In a daze, Bai Chongjiang looked around and found himself in an antique classroom.
The air was filled with the fresh scent of ancient wood, which mingled with the faint aroma of ink.
An elderly scholar sat upright at the head of the table, his face kind and solemn. He held a scroll in his hand and was speaking eloquently.
Strangely, Bai Chongjiang could see his lip movements, but couldn't hear any sound.
It's just a lucid dream, a lucid dream that people occasionally have—knowing full well that they are dreaming, yet unable to wake up or control the direction of the dream.
She could only continue to observe, unaware of the cause and effect, and in a daze, she continued to look at the surrounding situation.
Below the hall, a group of young children, still bearing the marks of their childhood, sat upright. They were dressed in uniform blue and white disciple robes, each with rosy lips and white teeth, reciting something while swaying their heads. This created a vivid and harmonious scene.
A gentle breeze blew by, and the curtains swayed softly, like the hem of a dancer's skirt.
Her seat was by the window, where a gentle breeze, carrying a fresh scent, softly lifted the curtains and brushed against Bai Chongjiang's cheek.
Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on her, warm but not scorching.
Bai Chongjiang took a deep breath. It felt so good!
Such bright sunlight is rare in dreams; they are usually gloomy. But this dream felt exceptionally real.
She felt joy and intended to continue immersing herself in this beautiful dream, enjoying the tranquility and harmony.
She knew very well that the dream would eventually end, and after waking up, she would return to her real world and continue playing the role of a busy corporate slave.
Inside the classroom, the warm sunlight, like silk threads, gently streamed through the window lattice onto the rustic wooden podium, creating a dappled, picturesque scene of light and shadow.
Her mood shifted from curiosity to tranquility. She thought the dream might unfold uneventfully, or perhaps the scene would change in the next moment.
Suddenly, a chubby little boy sitting in the front row turned around, holding a small piece of paper in his hand, and gently placed it on her desk.
She paused slightly, then opened the note to see what her classmate wanted to say...
However, at this moment, she was completely speechless; she didn't recognize the words on the note.
Bai Chongjiang had heard people say that one cannot see unfamiliar things in dreams, but it seems that this is inaccurate.
She wasn't sure, and the feeling now seemed a little more real.
She looked around at the setup: the old man on the stage, the children below, the chubby little boy in front of her, the note in her hand—something seemed off…
She suddenly felt dizzy and disoriented, her senses were in disarray, and she fainted.
Her last thought was:
Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly; did he actually become a butterfly, or was he a butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi?
When Bai Chongjiang woke up again, he looked at the unfamiliar room and realized that he must have traveled through time.
She sat up and looked around. It was still dark, and by the moonlight, she could only make out that it was a room of about ten square meters, with very simple furnishings.
There is a desk under the north window, with paper and pens on it.
She carefully looked around the room, and in each place seemed to be a tiny shadow, studying, tidying up, reading, playing, or grieving.
The little phantom walked out of the house, and the path she walked, the scenery she saw, the words she heard, and the knowledge she learned slowly rose in Bai Chongjiang's mind.
Bai Chongjiang clenched his fists, suppressing the sudden influx of knowledge, and feeling the bits and pieces of the original owner's memories.
Before she knew it, dawn broke, and she had completely inherited the original owner's memories.
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