Chapter 34: A Significant Gain from Dreaming

To Zhang Yang, even the entertainment industry’s opportunity guidebook could serve as a diagnostic tool.

When he first received the role of Zhao Kuangyin, he had been eager to attempt entering dreams. On one hand, he wanted to experience dream entry firsthand for analysis; on the other, there was value in inheriting some talents and abilities from this character through dreaming.

However, when he tried to enter a dream state, the guidebook cautioned him against it. The reason being that in Prestige Imperial Concubine, Zhao Kuangyin’s role was too minor—even falling short of qualifying as a significant supporting character.

This limitation was part of why Zhang Yang sought to increase his own screen time within the drama—a move that fortunately paid off well.

A wave of drowsiness washed over Zhang Yang. As his body slipped into slumber, he paradoxically became more attuned to his surroundings, as if observing them from an omniscient perspective.

Before he could fully process this sensation, everything spun around him, and his consciousness found itself transported to a new world.

Drip… drip…

The sound of raindrops pattering onto leaves echoed continuously.

After a momentary haze, Zhang Yang realized he was kneeling beside a small stream. In its flowing waters, he saw reflected a face—ordinary yet familiar—it was his own.

“The realism is astonishing,” he mused. “If not for knowing better, I’d think I’ve actually traveled through time.”

Digesting fragments of information in his mind, Zhang Yang gazed at the staff he held in his hands.

This weapon consisted of two sections connected by an iron ring—one shorter, one longer—a folk implement known as a “tethered stick,” and considered the precursor to the modern double-edged staff.

“So this is Emperor Taizu’s Dragon Coiled Staff,” he murmured.

Zhang Yang slowly rose to his feet, swinging the long staff with surprising ease.

Zhao Kuangyin, founder of the Song Dynasty, had been renowned for his mastery of two martial arts: the Imperial Ancestor Long Fist technique and the Imperial Ancestor Dragon Coiled Staff method.

The Imperial Ancestor Long Fist comprised thirty-two forms, earning it the title “Mother of a Hundred Fists.” Its influence could be seen in various subsequent styles such as the Qi Family Fist and Tai Chi Chuan.

The Imperial Ancestor Dragon Coiled Staff, meanwhile, was hailed as the progenitor of all staff techniques. It allowed Zhao Kuangyin unparalleled dominance on the battlefield; legend spoke of how he alone, armed with this dragon-coiled staff, had vanquished eighty-one military states across the land.

“Not far from here lies Clear Oil Temple in Taiyuan.”

Putting away the long staff, Zhang Yang set off towards the faintly visible Daoist temple in the distance.

Meanwhile, within the confines of that very temple, four or five figures huddled around a fire pit, indulging in wine and meat with gusto.

“Old Fifth,” said one man, addressing another seated nearby, “our expedition down the mountain yielded little today. We’ll surely face punishment from the leader when we return to the stronghold. But thanks to your keen eyes spotting this maiden—it might just earn you a few taels of silver later.”

“Many thanks, Third Brother,” one of them said. “This little maiden was meant for you all along.”

“I’m afraid I’m not so fortunate as to accept such a gift,” replied the bearded man leading the group. “Even our headman’s wife isn’t as pleasing as this beauty. The second-in-command once told us: ‘A fool may find solace in wine, but true wealth intoxicates.’ We’re simply unworthy.”

“Third Brother, I must disagree,” interjected another member, known as Fourth Brother. “You’ve been an invaluable asset to our stronghold. Surely you deserve some rest with that woman at least.”

“No, no…” The bearded leader shook his head firmly.

He understood well the desires of these young men—to savor the scent of a beautiful woman. But this particular prize had been set aside for the headman himself; it was both a token of immunity from punishment and a path towards greater status within the band. He couldn’t allow it to be compromised.

Seeing they could not sway their leader’s decision, the others fell silent and continued drinking and feasting without further comment.

The bearded man drank more than anyone else, quickly succumbing to slumber and snoring loudly. His companions soon followed suit, dozing off in various states of disarray.

Moments later, a slender figure—the monkey-like Fourth Brother—opened his eyes, firelight flickering in his pupils like twin embers. Ensuring the others were deeply asleep, he quietly rose and padded towards the narrow space behind the stone statue in the main hall. With practiced ease, he began unfastening his belt.

“Sweet mother of— I’ve never seen such a fair and tender young woman,” he muttered. “Even if I die today, I must savor this moment with her.”

In the shadowy area behind the stone statue lay a woman dressed in long white robes. Her hands and feet were bound by hemp ropes, and a torn cloth was stuffed into her mouth.

Her skin gleamed whiter than snow, her features exquisite and delicate. The corners of her eyes held traces of bewitching charm, yet they now reflected confusion and terror. Tears still lingered at the edges of her gaze.

