Chaotic World Book

In a university lecture hall, the professor was ardently discussing the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period.

A sudden bout of snoring abruptly filled the air, causing the professor to stop speaking and look expressionlessly toward the source of the sound.

The students also stifled their laughter as they turned to look, only to find a tall young man at the last row, corner seat, sound asleep with his head on the desk.

"Again, it's him."

"Zhao Changhe, what's been going on with him recently, he's normally so energetic, quite the athlete, right? These days, is he cavorting with models at the club every night or cramming history in the late hours?"

A roommate replied wearily, "No, he's been having nightmares every night, waking up in the wee hours drenched in sweat. Sometimes he even shouts, keeping us all awake."

"What's this, possessed by a ghost?"

The students' murmurs reached the professor's ears, but he simply shook his head and, without waking Zhao Changhe, tapped the lectern calmly, "Continue."

Little did Zhao Changhe know that he had evolved to not just having nightmares at night, but also during naps in class...

The clamor of the classroom was a hazy swirl around his ears, morphing into chaotic sounds in his dreams--footsteps, cries of battle, curses, screams, and the clashing of metal on metal, all blending together.

The blurry surroundings quickly sharpened into focus, and Zhao Changhe knew he had entered the recurring dream that he'd been trapped in these past days.

Each time it was the same scene from ancient wuxia dramas, different settings, but the constant was bloodshed and combat.

In his hands, he could feel the familiar heft of a broadsword. It was about a meter and a half long, over ten centimeters wide. Zhao Changhe had to grip the lengthy handle with both hands, for one hand alone couldn't lift something so heavy, and even with both hands, it was a struggle.

The first time the dream occurred, he didn't have it, and was chased around unarmed until he grabbed it from the ground near some bodies. Since then, the broadsword became a fixture in every dream.

Zhao Changhe wasn't sure if such a sword even existed in reality—it felt too heavy to wield effectively for long, probably not a standard weapon, but it was at least particularly effective in a chaotic melee, as long as you could swing it.

"Whoosh!" The sharp sound of a blade cutting through air attacked from the side. Zhao Changhe bellowed, twisting his waist and using the momentum to swing the heavy sword in a sweeping motion.

With the sword's movement, a gust of wind rose!

The attacker sweated bullets and subconsciously attempted to block with his longsword.

With a clang, the longsword snapped, and a head flew into the air, leaving a headless corpse awkwardly clutching a broken blade as blood gushed from the neck.

Like crushing dry weeds and smashing rotten wood!

"That's right, thinking a longsword or dagger could match a broadsword? Ridiculous..."

As the headless body sprayed a mist of blood, the gruesome scene was shockingly ghastly, but Zhao Changhe no longer felt uneasy like he did the first time; he even had the mind to sneer.

Suddenly, a barely perceptible sharp wind came from behind. Zhao Changhe's skin tensed instantly, goosebumps forming.

An ambush with a sharp weapon!

On instinct, he twisted, and a dagger silently grazed past from his right side.

A fragrant breeze passed, and just as the dagger missed its mark, a figure as ghostly as a specter had already shifted to the left.

If the broadsword had any fatal flaw, it was that it moved too sluggishly. Zhao Changhe attempted to swing the sword back around but was already a beat too slow.

The dagger nimbly traced across the throat, and bone-chilling, severe pain followed, shattering the dream.

The last image was that of a slender and graceful figure, laughing lightly as she drifted away.

Zhao Changhe exploded in anger, "It's you again, you demoness, I'll kill you someday!"

Having spoken, he realized something was off; if his throat had been slashed, how could he still speak with such vigor?

Zhao Changhe opened his eyes to find a classroom engulfed in silence, from the professor to the classmates, all staring at him with peculiar looks.

The professor asked, emotionless, "How exactly do you plan to deal with the demoness, care to elaborate?"

Zhao Changhe: "..."

A public death so agonizing, it felt worse than having his throat cut.

The professor laid down the law, "I've put up with you for quite some time now. Go stand by the door to clear your head."

Zhao Changhe silently left the classroom, not intending to stand as punishment but walked away instead.

