017 Encounter (5)

What a pity. That little scoundrel remained utterly unmoved, continuing to gaze at Niao Niao with that feigned innocence, as if none of it mattered to him.

At last, Niao Niao realized the disparity in power between them. She fell silent, lowered her flags, and quieted down.

The scenery along the riverbank kept receding, whistling past the edge of her vision, vanishing into the road ahead. When one stands on the bank, one can still glimpse the scenery on the opposite shore—hazy, but always with a faint, indistinct shadow. Only when she truly found herself adrift upon the River of Three Crossings did she understand: the far shore was so distant, so unfathomably remote, that it seemed forever out of reach—a lifetime spent chasing a shadow that might not even exist.

The boat moved forward; the other shore receded. The distance between the two banks did not shrink but instead stretched toward infinity. Reaching this point, one might well ask: Is there truly a farther shore on the River of Three Crossings? So elusive, so unreal, so utterly unattainable.

The boatman showed not the slightest impatience. He admired the passing scenery, took pleasure in everything he saw. All seemed to lie within his grasp. His figure appeared both sharply defined and yet illusory at the same time. From time to time, he would explain the sights; at certain moments, he would pause to introduce a particular place—even if his explanations were hard to accept. Chattering all the way, Lady Luo finally began to believe that Niao Niao’s suspicions might indeed be true.

“Feng Buchuan, have you always been the one to ferry this river?” Lady Luo asked curiously. From what little she’d gleaned, this was not someone who relished solitude. That he would choose to spend his days in endless repetition upon this river seemed impossible.

“No, of course not. If it weren’t for you, I would never…” Suddenly realizing what he’d let slip, he fell silent at once.

His words confirmed Lady Luo’s long-held suspicion—they had already noticed her party’s presence.

She looked into his eyes. Did he know she was coming to the Underworld? Or had he already seen through their plans? Now that they had been discovered, with their movements exposed, there was nothing left to hide. Lady Luo felt more at ease; there was no longer any need to cover her tracks. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it all.

Feng Buchuan saw the look of realization on Lady Luo’s face and no longer bothered to conceal anything. “Such a dull task—once is quite enough, don’t you think?” He blinked those seemingly pure eyes at her.

Lady Luo wondered in her heart: Why had he come to ferry them? Who was he, truly? Which deity of the Underworld could alter its very laws? It must be one of the principal gods. Their real purpose for bringing her aboard—what could it be?

“So why did you come for us yourself?” Lady Luo asked directly. Since some matters were now clear, there was no need for pretense.

A wave of dizziness overtook her; the scenery spun before her eyes. “Because, because…” His voice began to fade, ethereal as though drifting from the very edge of the heavens.

Lady Luo tried to open her eyes, but failed. Her vision grew more blurred, and Feng Buchuan’s figure became increasingly insubstantial. Helplessly, she collapsed, hearing his final words as she fell into darkness: “Because this is only the beginning of the game…”

“What have you done to her?” Niao Niao tried to lunge forward, only to discover her strength had completely deserted her. She slumped to the side, powerless.

Feng Buchuan looked at Niao Niao with a half-smile. “You, too, are part of the game.” With a wave of his hand, Niao Niao collapsed as well.

He gazed at Lady Luo, now fully engulfed by darkness. Gone was his indolence; instead, a look of anticipation bloomed across his face. “It matters not whether you are the Earth Goddess, nor what your true purpose may be. Everything depends on your own strength—if you can escape this dream, then you may go on. If not, remain here forever.”

With that, Feng Buchuan gently lifted the sleeping Niao Niao into his arms and vanished without a trace.

Only Lady Luo remained on the boat, lying alone as it drifted along the River of Three Crossings. A faint, knowing smile appeared at her lips—a serene, all-understanding smile.

Who truly controlled this game remained an enigma.

In the darkness, someone was crying. The sound of bitter, desolate weeping echoed in her ears. Lady Luo opened her eyes; her vision slowly cleared as she looked around. She struggled to make sense of her surroundings, and a wry smile curved her lips. Ever since Sunset Mountain, every step had been a trap, every move entwined with layers of intrigue. What kind of illusion was this, and how could she break free this time?

“Feng Buchuan, so you really are…” Lady Luo whispered a name.

And the one named was still reveling in the success of his plan, unaware that the game had already begun to slip from his grasp.

The Underworld was a place of many secrets, shrouded in countless legends, and at the center of every legend stood the mysterious Lord of the Underworld. His true appearance, the depths of his divine power—everything about him was veiled in impenetrable mist. To know him, one had to peel away layer after layer of obscurity, seeking the possible truth beneath.

He was the sovereign of the Underworld, one of the mightiest gods of the Four Realms. Some even said that “one of” was superfluous. Like a riddle wrapped in shadows, he remained hidden behind thick curtains, his true power never fully revealed.

