The Demon Lords

Chapter 522 34 The First _1

He felt dejected, saddened, and utterly helpless. Everything went black. When he opened his eyes again, Zheng Fan found himself standing on a bustling street. Lowering his head, he saw a cheeky little thing holding a string of candied hawthorns, grinning at him... What a rebellious son!

Mo Wan seemed to have learned his lesson somewhat. Perhaps their last encounter had merely been a byproduct of the nightmare Zheng Fan experienced due to Tian Wujing's self-annihilation of his clan. This time, however, Mo Wan had crafted this "dreamscape" himself. In any case, the street exuded a vintage atmosphere, not a modern scene. At least it didn't immediately break Zheng Fan's immersion.

The little boy reached out, grabbed Zheng Fan's hand, and pulled him forward. He wanted Zheng Fan to play with him, to stroll through the streets together. His hand was sticky from holding the candied hawthorns.

Zheng Fan sighed. He knew perfectly well what should have been waiting for him, but who knew it would suddenly turn into this? It felt like downloading a 30GB torrent back in his old world, expecting some grand movie, only for it to be episodes of 'Super Doll Licca-chan.'

"Son, couldn't you have waited a bit longer?" Zheng Fan squatted down, looking at the little boy.

The little boy looked at Zheng Fan, his expression utterly bewildered. He was calm and adorable, but Zheng Fan clearly saw—perhaps due to his own attitude—a bloodthirsty gleam beginning to spread within Mo Wan's bright pupils.

Mo Wan... was about to go berserk!

HISS!

Zheng Fan immediately swept the little boy into his arms. "Whoa now, let's play horsey! Come on, giddy-up!"

The crisis was defused in that instant. The boy's laughter rang out again. He was especially happy once perched on Zheng Fan's shoulders, excitedly waving his tiny hands.

As the old saying goes, for everything you gain, you must also pay a price. Most people at Zheng Fan's age were pillars of their families, supporting their elders and raising their children, living their lives with caution and diligence. Zheng Fan, however, was different: he leeched off the old and exploited the young. When trouble arises, my son goes first. If my son can't handle it, then his godfather steps in.

Shatuo Queshi lay there quietly, true, but Zheng Fan didn't dare neglect his filial duties, especially during festivals. He still had to find time occasionally to visit him for drinks and conversation.

As for his son... Well, things are usually stable. But the moment you level up and want to go sleep with a woman, you cast him out of your mind. No, worse—you literally toss him out the window like a stone. No way. His son wouldn't stand for it. A dear son is a dear son. He's not there for you to righteously disown for the sake of propriety or to avoid suspicion. That's just saying one thing and doing another—utter hypocrisy. If he can't be the first to enjoy the good things, then what kind of dear son is he? Besides, the number of times the boy had possessed his body, risking his own existence to save him from danger, was far from few.

Having thought all this through, Zheng Fan fell silent and resigned himself to his fate. The warm bed and the beautiful woman would have to wait. Tonight, he could only accompany his son in this dreamscape and enjoy some father-son bonding.

They walked and walked, looked and looked, buying masks, watching street performers, and trying pan-fried buns.

In his previous life, Zheng Fan had never married, let alone raised a child. In this life, however, he'd boarded the express train to fatherhood and been blessed with a precious son. And you know what? At first, he was somewhat indifferent, but gradually, he actually started to feel immersed in the experience. After all, their relationship was a web of intricate ties—guilt, affection, reluctance to part. Though not bound by blood, their souls were connected even more intimately.

The street seemed endless, always offering new sights and tempting delicacies. Zheng Fan didn't feel tired, nor did the little one on his shoulders.

As a vengeful spirit of ten lifetimes, he truly savored this moment, enjoying the 'light' within this dream.

He had no idea how long they had wandered or played. Dreams, after all, are sometimes like that—fleeting as a white colt flashing past a crack in the door, or so long that one loses track of time.

Silently, the surrounding clamor began to quiet down. Zheng Fan looked up and found he had walked to the bank of a small river. Fallen petals danced in the air, painting a picture of a tranquil spring afternoon. He sat down and, on impulse, lay back. The northern lands were so bitterly cold; he truly missed spring.

The little boy chuckled and ran off on his own, starting to catch grasshoppers, chase butterflies, and dash about gleefully, singing some unknown, tuneless ditty. Zheng Fan lay on his side, watching him in a relaxed posture reminiscent of the Maitreya Buddha, his gaze fixed on the little boy.

Suddenly, an image formed in Zheng Fan's mind: Mo Wan as a real child in the real world. He could go to kindergarten, carry a backpack to school, grow up day by day… Yet, what accompanied these images wasn't warmth, but a suffocating feeling. There were certain things Zheng Fan had always avoided, deliberately refusing to let his thoughts stray in that direction. Even though he constantly called him 'son,' and though it's often said that creative works are an author's lifeblood, their very own children... But frankly, when creating the character of Mo Wan, Zheng Fan had poured in all the elements of repression, darkness, and distortion, coupled with a hysterical artistic style. He had aimed to present an atmosphere of lonely despair amidst darkness, a way to indulge his own artistic sensibilities and to get his comic readers to buy in. He hadn't truly seen Mo Wan as a son.

Lost in these thoughts, Zheng Fan suddenly blanked out. Turning his head, he suddenly found the little boy standing right beside him. Since Zheng Fan was lying on his side, the boy was looking down at him. Their eyes met, father and son, and then both of them smiled.

"Are you tired from playing?" Zheng Fan asked.

The little boy shook his head.

"Want to play some more then?"

The little boy shook his head again.

