The scalpel twirled between Qingmu's nimble fingers, as if twirling a pen. Zhao Pengcheng sensed a fluctuation of Mental Power emanating from the scalpel. He understood; Qingmu was teaching him how to train and concentrate his power.
The power of the blade grew increasingly heavy, but you couldn't feel it at all if you weren't paying attention to it. This technique was clearly much more sophisticated than the dazzling and powerful way Zhao Pengcheng had used blood to condense his spirit.
Qingmu played with the knife while glancing sideways at the prison guard next to him.
The prison guard was sensitive and wary of the knife in his hand. If he hadn't been instructed by his superiors, he would have already confiscated it; such things were strictly forbidden in the prison. Don't underestimate this small knife; its sharpness allows a prisoner to easily kill or commit suicide, making it far more terrifying than an ordinary dagger.
Zhao Pengcheng wanted to laugh at the warning message on the screen. Was this a dream or reality? Or perhaps Real-Scene Dream similar to sleepwalking?
"Tell me about you," Qingmu said.
Zhao Pengcheng said, "I don't know if the decades of my later life that I experienced were a dream or reality, but since you can see them, you should already know what I know from the _book_. So you can believe that I don't actually know much, because I had no memory of anything before I parasitized this poor doctor's body."
"So where do your race's earliest memories come from? If the Parasites themselves don't have any memories," Qingmu asked, playing with his knife. "Is it that Lost Ancestor you mentioned? And how did he transmit racial information or commands to you? Through the Dream Corridor?"
" Dream Corridor? You mean the passage that trapped you?" Zhao Pengcheng said, "Before we parasitized, we didn't have a language like you humans, so this thing didn't have a name. If we had to call it one, we'd call it a 'passage'—it connects to our consciousness space, which is what you call dreams. Your name ' Dream Corridor ' is good and fitting. As for ' Lost Ancestor,' that's just a word I made up based on Chinese language habits."
"Like the Old Demon Black Mountain, huh? Haha..." Qingmu burst into laughter.
Zhao Pengcheng laughed too. Although he didn't watch many movies or read many novels, he happened to know about the Old Demon Black Mountain. The analogy, though inaccurate, was very vivid and funny, making him feel as if he could suddenly see the appearance of his Lost Ancestor. In reality, they had no form before they parasitized. They were just a group of drifting consciousnesses, their appearance more ethereal and intangible than Ghost.
Their laughter startled the prison guard beside them, who became even more tense and warned, "Control yourself, don't be too loud."
Qingmu glanced at the prison guard, his smile fading, winked at Zhao Pengcheng, and asked, "How many corridors like this are there?"
"I don't know, but only important people have it." Zhao Pengcheng also stopped smiling, feeling that Qingmu's wink had some other meaning, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"So, you're also quite important in your race and among the book community?"
"No, I was only assigned a passage because I was on a special mission."
"Is Ronald Cohen your leader?"
"That's how it is on Earth."
"So, he's not the Old Demon Black Mountain?"
"No."
"Since the number of Dream Corridor is limited, the members of the Dream Society must still have places to meet in reality."
"Yes."
"You don't remember the address, so you probably haven't attended the party, right?"
"Yes."
"So, could you attend one of these parties?"
"But I'm in jail. I've been sentenced to life imprisonment."
I can get you out of here.
Their unrestrained conversation infuriated the nearby police officer, who shouted again, "Watch your mouth!"
Qingmu ignored the police and continued, "Not only can I get you out of here, but I can also release Yu Jianguo."
Zhao Pengcheng's heart skipped a beat, and he said, "Okay, but there has to be a reason, otherwise they'll get suspicious."
"Hmm, I need to think about that carefully." Qingmu spun the blade in his hand faster and faster, seemingly trying hard to come up with a reason to release Zhao Pengcheng and Yu Jianguo.
The prison guard's warnings had no effect, and his face turned gloomy and unpleasant.
"You can still use that Dream Corridor, right?" Qingmu asked.
"Yes," Zhao Pengcheng said. "If you need it, I can give it to you."
"No, no, I don't need it," Qingmu said. "That would only arouse their suspicion, and I don't really need it anyway. But could you tell me how it works?"
"The principle..." Zhao Pengcheng thought for a moment and said, "This thing doesn't seem to have been created; it exists naturally."
Aren't you sure either?
"Uncertain."
Qingmu nodded and tossed the scalpel in his hand over. "Here's your scalpel, take it back."
The knife fell onto the table in front of Zhao Pengcheng, regaining its original luster, just like an ordinary scalpel in a hospital operating room.
Zhao Pengcheng reached out to pick it up, but found the knife to be very heavy, so heavy that he almost couldn't lift it. He knew this wasn't a real scalpel; it was something he'd created in a dream. He didn't know whose dream he was in, his own or Qingmu's, but the knife must have Qingmu's Mental Power condensed within it, and the moment he pinched the knife between his fingers, that power surged into his body.
A nearby prison guard shouted, "You're a prisoner! Knives are contraband! Don't touch them!"
Zhao Pengcheng hesitated for a moment, but his fingers still gripped the scalpel tightly. He saw Qingmu wink at him mysteriously again, a meaningful smile on his face.
He seemed to understand something and looked up at the prison guard.
The prison guard glared at him and said, "What are you looking at!"
Zhao Pengcheng understood, smiled knowingly at Qingmu, and said, "I'll tell you a secret."
Qingmu chuckled, "What secret?"
"Regarding Ronald Cohen's secret base in the South Pacific..."
Before Zhao Pengcheng could finish speaking, the prison guard next to him yelled, "Shut up!" and drew his pistol, pointing it at Zhao Pengcheng's head.
But before his finger could pull the trigger, the scalpel in Zhao Pengcheng's hand had already flown out.
The power of this strike was even more ferocious than the one he had used to stab Qingmu in his dream; space seemed to be torn apart, revealing a distorted crack of light and shadow.
The scalpel sliced into the prison guard's throat with a sharp thud.
The prison guard's hand holding the gun trembled slightly; his finger tried to pull the trigger, but ultimately he couldn't muster the strength and collapsed limply to the ground.
The energy scattered throughout the space slowly re-condensed, and the scalpel returned to Zhao Pengcheng's hand, then instantly disappeared into his body. In that instant, Zhao Pengcheng felt a daze, as if the space around him shook, and a thin film-like shell was peeled away, causing him to fall into darkness like a collapsing dream, but the world before him remained unchanged.
He knew he was back in reality; Qingmu was sitting right across from him.
"It's alright, there are security cameras here, we didn't do anything," Qingmu said.
Looking at the prison guard lying on the ground, Zhao Pengcheng knew he had taken a truly important step, and whether it was right or wrong, there was no turning back.