He was never the type to follow rules. More so now, as his mental state wasn't quite right.

Day after day, immersed in bloody battlefields, the spiritual stress was palpable. Sleeping had become more exhausting than staying awake; if this continued, his body would inevitably break down. Moreover, the dreams were incredibly realistic; if he wasn't hacked to death by random blades, he was assassinated with his throat slit, or died from some unknown AOE attack. The palpitations and pain were all too real, enough to drive a person mad.

He sought a doctor, who suggested his condition resembled someone engrossed in games or novels—a recommendation to stay off the internet was made, only stopping short of recommending electrotherapy.

But Zhao Changhe knew he had long stopped gaming, and the scenes in his dreams didn't resemble the games he was familiar with, except maybe for some elements—martial arts and fantasy stuff were all just blades, spears, swords, and halberds. Not like he was piloting a Gundam.

Possessed by a novel? But the novel Zhao Changhe secretly posted on Qidian had flopped miserably and had been left incomplete for months. He hadn't even opened the Qidian app in all that time.

He normally lived a healthy lifestyle, working out, playing basketball, even being a member of an archery club. How had things come to this?

Walking out of the campus gate listlessly, the student street was relatively quiet during the class time in the morning, with quite a few lovey-dovey couples skipping class, strolling, and eating, sharing a grilled sausage bite for bite, which made Zhao Changhe roll his eyes.

He just wanted to stuff that grilled sausage in that demoness's mouth.

Truth be told, as a single dog, his heart harbored a bit of envy... Zhao Changhe pursed his lips, ignoring the public displays of affection, and suddenly turned into an alley off the student street.

This was a dead-end alley with shops lined within, most of which were closed at this time. Zhao Changhe reached the quiet end of the alley where a small shop was open, the signboard at the door bearing the bold calligraphy "Chaotic World House," with a placard by the door that read "Fortunetelling, Dream Interpretation."

This fortune-telling shack had just opened three days ago, extremely low-key, but its reputation had spread quickly.

The reason was none other than the fortuneteller, a beautiful woman, which had set tongues wagging among a group of eager beasts for the past two or three days. Zhao Changhe had also come to take a look yesterday after hearing about it, but of course, his reasons differed from the others—he genuinely sought to interpret his dreams.

He walked casually into the shop, where the lights were off, casting a dim atmosphere. A short-haired woman was sitting quietly in a corner, her eyes closed as she arranged cards on the table.

She was dressed in black samurai attire from ancient times, as if she had stepped right out of a martial arts film, and indeed, she was very beautiful. Especially as she sat there with her eyes lightly closed, like a serene statue. However, as Zhao Changhe continued to observe, he could only sense a feeling of mystery and eeriness.

Can a normal person tidy things up with their eyes closed?

"Why would you also keep your eyes closed when you're alone in your room tidying up, even though it adds a bit of an atmosphere when you're giving fortunes?" Zhao Changhe suddenly spoke up.

Without lifting her head, the woman responded as if she had anticipated his arrival, "Why can't it be because I'm truly blind?"

"You don't even have a cane, who are you trying to fool?"

"I don't need one," the woman replied calmly. "On the other hand, you called me sick yesterday, and yet you're back today. Have you finally realized that the sick one is you?"

"Because what you said about Dream Entry therapy sounded so fake. If you told anyone, wouldn't they all call you crazy?"

"That might not necessarily be the case. When I mentioned it to others, several people sincerely invited me to join them in their dreams ... I think you might find your answer here as to why you don't have a girlfriend."

Zhao Changhe, whose face was metaphorically slapped by her comment, regretted revealing too much of his personal life while seeking interpretation of his dream and retorted, "Who the hell wants to enter dreams with you ... And how can you talk about this with such an indifferent expression and tone, like a robot?"

"Stating the facts does not require any particular expression or tone."

Damn it ... Zhao Changhe swiftly changed the subject, "Regardless of how fake it seems, I'm here to give it a try today. What's this Dream Entry thing all about?"

"Ordinary people, when they have lucid dreams in which they can fully control their actions, find themselves omnipotent within those dreams, able to make the dream whatever they wish it to be. You've had such dreams before, haven't you?"

