PNB Chapter 119 New Year's Money Makes You Two Years Older
Chapter 119 New Year's Money Makes You Two Years Older
Chapter 120 New Year's Money Will Make You Two Hundred Years Old
The crack was quite large, and it looked like it was at risk of collapsing. Song Che paused for a moment before realizing he had fallen asleep again.
People often say that a house without people will lose its vitality and will eventually deteriorate faster, and cracks will appear as a result. Song Che roughly understood what he was dreaming about—the world in this dream was probably many years in the future, so the house looked cracked and the city looked desolate.
But strangely, there were hardly any people outside.
He fell asleep in bed, then got up again.
Try controlling your dream and transform the house in front of you into a skyscraper.
No.
Make the bed tidy.
Not at all.
It's a lie, after all. The claim that lucid dreaming allows you to do whatever you want is a lie!
Song Che gave up the idea and got up to wander aimlessly. After having so many dreams, he discovered some patterns. Although he couldn't control the dreams, he could slightly interfere with things in the dreams, such as opening and closing doors and lifting blankets. Simple actions like eating and talking to people in the dreams seemed impossible.
Is this even reasonable?
Song Che felt that this was not his dream.
It's okay if life is tough in reality, as long as I have fun in my dreams.
He felt a bit like waking up.
Song Che walked into the courtyard. It was daytime outside, and the courtyard looked both dilapidated and not dilapidated.
It's dilapidated because, overall, the walls and the land are weathered, but it's not dilapidated because—someone is still growing vegetables on the land in this yard?
Song Che was certain that he hadn't thought about this matter, so it was the dream's own behavior—but then he realized that he had no control over this dream at all.
The vegetables in the yard are tomatoes and green peppers, and a small patch of celery. They look to be growing well, but they lack a bit of vitality.
Not only these plants, but the entire yard—the house, or rather the whole world—felt lifeless. It was eerily quiet, without even the sound of the wind.
unmanned----
Nobody is here.
A thought popped into Song Che's mind.
But just as this thought crossed my mind, a figure jumped into my view.
With black hair and a long dress, her eyes glowing with a boss-like red light, she stood in the middle of the courtyard, carrying a bamboo basket and a bucket of water.
Song Che's mind went blank for a moment, and he quickly hid in the main room.
This wicked woman is quite frightening. Last time, she made Xia Li so angry in her dream that Nan Hui and Tai Xi were both ruined. Moreover, she never holds back when hitting Tao Xiang. Compared to Xia Li hitting people, she seems to hit them harder.
Song Che observed her from behind the door, his heart pounding.
This wicked woman's boss has a terrifying red aura; she looks like a ghost.
She's watering and fertilizing the vegetables now, floating in the middle of the garden, her heels not touching the ground—she looks even more like a ghost.
He hadn't paid any attention to this wicked woman before, but it seemed she wanted to make an enemy of him. She had been fighting him all the way from the city to his hometown, and she was even planting vegetables in his dreams!
No way, this is my dream, why would I be afraid of you?
Just as Song Che was about to go over, that wicked woman took the lead, carrying a bamboo basket and shuffling towards the main room.
The tattered veil fluttered behind her, her black hair dancing in the breeze. Song Che instinctively stepped back, but the woman moved quickly and was in front of him in a few breaths.
Song Che looked at it more carefully.
Besides the boss's red eyes, he saw some women's faces.
Tragic, so tragic————
He could only see a tiny bit, but even that tiny bit of skin had several scratches. The rest of the body was obscured by a mist-like substance. Song Che recognized this mist; it was a simple magic used to conceal the face.
This woman—did she come from Hitler?
Before Song Che could think any further, the woman had already stepped over the threshold, passed through his body, and sat down in the main room.
Song Che stared blankly at his hands. He had tried to push the other person away, but he had missed.
The woman didn't see Song Che at all. She simply moved into the main room and stared blankly at a New Year's picture. The picture was so badly torn that it looked like it would break at the slightest touch.
Song Che looked in that direction but didn't find anything amiss. He got up and went to the other rooms. All the beds in the rooms were neatly made, except for the west room, which showed signs of human habitation. He guessed that the woman lived there. Apart from that, there was no sign of human presence.
No, this isn't my dream?
Song Che sensed a contradiction, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He leaned closer to look at the woman—suddenly, the woman was also looking at him.
The woman opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Song Che knew she couldn't speak, but he couldn't see the woman's mouth or expression, so he didn't know if her tongue had been cut off or if she had simply forgotten how to speak. The woman whimpered a couple of times, but Song Che couldn't hear what she said.
But he saw the woman shake her head and continue staring blankly at the New Year's picture in the main room.
Song Che stood in the middle of the main room, looking at the woman.
She sat on the bench, facing the New Year picture.
