Chapter 33: Promise

It seemed that Brother Wang’s life was not as blissful as I had imagined, Chang Yu thought to himself. This world is fair to everyone; no one can be utterly flawless. Those who possess great material wealth often lack fulfillment in their spiritual lives. Meanwhile, those whose spirits are abundant frequently suffer from material shortages. Isn’t this precisely the case with Fatty Wang and Chang Yu, this pair of ill-fated brothers in arms?

Fatty Wang was deeply distressed now, and Chang Yu didn’t know how to comfort him. In truth, he had never before found himself face-to-face with a grown man, tears streaming down his face, seeking solace. Putting himself in Wang’s shoes, if Chang Yu were unable to have children for his own reasons, he doubted his spirits would be any better than Fatty Wang’s at this moment.

As Fatty Wang’s sobs grew ever louder, Chang Yu realized he had to say something. Racking his brain, he tried to console him: “Brother Wang, don’t... lose heart. Even if you can’t have children, you still have your wife.”

“She’s so beautiful, and she doesn’t despise you. Even after learning about your condition, she’s willing to stay by your side. That’s really rare, you know.”

He thought mentioning Vice President Yao would lift Fatty Wang’s spirits, but to his surprise, his words had the opposite effect. Fatty Wang broke down even further. If before he had tried to suppress his sobs, now his wailing was truly like the squeal of a pig being slaughtered.

“Who says my wife is willing to stay with me? Because of this, she’s threatened to divorce me more than once!”

“Oh, Xiaoyu, your Brother Wang’s life is so bitter! Boohoo... wuuu... ahhhhh—”

At this, not only Chang Yu, but even the nearby diners were startled by Fatty Wang’s earth-shattering cries. Some frowned, some glared, and some gritted their teeth, looking at Wang with disdain for his unseemly display. His lamentations ruined their appetite; it was no wonder they felt annoyed. Still, a small number looked at him with sympathy, having overheard his tragic circumstances.

“Brother Wang, please, don’t cry. So many people are watching,” Chang Yu hurriedly handed him a napkin from the table, placing it in his hand.

“Wuu... Xiaoyu, do you think your Brother Wang is a disgrace too?” Fatty Wang wiped his tears, but his weeping did not abate.

“Brother Wang, you need to stay positive. As the saying goes, ‘Heaven never seals all exits.’ There’s always hope for a cure,” Chang Yu tried to reassure him.

“You don’t need to comfort me anymore. I know my own situation best. I’ve seen every doctor I could, and they all said there’s no hope,” Fatty Wang whimpered.

Looking at this elder brother who had always looked after him, now sobbing uncontrollably, Chang Yu’s own heart ached. He swore to himself that if there was any way to cure Fatty Wang, he would try it, no matter what.

How could a kind-hearted soul like Chang Yu bear to see those closest to him suffer? Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him.

He told Fatty Wang, “Brother Wang, I understand your pain. I’ll find a way for you. Since all the doctors say there’s no cure, then we’ll stop seeking solutions from science.”

“Instead of asking quacks for help, why not try something different?”

Fatty Wang was stunned by these words, forgetting to cry for a moment. Choking, he said, “If not science, then what, superstition?”

“That’s right, we’ll rely on the mystical arts,” Chang Yu said with solemn conviction.

“Come on, don’t joke around. I thought you had a good idea. I’ve never believed in all that feudal superstition,” Fatty Wang said, wiping his nose.

“Brother Wang, some things truly aren’t just superstition. Really, you have to trust me!” Chang Yu patted his own chest, promising, “In any case, leave this matter to me.”

“Alright, alright, enough comforting. Let’s just keep drinking. Come on, bottoms up!” Fatty Wang forced a laugh, lifted the bottle, and poured their cups full again.

From the look of it, he didn’t believe Chang Yu’s promises, thinking only that he was trying to lighten the mood. You couldn’t blame him; had it been Chang Yu half a month earlier, he wouldn’t have believed in such mystical things either.

Yet, this world is full of inexplicable phenomena, whether you believe them or not. If Chang Yu hadn’t already acquired true qi, he would never have believed that a mere dream could make him the disciple of an immortal.

The drinking session left both Chang Yu and Fatty Wang thoroughly satisfied.

After putting Fatty Wang into a taxi, Chang Yu watched as it drove off in the distance. Returning to his apartment, he began pondering how to resolve Fatty Wang’s affliction and cure his infertility.

Fatty Wang was a good man, and Chang Yu didn’t want him to grow old with no children to call his own. He had always been a man of his word, and once he made a promise, he kept it.

After much thought, Chang Yu realized this matter was beyond his abilities. Perhaps he could ask Master Hao’er if there was a solution. In Chang Yu’s eyes, Master Hao’er was an omnipotent immortal. If anyone could help, it was him.

But to see Master Hao’er, Chang Yu would have to ensure he could dream well tonight.

So, he skillfully pulled out his phone and began searching for a suitable horror film online. He couldn’t wait to pay another visit to Fuling Valley that night.

Any horror film without a beautiful heroine, or with an unattractive one, was immediately ruled out. Ever since that day in his dream, when he stood up to the vengeful ghost woman, he’d gotten a taste of something sweet. His tolerance for horror films had grown immensely; he was no longer the trembling coward he once was.

