Chapter 107: Has the Sister-in-Law's Affection Turned Sour?

At the foot of the mountain where the manor stood, a luxury sedan was parked in silence.

The door opened, and Su Hao, draped in a suit, stepped out slowly. He leaned against the car, a cigar clamped between his lips. After lighting it, he gazed quietly at the brightly lit manor atop the mountain.

"Grandfather, I am so sorry... A Dream Disaster has erupted, and you and little sister Yu have been tragically claimed by it. Your grandson is filled with such grief."

The corners of Su Hao's mouth twitched as he struggled to force a sorrowful expression onto his face. The drizzling rain beat against his skin, bringing a touch of chill, yet it could not extinguish the burning heat within his heart.

Behind him, a tall, blond, blue-eyed man in a black trench coat emerged, followed by several others with similar features. This was a team of Dream Weavers Su Hao had brought back from abroad—a team that served him exclusively. Having provided them with ample money and even forbidden artifacts, they naturally served his interests.

"Master Su, rest assured. Leave this to me. My brother is a national-level Dream Weaver in the Federation. Please trust in my reputation; you can sit back and wait for the good news," the tall, blond man said, spreading his hands with a brilliant smile.

Su Hao looked at the man and wore a smile of his own. This was the Dream Weaver team he had hired at great expense after returning from his studies in the foreign Federation, all for the sake of today's plan. A mysterious forbidden artifact, combined with a foreign team of Dream Weavers, had cost him nearly his entire fortune. Yet, Su Hao did not care. After tonight, he would earn it back a thousand, ten thousand times over. After tonight, he would become the heir to the Su Group. No one knew exactly how vast the Su Group’s wealth was—not even Su Hao himself—but that didn't matter; he would know everything soon enough.

"Kamon, my grandfather and sister will die in the Dream Disaster. However, those Dream Weavers from Jinling City might not. What I need you to do is simple..." Su Hao puffed on his cigar, looking at the Federation Dream Weaver, and raised his hand to make a throat-slitting gesture. "Kill them in reality. With your abilities, you can do it. Make it clean and thorough."

Su Hao laughed.

Kamon, the Federation Dream Weaver, tilted his head. "Killing Dream Weavers in this country... the risks are immense if exposed. Furthermore, according to my intel, among the Dream Weavers caught in this disaster is one named Zhang Changlin, who just killed a City-Destroying level powerhouse."

"To kill this person alone, it will cost an extra hundred million, plus a mid-grade forbidden artifact," Kamon stated.

Su Hao puffed on his cigarette, his eyes turning slightly sinister. After a long moment, he laughed dismissively. "Fine. As long as you eliminate these troublesome Dream Weavers and make it look like they died in the disaster, money is no issue, and neither are forbidden artifacts."

Once the old man was dead, any one of the forbidden artifacts from his collection would be enough to pay off this blond man. In truth, Su Hao did not wish to offend this team from the Federation over a little pocket change. As Kamon had said, his brother was a national-level Dream Weaver—a status Su Hao knew well. They were individuals who stood at the pinnacle of humanity. Therefore, Su Hao did not want to offend them; after all, he still needed this team to completely control the Su family.

Watching Kamon and his teammates disappear into the night, shattering the drizzle as they ran toward the manor on the mountain, Su Hao leaned back against the luxury car. Inside, the high-end sound system played melodic, upbeat Federation music. With a cigar in his mouth and leather shoes on his feet, Su Hao couldn't help but want to dance right there to the beat.

...

The Dream Disaster came too quickly, like a gust of wind. In an instant, it enveloped the entire manor, sealing it off completely. A cold aura, coupled with the "la-la-la-la" singing that echoed incessantly in the ears of everyone in the manor, sent shivers down their spines and stirred uncontrollable fear in their hearts.

Standing in the long corridor, Zhang Changlin and Su Jiuming did not move. The scene before their eyes began to shift constantly; the corridor, once paved with high-end carpet, began to look incredibly dilapidated, like a castle left abandoned for hundreds of years. The expressive, abstract paintings on the walls underwent changes as well, each one appearing to ooze blood.

Beside Zhang Changlin, Su Jiuming had vanished, clearly forcibly separated by the anomalies within the Dream Disaster. Zhang Changlin felt a sudden headache. "To be able to forcibly isolate people who have entered the Dream Disaster... the level of this disaster is definitely not low. This shouldn't be happening—how can a man-made Dream Disaster be of such a high level?"

Zhang Changlin was puzzled. Could it really be his rotten luck... that somehow altered the level of the disaster? He felt like his luck should have been turning around by now.

