Chapter 5 4. A Palm Strike Smacked into Reality
Zhang Luo went to the restroom.
Although going to the restroom was just an excuse to escape the situation from moments ago, once inside, one often gets that "since I'm already here" mentality. If he didn't go, it would feel like a wasted trip.
And often, at times like this, you discover that your bladder won't let you take a wasted trip.
"..."
After relieving himself, Zhang Luo went to wash his hands and shivered from the cold water spurting out of the faucet.
He froze.
Why was it so cold?
It was summer right now. If the water didn't feel warm, that was already good enough.
Then he remembered that Jiang Xiaoyu's family restaurant, to save on water bills, had the tap water connected to well water at this time—
The well had been dug decades ago and was still in use to this day.
This was something he hadn't remembered in eight hundred years. If memory were truly a house, this one was definitely the kind hidden in a forgotten nook and cranny.
This dream—
Wait, this dream?
From that shiver just now, why didn't he feel even the slightest urge to wake up?
Zhang Luo looked at the mirror stained with water spots in confusion.
The him in the mirror was him from fifteen years ago.
Objectively speaking, he really was quite handsome.
Uh, no, that wasn't what he needed to focus on—
This should be a dream, right?
But he had truly never had such a realistic dream before.
People dreaming could, within the dream, realize they were dreaming.
Right now, he was absolutely certain he was dreaming.
It was just that this dream was too realistic.
Every detail was present.
Even the red mark on his neck from who-knows-what.
If it weren't impossible, he would suspect he had been reborn.
But why was it impossible?
Because he fundamentally didn't believe such a thing could happen?
-
"Reborn?" Liang Fengying looked at Zhang Luo with an expression of *what kind of trouble is this brat stirring up now.* "You have a fever?"
"No, Mom, do you believe there are rebirths in this world?" At this moment, Zhang Luo's body trembled slightly from an inexplicable excitement within his heart.
Liang Fengying still looked disgusted. "Don't tell me I hit your head just now and knocked you stupid?"
"..." Zhang Luo's eyes suddenly widened.
Right, ever since he returned to this summer, Liang Fengying had already hit him twice.
Every strike was solid and real, hurting so much he bared his teeth!
The pain was real?!
Zhang Luo abruptly stood up, eyes wide.
The people at the neighboring table all looked at him in confusion, not understanding why he was suddenly making such a commotion.
Liang Fengying looked up at him. "Why are you suddenly standing up? Sit down."
Zhang Luo's cheeks were numb from over-excitement.
He raised one hand, looked at his slightly trembling palm, and took a deep breath.
"Mom, I want to do something."
Liang Fengying looked at him guardedly.
"What do you want to do?"
Zhang Luo: "I had a dream. In the dream, I mastered Iron Sand Palm. I think I really mastered it. I want to try—"
Liang Fengying: "What kind of fit are you throwing? If you're going to throw a fit, do it at home—"
Zhang Luo couldn't wait anymore. A palm strike, from top to bottom, slammed onto the table before him.
"Ah—"
"Ah—"
Zhang Luo and his mother cried out simultaneously.
Everyone in the restaurant looked over.
Liang Fengying looked at Zhang Luo in shock.
Zhang Luo clutched that hand of his, sucking in air frantically, his face flushed red, clearly in unbearable pain.
Yet, he was smiling.
He was smiling excitedly, even. Smiling, smiling, his eyes turned red, and crystalline tears streamed out.
Liang Fengying was dumbfounded.
She hurriedly grabbed the hand Zhang Luo had slapped the table with and scrutinized it. "Are you trying to die? What kind of fit is this?! Let me see, open your hand, let me see!"
Zhang Luo opened his hand.
"Mom."
He looked down at Liang Fengying.
Liang Fengying stomped her foot in anger, looked up, and glared at him, looking both anxious and heartbroken.
"It's fine," Zhang Luo said. "It doesn't even hurt that much."
Liang Fengying cursed loudly: "If I see you reading those trashy martial arts novels again, see if I don't beat you!"
Clearly, Liang Fengying had attributed Zhang Luo's momentary "mental breakdown" to wuxia novels.
Right now, Zhang Luo couldn't hear Liang Fengying's scolding at all.
He hugged Liang Fengying.
"Mom."
Liang Fengying froze.
The people beside them also froze.
None of the surrounding people understood what was happening.
Not far away, Jiang Xiaoyu also looked at Zhang Luo with a puzzled expression.
-
Zhang Luo had no recollection of how he finished that meal.
After he realized this wasn't a dream, his entire being fell into a state as if enveloped in clouds and mist—light and floating, ethereal and empty, his heart unable to settle, his hands and feet likewise.
He kept feeling this was fake, that this was impossible.
Although he had already proven in his own way that this should be real.
Immense joy, dreamlike and illusory.
Could life truly start over?
By the time Zhang Luo came back to his senses, he had already returned home with his mother.
Liang Fengying insisted on taking his temperature with a thermometer no matter what.
Zhang Luo had no choice but to sit down obediently under his mother's fierce, unwavering gaze and tuck the thermometer under his armpit.
His father returned at this time.
The key was inserted into the lock with a click.
"I'm back! Great harvest today!" His father's voice was jubilant.
It was in this voice that Zhang Luo landed from his floating state and returned to reality.
"Dad?!" Zhang Luo stood up excitedly.
Liang Fengying directly raised her hand, pointed at Zhang Luo, and pressed down from top to bottom.
"You sit there obediently and don't move!" Liang Fengying's voice was full of commanding, unquestionable firmness.
Zhang Luo's body instinctively sat back down.
But—
In the year Zhang Luo turned twenty-four, his father died of stomach cancer. After that, he never saw his father again.
No, that wasn't right. He couldn't say that.
Yes, he couldn't say that.
How many times had his father come to his dreams?
Zhang Luo watched that familiar figure walk in with a face full of jubilant smiles, and tears burst from his eyes.
"Dad!"
Zhang Zhiluo's footsteps immediately stopped.
"Son—" Zhang Zhiluo was dumbfounded. He glanced at the emotional, tearful Zhang Luo and subconsciously turned to look at Liang Fengying—his wife.
Liang Fengying cast him a sidelong glance. "All day long you only know how to fish with your lousy pole! Your son has lost his mind, don't you know?"
Zhang Zhiluo forced a laugh and hurriedly put down what he was holding. "Oh my, what happened? Son, did you make your mom angry again?"
He walked over and gently patted the back of Zhang Luo's head.
"You're a grown man. Why are you making your mom angry? Hurry up and apologize to your mom!"
Zhang Luo hugged his father.
"This is—" Even Zhang Zhiluo was startled.
Indeed, how would fifteen-year-old Zhang Luo easily hug his parents?
This wasn't something fifteen-year-old Zhang Luo would do.
The next second, Zhang Luo's expression changed drastically. He let go of Zhang Zhiluo and let out a dry heave.
"Ugh—"