To the gods of the Underworld, the Palace of the Underworld Lord was a forbidden place—no one entered without leave. Perched atop the highest peak of the Underworld, the palace was wreathed in a dark aura, shadowed by the unending clouds of death. Shrouded entirely in black, it had never shed its veil of mystery. Like its master, it used invisible hands to manipulate the workings of the Underworld.

While the Lord of the Underworld remained secreted behind the scenes, the true executor of his will was the Lord of Death—a deity whose very name appeared in human tales. Clad in black, the enigmatic god dragged the souls of the dead to the Underworld without mercy, where they faced judgment. Assisting the Lord of Death were two other gods: the Lord of Sleep and the Lord of Dreams. Together, these three made up the legendary Triumvirate of the Underworld, carrying out the Lord’s commands and maintaining its order.

The Temple of Dreams.

Feng Buchuan—none other than the Lord of Dreams—sat upon his throne. Before him, countless illusory orbs floated in the air. These “dreams” would appear in the minds of all at night, their shades and hues reflecting different meanings.

The cruelest dreams were made of pure black substance—these were called nightmares. If a nightmare was woven from the resentments of the dead, it became a “night terror.” Those ensnared within a night terror, if unable to awaken by their own strength, would be trapped forever, unable to break free.

And Lady Luo now appeared within such a night terror. The Lord of Dreams gazed at her unmoving, a wry smile upon his lips. That he, the Lord of Dreams, could not control a night terror of his own making could mean only one thing: the soul trapped within it was as strong as he, or perhaps even stronger.

He thought to himself, “Mandarava, you are truly extraordinary.”

Yet compared to Mandarava lost in the nightmare, he faced an even more troublesome problem—a certain creature, barely deserving of the name, was rampaging about the Temple of Dreams, threatening utter destruction.

“Feng Buchuan, you scoundrel, how dare you trick Niao Niao! Feng Buchuan, you villain, to set up Niao Niao…” Niao Niao raged, her voice echoing through the hall.

Hearing his name spew ceaselessly from her mouth, the Lord of Dreams for the first time found it positively grating. He had not anticipated how, in her fury, Niao Niao’s voice could twist his name into such an ominous curse.

Each time she uttered it, Niao Niao seemed intent on cursing him with every malediction she knew. Especially after learning this “scoundrel” was none other than the Lord of Dreams, one of the Triumvirate, and had knocked her unconscious.

Niao Niao was livid. When she awoke, she found herself tightly bound, unable to move an inch. The rope—whatever it was made of—seemed to shift and contract with every attempt to escape.

At last, defeated, Niao Niao resorted to her unique form of resistance—her singularly piercing voice.

“You—!” Before she could finish, something quick and shapeless flew over and blocked her mouth, plunging the world into silence.

The Lord of Dreams finally released his hands from his ears, rubbing them as if to ease the calluses.

Unwilling to surrender, Niao Niao now wielded her gaze as a weapon. After her recent “training,” her glare had become quite lethal—she was determined to pierce the villain through a thousand times.

But the great Lord of Dreams could only sigh. He had no idea how he had ended up bringing back such a creature—one utterly beyond his control. He could not invade Niao Niao’s dreams; indeed, he suspected her spiritual power might even surpass his own.

For she had managed to break free from his dreams and awaken. This realization left the Lord of Dreams deeply disheartened. It proved that Mandarava and Niao Niao were at least his equals in power. He could guess at Mandarava’s identity, but this being before him was neither human nor any principal god—what was she? He could not fathom her origins.

The Lord of Dreams found himself pondering the same question as Lady Luo: Who, truly, was Niao Niao?

He could only render Niao Niao’s consciousness insubstantial for a time. But once back in the temple, when she regained her wits, she unleashed her destructive force.

Though bound, Niao Niao had another weapon—curses.

Her vocabulary was simple: the same phrase over and over. Repeated a hundred times, it stabbed at the ears; a thousand times, it pierced the mind; ten thousand times, and even the soul might go mad.

And so Niao Niao repeated herself without pause—one hundred, one thousand, ten thousand times—mercilessly testing the Lord of Dreams’ endurance. At last, she succeeded—her mouth was finally sealed.

Thus, peace returned to the Temple of Dreams.

Fortunately, a glare cannot kill a god. The Lord of Dreams, ignoring the endless daggers shot his way, surveyed the room with satisfaction—at last, tranquility reigned again.

Yet, remembering his ordeal, he sighed and rubbed his brow. With a wave of his great hand, the colors of all the dreams floating before him deepened. It seemed that tonight, all who dreamed would find themselves in nightmare.

At last, Niao Niao abandoned her attacks, allowing the Lord of Dreams’ heart to settle.

She quieted down, partly out of exhaustion, partly out of concern for Lady Luo. Where was she now? What new dangers had she encountered?