Chapter 17

Yet the true terror of the Dream Demon lay in its mastery of stirring the most primal fears, rages, and agonies within a heart, shattering mental defenses. Had this been the future Luo Binghe, blessed with every advantage, ten thousand Dream Demons combined would have been nothing but trivial tricks in his eyes. But the Luo Binghe of now, his demonic heritage still dormant, was already drowning in the murky depths of memory and nightmare. All he could see was his own powerlessness.

Suddenly, the image of the alleyway around them twisted and melted, transforming into another scene entirely.

Not good, Shen Qingqiu thought, his heart sinking. A second strike, and I’m unprepared.

It was a dilapidated hut. Inside was only a bed, a rickety little table holding a dim oil lamp, and a small stool.

On the bed lay a frail, sickly woman, struggling weakly to push herself up. A small figure rushed in from outside. It was Luo Binghe, barely ten years old, his face still soft with youth. The jade pendant hung around his neck as he hurried to support the woman. "Mother, why are you trying to get up again? You should be resting."

The woman coughed. "Lying here is no use either… I might as well get up and wash the clothes."

"I already washed them," young Binghe said. "Mother, lie down and wait for me to finish brewing your medicine. After you take it and feel better, then you can work."

The woman’s complexion was ashen, her illness long past the point of recovery. She smiled, patting Luo Binghe’s head. "Such a good boy, Binghe."

The young boy lifted his face, forcing a bright smile. "What would Mother like to eat?"

"My appetite grows weaker by the day," she sighed. After a pause, she added hesitantly, "That white porridge Young Master of the house threw out last time… I rather fancied a taste of that. I wonder if the kitchen has any left."

Young Binghe nodded vigorously. "I’ll go ask for Mother!"

The woman repeatedly cautioned him, "Just ask. If there’s none left, just make something else light, some simple broth to fill the stomach will do. Don’t you dare beg the head cook for it." Luo Binghe promised readily and dashed out like a gust of wind. The woman lay back for a moment, then pulled needle and thread from beneath her pillow and resumed her sewing.

The lamplight in the room grew dimmer and dimmer. Lost in the haze of the dream, Luo Binghe’s hand stretched out, grasping at nothing. Shen Qingqiu seized his wrist, his voice sharp. "Luo Binghe! Look clearly! This is not your mother, and you are no longer that helpless child who could only endure humiliation!"

The lethal power of a nightmare lies in two principles. First, the more agitated the trapped mind becomes, the greater the damage to one’s spirit. Luo Binghe’s current state, so dangerously unstable, posed a grave threat to his primordial spirit. Second, one must remember: you must never attack the "people" who appear in the dream.

Every "person" is a manifestation of the dreamer’s own consciousness and mind. To attack them is to attack one’s own brain. Many, unaware of this or unable to control their emotions, have struck out at the dream-figures who hurt them, falling into a slumber from which they never wake. And if Luo Binghe fell into such a slumber, Shen Qingqiu would, of course, be trapped within his dream as well.

The scenery around them shifted unpredictably. This nightmare was a grand collection of every hardship and wound from Luo Binghe’s short life. One moment, it showed young Luo Binghe begging a cook for a bowl of porridge for his foster mother, only to be met with the Young Master’s cold mockery. The next, it shifted to his early days on Qing Jing Peak—the exclusion and harassment from his Senior Brothers, his thin figure straining to swing a rusty axe, staggering slower and slower up the long stairs with heavy buckets. His precious jade pendant, snatched away, lost forever…

Disjointed scenes piled upon one another without end. In this moment, Luo Binghe could see and hear nothing but these fragmented images and memories. Only the hatred, despair, agony, helplessness, and fury of those moments remained, exploding into a chaotic mass that churned violently in his chest and mind.

The only way to break a nightmare was to resolve the heart’s knot. Then the dream would dissolve on its own. But Luo Binghe’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked. His breathing grew increasingly ragged, his eyes glowing with an unnatural red tinge. Faint currents of spiritual power flickered around him, his desire to attack swelling by the second. Shen Qingqiu felt it was genuinely dangerous to stand beside him!

"Don’t strike!" Shen Qingqiu commanded. "Even if you hit them, the one wounded will be you!"

But Luo Binghe was beyond hearing. His right hand shot up, and a fierce blast of energy erupted from his palm, slashing toward the dream-figures who laughed wildly in the illusion.

Shen Qingqiu inwardly wailed. No matter the pain, his body, ever pragmatic, lunged forward on instinct, placing itself between Luo Binghe and the illusions, taking the full force of the blast directly.

