Chapter 41: Fortunately Waking from a Grand Dream So Early; Expressing Deep Meanings in a Three-Line Note of Affection

A few wisps of fine rain fell continuously, resembling the light washes and touches in a traditional Chinese ink painting. Such "rain" is precisely what the water-country of Jiangnan can least do without.

Thus, Cheng Heng drifted into the summer night along with the drizzle. When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of Guan Yin, just as he had wished. And the latter, true to form, showed no particular initiative.

"You were right."

"About what?" This abrupt opening remark caught Guan Yin off guard. Looking at the former, the confusion etched across his brow was self-evident.

Realizing that today's Guan Yin was somewhat more approachable than when they had met beneath the sweet osmanthus tree, Cheng Heng hurriedly explained, "I mean what you said to me after Ruan Bi passed the imperial examination as the top scholar and was reportedly set to become an official."

"Hmm?"

"That day beneath the osmanthus tree." The person before him seemed to be deliberately evading the topic. Yet, Guan Yin had clearly won their unspoken wager—what was there to deny now? Failing to understand, Cheng Heng spoke at a quickened pace.

"What osmanthus tree?"

"Are you saying the person who spoke with me wasn't you?"

At this, both men stared at each other with eyes full of bewilderment. After a moment of reflection, Cheng Heng finally understood: that encounter had merely been a dream of his beneath the sweet osmanthus tree, and even Guan Yin was nothing more than a pure creation of the dream.

The person before him had been reached through the sinking depths of a dream, and the one who had made him quietly place a secret wager had also turned out to be nothing more than a fleeting dream of a brief nap. Cheng Heng completely lost the ability to distinguish between reality and what lay beyond it.

"You dreamed of me?" Clearly, Cheng Heng's reaction went beyond anything normal. Yet in this entire world, Cheng Heng was the only one who knew that a teacher named Guan Yin existed in another realm.

No matter what, Guan Yin could not simply leave the person before him to fend for himself.

"Of course I dreamed of you," Cheng Heng replied, finding Guan Yin's question utterly pointless. Even if he were to put himself in the other's shoes, he would have asked the exact same thing.

"So which one of you is the real you? Which one is the dream? And which one is a dream within a dream?"

A dream is clearly a continuation of reality; whenever someone experiences a dream that is not overly bizarre, it is invariably the subconscious at work. At this very moment, Cheng Heng had yet to realize the crux of the matter...

Guan Yin had no idea how to respond to Cheng Heng's question. Yet, what hadn't been said simply hadn't been said, and Guan Yin had no wish to unfairly claim a victory over Cheng Heng. "Whether I said it or not, it was all just a dream of yours."

A dream is not reality. Good or bad, apart from a person's own state of mind, it cannot truly affect anything. Guan Yin was not a superstitious man.

"Fine." Since Guan Yin claimed ignorance, Cheng Heng chose not to dwell on it further. Pulling back from the brink just in time to alter his initial thoughts, Cheng Heng felt genuinely grateful for this dream.

The two sat in silence opposite each other for a long while, until the sparse drizzle outside the window gradually ceased.

The dream had not yet ended. Feeling somewhat idle, Cheng Heng stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out into the small courtyard bathed in moonlight—the familiar trumpet creeper vine bore far fewer flowers now, but its vines had grown much more luxuriant.

"Did you fertilize it?"

"What?" Guan Yin paused for a fleeting second. Realizing that Cheng Heng could only be referring to that trumpet creeper flower, he answered just as the other was about to elaborate, "If you're talking about that trumpet creeper, no one goes out of their way to fertilize a flower that grows naturally in the wild."

"Then why has it grown so well?"

"Grown well?"

"So is this also telling us not to interfere with everything else, and simply let them grow as they will?"

Another abrupt and inexplicable remark tumbled from Cheng Heng's lips. Initially, Guan Yin had felt no curiosity about the story hidden within the dream Cheng Heng spoke of. But after hearing Cheng Heng talk in riddles twice in a row, Guan Yin suddenly found himself growing curious about this dream.

"Perhaps it's a case of 'crushed to spring mud, still guarding the flowers,'" Guan Yin remarked, choosing not to press the issue since Cheng Heng hadn't volunteered it. "We had a heavy downpour a couple of days ago, and look... this table has developed cracks again. I wonder if it's going to grow mold once more."

It had been a very long time since Guan Yin had seen so many mold spots.

"Perhaps."

In the dream, Ruan Bi had taken over the schoolmaster's post, passing on the scholarly pursuits to the next generation. That, too, seemed a sort of 'crushed to spring mud, still guarding the flowers.' Fragmentary information and emotions crowded into Cheng Heng's mind, a chaotic tangle impossible to sort out.

Of course, this had no effect on Guan Yin.

Guan Yin's gaze remained fixed on the trumpet creeper vine, which seemed to be thriving even more vigorously than before, lingering there for a long time without moving: a life that inherently possessed the capacity to reach upward, once freed from those seemingly gorgeous yet restrictive attachments that held back its growth, had finally drawn closer to the higher wall.

That trumpet creeper vine truly resembled Liu Jia'an!

"Have you made any discoveries?" Cheng Heng was almost certain that before long, he would be able to leave this world where Ruan Bi existed. But why was Guan Yin still here?

"Discoveries about what?"

"Have you found a way to leave this place?" The stories from his own pen, the real people who had existed in history—all of these naturally held a deep fascination for Cheng Heng.

How many people, after all, have never imagined becoming characters within their own essays, articles, or scripts, or at the very least, living right alongside them?

Yet Cheng Heng knew that he would eventually write another world, one that he liked even more. Regardless of whatever logical arguments he had made to Guan Yin, Cheng Heng still longed to return to real life...

"Not yet..." Putting aside such thoughts, Guan Yin's recent life had been comfortable enough—well-fed, safe from the cold, entirely free of scheming among the three of them, and with no troublesome matters to deal with. Being a teacher was exhausting, far more exhausting than Guan Yin's present life.

Just as Guan Yin realized in a flash that he was currently experiencing the fate of a "frog being boiled in warm water" and would sooner or later have his willpower worn away, Cheng Heng hurriedly spoke up again: "Perhaps it's hidden in some letter, or perhaps in a single meaningful sentence."

"Don't forget, it was because of a letter back then that we realized that world had long since become a fantasy belonging to the schoolmaster Cheng Zhan."

"Perhaps everything right now is merely a fantasy belonging to the original host."

The morning bell and evening drum sounded; several chime strokes, coupled with the crowing of roosters, shattered the veil of night and startled away Guan Yin's dream.

"A letter?"

"Details?"

The very first thing Guan Yin did upon waking was to rummage through the manuscript drafts.

The stroke of a pen must surely be different under the sway of intense emotion, or perhaps tearstains had left behind the traces of spreading ink?

Guan Yin's thoughts first went to the passage concerning the deliverance of wandering souls. Since the torrential rain was real, and the natural and man-made disasters were real, perhaps this particular segment was connected to the original host.

Every single horizontal and vertical stroke was smooth and steady; each character was as pristine as an examination paper for the imperial tests. Guan Yin could discern no flaws whatsoever.

"Had it been copied over once already, or is this not the right place? Or perhaps I'm simply overthinking things, and the way to break the deadlock..."

Finally, a faint circle of ink surrounded by a pale yellowish, irregular ring appeared before Guan Yin's eyes—yet this very page clearly bore the title *Parting from My Wife*.