Fu Songcheng raised his hand, his fingertip reaching toward the greatsword’s mark.
Just before his fingertip could touch it, an invisible repulsive force burst from the dial.
Buzz—
Fu Songcheng’s finger was flung back. He frowned slightly and turned his gaze to the marks representing the others.
A long saber—probably Lin Feng’s.
An open book—perhaps one of Chen Ke’s newcomers.
…
Fu Songcheng switched to his left hand, touching the long saber’s and the book’s reliefs respectively.
The result was the same.
Every touch was pushed away by the repulsive force.
Seeing the clock couldn’t offer further clues, Fu Songcheng decisively turned, his gaze sweeping the empty lobby and finally landing on the front desk.
Fu Songcheng stepped on the thick velvet carpet and walked quickly to the front desk.
It was completely empty—no NPC. The drawers were locked, and a single black-and-gold hard paper card lay alone on the desktop.
Beside the card was an old-fashioned quill pen dipped in dark red ink.
Fu Songcheng picked up the card. On it surfaced a line of cursive script, the handwriting twisted, as if some living thing were swimming across the paper:
[Are you full of hope for the future?]
Fu Songcheng picked up the quill and, without any hesitation, wrote a single word in the blank space below:
[Yes.]
If even he despaired of the future, how were others supposed to live?
The instant the ink seeped into the paper, the card ignited without fire, dissolving into a wisp of green smoke.
Immediately after, with a soft click, the front desk drawer’s lock sprang open. Inside was an extremely thick registry bound in black leather.
Fu Songcheng opened the registry.
It was densely covered with names and corresponding room numbers.
He flipped down—second page, third page…
Fu Songcheng’s flipping grew faster and faster.
He discovered the registry seemed to have no end; no matter how many pages he turned, new paper always appeared behind.
And the room numbers had soared from hundreds to tens of thousands, to hundreds of thousands.
This was a hotel with infinite floors and infinite rooms.
Fu Songcheng searched a long time before finding the registration information of a few players.
[Lin Feng—Room 3751 (3rd floor)]
[Bai Mu—Room 7041 (7th floor)]
[Zhao Yixing—Room 10204 (10th floor)]
…
Not Yu Huaiting’s.
Fu Songcheng’s gaze lingered a moment between Lin Feng’s and Bai Mu’s names, then he closed the registry. “Let’s go to the seventh floor and find Bai Mu first.”
He turned and walked toward the elevator bay at the side of the lobby.
The two brass elevator doors were tightly closed, with no up/down indicator lights. Fu Songcheng pressed the button outside the elevator.
With a ding, the doors slid open to both sides.
The elevator car was carpeted in the same dark red. On the metal control panel at its center appeared another card slot, holding a second black-and-gold card.
Fu Songcheng pulled out the card.
[Are you willing to entrust your life to another person?]
Who? Yu Huaiting?
Fu Songcheng thought about it. He was indeed willing to risk danger for Yu Huaiting—but only on the premise that he was confident of handling the risk.
To “entrust” his life completely, without reservation, to him—Fu Songcheng was a little afraid.
Yu Huaiting fought for his life with people and NPCs every day.
Was Fu Songcheng’s life going to be fought in too?
Don’t joke around—this isn’t Pinduoduo.
Besides, to Yu Huaiting, his own life was probably the least important thing. Entrusting his life to him—the ending probably wouldn’t be Pinduoduo, but “Pin-shaoshao” (barely-any).
Fu Songcheng picked up the metal pen hanging beside and scratched on the card:
[No.]
The card turned to ash again.
The floor buttons on the control panel lit up, numbers from 1 to infinity scrolling madly across the panel, finally stopping at an interface for manual input.
Fu Songcheng pressed “7.”
The elevator began to ascend.
Ding.
The seventh floor had arrived.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a dim, carpeted corridor.
On both sides of the corridor were tightly shut doors.
Fu Songcheng walked forward along the room numbers and quickly found room 7041.
The door wasn’t locked. He gripped the brass handle and turned it lightly; the door opened at his touch.
The room’s furnishings weren’t a hotel’s standard suite. The calming incense scent in the air was amplified several times here.
At the center of the room was a wide, soft bed. Bai Mu lay sunk in the soft bedding, eyes tightly shut, breathing steady and long, sleeping extremely deeply.
Fu Songcheng walked to the bedside and tried to wake her. “Bai Mu, wake up.”
The person on the bed showed no reaction.
Fu Songcheng reached out and pushed Bai Mu’s shoulder, his tone sharpening. “Bai Mu.”
After several consecutive shakes, Bai Mu finally stirred.
Her lashes trembled faintly, and she let out an extremely weak groan, as if displeased at being disturbed from a good dream. She struggled to lift her eyelids, her gaze unfocused, looking dazedly at the person before her.
“Mm…”
Bai Mu hummed indistinctly, about to keep sleeping.
“This is an instance. Stop sleeping!”
“Instance… what instance…” Bai Mu mumbled, her body limp, sliding downward—seemingly about to sink back into endless slumber the next second.
Seeing she was drowsy beyond all awareness, Fu Songcheng’s eyes sharpened. He summoned his dagger.
He gripped Bai Mu’s right wrist and pulled her hand out from under the blanket. The blade traced a cold, hard arc through the air, slicing directly across the back of Bai Mu’s hand.
Blood instantly welled out; the sharp sting shot straight to her brain.
“Ah?”
The pain tore through the hazy drowsiness. Bai Mu cried out, her eyes flying wide, her scattered pupils contracting and focusing—thoroughly awake.
She stared in terror at the bleeding back of her hand, then at Fu Songcheng holding the bloodied dagger.
“Mr… Mr. Fu? You…”
Before she could finish.
A very faint crack—like shattering glass—sounded by the two’s ears.
Immediately after, the Bai Mu before him, the bleeding back of her hand, even the entire bed, all began to fill with cracks like a smashed mirror.
Then shattered.
When Fu Songcheng opened his eyes again.
He found himself still standing by Bai Mu’s bedside.
In his hand was his dagger, its blade utterly clean—not a single drop of blood.
He looked down at the bed.
Bai Mu was still breathing steadily, sunk in deep sleep.
Fu Songcheng grabbed her right hand—the back of her hand was smooth as new, without a wound.
Everything just now had been like a dream.
Fu Songcheng’s gaze sank. He looked around, sensing the room’s change.
The originally hotel-room-like furnishings had vanished. Replacing them was a child’s room full of childish whimsy.
The walls were covered with colorful cartoon posters; the head of the bed was piled with all kinds of plush toys; building blocks and paintbrushes were scattered on the carpet.
Fu Songcheng raised the dagger again, pressing the tip against Bai Mu’s arm, and sliced down without mercy.
This time, the blade passed through—Bai Mu didn’t even frown, still sleeping soundly.
Physical damage was void.
Pain could no longer stimulate her awake.
Fu Songcheng put away the dagger.
This should be her—second layer of dream?
He walked to the head of the bed and picked up an exquisitely crafted carousel music box. His gaze swept over the amusement park posters on the wall, and the photo on Bai Mu’s nightstand of a family of three beneath a Ferris wheel.
The little girl in the photo was smiling happily.
“Amusement park?”
Fu Songcheng stood by the bed and deliberately raised his voice, speaking for the deeply sleeping person on the bed.
The originally sleeping Bai Mu, upon hearing the three words “amusement park,” suddenly reacted.
She turned over, the corners of her mouth tugging into a sweet arc, mumbling indistinctly: “Daddy… cotton candy…”
Fu Songcheng narrowed his eyes.
There was a reaction.
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