C80 — Dreamweaver’s Favored One

“What should we do?” Chi Lian mouthed silently, a pained expression on her face, directing the question at Mu Sichen.

Even He Fei, who had been making a fuss, quieted down, pretending to be a sandbag slung over Mu Sichen’s shoulder.

Everything was spiraling toward the worst-case scenario. Mu Sichen had no idea where the future was heading but could only remain calm.

It was fine. The “Pillar” might not be able to kill them. If it merely trapped them, they would still have 20 hours to explore the rules and find a loophole to escape.

As long as they were alive, there was still hope to turn the tables.

Mu Sichen steadied his two companions with a calm gaze. He set down the heavy He Fei and rubbed his sore shoulder, saying with a composed expression, “Alright, I’ve been wanting to meet this legendary head chef anyway.”

His composure helped calm the other two as well.

Mu Sichen had led them out of the depths of despair multiple times—they trusted him.

What they could do now was simple: avoid causing trouble, follow instructions, and even if the worst happened, never blame anyone.

Once a person prepared for the worst and was willing to pay the price, they became especially calm—and even gained a fearless courage to push forward.

The trio followed the waiter upstairs, neither servile nor arrogant.

From the corner of his eye, Mu Sichen noticed the weeping No. 7 waiter being helped away by someone.

The person supporting him said, “Don’t be sad, anxious, or upset. Come with me. After some repairs, you’ll regain your happiness and your enthusiasm for work.”

The two disappeared around the corner—no one knew where they went.

Mu Sichen raised his eyebrows slightly.

From the moment he entered the restaurant, he had assumed the staff were fabricated souls, but now, that might not be the case.

If these were dream-constructed fake souls, they shouldn’t be so easily lost, so easily sad, nor would they need to be “repaired.”

No matter how humanlike a fabricated soul was, it couldn’t generate something from nothing. If they were created only to feel happiness and enthusiasm for work, living like robots, how could they experience “self-doubt” or “sorrow”?

Whether it was No. 7 or the kitchen staff, they might be real souls.

And the guests with subconscious minds capable of dreaming were probably real too.

In this “Ideal Restaurant,” there were no fake souls at all.

Only real people, disguised as fake souls.

As they walked to meet the head chef, Mu Sichen quietly pondered.

The elevator dinged as it arrived. Mu Sichen looked up and saw it had stopped on the fifth floor.

It turned out that the closed-off section in the middle of the fifth floor was no longer a kitchen—but a series of offices.

The three were led into a large office. Inside sat a man wearing a white chef’s uniform and gloves, though he didn’t wear a chef’s hat. His hair was neatly combed.

Mu Sichen quickly scanned the office to memorize the layout—just in case a fight broke out and unfamiliar surroundings left them at a disadvantage.

It was a luxurious office, around 50 square meters. There was a small adjoining room, likely a bedroom or bathroom.

Inside, there was a large executive desk with a matching chair, a sofa that could seat three, and a few guest chairs.

The windows were tinted blue, casting a calm hue throughout the room—giving the place a feeling like being in an aquarium.

And the paintings hanging on the walls also depicted ocean scenes.

The head chef gave them a polite smile and dismissed the attendant who had escorted them, gently closing the door.

At the moment the door clicked shut, He Fei’s shoulders involuntarily trembled.

“Don’t be so nervous, please have a seat.” The head chef gestured toward the sofa with a courteous motion.

He was extremely handsome, and his eyes were an ocean blue, deep and mysterious.

Just looking at him brought a sense of calm—every anxious emotion seemed to be soothed away.

No negative feelings could arise—and neither could the will to fight.

Mu Sichen looked at him and thought that this man was at least at the level of a Favored One.

Yes—at the very least.

The head chef felt even more powerful than Favored Ones like Feather-Eyed or Yao Wangping. Feather-Eyed inspired dread, Yao Wangping evoked both chill and admiration, but the head chef gave off a sense of embrace.

It was clearly a harmless power—but even more irresistible because of that.

The three of them sat on the sofa, wanting to stay alert but unable to muster true vigilance as they looked at the head chef.

“Don’t be so tense,” the head chef began gently, his distant-sounding voice washing over them with the calming presence of ocean tides. “I just want to have a heart-to-heart chat.”

“It’s not so much tension,” Mu Sichen replied, “it’s just that we were very satisfied with the dishes and don’t really have any feedback. I hope that won’t disappoint you.”

The head chef gave a light smile. “They weren’t your dishes—so how could you give feedback on them?”

He knew! He saw through their trick!

All three realized it at the same time.

