69novels Chapter 881 He Yuzhu's Dream
Chapter 881 He Yuzhu's Dream
The scene in his dream repeated itself endlessly, without a single detail differing—clouds and mist seemed to shroud the deep sea, beneath which lay a magnificent palace, its steps made of white jade, its curtains of pearls, and the night-shining pearls hanging from the ceiling so bright they could blind the eye, illuminating the dragon patterns on every beam and pillar with crystal clarity. What made his heart tremble most was the jade pillar in the center of the palace, upon which a colossal dragon covered in golden scales coiled, each scale reflecting a cold light like a small mirror. The dragon's eyes were as large as lanterns, staring at him with a deep, dark gaze, its low voice like that of someone pulled from an ancient well, damp with moisture: "The clone has returned to its place; the time has come."
Every time he heard these words, his heart would inexplicably warm in his dreams, as if he were meant to be a scale or a wisp of soul on that dragon's body. The dragon said that he was originally a wisp of the dragon race, descending to the mortal realm and experiencing countless lifetimes, all to break through that invisible "window paper" on the path of cultivation. In the past, he was always just one step short, no matter how much he struggled through the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, carrying guns and farming, he never touched the edge of that realm. But in this life, amidst the daily chores of this courtyard house, among the pots and pans of the steel mill, that realm that had troubled him for countless lifetimes was showing signs of loosening, like the ice quietly melting beneath the surface of a river in early spring.
"It's time to return..." The dragon's voice echoed in the dream, making the beams and pillars of the palace hum. "The day you return to your position will be the day you transform into a dragon, and this journey through time will come to an end."
Every time He Yuzhu dreamt of this place, he would suddenly sit up in bed, cold sweat streaming down his forehead, soaking his undershirt, which clung stickily to his back, making him shiver. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a grid of shadows on the floor, landing on the "Advanced Worker" certificate on the opposite wall. The red background and gold lettering reminded him that he was still He Yuzhu, the cook in the steel mill canteen, not some dragon clone, and knew nothing of transmigration or cultivation. He scratched the back of his head, utterly bewildered—dragon? clone? transmigration? These words, put together, were even more perplexing than Qin Huairu's convoluted thoughts.
As time went on, He Yuzhu became listless. He would sometimes get distracted while chopping vegetables and cut his fingernail, only letting out a yelp when blood oozed out. When stewing meat, he would forget to add water, and the rim of the pot would turn black from the heat. If the apprentice next to him hadn't reminded him, the whole pot would have been ruined. Even Xiao Li, who often came to the kitchen to freeload, noticed that something was wrong.
That evening, Xiao Li came to find him carrying half a bag of freshly picked wild chestnuts, the shells still covered in dirt and pine needles. She saw him leaning against the stove, lost in thought, the spatula in his hand suspended in mid-air, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the firebox, as if trying to see a flower bloom in the fire. She placed the chestnuts on the counter with a clatter and asked crisply, "Brother Yuzhu, is something wrong?"
Xiao Li was an orphan girl living in a nearby courtyard. She had a sweet tongue and always followed He Yuzhu around, and he often saved some food for her. She moved closer to him, her nose almost touching his arm, her dark eyes filled with worry: "You've seemed listless these past few days, you even walk unsteadily, and you don't have the strength to chop vegetables. The sugar pancakes you saved for me yesterday were burnt on the edges, and they were so bitter I could hardly speak. Are you tired? Or... did someone in the courtyard upset you?"
He Yuzhu was taken aback by her question, then snapped out of his reverie. He looked down at the spatula in his hand, the tip still covered in burnt rice grains from the morning's cooking. He glanced at the crookedly cut potato shreds on the counter, some thick, some thin, looking like they'd been chewed by a dog. He gave a wry smile, slammed the spatula down on the stove, his voice weary. He couldn't very well tell Xiaoli that he'd dreamt he was a dragon and had to go back to some dragon palace, could he?
"It's nothing," he rubbed his temples, pressing his fingertips to his throbbing temples, forcing a smile. "I guess I didn't sleep well last night, I'm a little tired. I'll be fine after I finish cooking this dish and go back to sleep."
But the confusion in his heart, like the grease in the corner of the kitchen, grew thicker and thicker, impossible to wipe away. The dream was too real—the cold light of the dragon scales, the grandeur of the palace, and that cry of "Return to your place!"—made him wonder if his decades of life had truly been nothing more than a cultivation journey for the sake of "breakthrough." Working as a cook in the steel mill, bickering with people in the courtyard, his feelings for Qin Huairu, even the child in Lu Jia's belly… If that were truly the case, what would become of the people and events in this courtyard when he "returned to his place"? Were they just illusions on the path of cultivation, or the most genuine glimpse of everyday life amidst his many lifetimes of transmigration?
The flames in the stove crackled and popped, their flickering light reflecting in his eyes, mirroring the turmoil in his heart.
He Yuzhu stared at the fluffy little fox before him. A few tender green blades of grass clung to its front paws, clearly indicating it had just emerged from some bushes. Its amber eyes were wide and round, like two agates glistening with morning dew, radiating innocent wonder. He opened his mouth, utterly at a loss for words to recount his dream—the dream of a golden dragon soaring through the clouds, its scales gleaming, its body stretching for miles hidden in thunderclouds, and the words that had sent shivers down his spine: "You are a descendant of the dragon race." If he told the truth, would the little fox think he'd lost his mind and immediately point at him and call him a lunatic?
He shook his head vigorously, trying to shake those bizarre images out of his mind, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the hem of his clothes. He changed the subject: "It's nothing. I just wanted to ask, do you demons... really have dragons?"
The little fox tilted its head, its pointed ears twitching as if it had heard something incredibly strange. It stuck out its pink tongue and licked the grass juice from its paws, slowly saying, "How do you know about dragons? That's an ancient legend from our demon race." It paused, then jumped onto a nearby rock, its tail circling its paws. "The ancient books of our tribe do indeed record dragons, saying they are the leaders of all demons, capable of overturning rivers and seas, summoning wind and rain, and that a single breath of theirs can burn through a thousand miles of clouds. But they disappeared over a thousand years ago; not only have we never seen one alive, but not even a single dragon scale has been left behind. Now, many of the little guys in the tribe don't believe dragons really exist; they just think it's a myth our ancestors made up to scare people."
He Yuzhu's heart churned, as if a giant rock had been thrown into a lake. He had never believed in dragons before, just as he had refused to believe in demons a month ago. But Xiao Li was standing right in front of him, able to speak and transform; and the golden dragon in his dream was so real that it terrified him—the towering waves stirred up when its tail swept across the sea, the scorching heat carried by its breath, even the golden light flowing on its scales, all seemed to linger in his senses, almost tangible.
"Why are you suddenly asking about the dragon race?" Little Tanuki took two steps closer, her furry nose almost touching the back of his hand, carrying a faint scent of grass and trees. "Are you still worried about what happened when you transformed into a dragon last time? I already told you, it was because the power in your bloodline wasn't stable, it has nothing to do with the dragon race... Besides, how can a dragon compare to a real dragon? They're worlds apart."