Chapter 22: The Gift of the Dream-Eater

Pushing through the grass along the bluestone path, the road bore witness to the rise and fall of a sect. Footprints remained in the hard stone, yet the stone itself had not cracked. What kind of bizarre technique was this?

Besides footprints, there were also handprints on the stone road. Again, only the impressions remained without any cracking, and the lines of the palms were clearly visible.

The people might no longer be here. Even those who remembered them could be gone. But the footprints and handprints had stood the test of time.

The caravan leader could not help but grow solemn. He continued moving slowly upward.

Now he spent even more time, pushing the weeds aside to either side, as if trying to restore the path rather than merely hacking through a way for them to crawl through.

On the fifth day, they still had not reached the end of the road. The two made camp on the bluestone path, clearing the weeds far away, afraid they might set the mountain on fire.

That night was still freezing cold. No one could sleep well.

On the morning of the sixth day, they got up and continued on. When they were still a good distance from the summit, they pushed through the grass and crawled through dense thickets. Then the view suddenly opened up before them.

What came into view was a mountain gate, modest or not, built from stone. The crossbeam had fallen off.

A stone tablet bore the name of this place. So it really was some kind of sect.

It had fallen into decay. People had left, the buildings empty.

Weeds grew rampant. Dead branches and fallen leaves covered the square.

The caravan leader and the young girl split up to search, inspecting the sect’s modest grounds.

Nowhere could they find anyone.

The sect had complete facilities: many guest rooms and a training ground. In the past, it must have been a lively place.

The caravan leader finally found the young girl in the main hall. She was walking toward the high platform at the end, where something seemed to be placed.

The caravan leader carefully followed, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings.

Everything felt wrong. If no one was here, how did that kid from Qinhuang Island know about this place?

He watched the young girl step onto the platform. Just as she was about to touch the box, he quickly called out to stop her.

He looked around the platform. Finding nothing suspicious, he finally nodded.

The young girl opened the wooden box on the platform. Inside was a set of neatly folded white robes, both inner and outer garments.

“Huh?” The caravan leader was stunned.

The young girl lifted the robes from the box. They slipped from her hand, but instead of falling heavily, they drifted down slowly, light as feathers.

She caught them again and shook them open for a look.

The style was one never seen among the common folk. Ordinary people would not wear something so splendid. The robes were even more ornate than those of scholar-officials, yet they appeared quite simple. Two contradictory qualities merged together.

If he had to describe them, they were like the celestial robes and feathered garments of fairies mentioned in popular stories.

Unfolded, the outer robe was slightly taller than the young girl. It trailed on the ground but still fit rather well.

Something was off. That strange feeling crept back into the caravan leader’s heart.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He moved aside the wooden box containing the feathered robes and looked at the table. The table was thick with dust, even under the box.

Then he looked back at the box. It was clean. Not a speck of dust.

So that’s it!

In that moment, the caravan leader understood everything.

The storage ring that the Dream-Eating Beast had “dropped.” All the strange events along the road. The kid they met at Qinhuang Island. And this wooden box sitting here now.

It all connected.

Realizing this, the caravan leader burst out laughing. He leaned against a pillar, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Suddenly, a small pebble fell from the roof and hit his head.

He immediately stopped laughing. As if talking to himself, he said, “Alright, I won’t laugh. I won’t laugh.”

The young girl looked at him with curiosity, as if he had suddenly gone mad.

With some effort, the caravan leader suppressed his smile and said seriously, “How about… you try it on?”

The young girl tilted her head, her eyes wide, as if she didn’t understand his idea.

Abandoned sect in the wilderness. Empty main hall. Wooden box. Feathered robes that fit perfectly. Who would dare wear that?

“Don’t worry.” The caravan leader thought for a moment. “It’s other Dream-Eating Beasts. Remember when we were on the road and I disappeared? A Dream-Eating Beast has been following us. This is a tribute for you, a token of submission. Accept it.”

Sensing that the robes were no ordinary item, and driven by a desire for power, she still put them on.

The moment she took off her outer coat, the caravan leader was startled. He quickly turned his back to her, left the hall, and waited outside.

In less than half an incense stick’s time, the young girl came out.

The caravan leader looked back and was stunned. It was as if time had frozen. He stood there dazed for a long while.

He recalled a few lines from the “Rhapsody on the Luo River Goddess” that the Jiangnan scholars often quoted: “Dim as the moon veiled by thin clouds, fluttering as snow swirling in the wind. Gazing from afar, she is bright as the morning sun rising over rosy clouds. Looking closer, she is blazing like a lotus emerging from green ripples. Stout and slender in due measure, a perfect harmony of height and proportion. Her shoulders like chiseled jade, her waist like a length of white silk…”

It turned out that there truly existed a beauty that even the finest poetry could not fully capture.

After a long time, the caravan leader snapped out of it.

He noticed the feathered robes fit perfectly, as if tailor-made.

The hem trailed on the ground but didn’t pick up a speck of dust. It was repelled and purified by some mysterious power.

Nor did the trailing hem hinder her movements. The construction principle eluded him.

If only the young girl weren’t holding a battle-axe. If she held a sword instead, it would be even more perfect.

The young girl seemed to think the axe looked cool. She struck several poses like a bandit, as if seeking the caravan leader’s appraisal.

In his mind, the caravan leader substituted the axe for a sword.

“Like an immortal,” he said, feeling that was the perfect image.

Suddenly, the caravan leader shivered. The weather had turned cold.

Remembering something, he asked, “Hey, aren’t you cold now?”

The young girl shook her head and pointed at the feathered robes.

“Wow,” the caravan leader said. “They can keep out the cold? More comfortable than all these clothes we’re wearing?”

The young girl nodded.

“No wonder they’re immortal gear. So good.”

They searched around the sect a bit more but found nothing else.

On the sixth day, they rested there for the night.

The caravan leader slept fairly comfortably that night. They could hide in a room, not too cold.

The young girl, of course, slept even better. She had her own protective energy, giving her some resistance to cold. On top of that, the white feathered robes added their own resistance. Without even covering herself, she felt as if it were a warm spring day. So comfortable.

It was the most comfortable sleep she’d had since leaving her snowy home, slightly better than at the inn.

On the morning of the seventh day, they descended the mountain. It was much easier than the ascent. They made it down in one day, then flagged down a merchant’s cart and hitched a ride.

The young girl’s outfit was too intimidating. The merchant was so scared he abandoned his cart and rode his horse alone.

The young girl seemed in high spirits. She sat at the back of the cart, swinging her legs.

After dark, they returned to Qinhuang Island and back to the inn.

Along the way, commoners couldn’t help but stare at her. Anyone could tell she was extraordinary.

Before, only her white hair and golden eyes had marked her as unusual. Now, everything about her seemed beyond ordinary. She looked human, but nothing else about her was.

They had a late supper. The innkeeper, seeing the young girl’s appearance, dared not refuse. Despite the cold, he lit the stove and cooked.

At the table, the caravan leader talked endlessly, boasting to his companions about their adventures over the past days.

The sound of the night wind became the roar of monsters in his tale. The freezing weather became demonic sorcery. The troublesome weeds became an enchanted maze of a immortal sect. The footprints and handprints on the bluestone path became traces of immortals passing by. When they reached the sect and obtained the feathered robes, the sunlight breaking through the clouds became a seven-colored auspicious divine light.

A dull seven days, but he made it vivid and dramatic, showing no small talent of a poet.

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