Chapter Fifty-One: Dreamscape 2

“Daddy, wake up!” came his little daughter Susu’s voice. Roused from sleep, Long Yu was momentarily stunned.

“Who is this?” he wondered, but before he could voice his question, a flood of memories surged through his mind.

Last night, he’d dreamed a long and vivid dream: he saw himself in the midst of an apocalypse, became a tour guide, journeyed into the mountains, and entered a mysterious realm. There, he completed a trial, saved his parents and younger sister from the nightmare, and, through a twist of fate, found himself in a small town.

Still absorbing the dream, Long Yu felt his daughter run up to his side.

“Daddy!” the little girl called, her childish voice sweet as she stretched out her tiny arms, wanting to be embraced.

“Good girl.” With a gentle smile, Long Yu opened his arms and gathered her up.

This was his daughter, and at that moment, his wife stood in the doorway, watching them with a radiant smile.

Long Yu worked as a middle school teacher in Qingshan Town. His wife was also a teacher at the same school. The two had met in college and, lacking grand ambitions, returned home after graduation to become teachers. Their life after marriage was sweet—full of love and affection—and with the arrival of their precious daughter, happiness seemed complete.

“All right, enough. Time to get up! What’s the matter with you today? Don’t you know you have the first class this morning? Hurry now!” his wife chided gently, half worried he’d be late.

Long Yu was usually an early riser. It was rare for even his daughter to wake before him, and his wife found it odd.

“Ah!” Long Yu exclaimed, suddenly remembering his morning class.

He hurriedly gulped down a few bites of breakfast, then dashed out the door, arriving in the classroom just as the bell rang—thankfully, not late.

His wife had no classes that morning and would take care of dropping their daughter off at school, so he had nothing to worry about on that score.

Yet during class, Long Yu found his mind wandering, again and again recalling the dream from the night before. It felt like more than a dream—so real, he almost doubted it was fiction.

Everything seemed to have happened for real: his parents’ faces were vivid in his memory, and his sister Luo Wanqing’s tear-stained cheeks haunted him.

“Enough,” Long Yu told himself, shaking off the thoughts and focusing on his lesson.

But disaster crept upon them without warning.

At some unknown moment, all the domestic fowl, pets, and other animals began to mutate.

“Run! There’s a mad dog!” a man’s shout cut through the morning bustle of the small town, drawing everyone’s attention.

Most people looked at him curiously, not understanding what was happening. Some stood where they were, watching; some even approached him, wanting to see what the fuss was about; others simply went on with their affairs. Few took his words seriously.

After all, what threat could one rabid dog pose among so many people?

They quickly realized how wrong they were.

When a dozen people, armed with shovels, sickles, and whatever came to hand, tried to fend off the mad dog—only to be killed instead—and when one among them was torn open by the black beast, everyone saw the truth.

Panic erupted. People scattered, terrified, their composure vanishing.

But as they fled, they discovered the horror was not confined to a single dog. Other pets, poultry, and even hated rats had gone berserk.

The mutated animals, wild and untamed, turned on their former masters in a frenzy, as if the mutation had unleashed long-suppressed instincts—or perhaps, with newfound power, they were taking revenge on those who had once oppressed them.

The entire town was thrown into chaos—screams, cries for help, and agonized wails merged into a cacophony.

The school was located on the outskirts of town, relatively isolated, and its grounds were enclosed. There were few animals inside. Thus, Long Yu, teaching in his classroom, was oblivious to the turmoil outside.

“This is a very important point; you all must remember—”

A piercing scream for help interrupted him.

“What’s going on?” Long Yu wondered, alarmed.

“Stay in the classroom,” he instructed his students. “I’ll go see what’s happening.” With that, he walked out alone.

His students, heeding his words, crowded the windows to watch, but none dared to leave.

Other teachers had come out as well, all looking at each other in confusion, unaware of the situation.

The commotion was soon explained: the cries came from outside the main gate. Through the iron bars, they saw a brownish-yellow dog viciously tearing at something.

A few curious teachers drew closer, then shouted in horror: “It’s a person! The dog is eating a person!”

Hearing this, some timid female teachers drew back in fright, while several male teachers rushed forward, hoping to rescue the victim from the dog’s jaws.

Unlike them, Long Yu did not run to help. The moment he heard the news, he recalled the incredibly vivid dream: “All life is beginning to evolve. The apocalypse is here! Humanity’s calamity—celebration for all other races!”

He thought too of the power he’d possessed in the dream.

Was this the prologue to that disaster? If so, could he still gain that strength?

While others rushed to save the victim, Long Yu remained motionless. If his dream was true, this was no ordinary rabid dog—it had evolved, and unarmed people stood no chance.

So he waited, wanting to see what would happen.

He was not disappointed. As the group drew within ten meters, the dog, which had been crouched over its meal, suddenly sprang into action.

With lightning speed, it brought one man down and, before anyone could react, bit into his neck. Blood spurted like a fountain, splashing those nearby.

The man died in confusion, never understanding what had happened—his face still frozen in anger at seeing the dog eat a person, and the urgency of his attempt to save a life.

Everyone was stunned. The dog gave them no time to recover—another lunge, another torn throat. Then another. Only after three had fallen did the crowd finally react and flee in terror.

Once the people had retreated, the dog did not pursue. Instead, it dragged the bodies aside and began to feed.

Perhaps, having killed enough and with food aplenty, it saw no reason to chase down the others.