C85 — The Three-in-One Dream

A door appeared in front of Mu Sichen, and he instantly knew—he had entered a dream.

The door was all too familiar. It was the door to his childhood home.

He had lived in that house from junior high until he graduated high school. After his parents passed away, he couldn’t afford the mortgage and ended up selling the house. The proceeds paid off the mortgage and some other debts, leaving him with almost nothing.

When he moved out, Mu Sichen had been calm, showing no signs of sentimentality. He rarely spoke about the house afterward.

But now and then, in the middle of the night, he’d jolt awake from dreams of that home—of a family that hadn’t been wealthy, but had been filled with warmth and happiness.

Though he had lost his sense of joy, that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel sorrow or nostalgia.

Upon seeing this door, he let out a long sigh.

He knew exactly what lay behind it—and he didn’t want to open it.

“System, are you there?” Mu Sichen asked inwardly.

[I’m here.]

“Why are you still here even though I’ve entered a dream?” he asked, confused. He had assumed that once he fell into a beautiful dream, the system would disappear.

[It seems the player has misunderstood Dream Butterfly Town. Please don’t forget—Dream Butterfly Town itself is a dream. Since the system can accompany the player into Dream Butterfly Town, it means it can enter any dream.]

“Even a dream within a dream?” Mu Sichen asked, skeptical.

[Not only that—remember, the ‘Pillar’ of Dream Butterfly Town was constructed based on the dream of a single Devotee. Dream Butterfly Town is a dream. The Ideal Restaurant is also a dream. And this three-in-one dish? It too is a dream. So, player, do you believe this is a triple-layered dream, or just one?]

Mu Sichen felt the system was hinting at something. He hesitated before replying:

“It should be a triple-layered dream… right?”

[Have you ever had the experience of dreaming within a dream?]

“Rarely, but I think I have. I vaguely recall dreaming of being chased, realizing it was a dream, forcing myself to wake up—only to find that the ‘wake-up’ was still part of the dream. I was still asleep,” Mu Sichen recalled.

[Do you think that was a single dream, or a double-layered one?]

Dreams were hard enough to recall clearly, and such complex dreams often left only vague impressions. Mu Sichen thought for a long time before replying uncertainly:

“Could it be… just one dream?”

[Yes—and no. To the player, it is one dream. But it is more than that. Since this touches on the concept of the “Mental Sea of Awareness,” the system can only hint at it.]

“Is this something I’m not allowed to know yet because of my level?” Mu Sichen asked.

[No. It’s not about levels. The nature of the “Mental Sea of Awareness” is such that only those who sense its existence can access it. If the system tells the player directly, the player loses the qualification to enter it.]

“Why?” Mu Sichen was puzzled.

[It’s simple. Have you ever experienced this in school—where the teacher explains a problem, and you think you’ve understood, but the next time you see the same problem, you still get it wrong?]

Mu Sichen was no academic prodigy. That sort of thing had happened to him plenty of times. Getting the same problem wrong repeatedly was common among students.

[Something told to you, and something you’ve grasped on your own, are two different things. A problem can be practiced until mastery. But the ‘Mental Sea of Awareness’ isn’t like that. You only get one chance to catch it.]

[“The most defining trait of the Mental Sea of Awareness is this: the moment you perceive its existence, it also perceives you. And the Mental Sea of Awareness is a master of hiding. You can only capture a glimpse of its whereabouts when you notice it, but it hasn’t noticed you.]

[You only have one.chance to catch the Mental Sea of Awareness. Once it locks onto your presence, even if it appears right before your eyes, you won’t be able to see it anymore.]

[So, the system can only provide you with formulas and theorems. As for the method to solve the equation—you must comprehend that on your own.]

[Please treasure this one and only chance.]

The system didn’t say it outright, but Mu Sichen fully understood the hidden message behind its words:

The “Pillar” was in the Mental Sea of Awareness.

Mu Sichen still had no idea what exactly the Mental Sea of Awareness was. All he could do for now was take things one step at a time.

He mentally etched every word the system had said into his memory. His hand dropped to his side, feeling a familiar shape in his pocket—a key ring.

He pulled out the familiar keys and found the one that fit the door in front of him. But as he looked at it, he found himself hesitating, reluctant to open the door.

Maybe this was what people meant when they said: the closer to home, the more timid the heart becomes.

At that moment, the door opened from the inside. The one who answered was his father.