The tattered veil hung down, covering most of her face, leaving only her eyes exposed—red, dark, and lifeless, only stubborn.
There was nothing particularly special about those New Year paintings.
The chubby baby holding the big carp had long since faded, the edges of the paper were rolled up, and one corner was about to fall off. The woman raised her hand to steady it—magic appeared in her hand, and she stuck the corner back on.
Song Che took a step to the side.
The woman did not react.
He took another step.
Still no response.
He simply walked to her side, squatted down, and stared at her.
Red eyes, or is he seeing things wrong?
He squinted to see clearly, but the woman suddenly blinked.
Song Che leaned back and almost sat on the ground.
The woman didn't look at him, but just blinked and continued staring at the New Year picture.
Song Che got up and patted his bottom.
He remembered that in the city, Tao Xiang and Tao Yao always came home with their heads covered in sores.
He didn't pay attention at the time, thinking that Taoyao was just a cat kept by a woman.
She was still staring at the New Year picture.
The edges of her veil were tattered, and black hair peeked out—the veil looked somewhat familiar. She wore a long, dusty gray dress, its original color indistinguishable. She was barefoot, her ankles thin and marked with several scars.
Did they come from Hitler?
Why doesn't she go find Xia Li instead of pestering Tao Yao every day?
Song Che stood up and walked around to face her.
She didn't react.
He waved his hand in front of her eyes and tried to touch her shoulder.
His hand went through her shoulder.
I can feel it, but I can't touch it.
Song Che withdrew his hand and looked at his palm.
Just now in the yard, he tried to push her away, but missed.
That's why he can't touch her.
Why did he feel it when she passed through his body?
He thought about it.
It might be because he didn't intend to touch her when she walked past him.
He's just hiding.
Song Che decided to try a different approach.
He walked to the door and glanced back. The woman was still sitting there, her back slender, her shoulders slightly hunched.
The courtyard remains the same.
The tomatoes, green peppers, and celery were growing well, but they lacked vitality. There were no insects chirping, no birds singing, no wind blowing. It was as quiet as if your ears were plugged.
He walked to the edge of the vegetable patch, squatted down, and looked at the tomato plant.
The fruit is red and ripe, but no one has picked it.
He reached out to pick it.
My hand went through the tomato.
He tried several times, but it was the same every time.
Song Che stood up and looked at the vegetable garden.
The vegetables were grown by that woman, but she doesn't eat them herself, or if she does, you wouldn't be able to tell.
He remembered seeing her carrying a bucket of water to water the plants. He could see the water being poured, seeping into the soil, and deepening the soil.
So he can only look, not touch, and this isn't his dream—could it be that this is the bad woman's dream, and he's always in her dream?
He turned and walked back to the main room, then to the door of the west room.
The west room looked different from what he had seen before he woke up.
The bed was neatly made, the blankets folded into squares, and the pillows placed upright. But there was an extra cabinet next to the bed; there weren't bedside tables in my hometown.
There was a mirror on the cabinet with a rather strange design. When Song Che walked over, he couldn't see anyone.
He walked over and opened the cabinet door.
There were a few pieces of clothing hanging inside.
It's all black.
A black dress, a black coat, and a black shawl. The fabric felt like cotton or linen, but when he reached out, it still slipped through his fingers. He could see it, he could feel it, but he couldn't touch it.
There was something hanging at the very back, but it wasn't clothing.
He reached in, and then passed through.
But he saw it clearly.
It is a headscarf.
It was white, tattered, and exactly the same as the one she was wearing on her head.
Song Che closed the cabinet door and stood there thinking for a long time.
This house belongs to her.
Or rather, this house in this world belongs to her.
What about himself?
As Song Che thought to himself, the scene before him gradually transformed into the ceiling of his old home.
A ceiling without cracks.
Song Che was not surprised. He should have woken up by this time. He would not wake up on his own in his dream, but would wake up naturally at a fixed time.
Song Che got up and went to the main room. Everyone in the family was awake—except for him, who was still sleeping. Tao Xiang was becoming more and more like a little green tea, clinging to Zhang Shushu. Xia Li was looking at the New Year picture on the stool.
When Zhang Shushu saw Song Che, she said, "Song Che, come with me to the market later. Your dad can handle today's business. Xia Li, come with me to the market to buy some delicious food too."
Xia Li looked at Song Che, and when Song Che nodded, she nodded as well, "Okay, Auntie."
After saying that, he leaned close to Song Che and whispered something.
"Song Che, I think I'm sensing magic."
"Um?"
"Really, I feel that my magic has not been lost, but just suppressed, so I can't use it or sense it. But last night I suddenly felt magic, and I can try to fly with a broom."
"Don't try it," Song Che said seriously. "If you're going to try, don't try it from a high place. Try flying from the ground."