Suddenly, everything around them began to darken. Zheng Fan found himself back in his original room. The candlelight flickered, creating a déjà vu of a haunted boudoir from a ghost movie. Zheng Fan's first reaction was that Mo Wan had finished playing and sent him back. But when he looked around and saw no sign of Siniang, he understood.

I'm still in this dream.

Zheng Fan began to search the room. He walked into the inner chamber and saw the little boy sitting on the bed. The little boy wore a red bellyband, a red mark dotted between his eyebrows. Seeing Zheng Fan enter, he proactively opened his arms. Zheng Fan walked over, reached out to hug him, then placed him in bed and tucked him under the quilt.

He hesitated for a moment. Anyway, this is a dream. Even if I walk out the door, it'll still be a dream. So, Zheng Fan simply lay down in the bed too. Father and son lay snuggled together on the bed.

The temperature under the covers was sub-zero, but Zheng Fan wasn't foolish enough to ask his son if he had a low-grade fever. Instead, he continued to feign concern, tucking the corners of the quilt around the little boy. The little boy stared wide-eyed at Zheng Fan and tugged his hair.

"Want to hear a story?"

The little boy nodded excitedly.

"Alright, Dad will tell you a story: Once upon a time, there was a mountain. On the mountain, there was a temple. In the temple, there was an old monk and a little monk. One day, the old monk said to the little monk, 'I'm going to tell you a story. Once upon a time...'"

Frost began to form on the outside of the quilt. Zheng Fan looked down at the little boy. The boy seemed utterly entranced by this silly story, yet at that very moment, it felt as if a terrifying, enormous mouth was about to descend and devour everything.

Zheng Fan shivered and said, "Once upon a time, there was a man. His father was a truck driver with a bad temper who loved to drink. His mother left home when he was very young. She didn't die; she just left. His grandparents always spoke ill of his mother, saying she'd run off with a rich man. He knew in his heart that living with his father wasn't easy. Later, before he was an adult, his father also passed away—this time, he really died. To be honest, growing up, this man didn't suffer much because of this, nor did he feel particularly sad that others had mothers and he didn't. He just lived a normal life, going to school and coming home. Though his family wasn't well-off, he had enough food and clothing. He loved drawing comics since childhood. After getting into university, he started his own comics club and gradually developed it into a commercial venture..."

At this point, Zheng Fan glanced down at the little boy again and found him calmly looking back.

"Bored?" Zheng Fan asked.

The little boy rolled his eyes at Zheng Fan. Then, he turned over, his back to Zheng Fan.

Zheng Fan reached out, placed his hand on the little boy's head, and said, "Next time you want to play, just let me know in advance, and I'll play with you in the dream. If you want something heartwarming, we'll play heartwarming. If you want something bloody, we'll play bloody, alright?"

ROAR! A roar surged from all directions.

Zheng Fan remained lying calmly on the bed. The little boy suddenly stood up. Slowly, he turned around. His face began to rapidly shift through various expressions: shyness, innocence, a smile, gloominess, ferocity, cruelty—like a fast-changing slideshow, they morphed one into another.

"Are you asking me... to call 'stop'? Like a raffle at the company's annual party?"

The little boy nodded, his expressions continuing to shift.

But many of those grand prizes at annual parties are rigged, Zheng Fan thought.

The little boy didn't respond, his expressions still changing.

"Alright. One, two, three... Stop!"

The expression froze, stopping on a 'cruel' one.

Zheng Fan sighed and said, "See? I told you it was rigged."

The little boy's teeth began to chatter, his tongue darted out to lick his lips, as if preparing to feast.

Zheng Fan gave a dry chuckle and said, "You wish you could eat my flesh?"

The little boy nodded.

"Then go ahead and eat. It's just a dream, anyway."

Zheng Fan was quite philosophical about it; just another nightmare, he figured.

The little boy turned, walked a few steps towards the foot of the bed, stopped, then turned sideways again to face Zheng Fan. Zheng Fan's eyes widened instantly. He tried to struggle but found his body suddenly paralyzed, as if by sleep paralysis.

"No, no! Don't bite there! That'll cause serious problems!"

The little boy suddenly squatted down.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" Zheng Fan screamed.

But after he finished screaming, Zheng Fan craned his neck to look down and saw the little boy merely squatting there. The boy turned his face towards Zheng Fan, a mischievous smile playing on his lips; the earlier cruel expression had vanished.

HEHEHE... The boy's clear laughter rang out.

"Heh... heh... HAHAHA..." Zheng Fan laughed too. Damn it, he was laughing through tears.

「In the main hall」

The Demon Lords still hadn't left; there were some specific matters they hadn't yet settled.

Xue Three abruptly changed the subject, saying to the Blind Man, "Blind Man, do a scan. See if they've... started?"

"Oh? You want me to probe *that*?"

"My Lord won't know anyway, and Siniang might not be able to sense it either."

The Blind Man said gravely, "But Mo Wan can sense my spiritual power. And then, I'll be as good as dead."

When everyone is scrambling to be the top sycophant, if you go probing into My Lord's private affairs, you truly have no desire for advancement. If My Lord develops a grudge over it, while others are advancing by leaps and bounds, it's highly possible you'll remain stagnant. That would be a form of torture in itself.

Liang Cheng, however, said calmly, "What's the rush? Have faith in Siniang. We'll have results by tomorrow."

Xue Three nodded, then added, "Remember, the first one to advance last time was Mo Wan."

Hearing this, Liang Cheng said, "Have faith in Siniang. She's clearly come prepared this time and won't fall behind Mo Wan."

BUZZ!

The words had barely left his lips when a powerful aura belonging to Mo Wan suddenly erupted! Then, just as quickly, it dissipated into nothingness.

Xue Three immediately leaped up, slammed a fist on Liang Cheng's knee, and yelled, "Quick, say I'll never grow any taller!"