Strange Dream

The hour was still early, the sky barely beginning to lighten. The biting wind continued its rampage; Qi Xi had just loosened his clothing and removed the cotton cloth wrapped around his head. At first, he hadn’t felt the cold—his entire attention absorbed in his performance. Now, with his efforts recognized and his worries eased, the chill suddenly pierced through him.

Hurriedly, he stuffed his clothes back on, paying no heed to neatness or appearance—so long as those damned cold winds couldn’t seep into his bones. The automatic rifle hadn’t been returned to him, nor did Qi Xi ask for it; instead, he feigned timidity.

The soldier, noticing this refugee’s tact, chuckled and turned away. Qi Xi quickly followed.

The entire Forward Nation was encircled by walls three meters high, topped with barbed wire—an effective deterrent against outsiders or radiation ghosts sneaking in. Though simple, the defense was formidable: the walls were a meter thick, sturdy enough to withstand even the strongest armored vehicles—only a tank might breach them. Yet tanks, those intricate weapons, were nearly extinct; time had destroyed them, and the lack of key parts made repairs impossible.

Inside the walls were clusters of low houses, none exceeding two meters in height, so from outside, their presence was almost invisible. Only one slightly taller watchtower stood out. The dilapidated dwellings radiated decay, the product of fierce sunlight by day and howling winds by night—the wild fluctuations of temperature wreaking havoc.

But that was not all. When Qi Xi entered the Forward Nation with the soldier—who was neither tall nor upright—a sour stench assaulted him. Qi Xi frowned, grateful for the cotton cloth shielding his face so no one noticed his expression of disgust.

He knew well the cause: even water with minimal radiation was scarce, and water free from radiation simply didn’t exist. Bathing had become a luxury; even the leader of the Forward Nation bathed only once a month, and these low-ranking soldiers could never enjoy such treatment.

It was a common situation, nothing to be surprised by.

After walking about a hundred meters, they encountered a patrol. Qi Xi glanced at them—ten soldiers, all appearing spirited, though their vigor was not true energy but rather the effect of the cold, biting wind.

“Attention!” the leader suddenly barked. All soldiers halted, their gaze falling on Qi Xi—a rare outsider. The Forward Nation rarely accepted foreigners; was he someone special?

The soldier guiding Qi Xi stopped, raising his palm to his temple and called out, “Sir!”

The man wore heavier clothing, without too many patches, looking like a wealthy man compared to the others. Three blood-red stars were embroidered on his chest, standing out against his pale, faded uniform. The others also had stars: one for a regular soldier, two for a squad leader, three for a ten-man captain, four for a company commander, and five for the highest military officer. The leader of the Forward Nation bore a crescent moon.

The ten-man captain glanced at the soldier, saluted, and asked, “Number Seventy-Eight, where are you going? Who is he?”

“Sir! I am going to report an important incident to the general. He is a refugee, but he possesses a firearm—just unearthed. More weapons have been seized by refugees, so I wish to inform the general.” As he spoke, the soldier tried to straighten his back—a struggle for him, as he was slightly hunched. He handed over Qi Xi’s automatic rifle.

“So that’s it.” The captain nodded, examining the weapon, running his hand over it. Indeed, it was freshly unearthed. The patrol soldiers murmured about the news, but the captain silenced them with a glare. He then handed the rifle back to the soldier and said, “Go on, quickly.”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier saluted again and turned away.

Qi Xi hurried after him, passing the curious soldiers and enduring their scrutinizing stares—a strange sensation. Their gaze was not provocative but faintly disdainful, born of their innate superiority. Compared to refugees of the wasteland, these soldiers of the Forward Nation were indeed a privileged class: they possessed tight-knit firearms, relatively ‘abundant’ food, orderly training, and their combat power far surpassed that of the refugees.

Qi Xi merely lowered his eyes, unmoved. Yet deep inside, he couldn’t help but mock—these men were so self-important and well-disciplined; but how formidable were they truly? That was his greatest concern.

All the houses flanking the path had their doors tightly shut, the wind roaring and rattling the doors with odd sounds—“gu! dong!”—that seemed to carry a chill. Qi Xi recalled a book he had read, which claimed that sound, though affecting only hearing, could influence other senses, much as cool and warm colors affect one’s feelings. A strange theory, but with some truth, even if of little practical use.

After about ten minutes, they reached a slightly larger building, guarded by two soldiers clutching automatic rifles and huddled in the doorway.

“Has the general risen yet? I wish to see him!” the soldier stopped and asked.

The two guards glanced at Qi Xi and the soldier, replied in unison, “Not yet! The general won’t rise for another hour. Please wait.” Then, uncertain, they asked, “Is it urgent? If it’s truly important, we can call the general.”

The two guards were twins, remarkably synchronized—a novelty that made Qi Xi look twice.

The soldier, however, was unfazed. The matter was neither big nor small; hearing the guards’ words, he frowned in thought. In truth, he lacked the courage to wake the general—the Forward Nation’s number two, who held all military authority. He, a humble Number Seventy-Eight, had no right to do so.

So he spoke, “Let’s wait. The general’s health is important; we must not disturb his rest.”

The guards nodded expressionlessly, then buried their heads into their clothes, huddling against the wall to escape the cold.

Curling up beside them, Qi Xi felt drowsy, unconsciously pulling his clothes tighter, until he drifted off. Perhaps it was the cold that did it, but once more he had that strange dream—he was a superhuman, possessed of immense power and a brilliant mind, able to control earth and stone, command repulsion and attraction, unleash great flames, and devour strange abilities.

Wasn’t that a god?

Every time he had this dream, Qi Xi felt he must be desperate to become stronger—there were no superpowers in this world, and such dreams were absurd, laughable.

Yet when he dreamed it nearly every night, Qi Xi grew uneasy—it was too strange.

Unfortunately, no matter what, he could never become the mighty, confident figure of his dreams.

This time, his plan was to lure the soldiers of the Forward Nation into an ambush, slaughter them all, seize their guns and vehicles—not only to avenge himself, but also to gain tremendous benefits. It would be a double victory, but things never proved so easy...