“Fengze, I know you’re a woman,” Miss Duan said mysteriously as she leaned in close to Qiu Huan.

By now, the three of them were no longer in the main hall—though to be honest, it was never really meant for welcoming guests in the first place. To prevent the tragic scenario of customers leaving one after another because they couldn’t find the owner—after all, Qiu Huan was by nature lazy; if he could lie down, he’d never sit, let alone stand at the door greeting everyone—Shang Rong had reluctantly allowed the seating area in the main hall to remain: better to look a bit incongruous than downright shabby. So when it came to discussing business, they had to move into the inner room.

At that moment, only Qiu Huan and Duan Yunhe were in the inner room; Shang Rong had gone to brew tea… What are you asking? Who’s going to serve tea when Shang Rong isn’t here? Sorry, but during those hours our shop doesn’t even offer water—if you want to drink well water, you’ll just have to help yourself.

The inner chamber of Shuanglin Yuan was equally simple: on the south wall hung a landscape painting signed “Feng Ju,” which probably wasn’t by any renowned artist. On a cabinet along one side lay a long sword, its hilt bearing faint, years-old marks from constant gripping; the scabbard was very plain, with no carvings whatsoever, while the tassel was an unusual black, made of some strange material—not like ordinary silk thread.

Qiu Huan and Duan Yunhe sat facing each other. Miss Duan braced her hands on the table and straightened her upper body, bringing the two people separated only by the table closer together. Qiu Huan let out a soft sigh: “Miss Duan, well… it’s really not a secret, so you don’t have to be so careful about it.”

Indeed, Qiu Huan had never hidden her gender; whether she wore men’s or women’s clothes depended entirely on her mood. As for what others thought? That was the last thing she cared about.

Duan Yunhe looked a bit disappointed, pouted slightly after sitting down, then quickly forgot about her little annoyance.

“Please stop calling me ‘Miss Duan, Miss Duan’—just call me Yunhe, okay?” She gazed at Qiu Huan with great anticipation.

Like a little animal, Qiu Huan found herself amused by her.

“Yunhe.” Qiu Huan not only loved admiring beautiful people, but was also remarkably tolerant of them.

Duan Yunhe smiled, her eyes crinkling and her lips curling up sweetly.

Seeing her smile, Qiu Huan felt a soft spot in her heart, as if Duan Yunhe were completely unguarded around her—so different from the impression she’d made at first sight. It was like… a little bird that seemed so fierce would still chirp softly and affectionately at its mother.

“So, Yunhe, can I ask you two questions?”

“Sure, sure—go ahead, Fengze.”

Qiu Huan fixed her gaze on her eyes: “How did you find out about me? And once you found me, what were you planning to do?”

Duan Yunhe didn’t avoid Qiu Huan’s gaze, but her eyes flickered slightly, as if she didn’t know how to begin. Qiu Huan remained perfectly still, continuing to watch her intently.

“I… I know I have to tell you this, and the reason will sound pretty absurd—if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t believe it either… But I hope you’ll believe me, Fengze…” Miss Duan said hesitantly.

“I believe you,” Qiu Huan said with a reassuring smile.

Duan Yunhe seemed to have made up her mind, nodded slightly, and began: “Ever since my twelfth birthday, I’ve often had bizarre, outlandish dreams. At first, I thought I must have been having nightmares, but as I grew older, those dreams didn’t stop—they actually became more and more frequent.

“Though they’re strange, they’re not really nightmares; they just bring up all sorts of odd things. For example, four-wheeled vehicles that zoom by incredibly fast—in my dreams, they’re called automobiles—and telephones that let you talk across thousands of miles, and so on.

“Fengze, do you know? I think it’s not really a dream—it might be something from my past life, or maybe some immortal told me I had to accomplish something, which is why I keep seeing these scenes.” She paused for a moment, noticing that Qiu Huan showed no sign of mocking her, and a trace of gratitude appeared in her eyes.

“The world in those dreams is full of marvelous things: marriage is only between one man and one woman, and all women are allowed to work outside the home…

“Oh, I’ve talked too much,” the girl said sheepishly, sticking out her tongue. “As for you, here’s what happened: six months ago, I accidentally fell into the water in a dream, and after that I never dreamed of that wonderful place again. Before I fell in, though, I was reading a book—but I can’t remember exactly what it was about. All I vaguely recall is something about a jam shop in Wushu, Qiu Huan, Qiu Fengze, Yuan Mo, and so on—”

End of Chapter 2: Dreams Are Hard to Distinguish