They should have felt a sense of crisis, but they just couldn’t raise hostility toward the head chef. The faint trace of wariness they held onto was merely the last flicker of strength from their personal totems, barely hanging on.

To be unable to summon the will to resist—that was more terrifying than facing a life-or-death crisis.

With the latter, at least there was a chance to fight back. With the former, all one could do was be slaughtered.

The head chef’s ocean-blue eyes swept over the three sitting stiffly upright. He smiled faintly and said, “It seems you’re still too tense. Let me introduce myself. I’m Nie Yihai. Though people rarely use my name. The staff and guests of the Ideal Restaurant just call me ‘Chef.’ Out there, though, they call me the Dreamweaver Favored One.”

So he was a Favored One—and clearly a powerful one.

Mu Sichen began to think through how they might deal with a Dreamweaver Favored One, but the thought circled in his mind like water and then slipped out of his ears. He couldn’t hold onto it, couldn’t even remember what he had just been thinking.

All he could say, dryly, was: “So you’re quite the remarkable figure.”

“I’m nothing special,” Nie Yihai said. “I’m just a dreamweaver. I have one simple wish—to bring beautiful dreams to everyone. Whether they’re ordinary people, Favored Ones, or…”

His gaze swept across their faces, and he softly said three words: “The Fallen Ones.”

They had been discovered.

The three of them tried to move, to flee—but found their bodies heavy and sluggish, as if submerged in seawater.

“I told you, don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you.” The Dreamweaver Favored One approached them, lifting his hand gently and placing it atop He Fei’s head.

He Fei wanted to run—but couldn’t bring himself to. The Dreamweaver’s hand felt so warm, so soft. He wanted to lean into it, to press his forehead into that touch.

Mu Sichen’s fingers twitched. He tried to grab He Fei, but his hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Lifting even one finger drained all his strength.

The Dreamweaver’s hand finally rested on He Fei’s head. Looking at him with pity, he said gently, “Poor child… you just had a nightmare that wasn’t your own, didn’t you?”

“Yes… that dream was terrifying,” He Fei said involuntarily, beginning to describe his dream to the Dreamweaver Favored One. “A horde of vengeful ghosts were chasing me, accusing me of killing them. Was that really supposed to be a sweet dream?”

The Dreamweaver replied, “Dreams differ from person to person. That guest—he’s a congenital sociopath. He craves killing and wishes to harm others, yet he’s firmly bound by a sense of morality. In the end, he can only suppress his violent impulses through self-harm. He’s trapped in a cycle of suffering he cannot escape, which is why he turned to the arms of a dreamweaver like me.”

“I could not allow him to go on harming others—because every living person holds the potential to create beautiful dreams.”

“So I wove dream after dream for him, letting him fulfill his dark desires within those dreams. His heart was calmed.”

“Today’s dream was born from his wish to experience the hatred in the eyes of his victims—to understand what it feels like to be murdered. That’s why the dream took the form of a ‘Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.’”

“But one man’s honey is another’s poison. What’s a beautiful dream for him was a nightmare for you.”

“It was my oversight that caused you harm and gave you an unpleasant experience. I deeply apologize.”

His voice was like a whisper beside their ears, and Mu Sichen heard the sound of tides echoing in his mind. His eyelids began to feel heavy.

He Fei had already closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep against the armrest of the sofa. A slight smile touched the corners of his lips, as if he were now enjoying a truly sweet dream.

The Dreamweaver Favored One then walked to Chi Lian and gently placed a non-threatening hand on her arm, asking softly, “Work is exhausting, isn’t it? And human relationships can be so unbearable, right?”

Chi Lian kept her eyes closed, nodding slightly, and said in a low voice, “I wish I could live in the universe, with no one around me. No endless phone calls, no office politics. And no more pressure from my family about getting married. My worries must seem so trivial, right? I’m facing life-and-death danger, and yet I’m still annoyed about a blind date tonight.”

“All your troubles stem from human relationships,” the Dreamweaver said gently. “Don’t burden yourself so much. Let go of all the noise and rest well. When you wake up, you’ll love yourself more.”

Chi Lian also fell asleep, leaning against the other side of the sofa.

Mu Sichen appeared to be asleep too, eyes closed as if lost in a dream.

The Dreamweaver lifted his hand slightly, and the sleeping He Fei and Chi Lian rose weightlessly into the air—one floated over to the executive chair, the other to a reclining lounge chair. Both were sleeping peacefully.

The Dreamweaver sat down beside Mu Sichen and lightly tapped his forehead with one finger.

But the instant he touched him, his entire right hand reacted as if hit by a powerful explosion. His palm disintegrated into ash and vanished into the air.

