Chapter Three: Memories Like a Dream

Dreams are a window through which consciousness glimpses the unconscious; they are the fulfillment of humanity’s subconscious desires, the most sincere confession buried deep within the soul’s memory, and a testament to the multitude of days gone by. Dreams require no language, tangled and interwoven with reality, yet they exist vividly in our minds, offering moments of clarity, spells of obsession, lifelike illusions, and blurred truths. Wakefulness seems like slumber, sleep yearns for awakening; night becomes day, day becomes night, all shrouded in a haze that keeps one at bay…

In his sleep, beneath a sky of clear blue, a man and a woman dashed through an abandoned industrial park, dragging a boy by the hand as they leapt and ran at breakneck speed. The scorching sun blazed overhead; the earth was a steaming cauldron. The three were drenched in sweat, but they could not afford to care. They ran forward, ever forward, their subconscious screaming at them to leave this place at all costs!

Gradually, the oppressive heat slowed their pace. Suddenly, with a flurry of whooshing sounds, several massive figures dropped from the sky, blocking every escape route. The three froze, faces pale as death. Under the blinding sunlight, the boy’s awareness faded into darkness…

Lin Fan jolted awake, the morning sunlight so sharp that he squeezed his eyes shut again. When he dared open them once more, he found himself lying on a wooden bed. He wiped the sweat from his brow, still replaying the dream in his mind. “Such a vivid dream… Those people felt so familiar.”

“Huh? This isn’t the hospital. Where am I? Am I still dreaming?” Only then did Lin Fan realize he was in an unfamiliar place, his hospital gown replaced by a plain set of pajamas.

He sat up; the bed creaked beneath him. He examined his surroundings carefully. The room was about twenty square meters, neither large nor small, lavishly decorated yet lacking in taste—the expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling made that clear. The furnishings were simple and traditional: peachwood table and chairs, a peachwood mirror frame, a peachwood wardrobe… Even the rickety bed was made of peachwood.

It seemed the owner had a particular fondness for peachwood. Yet the decor clashed somewhat with the rest of the room, though Lin Fan didn’t mind. The only thing that truly bothered him was the decrepit bed. So old and worn, it looked ready to collapse after a single “battle,” destined for the kitchen fire.

Exiting the room, Lin Fan discovered the house was two stories. Standing on the upper floor, he looked around in awe, mouth agape, unable to stop himself from exclaiming in wonder. Downstairs, Lin Hai, seated on the sofa, set aside his newspaper with a grin and called out, “Awake at last, nephew? How do you like the house? It’s nothing special, but it suits my status well enough—good enough to live in.”

Lin Fan descended the stairs, dazzled by the sight: a chandelier the size of a conference table, an ultra-wide television, a sofa large enough to seat a dozen people comfortably, all exuding a sense of rustic elegance, alongside intricately carved dining tables and chairs. The wallpaper and smooth, refined floors merged seamlessly; luxury and taste, opulence and finesse intermingled.

He couldn’t help but blurt out, “Damn, this place is luxurious, decadent, and over the top! It doesn’t match your style at all.”

Lin Hai looked pleased at first, but his expression soured at the end. “What do you mean it doesn’t match? You’re a country bumpkin who’s slept away ten years of your life—what do you know? Clearly you haven’t seen the world. I’ll have to take you out and show you the sights someday.”

Lin Fan sat beside Lin Hai, leaned in, and stared him down. “Are you really my uncle?”

“Pah!” Lin Hai, a bit unnerved under his gaze, snapped irritably, “You ungrateful brat! You think you can live off your good looks, getting daily spa treatments from pretty nurses? I haven’t even settled accounts with you, and now you’re doubting me! Don’t think I won’t thrash you just because you lost your memory.” He rolled up his sleeves.

Lin Fan, sprayed with spittle, quickly placated him. “Uncle, don’t get angry. I just wanted to be sure.”

“Sure? Do you want a blood oath or something? Actually, there’s something I need to confirm with you too.” Lin Hai, growing more indignant, pulled a notebook from his pocket and handed it to Lin Fan. “Here, take a look at this.”

Lin Fan flipped through it, finding nothing but numbers. “What’s this?”

“Heh, your medical expenses for the past ten years.” Lin Hai’s true nature emerged.

A cold sweat broke out on Lin Fan’s brow. He forced a smile. “Uncle, you’re so well-off—surely you won’t nickel and dime me over such a small amount?”

Lin Hai snatched the notebook back, tucked it carefully away, and began counting, “A small amount? Over ten years, besides medical bills, you also have to account for the cost of me and your cousin caring for you, lost wages, taxi fares, and so on. Altogether, you owe me eighteen million, three hundred twenty-eight thousand, seven hundred fifty-seven and thirty cents. But since we’re family, let’s round it down—so you owe me eighteen million, three hundred twenty-eight thousand, seven hundred fifty-seven.”

Lin Fan’s head nearly exploded; he almost fainted. Weakly, he muttered, “Forget rounding it down. Just hit me over the head and send me back to the hospital.”

Lin Hai’s eyes darted mischievously. “No need to be so pessimistic, nephew. The burden is heavy, but I’ve already found a way out for you.”

“What way out?” Lin Fan asked hopelessly.

Lin Hai smirked. “Become my apprentice, work off your debt for me. I’ll provide food and lodging. How about it?”

“What do you do, exactly?” Lin Fan felt as though he was being tricked into selling himself.

“Exorcist—commonly known as a Taoist. I read fortunes, relocate graves, summon gods, dispel ghosts, catch demons, subdue monsters—whatever pays, I’ll do it!” Lin Hai looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Seriously? A charlatan.” Lin Fan scoffed. “Uncle, you really will do anything for money.”

