Ai Hui woke up in a daze. He had a bad dream, in which he was struggling in the middle of a gale and was unable to grasp ahold of anything. He had also dreamt of Fatty, who was carrying his corpse and sitting in a pool of mud, crying, his tears lost to the brutal winds.
He had dreamt of Boss, who had made him burn all the swordplay manuals. He had stood in the empty training hall for ages, feeling helpless and lost.
Ai Hui woke up.
His eyes were unfocused and dull; but after a moment, his gaze started to focus, and a feeble ray of light was lit up in the midst of an endless sea of gray and bleakness. It lit up the cold, engraved face of the metal and stone wall, akin to a spring breeze that vigorously blows and revitalizes the wintry landscape of the wilderness, delivering a fresh breath of life.
He had not experienced a nightmare for a long time.
He rested on the bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
