At that moment, Zhao Rong looked around.
He found himself by a creek.
The sky was devoid of the sun, yet some unknown light source illuminated the entire landscape like an ink painting.
Far in the sky, Southern migrating geese appeared as mere strokes on paper, flapping their wings.
His current location seemed to be in the outskirts.
Because surrounding Zhao Rong were lush ink-colored trees, dancing naturally in the wind.
Occasionally, small animals made of ink appeared hopping around before vanishing.
The scene was vibrant, though only in black and white.
Zhao Rong thought for a moment, opened his right hand, and the next second, a brush suddenly appeared in it.
He smiled lightly, as he thought it could.
But some rules still needed to be explored slowly.
Grasping the brush, Zhao Rong lightly painted an orchid boat, landing it straight onto the creek, even causing a splash of ink-colored water.
He boarded the orchid boat, took up a long pole, and began to navigate the water.
Flowing with the current, he set out to explore this dreamscape.
As far as Zhao Rong knew, dreams are a fulfillment of objective desires, a reaction to subconscious content... well, in layman’s terms, you get what you wish for, especially things and people you think about daily.
Of course, there are some deeper mysteries too.
Zhao Rong looked around.
So, speaking of Qing Jun and Little Little, being in my dream since I think about them every day... cough cough, the master who can do whatever he wishes has arrived.
He sailed in the orchid boat for quite a while.
His surroundings still resembled wilderness.
Fragrant grass and trees, blossoms swirling in the wind.
Just as Zhao Rong considered whether to sketch a Flying Sword for a bit of sword flying.
The stream reached a sharp bend with rushing water.
Zhao Rong maneuvered the pole, and the orchid boat smoothly passed the bend.
The view suddenly opened up.
In front of Zhao Rong, the land was flat and wide, the houses arranged neatly with fields, ponds, and fruit trees.
Paths ran through the fields in all directions as villagers moved back and forth at work, plowing and planting.
Some elderly rested, leaning on their canes, while children frolicked and ran about.
This whole scene appeared as if discovered after a dark and overgrown trail.
It was like the pastoral bliss found within the Peach Blossom Spring.
Zhao Rong was somewhat puzzled.
All these sights were ones he had never seen nor imagined, so why would they appear in his dream?
Could it be that his subconscious harbored noble aspirations of retreating to the countryside, indifferent to fame and wealth?
He was unaware of such feelings.
Though if he had ever thought of retreating, it should have been dreams about the Zhongnan Country, and maybe with eighteen beautiful concubines...
But what were these unfamiliar scenes before his eyes all about?
When the boat reached the shore, Zhao Rong disembarked and stepped into this bustling rural landscape.
As expected, the villagers inside were all busy with their own activities and paid him no heed.
It was as if Zhao Rong did not exist at all, without any reaction.
He observed the villagers depicted in ink.
Their specific appearances and expressions were not very clear, only their facial features and expressions could somewhat be discerned from the ink traces.
Zhao Rong touched his own face.
He was probably the same.
Zhao Rong sighed softly, his handsome features once again obscured.
He surveyed this strange village for a while, its perimeter spanning dozens of miles, seeming the only habitation in the area.
This dream was somewhat peculiar.
Zhao Rong’s sweeping gaze suddenly halted, focusing on a building in the center of the village.
It was a structure starkly different from the simple houses in the village.
He felt that it belonged more in a Confucian Academy, the Imperial College below the mountain, or perhaps in a homestead of a scholarly, wealthy family.
Because it was a schoolhouse, designed with strict symmetry and squareness.
Rigorous and dignified, elegant and graceful.
It clashed significantly with the pastoral Peach Blossom Spring-like scenery around it.
Zhao Rong, intrigued, approached it to take a closer look.
Along the way, some villagers he accidentally bumped into, like they hadn’t seen Zhao Rong, left numbly as if nothing had happened.
Zhao Rong circled this strange schoolhouse.
He couldn’t help but laugh.
Despite its sturdy, firmly structured appearance, the schoolhouse had no doors,
Only a small window on the west side.
A schoolhouse without doors?
Zhao Rong went to the west window and peered inside.
The interior was bright, with an old master teaching a group of young children.
The old master’s specific appearance was unclear, but his tall, slender figure stood with hands clasped behind him, chest out, holding a ruler as he patrolled the classroom sternly.
This posture and behavior seemed somewhat familiar to Zhao Rong, though he couldn’t recall where he had seen it.
But he was certain he didn’t recognize this old master.
As for the children, they were about eight or nine years old, roughly twenty in number.
The school seemed to be in session.
The thin, tall old master was writing on the lectern.
The children below listened intently.
Just like the villagers outside, they were absorbed in their duties, unaware of the head that had appeared outside the window.
Zhao Rong observed for a while, and apart from the schoolhouse not matching the village’s style and lacking any doors, there didn’t seem to be any other strangeness.
Even as he moved back and forth in front of the window, no one took notice.
Zhao Rong looked around and, having nothing better to do, observed the children in the schoolhouse, who were about the same age as him at that time.
However, after a full observation, he was somewhat disappointed.
Because there was no sign of Qing Jun and Little Little.