Right in the abdomen.

For an instant, Shen Qingqiu felt as if he’d been kicked by an elephant’s leg. His vision swam with black spots. If this weren’t a dream, he was certain a fountain of blood would have erupted from his mouth…

As expected of the protagonist!

Tears of pain welled in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. He’s just a junior disciple! How can he pack such a punch? Ever since that OOC function thawed, I haven’t accomplished anything great. Instead, it’s just blocking blades, blocking attacks, and blocking more attacks—constantly playing the noble human shield!

With that single strike from Luo Binghe, the surrounding illusions shattered. People and objects alike fractured like glass into countless shards. The dreamscape around them dissolved into a remote, wild mountain forest. A deep blue sky arched overhead, a cold, lonely golden moon hanging high.

Luo Binghe’s mind cleared instantly. He stared first at Shen Qingqiu, who couldn’t stand steady and had sunk to one knee, speechless. Then he looked down at his own palm, where a wisp of spiritual power still curled around his fingertips. Hazy memories of what he had just done surfaced, and his face drained of color.

Luo Binghe threw himself to Shen Qingqiu’s side, supporting him, voice thick with urgency and remorse. "Shizun! Why… why didn’t you strike back?"

With Shen Qingqiu’s level of spiritual power, he could have easily countered with a blast of his own. Two forces colliding—the stronger would prevail. Not only would it have neutralized Luo Binghe’s attack, it could have rebounded one right back at him.

From the depths of his heart, Shen Qingqiu thought, You foolish child. Aloud, he said weakly, "...My purpose was to prevent you from being hurt. If I struck back and wounded you, what would have been the point?"

Hearing that frail voice, Luo Binghe felt like slapping himself to death. "But now Shizun is the one who’s hurt!"

The matter of the three matches in the demon realm wasn’t long past, and now he had caused his Shizun injury again—this time by his own hand!

Seeing the boy’s face overflowing with self-blame and distress, Shen Qingqiu’s heart softened. He offered comfort. "How can our cultivation levels be compared? This master can withstand a few more hits. It’s nothing serious."

Luo Binghe would have preferred it if Shen Qingqiu had viciously beaten or scolded him to vent his anger, or even ignored him with cold scorn. That would have been easier to bear. Instead, Shen Qingqiu spoke with such gentleness, leaving Luo Binghe dumbstruck, utterly at a loss for what to do.

After a long silence, he murmured, voice low, "It’s all my fault."

In these early days, Luo Binghe was indeed walking the path of a soft, kind, somewhat naive young sprout. Thinking he had fallen into another cycle of overly-nice self-recrimination, Shen Qingqiu patiently guided him. "It’s not your fault. Demons act with extreme and bizarre methods; they are impossible to fully guard against. However, if you wish never to encounter such a thing again… grow stronger."

He spoke from genuine feeling. This was a world of immortals and monsters where the strong preyed on the weak. Growing stronger was the only way to ensure one didn’t become mere driftwood in the current, destined to end as cannon fodder!

Something stirred in Luo Binghe’s heart. He didn’t speak, but suddenly lifted his head, his gaze fixing intently on Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart gave a lurch.

Luo Binghe’s eyes, dark as obsidian, now shone with a light more dazzling than the reflection of stars and moon.

This… this kind of look!

This protagonist’s look, brimming with "unyielding resolve" and "burning determination"!

Could it be… have I become the guiding star on the protagonist’s path forward?!

Luo Binghe knelt formally at Shen Qingqiu’s side, his voice ringing with conviction. "I understand."

Wait—what do you understand now? Can you stop leaving sentences half-finished every time? Tell me the rest!

He didn’t notice that Luo Binghe hadn’t referred to himself as "this disciple" in that statement. Luo Binghe clenched his fists, pronouncing each word clearly. "Such a thing… I will absolutely not allow it to happen a second time."

To let Shizun protect his weak, powerless self… to let Shizun be injured because of it… such a thing would never happen again!

Shen Qingqiu made a noncommittal sound.

…What was this? Why did he suddenly feel… so reassured at having the protagonist on his side?!

Reassured, my ass! This is the guy who’s going to turn you into a human stick later! Get a grip!

Shen Qingqiu’s emotions were a tangled mess.

Damn it. Originally, the belief "grow stronger to protect those important to you" should have been ignited when the protagonist saw a female lead, delicate and pitiful and panting softly, wounded after helping him. Is the system… transferring all the female lead’s scenes onto me now?