Chapter Seventy-Nine: Old Zhang’s Knot, the Shattered Forbidden Relic

Jun Yue Grand Hotel.

At the very top floor, within the private room of the revolving restaurant.

The young assistant was fervently inviting everyone to take their seats.

At the center stood an enormous marble round table, each place set with a bottle of vintage red wine whose price was evident at a glance.

Plates of exquisite appetizers adorned the table, each one a feast for the eyes.

The members of the Wildfire Squad, though all dreamwalkers and quite well-off, had rarely set foot in the private rooms of the revolving restaurant atop the Jun Yue Grand Hotel.

After all, most dreamwalkers spent their fortunes on the black market, purchasing forbidden artifacts, Dream Spirit Springs, and similar treasures.

Few dreamwalkers would splurge on gourmet experiences.

Thus, this feast was an eye-opener for everyone in Wildfire.

“Tonight’s expenses are all on me, Du’s assistant!” the young assistant, Su Xiaoyu, declared, waving her hand with the air of a true magnate.

Then the dishes began to arrive—an array of refined cuisine, each one expertly plated, each redolent with rich aromas, steeped in culinary history.

Zhang Changlin sipped his wine, a cigarette dangling from his lips, seated in his gleaming wheelchair with an air of languid relaxation.

He glanced at Du Fang, who sat quietly at his place, from time to time placing food in the empty bowl beside him, a flicker of something inscrutable passing through Zhang Changlin’s eyes.

He took another sip of wine, the warmth spreading through him, every cell loosening in contentment.

“Perhaps this truly is Wildfire’s most promising year yet,” he murmured.

At the same time, his gaze sharpened, memories flooding his mind—faces, long dead.

He drained his glass.

They were his teammates in the capital, those who had perished in dream disasters.

Zhang Changlin had been powerless to save them.

It was this grief that drove him from the capital—a place too full of painful reminders.

“Maybe it’s time to go back,” he thought, slipping a piece of fish into his mouth. The lively atmosphere of the banquet felt strangely distant.

Su Jiuming and Si Nan, ever the wild ones, were deep into their cups, their voices clamorous.

Du Fang, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair with a gentle smile, watching the table.

A gentle light shone in Zhang Changlin’s eyes.

“These are my comrades now… the ones I must protect.”

Yet, as he drank, memories of the fallen haunted him.

That dream disaster… he could not let it go.

“I must discover the cause of their deaths… I must enter that dream disaster again!”

“But it has already escalated to a national calamity. To enter, I need the Dreamwalker Association’s approval, and for that, I must lead a championship squad in the national dreamwalker tournament.”

“This year, with Du Fang joining us, Wildfire has a real chance…”

A glimmer of hope shone in his eyes.

He poured himself another drink.

Just then, Su Jiuming, flushed from her recent victory in a drinking game, wove her way over to him, glass in hand.

“Come on, Zhang, pour another! Let’s toast. This year, with the provincial champion on our side, maybe Wildfire can seize the national title at last!”

“This year… we absolutely must not fail again.”

“I know you’re haunted by the past. Trust in your team, will you?”

Su Jiuming’s alluring smile glowed even brighter under the influence of wine.

Zhang Changlin paused, then raised his glass, clinking it with hers.

They exchanged a knowing smile and drained their cups.

“We’ll learn to meow like cats together, meow meow meow…”

No sooner had they finished their toast than a ringtone blared from Zhang Changlin’s coat pocket—Su Jiuming’s voice singing that very song.

His face darkened as he glared at her, aggrieved. “When did you change my ringtone?”

Su Jiuming stifled a laugh. “Secretly. I’ll never tell.”

Rolling his eyes, Zhang Changlin answered the call.

Gradually, his expression grew serious.

The noise at the table faded as well.

Su Jiuming, Zhao Lu, Si Nan, and the others—all familiar with Zhang Changlin—knew the gravity of the situation when he looked like that.

“A mission?” Su Jiuming asked.

Zhang Changlin nodded, then spoke into the phone, “We’re departing now. We’ll arrive within ten minutes.”

He stood, already pulling on his black trench coat.

A stern voice sounded from the phone, “Hurry.”

The call ended.

The table had fallen silent.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve got work,” Zhang Changlin announced, a touch apologetic as he glanced at the group, then focused on Du Fang.

After all, this feast had been in Du Fang’s honor.

Du Fang, unperturbed, wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“No worries. The mission comes first,” he replied, even a touch eager.

If not for the festive mood, he would have taken Luo Luo out to look for the imposter who had been mimicking her laughter.

He sensed a subtle drop in his connection with Luo Luo, and he knew the reason.

Luo Luo had told him someone was imitating her laughter, and she was angry—she wanted to find them. But because he hadn’t taken her immediately, she felt a little disappointed.

She dared not show her anger or say much, just grew a bit downcast—a feeling that translated to Du Fang as a drop in familial affection.

