Chapter 2: Eighteen Years in a Dream

On the platform, the geometry teacher was lecturing with expressive animation.

Inside the classroom, most students were listening attentively, while a few whispered quietly. Often, many classmates cast glances at Su Chunfeng, who seemed lost in thought, and Yao Xinbo behind him, whose spirit was low as he slumped with his head drooping.

The classmates were still immersed in the confusion and shock of the earlier event.

It was unbelievably strange!

Seated right next to Su Chunfeng was Wang Haifei; occupying the outer seat of this desk was Zhang Lifei—both girls were Su Chunfeng’s deskmates.

This wasn’t strange.

Actually, in this class—to be precise, across all three grades and six classes at Dongwangzhuang Township Middle School—over two-thirds of the desks were shared by three students. As the county’s key middle school, its teaching quality and student advancement rate were significantly higher than other rural schools. Naturally, many parents, willing to pay considerable fees hefty for rural incomes in the early 1990s, pushed their children into this school. Resultantly, classes designed for no more than forty students now crammed in at least seventy to eighty, sometimes nearing a hundred at its peak.

At this moment, Su Chunfeng, outwardly calm, sighed inwardly at his frail body. “Just a minor Art Casting caused such Natural Backlash… unstable heart rate, aching meridians, dizziness and head heaviness… If not for my strong spirit, I probably couldn’t even have managed that tiny technique.”

Earlier, he had used a psychological intimidation technique.

Simply put, it was hypnosis—instantly triggering the target’s deepest subconscious fears. In more complex terms, it guided nearby magnetic fields to influence a person’s Qi Field and consciousness, creating false sensory perceptions.

This wasn’t rare. Most supernatural phenomena encountered or witnessed daily were often just such techniques cast by Occultists/Mages.

Occultists/Mages could generally do this.

However, performing such minor techniques casually without needing Talismans, formations, or other aids—indeed, without any prior preparation—required cultivation at least reaching the realm of “Qi Refining.”

After brief reflection, Su Chunfeng quickly dismissed the matter.

Though he accepted having returned to 1995 via rebirth, he remained filled with uncertainty. Many overlapping yet crystal-clear memories flooded his mind, playing like movie scenes, leaving him feeling caught in another dream.

If his past, or rather future, life indeed existed…

Then he should have been one of the mere dozen globally to achieve the “Awakening Spirit Realm,” a young prodigy widely acknowledged as a genius within the mysterious Jianghu of Esoteric Arts. He was the singular inheritor of the Esoteric Arts—feared, despised, and ostracized by many practitioners!

If all memories and the present were just a dream, he earnestly wished this beautiful dream would never end. Yet, he dreaded it ending suddenly, terrified even more of the heart-wrenching nightmare within this dream.

Which vivid life experience was truly not a dream?

Su Chunfeng’s thoughts drifted…

An elbow nudged him gently, snapping him from his daze. A small note slid in front of him: “What’s wrong?”

Turning, he met Wang Haifei’s clear eyes, filled with concern and confusion.

Zhang Lifei also looked at him curiously.

Minutes prior, Yao Xinbo—a usually vicious bully tormenting the meek Su Chunfeng—abruptly transformed. He became a sniveling, kneeling weakling begging for mercy. This stark reversal brought relief to Zhang Lifei and Wang Haifei, whom Yao Xinbo had humiliated, but also immense curiosity, like their classmates.

Passing a note?

Seeing the note, Su Chunfeng felt a sweet nostalgia. He picked up a ballpoint pen, scribbled firmly: “Fine. All good.”

His characters were strong, swift, surprisingly refined.

Wang Haifei blinked. The style resembled his usual writing but seemed freer, more flowing—unexpectedly mature for a middle-schooler.

Zhang Lifei also noted the handsome handwriting but didn’t dwell on it. She snatched the note, scrawling quickly: “What did you DO? How did you scare Yao Xinbo like that?” She pushed it back, sticking her tongue out playfully.

Reading it, Su Chunfeng shook his head, suppressing a laugh. He didn’t reply.

Back in middle school, like many boys, he’d secretly fancied Zhang Lifei—a naturally pretty, cheerfully popular girl. He’d written clumsy notes and love letters folded into cranes or heart shapes, too timid to hand them over. He’d just tear them up after daydreaming.

If Zhang Lifei was a cheerful songbird, Wang Haifei was like a lotus bud in a pond—not strikingly beautiful, not yet bloomed, but graceful and simply elegant.

Back then, Su Chunfeng only admired Zhang Lifei platonically.