He walked forward slowly along the corridor. At the end of the hallway, light flickered through the gaps of a door. He pushed it open, and dust billowed out. What met his eyes was not the familiar dining room, but a small chamber. It was not large, featuring a square table. Three trembling figures sat around the table, each with a white candle lit beside them. Some wore waiter uniforms, others maid or chef attire; they were clearly staff from the manor.

The three sat around the table, staring at Zhang Changlin in terror.

"Three missing one?" Zhang Changlin muttered, his mouth twitching. A square table, three people... wasn't this the classic setup for a game of Mahjong? He looked at the table, but to his disappointment, there was no Mahjong set. All he saw was a pen lying quietly on the table.

"A pen?" Zhang Changlin frowned slightly. His Dream Spirit began to quietly release, attempting to probe for the location of the anomaly. However, as soon as his Dream Spirit touched the air, he felt as if it were being bitten by a force. This sensation made him immediately retract his perception. His expression turned solemn; this Dream Disaster was dangerous. If he chose to force his way through, he felt he might not be able to defeat the entity within.

Yet, Zhang Changlin was anxious. The Dream Disaster had erupted in the manor, where there were many ordinary people, including the richest man in Jinling, Old Man Su. If he couldn't make it in time, that was one thing, but the Wildfire Team was already inside this disaster; it was their duty to clear it as quickly as possible.

"I have to find a way to break this disaster quickly," Zhang Changlin muttered. He stepped forward and sat in the chair. To clear this bizarre disaster, he had to immerse himself in it.

As soon as he sat down, he noticed a white candle in front of him ignite automatically. Its flickering flame seemed to reflect his own face. Suddenly, Zhang Changlin felt his body become unresponsive. The three figures at the square table also trembled, their hands moving involuntarily. Zhang Changlin’s hands moved, too, against his will. Four palms overlapped to grip the pen lying on the table.

With the tip pointing toward the tabletop, the four arms crossed to form a "cross" shape.

*Creak, creak...*

Zhang Changlin felt the pen moving on its own. The candle flames seemed to dance up and down, and the tip of the pen kept drawing circles on the table, moving slowly with a harsh, bone-chilling sound. Zhang Changlin stared at the tip; an incomparable terror seemed to emanate from the pen.

Zhang Changlin’s pupils contracted. He understood! This Dream Disaster was lethal. People were destined to die. Whoever the pen tip stopped in front of, that person’s white candle would be extinguished, the surroundings would fall into pitch-black darkness, and the entity would emerge from the shadows to claim their life!

Zhang Changlin gasped. The entity chose its target... did this all depend on luck? There was no pattern to follow!

Suddenly! The harsh, ear-piercing friction of the pen tip stopped. The pen, held by the hands of the four people, had stopped directly in front of Zhang Changlin. The white candle flame flickered, illuminating Zhang Changlin’s face, which had turned as black as ink.

Zhang Changlin: (?_?)

Sure enough, this kind of work that relied on luck... was not for him!

*Puff!*

The white candle flame in front of Zhang Changlin was extinguished instantly, and blue smoke rose from the candle toward the ceiling! Zhang Changlin felt his scalp crawl; he felt pale, cold fingers slowly reach out from both sides of his cheeks, gripping his face from behind...

...

The "la-la-la-la" sound continued to echo in his ears. According to Luoluo, this was the voice of his sister-in-law. The Dream Disaster had swept in, pulling everyone into the dream. Du Fang felt the force pulling him in was not strong, but he plunged into it anyway. After all, he had to find his sister-in-law.

The scene before him began to shift like spreading ripples. Du Fang opened his eyes and looked around. He found himself in an art studio. The air was filled with the scent of pigments and the smell of various plaster statues. Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a gentle breeze blew the curtains, causing them to flutter. A soft melody lingered in the room.

The scene was incredibly warm, like a moment from a lighthearted youth film where the protagonist meets their love interest. The air even seemed to bristle with the scent of hormones.

Du Fang frowned, feeling something was wrong. Why did it smell like hormones? He was here to find his sister-in-law, for the sake of pure family affection. Surely this affection hadn't turned sour, had it?

Looking at the high-stacked easels, each holding an unfinished painting, Du Fang paused. At the far end, he saw an easel where a woman with hair like a cascading waterfall sat, working on an unfinished sketch. The sketch depicted a man... whose side profile was incredibly familiar.

Du Fang stared at the painting, stunned. Was that not him? The young girl in front of the easel raised a delicate hand, holding a pen. The tip scratched against the paper, the *hissing* sound never ending.

*La-la-la-la~*

The soft, melodious singing came from the girl’s lips.

Suddenly, Du Fang jolted back to his senses. He realized that, without knowing when, he had walked to the easel and stood behind the girl with the cascading black hair. He had slowly bent his body, pressing his chest against the girl's back, and reached out to grasp her delicate hand, which held the pen, guiding it to grind against the paper.

Du Fang: "??!"