Chapter 20: The Authority of Dream Dao Seizes Souls

“Huh? Fang, have you broken through?”

Within the Bamboo Tribe, though the grand ritual had ended, the people had yet to disperse. The spiritual energy vortex was gone, but the lingering aura remained dense—a chance no one was willing to waste. Ordinarily, that lingering energy would only suffice to heal old wounds; as for a breakthrough, that was simply out of the question. Without invoking the power of incense and wishes, it was not the might of the totem at play. To break through meant a transformation in the very fabric of one’s being—a feat far from simple, requiring the totem’s strength to shatter mortal shackles and allow the body to ascend to a higher plane.

This isn’t to say that one could never break through by relying solely on oneself, but such occurrences were exceedingly rare.

Yet the chieftain sensed an astonishing force erupting from Fang, which filled him with delight.

“It seems I have broken through,” Fang replied with a sheepish grin. “My strength has increased greatly.”

“What a pity. Our tribe lacks the necessary inheritance. Without cultivation methods, even a lucky breakthrough is hard to build upon,” the chieftain said with some regret. “In the future, Fang, if you have the chance, you should venture out and see more of the world. Perhaps you’ll stumble upon a legacy by accident, and then your path will broaden.”

Ye Chen observed these changes in the tribe with a portion of his attention, and he was rather surprised to see someone break through.

“This is not bad—a formidable tool indeed. With the tribe’s development ahead, I can assign him as the vanguard,” Ye Chen thought, already making plans for Fang. His gaze dropped to the chieftain; some decisions had long been set in his mind.

“A deity must not descend lightly. One must remain aloof, or the distance closes and awe is lost.”

“I need the chieftain’s position to act; it will make things much smoother.”

The chieftain was a clever man, but the position itself was crucial. Through it, Ye Chen could realize his ambitions, transforming the Bamboo Tribe according to his own will. Yet, was that truly necessary?

A surge of incense power welled forth, and an illusory dreamscape materialized, descending upon the chieftain. His body stiffened; a glimmer of spiritual light emerged and was swept into the dream.

The shaman jolted violently, springing up. His aged body erupted with unexpected energy as he rushed to the chieftain’s side, steadying him, fury smoldering in his eyes.

—

“The chieftain’s soul has been taken!”

The shaman’s heart seethed with wrath. Though he could not see the spirit butterfly, he was not entirely ignorant of what had happened.

“This is a demon—surely a demon. With the totem defeated, it acts without restraint, striking the chieftain first!”

His eyes blazed with hatred, though he quickly masked it. Ye Chen cared little for the shaman’s enmity; to act so brazenly in front of everyone was nothing to Ye Chen, who wielded the authority of dreams. Twisting consciousness, altering memory—nothing could be simpler.

“All of you, withdraw. The grand ritual is over.”

Normally, the tribe would never question the shaman’s word, but soon they noticed something amiss with the chieftain. It wasn’t that they could see his soul had been taken—few possessed such keen insight—but the transformation wrought by the dream was plain to see: the chieftain stood as stiff as a wooden post. Unless one was blind, it was impossible not to notice.

“No more words. All of you, leave,” the shaman said grimly. “Do you want me to explain the reason? Why are you all standing around?”

His voice was sharp with anger. Who would dare contradict him? Though his dignity had suffered when he’d been pinned by a wild boar, the weight of his words had not yet faded. Only the chieftain could challenge him, and even then, only in part.

The people of the Bamboo Tribe retreated, uneasy and fearful. The chieftain’s sudden affliction seemed a dark omen, and the shaman’s attitude only underscored the gravity of the event.

“What happened to the chieftain?” Fang hesitated, then voiced the question. Before his breakthrough, he might have lacked the courage, but now things were different. The shaman couldn’t simply brush him aside; a proper explanation was required.

The shaman snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? The tribe has been weakened, the chieftain has struggled to hold on, and now, with your breakthrough, he was overjoyed and let his guard down. Exhaustion caught up with him—he’s simply too tired and fell asleep.”

Fang scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed, but relieved that things hadn’t turned out worse. Still, a nagging instinct told him something wasn’t quite right. He pondered, but couldn’t make sense of it, dismissing it as overthinking.

After all, this was the heart of the tribe, before the altar, beneath the totem’s gaze—surely nothing could go wrong here.

Seeing nothing more to say, Fang fell silent, and the others would not dare protest. When the last of the tribe had left, the shaman’s voice grew low and cold: “What is it you truly want?”

The square fell silent; it seemed the shaman was speaking to empty air.

Ye Chen cast him a glance, but offered no reply.

—

A torrent of incense power blazed, coalescing into a beam of spiritual light. Ye Chen tore a fragment of his own soul, fusing it with the light, which then descended into the chieftain’s body.

This was a plan Ye Chen had long considered; only by seizing the chieftain’s position could he exert full control over the tribe. Otherwise, all his efforts would be as fragile as a sandcastle at the tide’s edge.

Being a totem had its advantages, but such lofty status was ill-suited to reshaping the tribe.

Ye Chen gradually acclimated to the chieftain’s body. He moved slightly, feeling stiffness; even the smallest motion took effort, the world before his eyes dim and shrouded.

Straining, he forced his eyes open and saw his arms bound with rope by the shaman. His legs, too, were tied. Lying flat on the earth, Ye Chen gazed coldly at the shaman, as if the one bound was someone else entirely.

He was not the least concerned. The shaman, feeling Ye Chen’s gaze like thorns upon his back, steadied himself and rasped, “You’ve taken the chieftain’s place—do you intend to seize control of the tribe completely?”

Ye Chen’s motives were hardly a mystery; having come this far, his intentions were as clear as a drawn blade.

But since he aimed to control the tribe, he was unlikely to destroy its people outright. Survival was still possible; the Bamboo Tribe might yet endure. In this, misfortune brought a sliver of fortune.

The shaman’s burden eased, if only slightly—it was no time for optimism.

“What did you do to Spirit Bamboo?” The shaman’s tone was tinged with dread. He suspected Spirit Bamboo had perished with the totem’s fall, but without proof, he clung to hope.

Ye Chen met the shaman’s gaze and replied coolly, “It seems you care greatly for Spirit Bamboo. Does the tribe’s fate matter so little to you?”

Strands of incense power descended into the chieftain’s flesh, transforming into gentle warmth that flowed through blood and sinew. The sense of disconnect faded, and Ye Chen’s command over the body grew ever firmer.