C129 — In Dreams, There Is an Ideal Homeland

Mu Sichen felt a bit flustered. This scene made his sanity drop even more than looking directly at the Big Eye Monster.

It wasn’t that the scene was bad—it was just… awkward. Like he had accidentally glimpsed someone else’s private story. He felt embarrassed, a little curious, and also something he couldn’t quite put into words.

It was hard to imagine that a god-level monster like Qin Zu had such a side.

Mu Sichen scooped up some water and splashed it onto his face. As if responding to his emotions, the domain made the water colder than the surrounding temperature. The icy splash cooled the heat on his cheeks a little.

He paced around in place a couple of times, gradually regaining his composure. Then he suddenly realized something.

Qin Zu was a god-level monster—what kind of person could possibly withstand Him leaning into their arms?

One look could kill. Enduring a bit of His anger could kill. Even hearing a word from Him could kill. Holding Him in your arms would basically be seeking death.

Even the most loyal pseudo-divine follower couldn’t manage it. Since the moment of their birth, god-level monsters only had themselves and other hostile god-level monsters.

It was a path of absolute loneliness.

Thinking of this, Mu Sichen calmed down and could finally reflect properly on what he had just seen.

He remembered that the person’s chest was broad and warm, while the body he felt was small. So… was that a memory of Qin Zu lying in his father’s arms as a child?

That gave him the feeling of looking at childhood photos—relaxed, a little curious, and wanting to see more. He wondered if Qin Zu had also been this serious as a child.

Reassured, Mu Sichen smiled and reached out again, intending to try storing the massive white cube into his dream.

But just as he was about to touch it, he suddenly remembered something.

Right at the center of that chest he had seen earlier… there had been a mole. And it looked oddly familiar.

Mu Sichen lowered his head and looked at his own chest. Right in the center, there happened to be a small, inconspicuous mole.

Mu Sichen: “……”

No, no, no. That must just be a coincidence. It couldn’t be his chest. There was no way he had held Qin Zu as a child. He—

He had always slept holding the little octopus, because in summer it was especially cool and helped lower the temperature.

Mu Sichen: “……”

So that really was his own chest?!

In an instant, his face turned as red as a fully cooked shrimp.

He didn’t dare touch the cube again and instead circled around it aimlessly.

He tried to sort through his chaotic thoughts and figure out why his interactions with the little octopus had appeared here with the Butterfly.

It made sense that Qin Zu could see his interactions with the little octopus. After all, the octopus originally belonged to Qin Zu, and Qin Zu had even retrieved the first one through divine descent. So knowing about that experience was completely normal.

But then came the questions.

First, why would being held while sleeping become one of Qin Zu’s beautiful memories?

Second, why did this memory appear here with the Butterfly? From what Ji Xian’an had described earlier, Qin Zu used beautiful memories to lure the Butterfly to sleep. That must have been half a year, a year, or even longer ago. After losing some followers, Qin Zhou stopped sending people, meaning there was no longer a need to put the Butterfly to sleep. So for at least several months, Qin Zu hadn’t given any memories to the Butterfly. Yet his time with the little octopus had been less than a month—so how did it end up here?

Third, the Butterfly would occasionally come to savor Qin Zu’s beautiful memories… had it seen this scene?

These three questions made Mu Sichen’s thoughts explode on the spot.

This might be an even harder problem than figuring out the rules of the “Pillars,” avoiding contamination by Shen Jiyue, or even preventing the destruction of the world.

Mu Sichen spun around for a long time. Even getting dizzy didn’t help him solve the problem. The more he thought about it, the redder his face became. In the end, he hugged his knees and floated in the water, pondering complicated mysteries of the universe.

[The system can answer the player’s not-so-difficult questions.]

[First: it’s simply because it feels very beautiful.

Second: the “beautiful memories” Qin Zu gives to the Dream Weaver are concepts, not memory data. In other words, no matter how much time has passed, as long as Qin Zu considers a memory beautiful, He will lose that memory.
Third: yes, it has seen it—often.]

[Alright, stop dwelling on this. Haven’t you noticed the surrounding seawater temperature rising along with your body temperature? If this continues, the entire sea will start boiling.]

The system’s answers didn’t comfort Mu Sichen—if anything, they made him even more at a loss.

No matter how calm he usually was, he was still just a college student with little life experience. When facing danger or death, he might even be more decisive than older adults, with that fearless, headstrong courage of youth. But when it came to these vague, complicated emotional entanglements, he clearly lacked experience.

