The entire world was veiled in a thin, translucent layer, like a dream shrouded in fog, obscuring clarity.
Chen Li found himself in a closed-off cabin.
The room was silent and dimly lit.
A little girl was sitting at a small table, absorbed in playing with a string.
The girl appeared to be only seven or eight years old.
Still bearing the look of a young child.
But from the chubby little face, one could vaguely make out the shadow of Zhang Shuniang.
"Is this a dream?" Chen murmured to himself.
He slowly moved his body, discovering that his strength was greatly weakened in this place, his spiritual power completely gone, only slightly better than an ordinary person.
The girl seemed utterly unaware of Chen's arrival, engrossed in her string play. What Chen found to be a dull and monotonous game was thoroughly captivating for the girl. Her small hands flipping and flying, she crafted intricate patterns with a red string.