Du Fang had planned to finish the banquet before seeking out the culprit.

Now, with a mission, it was a perfect excuse to leave quickly.

And he had a hunch that this mission was related to the one mimicking Luo Luo.

Zhang Changlin gave Du Fang a warm, satisfied smile.

Such an understanding teammate.

“All right, let’s move out!” Zhang Changlin declared.

At his words, Chen Xi, Si Nan, Su Jiuming, Zhao Lu, and Du Fang all donned their black dreamwalker trench coats.

The coat tails fluttered as they strode out of the hotel.

The young assistant, though not in uniform, pumped her fists in excitement, cheering them on from behind.

…

The clouds darkened; the black sky was devoid of stars.

No wind, no rain.

No light, no sound.

Looking out the window, distant lights shimmered, but the hospital itself was shrouded in utter darkness, as if severed from light, sound, wind, and rain.

Yet in reality, fat raindrops were falling from the heavens that night.

Sun Yaohai dashed through the hospital corridors.

He gazed up at the black barrier enveloping the building, as if isolating it from the world.

Raindrops pattered on the barrier, but not a drop penetrated.

Static buzzed from his phone pressed to his ear.

“Can you still hear me?” Sun Yaohai barked, running all the while.

Only broken, intermittent voices answered him, mingled with the electric hiss.

“Damn it, the signal’s blocked…” he cursed. “This dream disaster isn’t natural—it’s man-made! Someone’s using a forbidden artifact to jam communications!”

His face darkened, his expression grave.

“Sun… zzz… hold on for ten minutes… zzz…”

A final, broken message came through before the connection died.

Sun Yaohai tugged at his tie, his slicked hair now disheveled. “Hold on for ten minutes… There must be other dreamwalkers coming to the rescue.”

“But if someone engineered this, ten minutes is more than enough for many to die!”

He knew he couldn’t just wait.

At least, he couldn’t do nothing.

A world without sound or light.

Invisible ripples spread through the air.

Suddenly, Sun Yaohai’s vision blurred, as if space itself twisted, ushering him into a new realm.

The hospital transformed before his eyes.

Moss crept across the walls, old and crumbling.

Discarded needles, blood-filled IV bags, and bloodstained beds littered the corridors.

In an instant, his surroundings changed.

“I’ve been dragged into the dream disaster!” he realized.

“No, I can’t sink into it—I have to break free quickly, wake up, and find whoever used the forbidden artifact to create this disaster. Only then can I hope to save the people in this hospital before the slaughter begins.”

His face turned grim.

What began as duty had now become necessity.

Lan Xiang and Sun Zhe were both trapped here—Sun Zhe, his son, even if disappointing, was still his child. He couldn’t count on Lan Xiang to protect him with his life—nor was it his duty.

So he had to break free, and fast.

He was not just a dreamwalker now, but a father.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck…”

Laughter echoed through the corridors, stairwells, and wards, all at once.

But to Sun Yaohai, it was spine-chilling, raising goosebumps all over his body.

“Where is it? Without finding the anomaly, I can’t escape.”

He spun around, searching, but found nothing.

The eerie laughter persisted, punctuated by the wet sound of flesh being torn, the dull thud of someone’s skull being twisted off and hurled to the ground.

The entity in this dream disaster had begun its killing.

Time slipped by—everyone in the hospital would die, including Sun Zhe and Lan Xiang.

“I know too little about this disaster. There’s no time to understand its level, its code name, or even its main theme.”

“I’m flying blind—finding a way out is almost impossible.”

“But… there’s always a way.”

Sun Yaohai forced himself calm.

From his coat, he drew a cigarette, clamped it between his lips, and tried to light it—over and over, but the flame wouldn’t catch.

He thought of his old rival, Zhang Changlin, and chuckled.

Then he pulled out the mirror he’d taken from Lan Xiang.

“If I can’t break out the usual way, I’ll just have to force it.”

Still holding the cigarette, Sun Yaohai pressed the mirror to his face, catching his own reflection.

A smirk curled his lips as he smashed his fist into the glass.

It shattered, his hand instantly torn and bleeding.

A black shadow burst from the mirror, wild and violent.

A shrill, furious scream erupted in his ears.

Sun Yaohai, cigarette dangling from his lips, offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry—time is short.”

Something invisible seemed to claw the shadow from the mirror and drag it into his body.

Boom!

As the shadow merged with him, Sun Yaohai’s eyes flew open—the space around him twisting as if a canvas were being ripped apart.

The empty corridor.

The black barrier.

The ominous patter of rain on the shield.

Sun Yaohai stood, cigarette in mouth, eyes sharp as blades.

Now, his senses swept out like a storm.

He raised his head abruptly, staring at the top floor of the hospital, the corner of his mouth twisting into a crooked grin as he exhaled three words:

“Found you.”

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