"Okay, but I really felt the magic." Xia Li wasn't joking. "If you don't believe me, look, I can—"
Can----"
Xia Li suddenly stopped. "Why can't I use it?"
"Was it—something you dreamt about last night?" Song Che explained, "Dreams are all fake. Are you sure you felt magic?"
Xia Li fell into deep thought. After Song Che's explanation, she felt as if she were dreaming.
Just like that day in Taixi.
She looked down at her hands, turning them over and over again. With her palms facing up, she stared at them for a while, then turned them back over to look at her hands, as if checking if something was still there.
"That's all," she said again.
Song Che took two steps to her side and sat down on the bench.
"Did you merely sense the magic, or did you directly use magic?"
Xia Li thought for a moment.
"I don't know," she said. "I just felt it might work. But as soon as I thought about trying it, it disappeared."
She raised her right hand and looked at it against the light from the window. Her fingers were slender, and the tips were slightly red.
"It's probably because it's been suppressed too deeply," she said. "I can feel it occasionally, but I can't use it."
Song Che looked at the New Year picture. It depicted a chubby baby holding a carp, with the curled edges pointing upwards.
In my dream, the woman used magic to stick the horn back on.
He didn't see how she did it. She just raised her hand, there was light, and then it was stuck on.
He recalled the magic that had appeared in the woman's hands.
The light was very faint; the woman's light was weak, like a candle flame about to go out.
Xia Li looked at him, lost in thought.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking about the magic you mentioned."
"You think it's fake?"
"No," he said, "it's just—"
He paused.
Is that the woman who can actually use magic?
So, she might be related to you?
"I just feel—" he said, "that if you could really use it, that would be great. I dreamt about that wicked woman last night; she also has magic. If you had magic, you wouldn't be afraid of her. And didn't you want to fly?"
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"What will you do when I fly?" she said.
I?
I'll ride my horse and fly with you.
"I run on the ground."
After a few seconds, Xia Li said again, "Then I won't fly."
Tao Xiang ran out of the east room, still chewing on something.
"Brother, Auntie said we're going to the market later, are you coming?"
Song Che stood up.
"go."
Taoxiang ran back again.
Song Che looked down at Xia Li.
She was still sitting, looking at her hands.
"Let's go," he said.
She stood up.
The two walked outside.
As Xia Li reached the door, she suddenly stopped.
"Song Che, is it almost New Year's Eve?"
"Yes, then we'll put up couplets, make dumplings, watch the Spring Festival Gala, and stay up all night on New Year's Eve."
She nodded.
"Anything else?"
"Setting off firecrackers," he said. "They're not allowed in the city now, but you can still set off a few in the countryside."
"What else?"
"Eat New Year's Eve dinner."
"besides?"
He thought about it.
"Give them lucky money."
Her eyes lit up.
"New Year's money?"
"Yes, it's from elders to younger generations." He paused, "My mom will probably give you one, just like last time, a big red envelope—so, do you want some New Year's money?"
"I want it, but the witch doesn't care about that," she said. "Hit doesn't have New Year's Eve."
He remembered her saying that witches live a long time and have seen many things, but she had never seen New Year's Eve.
I've never received New Year's money.
I've never experienced anything like this before—a family sitting together, eating a meal, chatting, and waiting for midnight to pass.
"So you'll get lucky money this year, and you'll also receive some," he said. "My mom will give it to me, and my dad might too."
She didn't say anything.
"I will give it to you too."
He regretted it as soon as he said it.
Give her New Year's money? He's over a hundred years younger than her. No, according to soul age, he's over two hundred years younger than her.
Although they look about the same size now.
But should I give her New Year's money?
Xia Li looked at him.
"You're giving it to me?"
"—Okay, let's go first. Mom's waiting."
He went out first, and Xia Li followed behind.
The sun was shining brightly in the yard. Zhang Shushu had already pushed the car out, and Tao Xiang was sitting on the back seat, swinging her legs back and forth.
Song Che went to push another car.
Xia Li walked to his side.
"How much is the New Year's money?"
"—It's not much, just the point."
She nodded.
"Then I'll give it to you too."
"Who are you giving it to?"
"for you."
He opened his mouth.
"You give out New Year's money? You're better than me."
He paused.
What makes her better than him?
Younger than her?
She was over two hundred years old, and he was eighteen.
By age, she was his ancestor.
But now she stood before him, her silver hair tousled by the wind, the tips of her ears seemingly still red, asking him how much New Year's money he had received.
He was speechless.
Xia Li waited for a while.
"Is that not allowed?"
"It's not that it can't be done," he said, "it's just—"
He paused again.
Xia Li looked at him.
"That's right—" he said, "New Year's money is given by elders to younger generations."
She nodded.
"Then I'll give it to you."
"Are you an elder?"
She thought about it.
"Yes, based on age."
Song Che was speechless.