is it!"

Chen Cuo walked over, picked up a book, and leafed through it carefully. He nodded.

"I've been in the Southern Dynasty for a month and barely gone out, but I've learned a little about its people. Highborn or lowborn, they admire reputation and boldness, look fondly on those who flout convention, and never tire of tales of Ghost God, fox spirits, and immortals. Thinking about it now, there may be good reason for those tastes in this age. I might as well adapt to local customs, play along, and pick a short story."

He closed the book and took another careful look at the four characters on its cover—

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.

"But I only need one story. How could a whole book spread in five days? Besides, how would I explain writing it all..."

The sun sank westward, and the moon began to rise.

In his bedroom at the Marquis's Residence, Chen Cuo's eyes flew open. Out of habit, he glanced at the bronze mirror, then sighed.

"Dream Marsh is still only a dream. No matter how vivid or detailed the things inside it are, I can't bring them out. If I want to copy an article, I have to memorize and recite it over and over in the dream, then write it down after I wake up! I have to memorize and reproduce the entire thing."

He got up and went to the Study. Once seated, he laid out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, ground the ink, and prepared his brush.

"Just memorizing it in Dream Marsh is terribly inefficient. In a few days, I should snap a few brushes, smash a few inkstones, and take them in with the Gourd. Right, and break up a desk too. Then I can practice writing in the dream..."

Chen Baxian, the founding emperor of Southern Chen, had come from a humble family. But by the third and fourth generations, his clansmen had been born into lives of luxury. To keep up appearances, they all learned a little poetry and composition, whatever their aptitude. Chen Fangqing was no exception.

Chen Cuo had inherited fragments of Chen Fangqing's memories, along with his calligraphy skills. They were nothing extraordinary, but compared with Chen Cuo's handwriting in his Previous Life, they were worlds apart. After preparing his brush and practicing his characters, he gradually found his rhythm.

Once he was ready, he took out a fresh sheet of paper, held it down with a paperweight, and prepared to write the story from memory.

Perhaps because he had taken over a boy's body, his memory served him well. Chen Fangqing was young and sharp, and memorizing the story had not taken too long. For accuracy, Chen Cuo had chosen only one story and checked it repeatedly for gaps and mistakes.

"The Painted Skin" is one of the best-known tales in Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. It was famous even in my Previous Life, with films and television adaptations alike. The original story is easy to follow: a scholar is beguiled by an evil ghost, and a Daoist priest comes to help. After a few twists, the scholar dies, only to be brought back to life by his wife. It has reversals, seduction, good and evil, trust and betrayal. The drama is real, and it ends by giving the story deeper meaning. No wonder it's a master's work. It couldn't be more perfect as an introduction!

He took a deep breath, pushed aside all distractions, and recalled the text—

"Scholar Wang of Taiyuan set out early and encountered a young woman..."

He worked through it slowly. Perhaps Dream Marsh was still a dream, or perhaps the memory was too recent to have taken firm hold. Either way, the further he went, the harder it became to remember. A haze seemed to obscure his thoughts, growing thicker with every line. By the final sentences, Chen Cuo was drenched in sweat and felt almost ready to faint from the strain!

A faint, indistinct sound seemed to reach his ears, coming and going. His thoughts swelled until, despite his dizziness, he finally recited the entire story in his mind in one breath.

"...Heaven's justice comes full circle, yet the foolish and deluded never see it. How lamentable!"

The last sentence passed through his mind. At last, a tale from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, carried over from his Previous Life and stored in Dream Marsh, had surfaced in this world through Chen Cuo's recollection. It lingered in his mind as a thought.

"Phew..."

Chen Cuo let out a long breath and wiped his brow. His sleeve was soaked through. He gathered his thoughts and, while the memory was still fresh, picked up his brush to copy the story onto paper...

Boom!

A sudden clap of thunder exploded beside his ear!

Happy holidays, both of them! Please send some recommendation votes my way!