She recalled how her parents had fallen to marauding soldiers’ blades. In their escape, she and her maid had been ambushed by bandits halfway through their journey. The maid sacrificed herself to protect her charge, leaving the young woman unconscious after tumbling from the carriage. When she came to, she found herself tied up just as she was now—here, in this place.

Crack.

The sound of a twig snapping echoed through the air.

Instinctively, she turned her head only to meet the lecherous stare of a gaunt man, his face as angular as a monkey’s.

“The little miss is awake—perfect timing for experiencing the pinnacle of earthly pleasure,” he rasped.

The gaunt figure crouched down, reaching out to untie the woman’s clothes.

“No…no…” She frantically shook her head, her eyes pleading with all her desperation.

But her struggles only served to awaken the bestial nature within the gaunt man.

In that critical instant, a long pole shattered the window on one side, hurtling through the air to strike true against the gaunt man’s chest.

Thud.

The scrawny man flew several meters backward, coughing up mouthfuls of blood before his neck buckled and he crumpled lifeless to the ground.

The woman’s eyes widened in shock as she watched another figure break through the window and leap into the room.

He was tall and robust, with a stern countenance that bespoke authority. His eyes gleamed with intelligence, and his bearing exuded an air of noble dignity.

In that instant, Zhao Jingniang etched his face deep into her heart.

“Who dares disturb this place?!” A thunderous voice boomed from ahead.

It was none other than Zhang Yang himself. Upon seeing Zhao Jingniang, identical to Nazha down to the last detail, he felt an uncanny sense of familiarity—a feeling as if they were destined to meet.

Rather than wasting breath on words, Zhang Yang charged into action, engaging the bandits in fierce combat within the grand hall. Though these rogues had just finished their drinking session, despite maintaining some vigilance, they stood no chance against Zhang Yang.

Before he could complete even one full set of Imperial Ancestor Long Fist techniques, each bandit had been sent flying, clutching at their throats as they met their untimely end—quite literally, “boxed lunches” for all involved.

Zhang Yang sensed an inexhaustible wellspring of power coursing through him, wondering whether perhaps this dream realm granted him such abilities by default.

With the bandits dispatched, he moved swiftly to rescue Zhao Jingniang from her confinement. His gallant demeanor and courteous mannerisms left a profound impression on her.

Upon learning that both shared the surname Zhao, they immediately adopted brother-sister kinship, addressing each other intimately.

“Fear not, my sister,” Zhang Yang reassured her gently. “Though Puzhou lies far across a thousand miles, I will ensure your safe return home.”

After settling Zhao Jingniang comfortably onto a carriage, Zhang Yang embarked on his protective mission. Along the way, they encountered various troubles, but every challenge fell effortlessly to Zhang Yang’s resolve and strength.

As days turned into weeks, constant companionship inevitably fostered affection. The way Zhao Jingniang gazed upon Zhang Yang began to change subtly over time, her eyes now reflecting something more than mere gratitude or admiration—a tender sentiment blossoming beneath the surface.

Upon reaching Puzhou, Zhao Jingniang could no longer suppress her feelings. She confessed to Zhang Yang, “Brother, all the world’s splendor exists for you alone. My heart belongs only to you.”

Zhang Yang understood her sentiment but replied firmly, “A true man sets his sights on the entire realm.”

As he rode away amidst Zhao Jingniang’s lingering, yearning gaze, little did either know that their paths would cross again—one as Emperor Taizu of Song, the other as an abbess in a Buddhist convent.

Swish!

Lying on his bed, Zhang Yang’s eyes suddenly snapped open.

Countless pieces of information flooded his mind, while subtle changes began to occur within his body. In moments, his eyes gleamed with newfound knowledge.

“The complete Imperial Ancestor Long Fist, Imperial Ancestor Dragon Coiled Staff, and even Emperor Taizu’s calligraphy—all at my fingertips,” he marveled inwardly. “Even the muscle memory is there.”

This dream had been immensely fruitful. Had he lived in ancient times, he might have styled himself as a “Young Emperor Taizu.” With Zhao Kuangyin’s martial experience and muscle memory etched into his being, achieving mastery in these arts would be a breeze through diligent practice alone.

“It’s already 8 AM,” Zhang Yang noted, glancing at his phone before swiftly getting up to wash and dress. He then approached Nazha’s room, pressing the doorbell.

Shortly after, the door opened to reveal Nazha—a face naturally beautiful yet devoid of makeup—standing before him. Upon seeing Zhang Yang, her eyes lit up with delight, her smile blossoming like a flower. “Brother!”

Zhang Yang stared, momentarily speechless.