Chapter Fourteen: Dream or Reality?

A dream—this must be a dream, it has to be! Feng Yuan stared at the woman in white before him, silently assuring himself not to panic. He just needed to keep sleeping and soon this woman in white would disappear. With that in mind, Feng Yuan prepared to close his eyes and sleep.

Wait a minute—something was wrong. He hadn’t actually fallen asleep yet, so how could this be a dream? He had just pinched himself moments ago—he wasn’t in a dream. He had only just laid down, his eyes were still open. This couldn’t be a dream. That meant everything happening was real!

“Damn it, there’s a ghost!” Feng Yuan shouted, staring at the woman in white. With a sudden roll, he tumbled out of bed and scrambled toward the door.

Behind him, the woman in white gently waved her hand. In an instant, a jet of black smoke shot out, striking Feng Yuan directly. His body froze immediately; a chill spread through him as if he’d been encased in ice. His head spun, and the next moment, he lost all consciousness and collapsed to the floor.

“Feng Yuan, where are you running?” The woman in white floated slowly toward him, her face twisted into a chilly smile. She reached out to grab him, her nails blood-red as cinnabar, sharp and slender, at least eight inches long—like deadly blades. If those talons pierced flesh, death was certain.

Just then, a sudden gale howled outside the house.

With a loud crack, the door bolt exploded apart. Though only the width of two fingers and half a foot long, it was sturdy—yet the gale smashed it to pieces, scattering fragments across the floor.

The door flew open and wind roared in, making the scrolls on the wall flutter violently. The candles were snuffed out instantly, plunging the room into utter darkness.

A cold moonbeam spilled in from outside, spreading a pool of pale light on the floor. A long, slender shadow stretched across it—but it was not the shadow of a human.

The specter in white, poised to strike, abruptly halted and turned toward the door.

A white fox entered, standing as tall as a person’s waist, its coat pristine and glossy, shimmering like crystal—exquisitely beautiful.

The fox opened its mouth and spat out a golden pearl, which radiated dazzling light. In the next instant, a shaft of golden light shot from the pearl, sharp as a sword, and streaked toward the woman in white.

A thunderous boom filled the room.

Caught off guard, the specter was struck and let out a piercing shriek. Smoke billowed from the spot where the light hit, as if she were about to burst into flame. She crashed to the ground, writhing in agony.

The white fox pressed its advantage, releasing another beam of golden light toward the fallen ghost. The woman in white spat out a pearl of her own, black as ink and wreathed in shadows. A plume of black smoke shot forth, colliding with the fox’s golden light.

There was a deafening explosion, and flashes of light and energy filled the room. Both the fox and the specter screamed and were thrown backward, slamming to the ground. Their pearls flew back into their bodies.

“Damn fox, you’ve ruined everything! I won’t let you get away with this!” the specter hissed at the fox. In a flash, she vanished, a gust of wind sweeping toward the roof—then all was silent.

The white fox struggled to its feet, blood streaming from its mouth and dripping onto the floor. It staggered, barely able to stand.

The fox opened its mouth again, releasing a ray of golden light that landed on Feng Yuan and gently lifted him into the air, returning him to his bed. Then, with another golden ray, the fox swept the room. Instantly, the chaos was gone—the house was neat, candles relit, the door closed, and the shattered bolt restored and locked once more.

…

By the time Feng Yuan awoke the next morning, it was nearly noon. He was roused by urgent knocking and the voice of Fat Zhang shouting from outside.

“Feng Yuan! Feng Yuan! Wake up! Are you okay in there? I’m coming in!”

Stunned and disoriented, Feng Yuan looked toward the door.

With a bang, the door burst open and Fat Zhang tumbled in, sprawling on the floor like a great ball of meat.

“Wasn’t the door locked?” Feng Yuan asked, confused. “You’ll have to pay for this!”

“Heh, Feng Yuan, I was worried about you and acted on impulse. Don’t be mad!” Fat Zhang scrambled to his feet and rushed over, about to speak, but Feng Yuan raised a hand to stop him.

“Wait, don’t say anything yet. Let me collect myself.”

Feng Yuan’s mind raced as he recalled the events of last night—the encounter with the woman in white, his desperate escape, the sudden blow to his back, and then losing consciousness.

Logically, he ought to have been devoured by the ghost and died, so why was he lying safe in bed?

Could it have all been a dream after all? But he had already tested that—last night wasn’t a dream, it was real.

But if it was real, how could he be unharmed? Puzzled, he got out of bed and examined the room. Everything was in order, nothing out of place.

Maybe it truly was a dream—a dream within a dream, like in “Inception.” The third layer of dreaming feels too real, and pinching oneself isn’t enough to wake up; something more drastic, like jumping off a building, would be needed.

“No, it wasn’t a dream,” Feng Yuan muttered, shaking his head. His back still ached—he distinctly remembered being struck there last night, the chill that overtook him, and the subsequent blackout. He reached back and felt the soreness—pain doesn’t exist in dreams, does it? Could it be from sleeping on a hard bed? Unlikely; he’d never had this problem before.

But if he’d really been attacked by a ghost, he shouldn’t be alive, right? Or perhaps he was still dreaming, and everything around him was an illusion.

“Feng Yuan? Are you alright? What are you thinking about?” Fat Zhang waved his hand in front of Feng Yuan’s face, puzzled by his dazed expression.

Feng Yuan looked at his friend and suddenly grinned. “Dream or not, there’s a way to find out!”

“Feng…Yuan? What are you talking about? Why are you smiling at me like that? What are you planning?” Fat Zhang nervously backed away as Feng Yuan’s smile grew more unsettling.

Smack! Smack!

“Ow! Why did you hit me?” Fat Zhang exclaimed, cradling his cheeks in distress.

“Did it hurt?” Feng Yuan asked.

“Of course it hurt! If you want me to forgive you, it’ll cost at least ten chicken legs!” Fat Zhang huffed.

Feng Yuan glanced at his hand and then at Fat Zhang. The feeling of the slap was far too real—no dream could be this vivid. So last night must have been a dream; otherwise, how could he still be alive?

No, he needed further proof.

With that thought, Feng Yuan dashed out the door.

“Feng Yuan, what are you doing?” Fat Zhang shouted, chasing after him—only to see Feng Yuan leap straight into the courtyard well…