The Dreamweaver looked at his lost hand and said quietly, “You’re marked. Stop pretending to be asleep. Even without that divine power, someone like you wouldn’t fall asleep so easily.”

Mu Sichen slowly opened his eyes.

Yes, he was tired—very tired. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the Dreamweaver’s embrace and fall asleep.

But the cool touch of a self-totem on his lower back wouldn’t let him rest. And the searing pain between his eyebrows, where the little octopus had once touched him, kept his mind alert.

With both forces working on him, even if he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t.

Mu Sichen now understood clearly: the Dreamweaver had attacked their minds.

He had first revealed their identities as “Fallen Ones,” stirring up fear and unease. Then, with gentleness and empathy, he broke down their defenses—only to invade their dreams and lull them into slumber, so he could control their subconscious worlds.

Dreams stemmed from the subconscious. If the Dreamweaver left any trace within them, that imprint would become an invisible shackle on their souls—one even the Butterfly Town’s dream-cleansing couldn’t remove.

“Let the other two wake up as well,” said the Dreamweaver Favored One. “Since he didn’t fall asleep, I assume neither of you truly did either.”

“Though I almost did,” He Fei replied as he sat up, rubbing his neck. “But someone’s voice was just too noisy—I couldn’t sleep.”

He meant Mu Sichen.

Using his personal totem, Mu Sichen had delivered a “divine message” to the two half-asleep Favored Ones, sending a repeated mental chant of “Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep” directly into their minds. No matter how powerful the Dreamweaver’s ability was, it was still an external force—nothing could match the brainwashing effect of a voice echoing inside one’s own head.

Chi Lian also opened her eyes, but her expression wasn’t good.

Not falling asleep didn’t mean they had defeated the Dreamweaver’s power—if anything, him exposing their fake slumber had ruined Mu Sichen’s plan.

Mu Sichen had originally intended to fake sleep until the Dreamweaver let down his guard, then ambush him with the crossaxe.

At that moment, Chi Lian was supposed to copy and paste everyone’s “perception” of the Dreamweaver onto Mu Sichen. Even if it only lasted a minute, it would be enough for him to break free and escape the Ideal Restaurant with the others.

To sell the act more convincingly, Chi Lian had even deliberately revealed some personal details before feigning sleep—but in the end, it was all for nothing.

Mu Sichen rubbed his brow. He knew it wasn’t the little octopus’s power that gave them away—it was that the Dreamweaver had been cautious from the beginning and had never truly bought their performance.

Mu Sichen had a creeping suspicion that the Dreamweaver Favored One’s true power far exceeded what he had shown. Their brief exchange was just a test—he was probing their capabilities.

If they had really attacked and exposed abilities like undermining belief, copy-paste cognition, or banishment, it might’ve backfired terribly.

The little octopus had stopped the test just in time.

“Since our identities are out in the open now,” the Dreamweaver said calmly, sitting in a chair across from them, “let’s have a chat.”

“Since we’ve come clean, you should know we’re enemies,” Mu Sichen replied. “You’re inside the ‘Pillar,’ where you have absolute advantage. Why bother talking? Why not just trap us using the Pillar’s power and wait for the ‘Dream-Eating Butterfly’ to awaken and consume our souls?”

He wasn’t warning the Dreamweaver to act—but testing his limitations through the question.

The Dreamweaver smiled. “Perhaps it’s because I see a bit of myself in you. Kindred spirits, in a way.”

That answer caught the trio off guard.

“Let me reintroduce myself,” the Dreamweaver said. “My name is Nie Yihai. I was once a Favored One of the deep sea, a citizen of the Oceanic Nation. At my lord’s command, I came to Dream Butterfly Town to recover the ‘Spiritual Sea of Consciousness.’ Eventually, I became the Dreamweaver’s agent here.”

The amount of information in that statement was staggering, and Mu Sichen didn’t know how to respond.

From his limited experience with Favored Ones, they were fundamentally different from ordinary townspeople or even followers. Favored Ones were deeply influenced by god-tier beings and granted powers in return. Changing allegiance was virtually impossible.

Even a divine being like Shen Jiyue, who could control minds, had to destroy the mental integrity of Favored Ones like Fa Mu and Jian Tong when taking over the library.

Simply put: when a town’s ruling god-tier entity was devoured, the followers and townspeople could still cling to life under a new master.

But not the Favored Ones.

They were destined to fall with their god.

Yet here was the Dreamweaver Favored One—someone who once belonged to another town and had even come to compete over control of the Pillar.

How had the Butterfly managed to bring a Favored One from another god under its own command?

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