"Right." Zhao Changhe found her choice of words odd, such as using "之" instead of "的"—wouldn't a normal person use the latter?

"But in these recent dreams of yours, you can only control your own actions, unable to influence anything else, experiencing one frustration after another, right?"

"Correct."

"You are trapped in a nightmare, endlessly repeating because the unresolved desires within the dream remain unfulfilled. If you were to resolve them, you could break free." The woman inquired, "So, what outcome do you desire to achieve? For example ... overcoming a particular opponent? Slaughtering everyone present? Or simply escaping the battle? Even conquering the world? No matter how difficult, it requires your true desire, otherwise it's meaningless."

What outcome did he want to achieve?

A dark silhouette flashed through Zhao Changhe's mind, and he blurted out, "Of course I want to kill that Demoness!"

A ripple of disturbance barely perceptible crossed the woman's usually calm demeanor.

"What's the matter? Is there a problem with 'Old Six' needing to die?"

"No problem." The woman regained her composure and said slowly, "What you wish to achieve is your business. I can't go in there and help you; it's simply about confirming your target, knowing what to do, and how to conclude it, nothing more."

"So, if you can't help me, and I still can't beat the Demoness after entering the dream, am I just going in to die?"

The woman silently pushed the neatly arranged cards toward him. "Draw three."

"What are these?"

"The first card will grant you a power to help you achieve your wish in the dream."

"Is this like giving me a golden finger?"

"After all, it's a dream; anything unusual wouldn't be surprising."

"Fair enough ... and the second card?"

"It decides your starting location. You won't be placed directly in the most dangerous spot, giving you some time to prepare."

"That's good, that's good. And the third card?"

"It provides clues about how you can achieve your goal, such as finding out who she really is, or how to locate her."

Zhao Changhe hesitated, then asked, "Why not just tell me the clues directly? Why do I need to draw them?"

"Because I don't know what they are myself. I can only interpret based on the cards you draw. Think of it as divination."

Zhao Changhe glanced at the cards on the table, didn't say much, and randomly drew three from the middle.

In fact, up to this point, he didn't really believe what the woman was saying; he was merely giving it a shot out of desperation, figuring if it didn't work, he'd only be out a few dozen yuan, as if offering it to a friend on a 'Crazy Thursday.'

He flipped over the first card in hand; its main pattern was a large eye, and the background was blurred, resembling the silhouette of a person.

The second depicted a round, dragon-etched Jade Pendant against a backdrop that seemed golden and resplendent, like a palace's Dragon Chair?

The third was pitch black, as though it were a pure dark curtain, but faintly glimmered with golden hues outlining a face akin to that of a deity, too indistinct to make out the details.

The woman was silent for a long time.

Zhao Changhe was somewhat speechless, "Why are you keeping your eyes closed, can you even see?"

"The first card is merely an Eye of Providence," the woman eventually came to and said slowly. "It can slightly improve your vision, but more importantly, it allows you to see things behind you."

You really can see ... Zhao Changhe was stunned for a moment, suddenly finding the situation somewhat intriguing.

The thing he hated most was being ambushed, and wasn't this a coincidence? Whether the woman interpreted his dream deliberately or not, at least the eye in the drawing indeed represented an eye on one's back.

Could it be that drawing these cards actually reflected his subconscious?

"So ... the second card is about the location? What does this Jade Pendant represent?"

The woman fell silent again, and after a while said abruptly, "You'll know when you go in."

Zhao Changhe: "???"

Suddenly, the woman reached out to grab the eye card, and before Zhao Changhe could discern her movements, the card was pressed against his forehead.

In the next instant, as if the world spun around him, Zhao Changhe disappeared as if he never existed.

Along with the eye card, he was gone, while the other two cards remained on the table.

The woman picked up the last black card, sat quietly for a few seconds, and murmured to herself, "I didn't expect ... he would actually draw the core of my being ..."

She slowly opened her eyes, which were as black as ink, resembling the desolate night, cold and lifeless.

"Kill the Demoness? Heh ... I'll wait for you."