Twisted Dreams

Jin ignored the voice.

He was only brought here by the head of a member of the Celestial Race, his true self was not present.

No one could possibly see him here, nor could they hear him.

Jin believed that the voice wasn’t speaking to him, or perhaps it was trying to trick him.

Jin murmured:

"The air here is filled with the essence of material, indeed, could this be the Lost City?"

The material Jin referred to was the Celestial Race.

Jin had always known there was a mysterious city in a certain sea area of Blue Star.

The residents of that city were the Celestial Race.

And Tie Lin was the City Lord of the Lost City who managed the Celestial Race.

The voice sounded again:

"Lost City? What kind of place is that?"

Jin was taken aback.

Is it really talking to me?

Could that thing understand the fluctuations of my consciousness?

The voice continued:

"Indeed, insect, I am asking you."

....

In the lab, Jin’s breathing grew rapid.

He was encountering a world he couldn’t comprehend, why was there someone talking to him here?

Even though his assistant had followed Jin for decades, this was the first time he had activated the rescue device.

The purpose of the rescue base was to use this base to explore the Lost City when the world faced an unsolvable problem, achieving a rescue effect.

This was also his first time operating this machine, watching Jin struggle painfully without a clue what to do.

...

The voice said:

"Your soul’s rhythm is chaotic, are you afraid? Answer me, insect."

Jin calmed himself.

He knew that panic wouldn’t solve any problems at a time like this.

Jin asked:

"Who are you?"

The voice pondered for a moment, then replied:

"Lord of the Celestial Race? King of Demons? It no longer matters.

My name is, Long Live the Emperor!"

Jin was unfamiliar with the term Long Live the Emperor, but from the sound of it, was he the leader of the Celestial Race?

So, this indeed is the Lost City?

The voice grew angry:

"I’ve answered your question, why don’t you answer mine, what exactly is the Lost City?"

Jin asked in shock:

"Isn’t this the Lost City?"

The voice said:

"This is the Celestial Realm."

Jin felt as if he’d been struck by lightning, his whole body tingling.

He had once heard from Tie Lin that the Lost City was a place where the remnants of the Celestial Race were imprisoned.

Jin had originally intended to find the location of the Lost City through the head of a Celestial Race member, so how did he end up in the Celestial Realm?!

Was this a failure or success of the rescue device?

Jin dared not speak any further and immediately used his mind to shut down the rescue device.

At the auction, even the corpses of the Celestial Race were incredibly powerful, how strong could the Lord of the Celestial Race be?

Jin was afraid the Lord of the Celestial Race might do something to his consciousness, resulting in unforeseeable consequences.

The voice exclaimed in surprise:

"Ran away? Run then, let me see where you came from."

A few seconds later, the owner of the voice seemed to see something and fell into a terrifying silence.

After a moment, the voice muttered:

"What a bountiful world indeed."

Greed dripped from the voice.

"First Nest, heed my command...."

In the darkness, countless glowing green eyes opened.

...

In the dead of night, a certain village.

The phrase "Golden Autumn October" sounds particularly beautiful, hmm... of course, October is indeed beautiful.

The farmers’ yearly harvest depends on this time of year.

But this time isn’t as romantically beautiful as imagined, it’s very exhausting.

It was already very late, Old Zhang and his wife were under the moonlight, carrying a burlap sack to the fields to collect apples.

The old couple’s faces were full of worry. The rain had been too good this year, making the apples taste bad, and the fruit vendors pressed the prices very low.

But life must go on, no matter how much they complained, the work needed to be done couldn’t be avoided.

The wife muttered:

"Marrying you was the worst luck in eight generations.

Look at the city ladies, they’re all asleep by this time, getting up early tomorrow for square dancing.

Ha, I’m just suffering, might as well be dead."

Old Zhang continued picking fruit as he spoke:

"Stop talking about dying, it’s bad luck."

His wife, propping up the burlap sack, yawned:

"If I don’t die of old age, I’ll die of exhaustion."

At this point, Old Zhang suddenly saw something, looking at the woods not far away:

"Old lady, look over there, is something moving?"

His wife was startled, rubbing her eyes to look where Old Zhang was pointing:

"Could it be someone stealing apples?"

Old Zhang picked up the pitchfork he brought for protection and tiptoed towards that direction, shouting:

"Who’s there! Come out!"

His harsh words belied his cautious steps, revealing his fear.

The farmers’ yearly income depends on this golden autumn October; if their hard-earned harvest was stolen, they’d feel like dying.

Old Zhang approached, hearing crunching sounds, something was eating.

Was it eating apples?

If it was only picking a couple of fruits to eat, he wouldn’t need to make a fuss.

Everyone was from the same village, bound to meet regularly, no harm in eating a couple of fruits.

Old Zhang feared embarrassing that person, surely being scolded for picking two apples wasn’t worth it.

He pretended he hadn’t noticed anything, heading back towards his wife.

When he reached her, he whispered:

"Maybe it’s Limp Zhou, who planted sweet potatoes nearby, got thirsty collecting them at night and picked a couple of fruits."

His wife spat:

"Is it that bad luck bearer Limp Zhou?

A few days ago, our grandson dug out one of his sweet potatoes to play with, and he scolded him so badly.

He dares to steal our apples."

Old Zhang gestured to his wife:

"Keep your voice down, everyone gets thirsty, we’re all from the same village, give him some face."

His wife, discontent, pursed her lips and said:

"Let’s go home then; if he sees us here he might feel embarrassed to pick any after eating his fill."

This woman, honestly, had a sharp tongue but a soft heart, besides the sharp words, she was lovely in every way.

Old Zhang nodded:

"Makes sense, sigh! Let’s go, we’re tired enough today."

Thus, Old Zhang, with his wife and their tools, headed home.

It was precisely Old Zhang and his wife’s kindness that saved themselves.

At the edge of the apple field and the sweet potato patch, a humanoid monster munched loudly on something, crunching away.

The monster had a human body, a pig’s head, and its back was covered in scales.

The monster was part of the Celestial Race, devouring its meal ravenously.

The monster heard something, raised its head, looking back, but saw nothing.

Ignoring it, the monster continued to eat.

In its hands, it held a human leg, gnawing at it hungrily.

Nearby was the head of an old man.

The old man’s expression was frozen in terror at the moment of death.

This old man was the Limp Zhou mentioned by Old Zhang’s wife.

The monster’s fangs were smeared with flesh, looking especially horrific in the moonlight.