He silently recited some basic course material from last semester, gradually calming himself down.

He told himself that Qin Zu and the little octopus were essentially the same being. The octopus had gotten along well with him, and even he felt that their time together was warm and comforting. So it was perfectly normal for Qin Zu to consider it beautiful

Also, after the great catastrophe, the world had become a mess, while the real world he lived in was still warm and peaceful. It made sense that Qin Zu would like the real world and use it to reminisce about life before the disaster.

Okay—the first question was perfectly resolved.

Mu Sichen felt a bit better.

But when he thought about the answer to the second question, a dull ache suddenly appeared in his chest.

In order to restrain His desires, Qin Zu had already abandoned emotions. And now, He couldn’t even retain some of His memories.

As long as something felt beautiful, the memory would be taken away—what a tragic thing that was.

Just how far had He suppressed Himself?

As for the third question, it wasn’t worth even a bit of emotional energy.

The Butterfly wasn’t someone important to Mu Sichen. In fact, it was likely an enemy that could kill him. Whether it had seen that memory carried no emotional weight for him—only a concern about whether his weaknesses might be exposed.

After thinking through these three issues, Mu Sichen returned to his usual state.

He went back to the cube and muttered, “Qin Zu, Qin Zu, Qin Zu.”

He really didn’t want to see Qin Zhou’s beautiful memories again. He was worried that if he saw more, he might no longer be able to feel respect toward Qin Zu.

And if Qin Zu were ever willing to give him another little octopus, Mu Sichen feared that after seeing those memories, he wouldn’t be able to interact with it as naturally as before.

Everyone deserved to have their own secrets.

Mu Sichen also swore that unless he needed information about other towns, he wouldn’t touch the dreams stored in his inventory.

After calling out for a while, he felt that familiar gaze fall upon him.

He wasn’t sure whether Qin Zu could hear him, so he spoke in a way that made his lip movements easy to read:

“This is the memory you gave to the Dream Weaver. I want to use it to exchange for Mengdie Town’s land to connect with Hope Town. Do you agree?”

The gaze didn’t change.

Mu Sichen figured that no reaction meant agreement.

If Qin Zu had refused, He could have simply shifted His gaze away.

So Mu Sichen asked again, “How am I supposed to give the memory to you?”

Qin Zu couldn’t answer him. And within the domain, entering dreams wasn’t possible, so that gaze shifted direction.

But Mu Sichen felt that the gaze hadn’t left—it seemed to be guiding him somewhere.

Following that feeling, he swam upward, leapt out of the sea into the air, and finally landed on the self-totem suspended in the sky. Only then did the gaze stop.

“My self-totem?” Mu Sichen muttered in confusion.

Looking at the massive totem, a thought suddenly struck him. “Are you saying… to use your totem?”

This time, he sensed a clear affirmation from that gaze.

Totems carried power. Even though the Butterfly’s true body existed in another world, it could still pass through the barrier between worlds and transmit its power into reality through dream totems.

When followers fought in towns that didn’t belong to them, they relied on the power granted by god-level monsters through these totems.

In other words, even if Qin Zu’s true body couldn’t reach Dream Butterfly Town, as long as his totem was used, power could still be transmitted.

Whether it was lending Qin Zu’s power to Mu Sichen or returning the beautiful memories through the totem—it all depended on this.

Of course, the totem would need some energy.

And normally, drawing another god-level monster’s totem within one’s own “Pillar” would be suicidal. No one but Mu Sichen would even consider doing such a thing.

Recalling what Qin Zu’s totem looked like, Mu Sichen said awkwardly, “Your totem is really complicated. I’ve never studied art—my drawing skills are basically kindergarten level.”

The gaze didn’t change. Qin Zu probably couldn’t help with that either.

Fortunately, the system offered a suggestion:

[This is a dream. Imagination can be materialized.]

“Right! I can do that!”

Mu Sichen dove back into the sea, stopping above the massive white cube. He extended his hand and began imagining Qin Zu’s totem in his mind.

It was difficult.

Not because his memory was poor, but because anyone with power would instinctively reject foreign totems, out of fear of contamination.

It was a form of mental protection.

Struggling, Mu Sichen managed to turn the seawater into the shape of a hand—but couldn’t go any further.

That was his resistance to external power.

After hesitating, he pictured the little octopus earnestly playing games to earn money.

A warm feeling spread through his heart, and his resistance toward Qin Zu instantly disappeared.

