Wandering Gods of Day and Night-Chapter 427 - 229: Memories of Corridor River_3

"How can you say that? From a certain perspective, I am the storyteller of nine incense sticks."

Zhou Xuan smiled and said, "A story without a title doesn’t go far—an old saying among storytellers. I’ll use my storyteller’s dream weaving to conjure a dream for you, and I’ll give it a title: ’Unforeseen Disaster’..." fгeewebnovёl.com

After saying this, he performed the action of striking the Sound Wood...

...

The Divine Soul took action, and Zhou Xuan’s body, separated by miles, mirrored the movement by striking the gavel.

Yuan Buyu, now almost entirely faded in form, noticed Zhou Xuan striking the gavel and immediately understood his intention to conjure a dream for Feng Moyan.

"Senior Brother, I truly apologize..."

Yuan Buyu was engulfed in deep agony. If it hadn’t been for Zhou Xuan, he wouldn’t have plotted such a poisonous scheme against Feng Moyan.

"I only have this one disciple. I cannot just stand by and watch you kill him."

"Everyone faces unforeseen disasters—some are predestined by fate, while others are deliberate."

"Mr. Feng, take a look at the unforeseen disasters your Kidnapper Hall has caused."

Zhou Xuan’s body was devoid of his Divine Soul at this moment, but as he employed the storyteller’s dream weaving, his body mechanically, numbly narrated the dream Zhou Xuan had devised.

Yuan Buyu overheard the content of Zhou Xuan’s dream weaving.

"Instead of using the dream I taught him?"

He was surprised but soon understood—Zhou Xuan had chosen not to use the dream his teacher taught so that Yuan Buyu wouldn’t live in guilt afterward.

A disciple who acts to this degree—how could a master not feel fortunate?

"To receive such a disciple in my old age is indeed Lao Yuan’s luck."

Yuan Buyu thought of Zhou Xuan, then of his former disciples; his eyes grew moist, and he buried his face in his sleeve...

...

Zhou Xuan conjured the dream using the ninth-tier method of the storyteller—the Master of Dreams.

In the ballroom, he had already figured out that Mr. Feng could easily escape Yuan Buyu’s dream weaving because of his familiarity with the storyteller’s techniques.

"My teacher’s techniques were taught to him by Mr. Feng, so they were easily discerned. But my ninth-tier techniques were not taught by my teacher; Mr. Feng shouldn’t be able to unravel them."

Zhou Xuan transformed himself into a dreamscape and dragged Mr. Feng into the dream.

Yet strangely, the dream Zhou Xuan devised could not take form. Though the framework of the dream existed, its content did not.

"Nu walks through nine halls, each capable of honing nine techniques. Unfortunately, your storyteller’s skill hasn’t reached that level."

"I refuse to enter your dream, and so I won’t. No matter how high your dream’s tier—what of it?" Mr. Feng said as he wandered through the empty dreamscape.

The dream, while imposing barriers, ultimately failed to take effect.

A dream that fails to take effect is vulnerable; as long as Mr. Feng could find a flaw, he could easily shatter the dream.

"Your dream is far inferior to your teacher’s," Mr. Feng remarked.

Zhou Xuan paid no heed to him but instead mulled over his words—"I refuse to enter your dream; no matter how high its tier—what of it?"

"Refuse to enter the dream? How can I make him willingly enter the dream?"

Zhou Xuan recalled the poisonous dream Yuan Buyu had taught him. Why could that dream trap Mr. Feng?

Because in the dream, it contained Mr. Feng’s family and villagers—those he missed profoundly.

Beyond family and villagers, what else did Mr. Feng care about?

"Vengeance against God! Bring God into his dream."

At this thought, Zhou Xuan struck the gavel again, altering the dreamscape...

Mr. Feng felt disdain for the dream Zhou Xuan conjured, but suddenly the dream shifted. Within the emptiness, Peng Hou’s voice emerged.

Peng Hou’s voice carried an almost mesmerizing power, seducing Mr. Feng. At first, he resolutely resisted, but as the voice persisted, he became like a desperate gambler eager to make a comeback, throwing himself into Zhou Xuan’s dream without hesitation.

After voluntarily entering the dream, Mr. Feng witnessed Peng Hou and the Three-headed Stone Buddha slaughtering Peng Town.

"God-level, truly abhorrent filth," he spat venomously.

But at that moment, Zhou Xuan’s voice enveloped the dream: "Among those of God-level, there are few who are clean. But Mr. Feng, take a look at how the Peach Blossom Witch sought revenge against God."

The scenes continued.

Peng Sheng led his clansmen to resist, using twenty-four Divine Images to wage a desperate battle against Peng Hou’s Heavenly Ghost Map, fighting to the very end.

"We are the same—kindred spirits, united in shared suffering."

Mr. Feng saw the fallen Peng Sheng; heroic passion surged within him, and he grew emotional, tears streaming.

"You insult the Peach Blossom Witch!"

Zhou Xuan’s voice echoed through the dream: "God is the enemy of you and Peng Sheng, but think about how the Peach Blossom Witch acted... He led his entire tribe to fight to the death against the Tattooed Peng Hou."

"And you—"

"You set up a hall that breeds atrocities and indirectly pursues revenge?"

"The strong wield blades against those stronger; the weak wield blades against those weaker."

"If you had established a hall and directly declared war on God, I’d respect you as a man. But you established a hall that’s brought ruin to so many families and lives."

Zhou Xuan struck the gavel again, deepening the dreamscape while transforming its layers further.

With multiple layers of the dream, Mr. Feng’s mind was thoroughly ensnared; escape was no longer possible.

Mr. Feng saw the dream shift once more.

He saw the Dog King of the Kidnapper Hall holding a dog skin and draping it over a stranger, turning that stranger into a dog.

He saw Chun Meng wielding a hooked blade, gouging out the eyes of an unfamiliar woman.

And then, he saw that the man covered in dog skin was his eldest son, and the woman whose eyes had been gouged out was his daughter-in-law.

Instantly,

Cold sweat drenched him; grief overwhelmed him.

"The people the kidnappers have slaughtered, and the villagers and family from your Corridor River—they are all kindred spirits. They all suffered unforeseen disasters."

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