Upon seeing his son standing at the door, Father Mu snorted through his nose and grumbled impatiently, “So you finally remembered to come home? Look at the trouble you’ve caused!”

The intense realism of the scene hit Mu Sichen like a wave, instantly pulling his thoughts back to two years ago—back to when his family was still whole.

If not for the fact that he was no longer capable of smiling from the heart, he might have already surrendered to the warmth of this recreated home.

But it was exactly because he couldn’t feel joy that he didn’t fall for it. His persistent sense of emptiness and inability to feel happy reminded him at every moment that all this was fake.

In fact, the inability to feel joy upon seeing his parents again only deepened his discomfort. It made him want to escape this false, fabricated environment even more.

That discomfort was what kept him awake.

Far from being trapped in a dream, Mu Sichen now felt like he couldn’t wait to get out—if not for the fact that he needed to find the “Pillar,” he would have already left this deceptive place.

“What did I do? Why are you so mad?” Mu Sichen forced himself to stay in character and asked.

“You still have the nerve to ask?” his father snapped. “You’ve only been in college for two years, and now you bring this thing home as a partner? Unbelievable…”

Before he could finish, Mu Sichen’s mother stepped up and gently tapped her husband. “Come on, it’s rare for the child to bring someone home. Can’t you… just try to be more understanding?”

“Understand? Why should I understand him?!” Father Mu looked furious, mop in hand as though ready to swing it at someone.

Mu Sichen had no idea where this dream was going. For now, all he could do was stand at the doorway and take the scolding.

“Come on in,” his mother said after glancing back into the house. Her expression was helpless, but she still took Mu Sichen by the arm and pulled him inside.

Mu Sichen was genuinely curious now. What was inside this house that was making them react like this?

He peeked in—only to see a blue octopus sitting upright on the sofa, slowly sipping from a bottle of Coke.

Mu Sichen: “…”

“Look at what you brought home!” Father Mu was gripping the mop like a weapon. “If you liked anyone, literally anyone—man, woman, old, young—I wouldn’t say a word. But could you at least bring home a person!?”

“Don’t hit him, don’t hit him!” his mother stepped in to block him, trying to smooth things over. “It’s just that… Chenchen’s lover is also… quite… quite…”

She said “quite” several times, but never managed to finish the sentence—finally, all she could muster was:

“Quite blue.”

Faced with this dream, Mu Sichen no longer knew what to do.

He felt that even if he were capable of happiness, he wouldn’t be able to feel it in a situation like this.

Seeing his parents would make him happy, and seeing the little octopus would bring him joy too. But having the little octopus sitting in his living room looking like it was ready to discuss marriage—he really couldn’t be happy about that.

By rights, Mu Sichen was only in the first semester of his junior year in college. At most, he was just over twenty—not at all the age to be talking about marriage.

Even if he and the little octopus had become lovers in his dream, it should’ve been a scene where he brought it home as a pet or toy, the family gathered around for a reunion meal, and he secretly fed the little octopus under the table. After dinner, they’d go back to his room to enjoy their sweet moments together, with his parents none the wiser.

That would be the kind of sweet dream a student should have—not one where he hadn’t even dated anyone yet, and was already being pushed into marriage.

Thinking back to the dreams of his two companions, Mu Sichen figured this was likely a mutation resulting from a fusion with Chi Lian’s dream.

Chi Lian was at the age where people expected her to consider marriage. She wasn’t entirely against it, but she disliked blind dates and being pressured into it.

She hoped that whatever choice she made—whether to marry or not—her parents would be able to understand her.

When their two dreams merged, it somehow turned into a scenario where Mu Sichen brought home a lover no one could understand, and his parents progressed from disapproval to acceptance, ending with a big family meal together.

It sounded nice in theory, but Mu Sichen couldn’t accept it.

There was no way he was marrying a little octopus.

Just as he thought that, the little octopus on the couch saw him return, put down its soda, and went “pat-pat” as it ran toward him. It leapt into his arms and nuzzled his neck affectionately.

Mu Sichen: “…”

He couldn’t feel happy—but he knew himself. Under normal circumstances, not only would he feel happy, he’d probably also feel deeply affectionate toward the little octopus.

The little octopus didn’t have legs—it usually moved by wriggling its eight tentacles.

