Dreams, yet not dreams.
As real as they are illusionary...
A strong sensation of drowning surged from all directions, as if to completely devour Song Cheng in the pig cage.
Here, he lost all strength, extending his hands in agony, kicking his legs, trying to cling to something.
The curses of the villagers still echoed in his ears, stirring up resentment in his heart that he couldn't suppress, an intense resentment to the extreme.
In the haze, the youth approached like a fish, his black hair wildly dancing in the water, extending his hand once again towards Song Cheng in the cage amidst the chaotic, icy currents.
The currents were pitch black, an icy hell, with light above his head.
That was the shimmering gold of the river's surface, dull and sparse, with distorted faces and malicious curses still faintly visible, so distant.
That hand seemed like a beam of light, reaching out from the brightness.
