Chapter 161: Ignored

Chen closed his eyes, his focus turning inward.

Deep within his mind, the icon that had only recently been unlocked now pulsed with a majestic, golden glow. His concentration sharpened, locking firmly onto the image of the five-star general, Jing Yuan.

‘An imitation, is it?’he thought with a smirk.’Fine. I’ll show you what a real trial character can do.’

When he opened his eyes again, his entire aura had been reborn.

His short, dark hair cascaded outwards, transforming into a mane of flowing, silver-white locks, a portion of which was neatly tied back by a simple band. The air around him crackled with an unseen power.

He lifted a hand, his index and middle fingers held together like the edge of a blade, and carved a sharp, deliberate line through the empty air.

“Lightning-Lord—”

His voice, now deeper and resonant with authority, echoed through the dreamscape. As he spoke, a majestic aura erupted from behind him—a presence so vast and overwhelming it felt capable of suppressing mountains and taming rivers!

An impossibly massive phantom, clad in gleaming golden armor, began to materialize. Its face was obscured by a blinding divine light, and its sheer scale was as imposing as a mountain range suddenly appearing on the horizon.

“—Manifest!”

Following the precise direction of Chen’s gesture, the phantom of the Lightning-Lord slowly raised a colossal arm, a limb seemingly powerful enough to hold up the heavens and shake the very foundations of the earth.

Wreathed in a brilliant divine power that annihilated all illusions, it struck. Not at an enemy, but at the sky of the dreamscape itself.

The invisible barrier maintaining this world of false images could not withstand the blow. It shattered with a deafening crack.

The sky, the campus, the playground, and the phantom companions with their shy or smiling faces—all of it fractured like a broken mirror. The cracks spread in an instant, and the entire scene dissolved into a blizzard of countless, flying points of light.

Now in the guise of Jing Yuan, Chen stood at the epicenter of the collapsing world. His silver hair fluttered in the nonexistent wind as he watched the grand disintegration around him, a cold snort escaping his lips.

“Boring tricks.”

The scene before him faded to white, then bled back into existence like fresh ink on paper.

When Chen could feel solid ground beneath his feet once more, he found himself in a completely different environment.

At that very same moment, March 7th jolted awake on the soft sofa in the Parlor Car.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking against the familiar, warm lighting. Outside the grand window, the endless sea of stars flowed by in its silent, cosmic river. The faint, comforting aroma of coffee hung in the air. Everything was exactly as he had seen it countless times upon waking.

“Phew… another weird dream,” he muttered to himself, stretching languidly. His pink hair, already a bit messy from his nap, fluffed up around his head.

His gaze swept habitually across the carriage, taking in the familiar tableau.

Ms. Welt was seated on her usual sofa, a data pad held in her hands. Her brow was slightly furrowed, a clear sign that she was contemplating some difficult problem.

Uncle Himeko stood with his back to them behind the bar counter. He was focused on adjusting the coffee machine’s parameters, his tall, broad figure exuding a reassuring sense of steadiness.

Dan Heng leaned against a far wall, his eyes closed and Cloud-Piercer clutched tightly in his arms. He seemed to be either napping or deep in meditation.

Caelus sat on the carpet near the porthole, hugging his knees and quietly watching the flowing starlight, lost in his own world.

And then there was Chen. For once, that guy wasn’t causing a ruckus. He was slumped over another table, seemingly fast asleep.

Everything was normal. Everything was exactly as it should be. The sheer familiarity of the scene allowed him to relax instantly.

“Morning, everyone!” March 7th chirped, hopping off the sofa. His face lit up with his usual bright, energetic smile. “I think I had a weird dream about being on the Luofu… but it’s great to wake up and see everyone here!”

He waited for the expected chorus of replies.

A steady, “Morning, March,” from Ms. Welt.

A smiling, “You’re awake? The coffee’s almost ready,” from Uncle Himeko.

Perhaps Dan Heng would crack open an eye and give a slight nod, or even Chen would rub his eyes and grumble, “Little March, you’re too loud…”

But there was nothing.

His crisp, cheerful greeting was like a pebble tossed into the deepest pond, failing to stir even a single ripple on the surface.

The bright smile on March 7th’s face faltered, twitching at the corners.

“Eh? Did no one hear me?”

He raised his voice a little, walking over to Ms. Welt’s side and waving a hand in front of her face.

“Aunt Yang? Is there something wrong with that data?”

Ms. Welt’s gaze remained locked on the data pad. Her fingers slid across its surface as if she were utterly absorbed, showing absolutely no reaction to his presence or his voice. Not even a flicker of a glance from the corner of her eye came his way.

A sliver of unease began to creep into March 7th’s heart.

He turned toward the bar. “Uncle Himeko! What’s for breakfast today? I’m starving!”

Himeko remained with his back turned, carefully pouring ground coffee into the filter. His movements were smooth and practiced, completely oblivious to the boy shouting just a few feet away.

“Dan Heng!”

March 7th ran over to Dan Heng. This time, he didn’t just wave; he reached out and gave Dan Heng’s shoulder a gentle push.

His fingers met with solid resistance. He felt the fabric of Dan Heng’s coat, the firm muscle beneath. Dan Heng’s body swayed slightly from the force of the push.

But that was it.

Dan Heng didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t even subconsciously adjust his posture after being disturbed. He was like a living doll, warm to the touch but utterly inert, allowing March 7th to push him without a hint of resistance. He simply continued to maintain his original meditative posture, his breathing not changing in the slightest.

“Caelus!”

March 7th scrambled over to Caelus’s side, knelt down, and took the girl’s hand in his. Her hand was warm and soft; the sensation was undeniably real.

But Caelus neither pulled her hand back nor turned to look at him. Her golden eyes continued to stare, unblinking, at the distant starlight outside the window, as if the hand holding hers was nothing more than a mass of empty air.

A cold weight settled in the pit of March 7th’s stomach, dragging his spirits down into a chilling abyss.

He could touch them. The sensations were real. But they had zero reaction to anything about him—his voice, his actions, his very existence.

“Hey! Stop messing around!” March 7th’s voice was now laced with an urgency and a tremor he hadn’t even noticed himself. “This joke isn’t funny at all! Chen! Is this your doing? Get up!”

He rushed to the table where Chen was slumped over and, using even more force this time, began to shake his shoulder frantically.

Chen’s body swayed back and forth with the motion. His head rubbed against his arm, and he even mumbled something unclear.

“…Don’t… the chicken leg is mine…”

A flicker of hope ignited—a reaction!—only to be instantly extinguished. It wasn’t a response to him. It was the nonsensical rambling of someone deep in sleep, completely and utterly unaware of the frantic hands shaking him awake.

[Elysian’s Note: Having a good time with the story? Every single bit helps immensely: