Artworks have life.

They carry the emotions of their creators, witness the lives of their users, and pass these things down through generations until they too are broken. But even shattered, before the eyes of a true connoisseur, their remaining fragments still radiate a dazzling light.

…

He didn't know how many times he'd seen that scene in his dreams.

The enemy surged forth relentlessly, not just from the earth, not just from the opposing side, but also from within the court, even from the heavens. Five hundred years had passed, and the once-strong empire had become a rotting chariot. The final desperate struggle only ended in defeat.

In the vision, the tall and heroic man laughed wildly as he ascended the high tower.

He gazed at the distant enemies in the sky and on the ground.

He raised his cup and drank.

The high tower was eventually burned to the ground.

Buried along with it were the emperor's great achievements and ambitions.

The bronze wine vessel fell to the ground, tumbling and rolling across the earth.

Dong Yuefeng slowly opened his eyes, sighed, and looked out the window. This city was not yet asleep. He could still see the lights of cars outside. The modern night was different from the times he was familiar with. It was past ten o'clock, but it was still bustling outside.

He had been awakened by the noise and couldn't fall back asleep.

After washing his face, he put on his pajamas and walked to a bookshelf with a lamp in hand. This was where he kept his collection, treasures he had spent his entire life collecting. He had decided to donate all these collections after his death, but there was one item he was still hesitant to give away.

He stroked the special treasure on the bookshelf.

It was a bronze artifact, a bronze jue (a type of ancient Chinese wine vessel), with a flat body and bottom, a slightly widened spout, and a short tail. It had delicate patterns on it, making it look ancient, elegant, and noble. The bottom had three characters, "Yong Xian Yong Zhuo" (for offering and drinking). However, there was a pitted area, as if it had been dropped on a stone, which marred the overall beauty and made people feel a little regretful.

Dong Yuefeng heard an old voice in his ear: "Little fellow, you had that dream again?"

Dong Yuefeng's hair was already white, but in this voice's eyes, he was still just a little fellow.

He smiled and said, "Yes, Old Jue, I had it again. I can't sleep."

Artworks have their own lives.

This was a phrase he often used, but it wasn't just empty talk, or a metaphorical exaggeration. It was a plain conclusion.

Since he was a child, he had been able to hear the voices of ancient artifacts. He had protected this bronze jue from the Shang Dynasty and, under its guidance, gradually became a renowned historian and pottery master throughout Shenzhou. His life could be considered quite wonderful.

He sat down, picked up the ancient and heavy bronze jue, adjusted his reading glasses, and sighed:

"You dreamt it again."

"I wonder how many more times I can dream. I wonder how long it will take after I'm gone before you meet someone who can hear your voice again."

The bronze jue didn't care and said, "It will always happen. I was able to develop sentience and see this era, which is already the best fortune. I have no regrets even if I disappear."

Dong Yuefeng didn't say anything, but he moved his body and said:

"Old Jue, it's rare that you're awake. Tell me again about the story of Di Xin…"

The bronze jue leisurely chatted. It was just a wine vessel that had once been placed on the Shang king's table.

It didn't know much, it had just been passed down as a treasure, so it had a high ability to identify pottery and antiques. The story it told was very simple, just how the Shang king struggled in the mire of that era and ultimately failed.

Shang was a country that valued ghosts and gods more than laws.

By the time of Di Xin, the Great Shang, which had lasted for five hundred years, was on the verge of collapse.

The royal family, relatives, witches, and feudal lords were all eyeing the Great Shang covetously.

The bronze jue said that Di Xin ascended the throne as the youngest son.

The first time it saw him, he was still a teenager, full of spirit and energy.

It told of his immense strength and heroic qualities.

It told of a slave boy who knelt before Di Xin and was appointed as a general.

There was also a slave named Fei Lian, whose son could fight lions and tigers, and was loyal to Di Xin, named E Lai. It told of Di Xin abolishing the system of listening to ghosts and gods in everything, no longer sacrificing large numbers of slaves to his ancestors, and even allowing slaves to join the army and employing commoners without ancestral achievements, finally enraging the feudal lords and ghosts and gods, leading to defeat.

This was a story that Dong Yuefeng had heard many times, but he still didn't show any impatience.

After a long time, he reached out and stroked the bronze jue, sighing, "Sometimes I wonder if this life is just a dream. I've traveled to many places in these decades, but I've never seen another ancient artifact as special as you."

The bronze jue seemed to have exhausted the energy it had accumulated during this period and no longer answered.

Dong Yuefeng smiled. He was used to this intermittent communication.

He just didn't know if, after one of its brief sleeps, it would wake up and find that he had already left. Probably, he wondered what it would think then…

Dong Yuefeng sighed and put the bronze jue back.

As he was about to rest, his phone flashed. The old man was meticulous in nature. Thinking of what he had told his students today, he thought they had found the corresponding information. After opening it, he found that it was a student group of one of the classes he had taught. A student had posted a picture.

It was a young man making pottery.

Dong Yuefeng didn't pay attention at first, but when he saw the pottery, he froze.

He suddenly stood up.

He almost abruptly turned his head to look at the protected Shang Dynasty bronze jue.

He felt something similar, just a trace, but extremely similar. Yes, it was the aura of the Shenzhou Shindai (Era of Gods) that the bronze jue occasionally mentioned. He suddenly thought of something, and frantically saved the picture, then searched for tutorials.