Countless patterns of hands wrapped around the earth appeared in the sea, floating above the white cube.

Mu Sichen watched as the enormous cube began to break apart, turning into countless white particles that streamed toward the totem. Once they entered it, they vanished—as if transported to another space.

Even without using the “Eye of Truth,” he saw himself within the torrent of white particles.

He saw himself opening a bottle cap for the little octopus and handing it a cola.

In that memory, his expression was gentle, with a faint smile, looking at the octopus with soft eyes.

Mu Sichen had never seen himself like that before.

He didn’t know whether it was an unconscious expression—or something beautified by the octopus’s memory.

The process didn’t take long. Soon, the giant cube completely disappeared, and the seawater filled the hundred-meter-deep void.

Facing the totem, Mu Sichen asked, “When the time comes, how do I transfer Mengdie Town over? Do I enter it through the library and draw the totem inside the town?”

He didn’t receive an answer.

Instead, the seawater-formed totem moved toward him and wrapped around his body.

Mu Sichen’s consciousness was instantly scattered by an overwhelming flood of information.

He felt as if he had turned into a tiny fish in the deep sea, drifting helplessly through the bottomless ocean.

And beside him stood two terrifying forces.

Just sensing their distant presence was enough to make this little fish tremble in fear.

At that moment, a hand covered his eyes. He was wrapped in a heavy, protective presence—as if someone was shielding him.

Under that protection, he heard voices, as if the two immense forces were speaking to each other.

“You lost.” The voice sounded as though it came from the abyss—quiet yet terrifying.

“No, you’re the one who lost. I devoured your power; it wasn’t you who defeated me.” The other voice was familiar to Mu Sichen—it was Nie Yihai, the Dreamweaver follower he had met at the Ideal Restaurant.

“Winning or losing has nothing to do with who devoured whom. We both belong to the ‘Ocean’ and will eventually merge into one. The real question is not who consumes whom, but whose belief will become the faith of Deep Sea Town.” The abyssal voice held no anger. It was like the still ocean floor—no matter how turbulent the surface, the depths remained unmoved.

“You’re cruel. You rule people through fear—why should I accept your ideology? The world should be beautiful, and people should be happy. I still remember how beautiful the sea was before the catastrophe,” Nie Yihai said unwillingly.

“That is merely a beautified memory. Before or after the catastrophe, humanity’s feelings toward the ocean have always been a mix of longing and fear.”

“My Mengdie Town—its people are all happy.”

A soft laugh echoed from the deep sea. It rose from the ocean floor to the surface, turning into ripples that swelled into towering waves, transforming the once calm and beautiful sea into a monstrous force that devoured life.

“You have only seen the beauty on the ocean’s surface, floating above it, praying for calm waters and begging for the sea’s mercy.”

“You will never understand—what people see as vastness and beauty is only the surface. Awe, fear, and the unknown are the ocean’s true power.”

“Come back, my ugly ‘Jealousy.’”

The two terrifying forces merged into one. Protected by that hand, Mu Sichen could not see the scene.

But in his mind, an image formed.

Under dark, oppressive storm clouds, the sea split open like a massive maw. The towering waves it raised shredded countless seabirds, fish, and deep-sea beasts, swallowing an entire island in an instant.

A butterfly struggled to fly above the ocean. It longed for the sky, longed for the land—it wanted to break free from the sea’s constraints.

But all struggle was futile.

Two colossal waves crashed down from both sides, trapping the butterfly between them and crushing it completely.

Its wings turned into purple dust, torn apart by the raging waters, vanishing into nothing.

Like a shattered beautiful dream.

Mu Sichen recalled the story mentioned in the library book In Dreams, There Is an Ideal Homeland.

Once upon a time, there was a small wave.

Protected by the ocean, it lived fearlessly.

It floated on the sea’s surface, gazing at the blue sky, imagining the land, watching countless living beings perish in the ocean.

It began to dream of escaping the sea—flying into the sky, landing on solid ground.

It had a dream: it became a tiny butterfly, landing on land, breathing upon firm earth.

The butterfly arrived in a beautiful town, where there was only joy and happiness, without any sorrow.

It stayed in its ideal homeland, gently flapping its wings, dreaming one beautiful dream after another.

Until one day, the land it rested upon was swallowed by a tsunami. The butterfly struggled in the storm, only to be shattered by a newly awakened wave.

The wave crushed the butterfly from its dream with its own hands, returning to the ocean and sinking into the depths.

This was the fate of a wave.

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