Instead, he felt a strange anticipation.

Had he not kept his cool that time, he might never have realized how tough he really was.

Of course, the heroine had to be beautiful.

“Hm... this one’s too short, not my type. That one’s tall enough but way too thin...” Chang Yu picked and chose, putting in great effort before finally settling on one that satisfied him.

The heroine was a voluptuous, alluring Latina. He was drawn to her the instant he saw her.

A beauty like that, Chang Yu could only ever admire through a television screen; in real life, he’d never see such a woman.

But now, even if he couldn’t meet her in real life, seeing her in his dreams would suffice.

“This is the one. She’s gorgeous... tsk tsk...”

He pressed play and snuggled under the covers to watch the horror film. Perhaps the heroine’s beauty dispelled his fear, because he watched with great interest, occasionally making snarky comments: “This plot is so lame,” “Her acting is amazing,” “These effects are so bad,” and so on.

Soon, the heroine delivered the film’s classic line: “God made humans out of clay, and so the human race came to be.”

“The first were white people, because God underbaked the clay figures. Next were black people, because he overcooked them, worried about the heat. Finally, after mastering the perfect temperature, he made us, the yellow race. So, we’re God’s greatest creation.”

Hearing this, Chang Yu paused, then scoffed, “Not me! I was made by Nüwa!”

...

Sunlight slanted through the window, spilling across Chang Yu’s shoulders as he sat in a daze on his bed.

“Why didn’t I dream last night?” Chang Yu frowned, turning the question over and over in his mind.

“Usually, as long as I watch a horror film, I dream, don’t I?”

“I wanted to ask Master about Brother Wang’s illness, but now it’s all ruined.”

“Brother Wang, I’ve let you down!”

Chang Yu’s mood was sour.

It wasn’t just that he’d failed to see Master Hao’er as he’d hoped; he’d also suddenly realized something troubling.

His ability to enter dreams seemed beyond his control—it wasn’t governed by his will at all.

Simply put, whether he could dream, and what he dreamed of, was unpredictable.

Ever since he’d first met Master Hao’er in Fuling Valley, this ability had been hit-or-miss. Whether he could use it as he wished depended on luck.

If luck was on his side, he could dream of Master Hao’er.

If fortune smiled further, maybe he’d meet a beautiful lady in his dreams.

But if luck failed, there would be nothing at all—just a night of deep, dreamless sleep.

His sleep quality was excellent, at least.

“I have to find a way to control this ability. If I could use it at will, I could dream of anything, any time!”

“On top of that, I need to figure out how to extend my time in the dream, so I can stay longer in Fuling Valley.”

“That way, I wouldn’t always be racing against the clock with Master—old questions unanswered, new ones piling up.”

“At the very least, I ought to have enough time to resolve my previous doubts! And... what worries me most right now is my cultivation.”

Chang Yu recalled what happened last time he practiced the Fuling Heart Sutra at home—he couldn’t get the technique to flow smoothly, for reasons unknown.

Even Master Hao’er couldn’t explain why.

All Master Hao’er could do was assure him he hadn’t suffered any internal injury or deviation.

Moreover, when he practiced in Fuling Valley, with Master Hao’er present, he felt none of the blockages or tightness in his chest that plagued him at home.

It was a mystery he couldn’t unravel.

Determined to get to the bottom of the problem, Chang Yu gritted his teeth and resolved to risk practicing the Fuling Heart Sutra again.

Invisible currents gathered from all directions, pooling around him.

As he circulated the Heart Sutra, wisps of spiritual energy were drawn into his body.

A gentle warmth spread through him, flowing into all his limbs and bones, like a quiet brook.

This was how it was supposed to work—the proper method for practicing the Fuling Heart Sutra.

But just then, that familiar oppressive sensation returned, making his chest unbearably heavy and causing the flow of energy to falter.

“This feeling again? What on earth is happening?” Chang Yu thought, unwilling to give up.

“Last time, when this happened, I stopped practicing right away to protect myself.”

“This time, I won’t. I want to see what happens if I keep going.”

“Master said I haven’t gone astray with my cultivation, so surely I won’t suddenly explode, right?”

Instead of stopping, Chang Yu accelerated the Heart Sutra.

He had to determine whether the problem lay within himself, or if there was a flaw in the technique.

A powerful spiritual pressure radiated from his body as energy surged into him.

But with it came searing pain in his chest, stabbing deep into his heart and lungs.

Chang Yu swore, never in his life had he felt such agony.

It was as if his bones were being torn from his flesh.

“Aah! It hurts, hurts, hurts...”

His face turned ashen, sweat beading and dripping down his cheeks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He clutched his chest and collapsed from the edge of the bed onto the cold floor, unable to continue the practice.

Perhaps because he’d stopped in time, the storm of pain gradually faded.

After convulsing on the floor for a long while, Chang Yu finally staggered to his feet, shuddering as he said, “I’ll never force my cultivation again. If I keep this up, never mind whether my body can take it—the pain alone will kill me.”

He rested for a bit, slowly recovering his strength. Then he hurried to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed a handful of cool water on his face.

Gazing at the still-pale face in the mirror, Chang Yu gave a silent, bitter smile.

“How pitiful I look,” he said.