It took a long time to use various vintage filters of current software. When the highest-level antique filter was processed, the old man stared at the photo with wide eyes, his hand trembling violently.

After a long time, he picked up his phone, typed a line of words, deleted it and changed it, changed it and deleted it again.

"Who made this?"

…

Wei Yuan set off for the psychological hospital in Yingtianfu the next day.

It wouldn't take long to reach the destination by high-speed rail.

He arrived a little early. Before him, there was a little girl in line, her head lowered, not saying a word, exuding a gloomy and depressed aura, and a trace of death. That kind of silence naturally emanated from her soul, and Wei Yuan could feel it.

The child lowered her head and didn't move.

Wei Yuan picked up a talisman for calming and soothing the mind, and then applied the aura of this talisman to the little girl.

That kind of aura dissipated a bit, but it was still there.

It was the most troublesome state. Wei Yuan sighed. Some Taoists might be able to handle this state, but definitely not a cultivator like him who practiced the Killing Dharma Sword. If a Taoist who cultivated the Dharma Sword was willing to take action, he could shatter the heart demon and restore her state of mind to normal.

Soon someone called her, and the little girl's parents pulled her inside.

Wei Yuan waited quietly.

More than an hour passed, and the door opened. The little girl walked out with tears in her eyes. Wei Yuan was surprised to find that the gloomy aura on the little girl's body had actually dissipated a lot, and was even about to disappear completely. A woman in a white coat, with a delicate and peaceful face, walked out.

She knelt down halfway, looked at the little girl, reached out and touched her hair, her voice gentle: "Remember, you have to face it."

The little girl nodded heavily.

The female doctor reached into her pocket, took out a piece of candy, and handed it to the child.

Then she stood up and looked at Wei Yuan, saying, "Please, the next patient can come in."

Wei Yuan stood up, feeling a little goodwill towards this doctor, and then walked in. The doctor asked about Wei Yuan's situation, pondered slightly, gave some advice, and then pointed to the bed next to him, smiling gently and peacefully:

"This is not a very tricky problem. You just need to pay attention to it usually, and you can recover quickly with medication."

"You can sleep for a while first, and I'll give you hypnotherapy."

"Of course, if you're embarrassed, you can lie on the sofa to receive treatment."

Wei Yuan decided to sit on the sofa.

Relaxing his mind, the doctor named Wang Qi sat opposite him, reaching out and gently tapping his forehead.

Her finger was a little cold, and Wei Yuan's body almost tensed up.

It wasn't because of the contact.

It was because the Crouching Tiger Waist Token trembled and hummed, and a thought flashed across his mind. The Crouching Tiger roared in a low voice, pointing to the delicate-looking, quiet doctor in front of him—

Great Demon · Bo Qi!

…

Now, this great demon of the demon race, widely worshiped during the Qin and Han dynasties, was pressing his forehead with her finger.

Wei Yuan had imagined many times what it would be like to encounter the Mountain Lord's maidservants and the Mountain Lord.

But he never expected this kind of scene.

He was a patient, and the other party was a seemingly responsible doctor. The time and place of their meeting was treatment. However, she didn't recognize him. Was it because dream demons like Bo Qi only used dream imprints to confirm the main body and didn't pay attention to his appearance?

Wei Yuan's thoughts raced. He knew that this was definitely not a suitable time to attack. He might not be the other party's opponent, and in a place with a high population density like a hospital, if he pushed Bo Qi to a dead end, it might cause a scene that Wei Yuan would never want to see, a huge number of casualties.

And if he didn't care, the other party was a dream-eating demon, a higher demon of the Baku (dream eater) race. His dreams might not be able to hide from the other party, and he would fall into passivity. Now, the most important thing was to protect himself and prevent the other party from going berserk on the spot and harming the innocent.

He should use a relative advantage to make Bo Qi lose the courage to attack.

He should choose checks and balances to make the other party hesitate and not dare to attack. In other words, a method similar to nuclear deterrence, not taking the initiative to attack, not showing panic or being too calm, but showing composure, so that the other party would worry and fear in their heart, so that they would not dare to attack.

Wei Yuan's mind spun rapidly.

He made a judgment and decision in a short time.

He looked calm, controlled his body to relax naturally, and then closed his eyes.

Bo Qi entered the dream.

This was a job that had been done many times, but this time, the woman's expression suddenly changed.

She heard a rhythmic tapping sound.

In that ancient yet modern, real yet illusory dream, the familiar man was making pottery, his movements and expressions meticulous, and with the ease and composure of a thousand refinements. Bo Qi's body stiffened slightly, and a kind of fear naturally emerged. Then, the pottery-making man raised his head and looked at her dream body.

In reality, the patient who had closed his eyes opened them.

In the dream, in reality.

True and false, illusory.

Black eyes, deep and calm, looked at Wang Qi at the same time.

Then Bo Qi heard a calm laughter beside her ear.

"It really took me some effort to make an appointment with you, Dr. Wang."

Wei Yuan sat on the sofa, leaned back slightly, crossed his fingers, and said in a voice as calm and natural as possible:

"Or should I call you, Bo Qi?"

ps: The second update today, 3400 words~

Thanks to Jiangnan Misty Rain Broken Bridge Sadness for the ten thousand reward, thank you.