With Wang Haifei? Just like most first loves—awkwardly sweet. No confessions, just mutual understanding. No grand promises, just shared moments filling youthful confusion about love.

Seeing Su Chunfeng lose focus again instead of replying, Zhang Lifei pouted, slightly irked. She grabbed the note again: “Scared him badly? Wait for the Homeroom Teacher to scold you!”

As she passed it, Wang Haifei intercepted it, adding: “Don’t worry. I’ll back you up. He hit you first.”

Observing their actions, expressions, and the note, Su Chunfeng sighed emotionally. He wrote swiftly: “I don’t know really… Thanks for caring.”

Wang Haifei blushed.

Zhang Lifei rolled her eyes, stuck her tongue out, and turned away.

Their reactions puzzled him briefly. Then he almost chuckled—the word “caring” was sensitive between male and female classmates then.

The thought triggered a painful memory leap—sharp, heart-rending agony.

He recalled how, after graduation, obsession with the Esoteric Arts consumed him. He cut contact with Wang Haifei. Years later, on Capital City’s street, a now-college-graduated Wang Haifei bravely greeted him. But he, new to the Jianghu of Esoteric Arts amidst dangers, coldly rebuffed her. That decision, heartbreakingly, led to her innocent death at ruthless hands…

Enraged, young Su Chunfeng raged violently, swiftly gaining notoriety across the Jianghu, exposing his Esoteric Arts inheritance and making countless enemies.

Closing his eyes now, Su Chunfeng sighed inwardly:

“Life’s a dream. Cherish what you have. Only when lost do you realize its worth… but regret comes too late.”

He wasn’t as strong as he thought.

When memory jumped to the great battle ending his prior life, his parents’ accidental death… Su Chunfeng shuddered. “A remembered past life? Time reversal? Or heaven granting a fresh start?”

If so…

He must avoid that Jianghu of Esoteric Arts!

Resolved, Su Chunfeng’s gaze sharpened, shadowed by instinctive wariness. As a technique expert, he analyzed anomalies professionally. This inexplicable rebirth: his final moments from his past life, the hours before his rebirth here—those crucial memories were mysteriously missing. All technique use or strange phenomena affected natural laws.

Then… Why this rebirth?

Were his parents and little brother safe?

Suddenly, Su Chunfeng stood, urgently: “Move. I need out.”

Zhang Lifei and Wang Haifei jumped, startled by his fierce expression. Alarmed and puzzled, they scooted into the cramped aisle without thinking of the ongoing class.

Su Chunfeng squeezed past desks, scowling as he strode to the door.

Lecturer Guo Fa flew into a rage, frowning as he snapped, “Su Chunfeng? Where are you going?!”

Su Chunfeng was already in the corridor. Hearing the shout, he realized his impropriety but pressed on urgently: “An emergency. I’ll explain later—” With that, he dashed off.

The class erupted.

First terrifying Yao Xinbo inexplicably? Now brazenly leaving Guo Fa’s class? Ignoring shouts? What happened to meek Su Chunfeng?!

A student gasped: “Oh no! Look, the Homeroom Teacher!”

Peering out, students saw Su Chunfeng’s headlong dash down the path near the labs—straight into middle-aged Li Jichun—the tall, burly Homeroom Teacher of Class 14. Though not explosive, Li Jichun’s sternness earned him reputed intimidation at Dongwangzhuang Township Middle School.

Su Chunfeng, just feeling momentary regret, immediately spun an excuse as Li Jichun stormed towards him: “Teacher Li! A family emergency! I must rush home!”

Li Jichun frowned but considered: Su Chunfeng, although middling academically and usually unruly, was timid—never caused trouble. Such desperate urgency must mean real trouble. Relenting gently, he nodded: “Alright. Be quick.”

“Thank you!” Su Chunfeng darted toward the dorms.

After he vanished, Li Jichun wondered aloud: “Family trouble? How’d he know?”—Mobile phones didn’t exist yet. Landlines were scarce.

Watching this, Class 14 buzzed louder…

Defying teachers so audaciously? Rebellious teens secretly idolized such nerve.

Meanwhile, Yao Xinbo—ashamed and shaky earlier—now glowered resentfully. Thinking back through his raw terror, he found his fear baffling. Why did Su Chunfeng seem so monstrously scary—like the ghouls in ancient ghost movies? That had made him sob pathetically in front of everyone!

“This isn’t over!” Yao Xinbo muttered venomously. Yet recalling the incident vividly, he shuddered involuntarily.