Chapter Six: Bound Together by a Dream of All Living Beings

Amidst the mist, the spirit bamboo seemed to realize it could not utterly destroy Ye Chen. After several futile attempts, striking Ye Chen again and again with resounding thuds, it finally grew dispirited. Ye Chen’s spirit butterfly body, forged purely from the power of incense and wishes, remained unscathed even if it shattered into countless motes of light. In such a situation, Ye Chen paid the spirit bamboo no mind.

The mist was born of the peach blossom miasma, harmonizing perfectly with Ye Chen. Within his mind’s palace lay a sigil seed, his whole being awash in radiant divine light, with mist swirling about him like hanging rivers, the sigil seed floating upon its surface.

A low hum sounded as a wisp of mist was drawn in, then before Ye Chen, a dreamscape began to manifest.

Within that dream, mountains and rivers mirrored each other, bamboo groves swayed, and the sound of trickling water was ever-present. It was as if a reflection of the very scene before his eyes, the mist rising like a polished mirror.

“This dreamscape is woven from the memories of the bamboo tribe,” Ye Chen mused. “Yet it is still too hollow, too false.”

The mountains and waters seemed lifeless, lacking true substance. With a thought, Ye Chen summoned a thread of incense power, casting it into the dream. With a thunderous boom, like spring thunder cracking open the skies, the dream expanded, growing a little more vivid and real.

“If I had enough incense power, perhaps I could even turn the dream into reality,” Ye Chen thought greedily. “Dreams themselves are not extraordinary—whether one treads the path of the totem or the divine road I seek, at great heights one can create paradises and even supreme divine realms; those are far superior to dreams, but all demand vast reserves of incense power.”

Incense power, a panacea for all things, was exceedingly precious. It could mend the shortcomings of dreams, hasten their growth, yet even without it, dreams could still develop. “Though this dream is small, fragmented and fragile, seeming as if it might collapse at any moment, it is only because my strength is not yet sufficient. One day, it will rival a world. This dream—I shall call it the Void Realm.”

The Void Realm, still a place of illusion, yet because it is shaped by the dreams of countless beings, it lingers in this world. But who can say what the future holds?

Ye Chen continued refining the mist, transforming it into nourishment for the dream, making it ever more lifelike. Truth be told, Ye Chen was adept at manipulating memories within the dreamscape of the bamboo tribe, indicating considerable mastery in the art of dreams.

Perhaps, though he had been turned into a spirit butterfly in this life—an ill fate, forcing him to struggle against the heavens and break the seven-day limit—he had also gained unexpected benefits.

“It’s a pity. My ability to tamper with the bamboo tribe’s memories is only because the corresponding dreams use their own memories as a blueprint, making the construction of the dream much simpler, more vivid and convincing. In this way, I can deceive the tribesmen. Yet, this is both a strength and a limitation. I cannot employ too many methods, nor dare I make drastic changes to their memories, lest I disturb their recollections, arouse suspicion, and shatter the dream in an instant.”

By trapping all the tribesmen in the dream at once, Ye Chen’s power was stretched thin, leaving many things beyond his reach.

“I cannot keep the entire bamboo tribe bound in the dream forever. Once the dream disperses, only a few scattered fragments remain, barely pieced together into this present Void Realm, so fractured and incomplete. Fortunately, its properties complement the peach blossom miasma, and with this to mend it, it finally takes shape.”

Peach blossom miasma itself can give rise to illusions, distorting reality and dreams alike. The difference is slight; only, it is not easily replenished. Ye Chen spent two or three days, yet had not managed to refine even half of the mist that surrounded the sacrificial altar.

The remaining mist could not linger forever and eventually began to dissipate.

As the mist cleared, revealing the towering altar, a cheer erupted.

“The totem has manifested!”

It seemed a most auspicious sign—on the eve of the grand ritual, the mist clearing stirred the bamboo tribe to jubilant cries.

Yet in the chieftain’s eyes, a shadow lingered. This mist was surely connected to the uninvited guest, a sign that the spirit butterfly still paid attention to the tribe’s affairs. In contrast, the spirit bamboo had vanished without a trace, which was worrisome indeed.

By rights, if the spirit bamboo was unharmed, it would first seek retribution against the chieftain, deemed a traitor. Such a person, the spirit bamboo would surely despise. Yet both emotionally and rationally, the chieftain hoped the spirit bamboo would ultimately prevail—so that only his own guilt would be punished, and the tribe itself could endure.

“Chieftain, the offerings are ready.”

The whole bamboo tribe gathered before the altar, numbering scarcely more than a hundred—a meager population for any tribe.

Through the mist, Ye Chen looked down upon them. The crowd appeared dense, yet most were elderly, infirm, or ailing.

“The bamboo tribe has suffered greatly. Its vitality is not restored. Now that the tribe is mine, I must take it to heart.”

Before, Ye Chen had hoped the tribe would weaken further, making it easier to seize control. But now, his thoughts had changed.

“Even such a feeble tribe, when their totem made a desperate stand, nearly thwarted my plans. Other tribes must be far more formidable.”

A sense of unease crept into Ye Chen’s heart. “This is no time for complacency. I must strengthen the bamboo tribe as quickly as possible.”

His resolve firmed. “I cannot remain entangled with the spirit bamboo. Though it is a threat, if I waste too much time, and the tribe faces peril it cannot withstand, I might perish with them—a most ironic end.”

Ye Chen was not one to lose sight of priorities. Still, he feared the spirit bamboo’s stubbornness, its refusal to relent, which could spell trouble. Its current impotence did not guarantee future safety.

“No more fretting. I’ll take things as they come. If an opportunity arises, I’ll eradicate the spirit bamboo; if not, I’ll endure for now.”

The time for the grand ritual had come.

Ye Chen focused on the chieftain. “The shaman still hasn’t appeared?”

In theory, nothing in the tribe was hidden from Ye Chen. Yet he found he could not perceive the interior of the shaman’s bamboo dwelling—it must be special indeed.

He did not linger on the thought. With a flicker of intent, he probed the memory of a nearby tribesman, seeking out fragments related to the shaman. He learned the shaman was still unconscious—a sign that the chieftain had acted with ruthless resolve.

It was not that the shaman would never awaken, but clearly a rift had formed between shaman and chieftain. The chieftain did not wish the shaman to wake before the ritual, which was understandable.

“Should we wake the shaman?” a tribesman asked the chieftain. “During the ritual, we still need the shaman to commune with the totem.”

Within the tribe, the shaman’s status was, in truth, higher than the chieftain’s. Not just anyone could be shaman; it required the totem’s approval, whereas the chieftain was simply the strongest among them. Every tribe, however small, had a chieftain, but not all had a shaman.

The chieftain was reluctant to summon the shaman, fearing chaos and discord. Yet for the ritual to proceed without the shaman was unthinkable.

“I will check on the shaman’s wounds. You all wait here,” the chieftain said.

Rows of bamboo houses stood in the village. The chieftain made his way to a large bamboo house, the scent of plants and medicine in the air. With a sigh, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

In the courtyard lay a patch of medicinal herbs, some quite old, exuding a fragrant aroma.

Whenever a tribesman was injured, the shaman would see to their wounds. If the totem’s power was invoked, even grave injuries could be healed, but that power was not lightly used. The shaman also knew the art of healing with herbs.

“I remember when I was gravely wounded by a beast during a hunt; it was the shaman who saved me,” the chieftain reflected, his mood heavy. Unless forced by dire need, he truly did not wish to be at odds with the shaman.