But now, in his home, in order to please his parents, it had twisted its tentacles in pairs to mimic four limbs. It held up two “arms” and tried to walk with two “legs” sticking out in a V shape, which explained the “pat-pat” sound it made as it walked.

Mu Sichen even realized that if this weren’t a dream but real life, the little octopus might still do the same thing just to make him happy.

He gently patted the little octopus on the head and said softly, “You don’t have to please anyone.”

The little octopus gazed at him, moved, the highlights in its eyes trembling as though it was about to burst into grateful tears.

“…After all, we’re not actually in a romantic relationship,” Mu Sichen said.

The little octopus: “…”

The sparkle in its eyes vanished. Its eight tentacles drooped, and it slipped out of Mu Sichen’s arms, flopping weakly onto the floor.

“There’s no need to pretend nothing happened just to get our approval,” his mother stepped forward and said. “We saw the photo of the two of you bathing together. What’s there to hide?”

Mu Sichen: “…”

No, he wasn’t hiding anything. Wasn’t it perfectly normal to wash your pet while showering? Even if there was a photo, that wasn’t strange at all!

“Whether we approve is our business. What you need to do is persuade us—not speak harshly to your lover… uh, your love-fish,” his mother said. “We don’t approve, and we’re upset. But we won’t harm your pet. We’ll treat it with proper hospitality as a guest. However, we will be having a serious talk with you, understand?”

She picked up the little octopus and placed it on a very tall chair.

To properly host their guest, the mother had even specially prepared a chair just right for the little octopus.

“Let’s eat,” Father Mu said sternly. “You haven’t been home for a whole semester. Your mom made all your favorite dishes. Everyone, eat happily and don’t waste food.”

Mu Sichen sat down at the table and saw that a soup bowl had been placed in front of the little octopus, along with a specially prepared sweet soup just for it.

Father Mu and Mu Sichen were already seated, but a few dishes hadn’t been brought out yet. His mother was still busy in the kitchen.

She came toward the table with a dish in each hand, but suddenly her foot slipped. She stumbled, her grip faltering—both dishes were about to fall to the floor.

In that moment, three blue tentacles shot out: one wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling, and the other two caught the dishes, placing them steadily on the table.

“Thank you,” his mother said with a smile.

The little octopus climbed down from its chair and wiggled its tentacles at her feet, signaling that it wanted to help carry the dishes.

“What a good kid,” the mother said, smiling. “A guest, yet still helping me with the chores—not like the two men of this household. The older one at least knows how to wash dishes. The younger one wouldn’t even lift a finger if the soy sauce bottle fell over.”

That was, in fact, true of Mu Sichen’s home.

Both parents had full-time jobs, so they shared the housework. Father Mu wasn’t good at cooking—he once bought a kitchen scale just to figure out the difference between “a little,” “a bit,” and “a dash.” Before he could buy a set of chemistry beakers, mother Mu took back control of the kitchen and reassigned him to dishwashing and cleaning duties.

Their division of labor was fair, and since Mu Sichen had been in his crucial years of high school, he developed a habit of enjoying food without doing much work.

He had remained lazy until recent events forced him to grow up. In the past two years of handling things on his own, he had become much more diligent.

His mother’s words pulled his thoughts into memories, making everything feel even more real.

If it weren’t for the persistent feeling of emotional numbness, constantly reminding him something was off, Mu Sichen might have fully fallen for the illusion.

He was beginning to understand why Qin Zu had chosen to strip away all emotions.

Only by being emotionless—only with absolute rationality—could one resist the seduction of power, avoid being consumed by the expectations of the townspeople, and continue moving forward without hesitation.

There was neither the joy of progress nor the pain of loss, but that didn’t mean one couldn’t be hurt.

Mu Sichen stood up. He asked his mother to sit down, then began serving the dishes himself, while the little octopus helped carry them over. Man and octopus worked together seamlessly, and in no time, the table was full.

“Hmph! Don’t think just because you two seem like a good match that I’ll approve!” Father Mu slammed his fist on the table and shouted angrily.

The little octopus flinched in fear but still worked hard to crawl over and pour him a glass of wine.

Father Mu tried to soften his expression and said gently to the little octopus, “I wasn’t talking about you—I’m scolding my son. You don’t need to feel wronged. You’re very sweet. We all like you.”

The little octopus happily nuzzled against father Mu with its head.

Father Mu reached out to rub its head and said affectionately, “You’re really soft and bouncy.”

