Chapter 40: Daydreams Are Sometimes Useful

After thinking for a moment, Luo Gan retorted to the monk, “Isn’t this just repeating what you said earlier? Even a modern medical diagnosis wouldn’t clarify the issue.”

The monk lifted his eyelids and glanced at Luo Gan out of the corner of his eye: “You’re never satisfied, are you? Before, everything was just speculation, and now I’ve given you proof—doesn’t that count as progress?”

Though the monk’s words were not without reason, if Luo Gan wanted the clues to lead somewhere, he had to coax something more from the monk.

Luo Gan stood up, fixing the monk with a predatory gaze, “You need to give me something useful. They say monks are compassionate, but when I saw you collapse, I at least tried to save you!”

“Save me? Who asked for that? The temple is right there. The only thing I wanted was that delicious flatbread.”

Luo Gan glanced around, suddenly realizing something, and raised his voice several notches.

“So you’re just lazy, huh? Won’t even make a simple bun and just wait for travelers to rescue you?”

Caught in his deception, the monk looked momentarily nervous, then closed his eyes tightly and resumed tapping his wooden fish, pretending not to have heard.

Luo Gan strode up beside him, furious, repeating, “Isn’t that so?”

The monk, exasperated, finally replied, “Begging is an essential part of our practice! It fits our monastic role. If we don’t ask passersby, do you think food will just fall from the sky? Ridiculous!”

Luo Gan stamped his foot in frustration. “Robber logic! So you’re in the right just because you’re weak? Fine, then give me back my flatbread!”

Naturally, the monk couldn’t produce it and ignored Luo Gan.

“You’re just lazy, aren’t you?” Luo Gan pressed.

With no other recourse, the monk set down his wooden fish and stood up, brushing past Luo Gan.

“There are ways I could help you, provided you meet the requirements. Want to give it a try?” he said.

Before Luo Gan could make sense of this, the monk slapped him across the face. Luo Gan’s head spun as the words “Task Progress: 11%” appeared before his eyes. The monk leaned in close, their gazes meeting, making Luo Gan feel slightly awkward.

“What kind of perverse game design is this, where you have to get slapped to see your stats?” Luo Gan complained.

The monk looked disdainful. “It gets worse. Have you ever seen a game where you have to have diarrhea to check your stats? Be grateful.”

Luo Gan was stunned—who on earth would think of that?

The monk continued, “Your clue completion is below fifteen percent. Sadly...”

Luo Gan pulled out another piece of flatbread, and the monk’s expression immediately shifted.

“Regrettably, the rules are flexible,” the monk said, reaching for the bread, but Luo Gan snatched it back, clutching it protectively to his chest. Scowling, the monk begrudgingly led him behind the main hall.

Behind the statue sat a basin of water, propped up by a wooden rack, with a towel hanging nearby. At first glance, it just looked like a place to wash your face.

The monk signaled for Luo Gan to immerse his face in the basin. Luo Gan leaned in for a closer look—the water was filthy, with mysterious objects floating in it, as if it hadn’t been changed in a month.

“Hey, baldy, isn’t this a bit much for a cleansing of the soul? This water hasn’t been changed in a month, has it?” Luo Gan protested.

The monk pressed his palms together. “This water is as old as the temple itself.”

Luo Gan felt thoroughly mocked, but the monk’s face remained impassive.

“Didn’t you want a clue? Just wash up. Buddha says there’s no need for so much talk.”

Suppressing his emotions, Luo Gan gripped the basin and gazed into the dirty water, a deep sense of misery welling up inside him. The monk, eyeing the flatbread in Luo Gan’s hand, grew impatient as Luo Gan hesitated to dunk his head. Finally, the monk helped him along.

With a splash, Luo Gan’s face plunged into the basin.

Instantly, his vision blurred, and a notification flickered: “Switching modes, loading animation.” In the lower right corner, a tiny figure in Tang attire hopped up and down as the progress bar filled.

The sound of bubbles faded, and Luo Gan felt his body become weightless, drifting through a watery tunnel at breakneck speed, hurtling toward another realm.

A barren desert... An exotic soldier, bearing a banner emblazoned with the word “Liang,” raised a scimitar and looked toward Luo Gan. Luo Gan braced to defend himself, but the blade passed straight through him into nothingness.

Only then did Luo Gan realize he was a disembodied spirit, as if a data packet being transmitted, arriving in another time and place to seek out fragments.

Foreign soldiers and Tang troops clashed in fierce battle, both sides giving no quarter. The blazing sun beat down on the desolate wasteland, the din of war drowning out everything. Luo Gan watched, stunned, an oppressive feeling growing in his chest.

A Tang soldier sacrificed himself to cover his commander’s escape, falling to a hail of arrows while the commander fled to safety. Luo Gan knelt to examine the fallen man, and as his hand touched the body, the scene shifted again—a swirl of black mist enveloped him, filling him with panic. Spinning around, Luo Gan found himself standing before the city of Anping.

But this was not the Anping of bitter cold and desolation. Instead, birds sang, flowers bloomed, the city bustled with life, and the people lived in peace and prosperity.

First, a baby’s wail pierced the air. Then came the thud of a judge’s gavel striking the desk. Flowers withered, frost crept across the earth, and women wailed in despair. A pair of hands gently plucked a blossom from a peach tree, cradling it to the chest.

Master Du stood alone, shaking his head, closing his eyes in resignation. Suddenly, countless grains of rice rained down from the sky, and his body was instantly buried beneath a mountain of grain.

Luo Gan shouted for Master Du, his throat burning with pain. He felt worse with every passing moment—dizzy, his ears ringing, his body growing weaker.

Once more the black mist descended, and when it cleared, the face before Luo Gan was his own! It was during a cuju tournament. Luo Gan struggled fiercely, finally lifting aloft a trophy of a hundred gold coins.

This time, Luo Gan couldn’t hold out any longer. He coughed up a mouthful of dirty water as the black mist surged in from all sides, making him feel weightless and adrift in the void.

“Ah!”

Luo Gan jerked upright from the basin as the monk handed him a towel. Luo Gan wiped himself off, still gasping for breath, not yet recovered. He glanced over to see that there was only a small piece of flatbread left in the monk’s hand—and as Luo Gan turned his head, the monk stuffed it quickly into his mouth.

The monk eyed Luo Gan with distaste. “Seems your willpower is lacking. You only lasted a short while—not even three minutes.”

“What was that just now? I saw a war, saw the flowers wither, and even saw myself!” Luo Gan was visibly shaken.

The monk wiped his mouth with his sleeve and answered, “Didn’t I tell you? It’s what you wanted to see—fragments of future memories, and those belonging to your opponent.”

“My opponent’s memories? Aren’t the locations assigned randomly? But I saw myself—doesn’t that mean...”

The monk snapped his fingers. “That’s right! Right beside you.”

Luo Gan’s mind descended into chaos. He’d thought that, in the vastness of the Tang Empire, the odds of finding his opponent were infinitesimal—he’d never expected they would be right next to him.

If that was true, then who could his opponent be—someone he knew, or a stranger?

After seeing all that, Luo Gan felt only confusion.

His stomach gurgled, and he suddenly realized something was wrong. “Hey, baldy! Where’s my flatbread?”