“Bullshit! I’m a Taoist, not some fraud!” Lin Hai was deeply offended. “Our profession is sacred! We don’t work for money—we do it for world peace and the eradication of evil!” He looked positively righteous.

“I’m not getting involved in any scams. Aren’t you afraid your daughter will be cursed for this?” Lin Fan remained unmoved.

“Get lost! Fine, pay me back then.” Lin Hai grabbed Lin Fan’s collar, not mincing words.

“I can’t,” Lin Fan replied shamelessly.

Lin Hai released him, not bothering to argue further, and strode off to the kitchen.

“Uncle, what are you doing?” Lin Fan asked nervously.

“Looking for a stick. Since you want it, I’ll send you back to the hospital myself.” In no time, Lin Hai pulled a thick wooden club from the cupboard, swinging it experimentally. “Hmm, maybe a bit too thin.”

Lin Fan’s hair stood on end. He hurried over to stop him, dragging him back to the living room. “Uncle, let’s talk this over.”

“Is there any point?” Lin Hai shook off Lin Fan’s hand, put down the stick, and pulled out a solid iron rod instead.

“Why do you have weapons at home?” Lin Fan exclaimed.

“Prepared especially for you—take this!” Lin Hai leapt up, brandishing the iron rod and aiming for Lin Fan’s head.

“I surrender!” Lin Fan covered his head, instinctively yielding.

“So you agree?” Lin Hai stowed the rod away, satisfied—it was only meant to scare him, after all.

“Fine, I suppose I do. You’ve looked after me all these years—I know it’s not about the money, but because you’re family. You want me to help, so I’m not idle after losing my memory—I get it. But let’s agree: you handle all the trickery and deceit; I’ll just do the odd jobs,” Lin Fan said earnestly.

Lin Hai grinned. “Nephew, you’re overthinking it. I just want you to pay me back. That’s settled, then—work starts tomorrow.” He sounded as if he’d just landed a great bargain.

Suddenly, Lin Fan remembered something. “Uncle, I can’t remember anything from my childhood. Can you tell me about my past?” The question wiped the smile from Lin Hai’s face.

“I’ve got things to do, you amuse yourself,” he said, making to leave.

But Lin Fan grabbed him, refusing to let go. “Are you hiding something from me? Where are my parents?”

Lin Hai shuddered at the question. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever—best to tell him now, before it affected his work.

Clearing his throat as if to begin a long tale, Lin Hai finally spat out only two words: “They’re dead!” And with that, he bolted from the room.

That night, an eerie stillness hung over the house.

Lin Qi, in pajamas and a facial mask, half-eaten apple in hand, sat to Lin Fan’s left, curiosity in her eyes. “Old man, has he been sitting there all day?”

Lin Hai, dressed in a vest and shorts, leaning on the sofa with a pitiful look, replied, “Yeah, hasn’t moved.”

“What did you say to him to shock him like this?” Lin Qi asked, taking another bite of apple.

“Nothing much—just told him his parents are dead,” Lin Hai answered, bewildered.

Lin Qi spat apple bits all over Lin Fan, who sat motionless, unresponsive.

“Are you mad? He’s barely stable—you want him dead?” Lin Qi shouted.

“I didn’t want to—he kept asking. What else could I do?” Lin Hai shrugged.

“Whatever, just be more tactful next time if he asks. I’m going to bed.” With that, Lin Qi went upstairs.

“How am I supposed to be tactful? I already said they’re dead,” Lin Hai muttered, massaging his temples. He turned to the catatonic Lin Fan. “I’ll figure out how to patch this up tomorrow. You should get some sleep.” With a sigh and the slap of his slippers, he too headed to bed.

On the sofa, Lin Fan stared blankly ahead, his mind whirring at full tilt, desperately searching for any memory of his past—but his head was a void, nothing but darkness, endless darkness. Not a single trace of his origins could he find…

The next morning, Lin Qi, freshly washed and ready for school, glanced at the living room on her way downstairs. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Old man! He’s still there!”

Lin Hai, startled by her shout, got out of bed and looked down to see Lin Fan sitting like a statue on the sofa, eyes vacant, clearly awake all night.

“Well, I’ll be damned. He says he doesn’t want to be a Taoist, but here he is practicing meditation on the sly,” Lin Hai muttered, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m off to school. Keep an eye on him—he can’t take much more,” Lin Qi called, slamming the door behind her.

“That girl, she’s got it easy, leaving everything to me. What a burden,” Lin Hai sighed, glumly retreating to his room.

Before long, he reappeared, donned in a yellow Taoist robe, slippers slapping the floor, a large teacup in hand. He sauntered downstairs and sat beside Lin Fan.

Setting his teacup down, Lin Hai glanced at Lin Fan, sensing something was wrong. His eyes darted; suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he turned and scrutinized Lin Fan closely, his expression growing grave.

“Soul separation… Damn, no wonder he’s been sitting here all night without moving!” Startled, Lin Hai abruptly raised both hands, fingers shifting rapidly through a sequence of intricate gestures, forming a series of seals. With a final movement, he slapped Lin Fan’s forehead and cried, “Soul Fixing Spell!”

An invisible force drove a cluster of ethereal white light, imperceptible to the naked eye, back into Lin Fan’s body. Instantly, Lin Fan collapsed onto the sofa like a pile of mud and began to snore.

Wiping his brow, Lin Hai muttered to himself, “Scared me half to death. People who lose their souls are really a headache—better keep a closer eye on him from now on.”