Mu Sichen, sharp-eyed, saw his father pinch the tip of one of the octopus’s tentacles.

“Dad, that’s enough,” Mu Sichen said unhappily. “Have some dignity.”

“Ahem!” Father Mu quickly pulled his hand back and said to the little octopus, “Can you drink? Have a couple of drinks with me.”

The little octopus happily scurried back to its seat and poured itself a drink too.

As soon as Mu Sichen tried to take a sip of alcohol, the little octopus immediately blocked his glass with a tentacle and looked up at him with a scared expression—clearly afraid that a drunken Mu Sichen might bite it again.

Mu Sichen had no choice but to pour himself a glass of juice instead.

“Come, cheers!” Father Mu clinked glasses with the little octopus and took a sip of baijiu.

Both the man and the octopus were drinking strong Chinese liquor. The little octopus, unfamiliar with baijiu, took a big gulp as if it were beer. Its tentacle tips trembled afterward.

“Take it easy! Don’t push yourself if you can’t handle it. Have some soup, quick!” Father Mu fed the little octopus a bowl of sweet soup. The little octopus looked much better after drinking it—its cheeks even turned a little pink.

With a sigh, the mother said, “Chenchen, I’m beginning to understand why you’d like it. It really is very cute.”

“Mom, you don’t need to understand,” Mu Sichen replied coldly.

“Ai, I get how you feel too,” Father Mu said, drinking a large gulp of alcohol, a little melancholy.

 

Mu Sichen: “…”

“Little Octopus, I really wish we had a thoughtful child like you in this family. You’re so wonderful—it’s our son who’s not worthy of you.” Father Mu patted the octopus’s soft, bouncy head and said, “But… humans and sea creatures are just too different. You’re not right for each other. Could you break up and just be friends?”

“Or be a pet, that’s fine too,” Mu Sichen quickly interjected.

“You shut up! No one asked you!” Father Mu snapped.

Mu Sichen: “…”

He could already feel the strength of Chi Lian’s dream—without the little octopus doing anything special, his parents were practically ready to accept it into the family.

At this rate, the dream might evolve into a situation where it didn’t matter who their son was, as long as their daughter-in-law was the little octopus.

He still hadn’t figured out where He Fei’s dream was in all of this—so far, he hadn’t seen any sign of the “Lucky Boy” effect.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, there was a knock at the door.

“Delivery!”

“It must be something you ordered,” Father Mu grumbled. “Always buying random stuff. Go get it yourself. I’ll have another couple drinks with the little octopus.”

Mu Sichen opened the door and was handed an enormous package.

“What did you buy this time?” his mother asked as she came over.

“No idea.” Mu Sichen fetched scissors and opened the box—inside was a stunning, punk-style motorcycle-hovercraft, exactly like the one He Fei rode in the library.

Great. He Fei’s dream had finally entered the scene.

“Why’d you buy something this expensive?” Father Mu asked. “I didn’t give you that much money—where’d you get it?”

Even the little octopus poked its head in curiously. The whole family gathered around the hovercraft in awe.

Mu Sichen had no idea where the hovercraft had come from or how to explain it.

Then a packing slip fell out of the box. Mu Sichen picked it up and saw: “Mystery Box x1.”

So it had been a blind box—and it revealed a high-tech hover motorcycle.

This was definitely He Fei’s dream at work.

Mu Sichen remembered that He Fei had gone through a phase where he was obsessed with blind box collectibles. He’d spent a fortune chasing rare figurines, only to end up with nothing but debt. After months of eating frugally to pay it off, he’d sworn never to touch blind boxes again.

“Only 100 yuan?! Even if it wasn’t a hovercraft but just a regular motorcycle, that’s totally worth it! My son has great luck—Dad supports your blind box addiction. I’m taking pictures to post on social media!”

Father Mu personality did a complete 180 and he began snapping pictures excitedly.

Perfect. The dream had now completely turned into He Fei’s. Even Father Mu’s personality was beginning to resemble He Fei’s dad.

After finishing his photo shoot, Father Mu turned to Mu Sichen and said, “Quick, hop on and give it a try.”

Mu Sichen had no choice but to mount the hovercraft and press the ignition button.

A voice echoed from the machine:

“I am the God of Machinery. I was sealed inside a component for a thousand years. I once swore: whoever awakens me, I will grant them three wishes.”

 

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TN:

😂😂😂