Chapter 18: The Reason I Draw Near to You

Lin Xiao said nothing, quietly watching the scene unfolding at the dining table.

Before the flickering candlelight, "Lin Xiao" gently asked, "You treated me to such an extravagant dinner; it must have cost a fortune, right?"

Miss Zhang's eyes flickered with a hint of pain, but she quickly hardened her resolve. "My dear, for you, what’s a little money?"

She gazed foolishly at "Lin Xiao" bathed in the candlelight, her thick palms carefully holding a gold-rimmed bone china spoon, trembling as she scooped up a piece of translucent dried abalone.

"My dear~ Ah~ open your mouth~"

"Lin Xiao" obediently leaned forward slightly, taking the trembling abalone into his mouth.

Miss Zhang was instantly overwhelmed with emotion, her plump flesh quivering, the foundation on her triple chin cracking along fine lines like dried, cracked mud on a riverbed.

"Is it... delicious?" she asked, her voice full of eager anticipation.

"Yes, it's quite tasty."

Receiving such affirmation from her beloved, she was as excited as a child weighing 170 pounds.

"Really? That’s wonderful! Then try this!"

Miss Zhang hurriedly fumbled to grab a soup cup from afar, her flesh pressed tightly against the chair’s backrest in suffocating curves beneath her form-fitting evening gown.

The silk fabric groaned under the strain at her armpits, but she was oblivious, focused solely on bringing the soup cup before "Lin Xiao."

But "Lin Xiao" did not reach for the soup cup. Instead, he gently grasped her trembling wrist.

"Darling, don’t rush, have something to eat too."

Receiving the attention of her idol, Miss Zhang froze where she stood, eyes fixed on Lin Xiao’s long fingers. A small, animal-like whimper escaped her throat, yet she never dared to truly grasp his hand.

Under the candlelight, her smudged mascara blurred across her eyelids, but at the corner of her lips, a nearly reverent, foolish smile bloomed.

She clasped "Lin Xiao’s" hand, pressing its back against her cheek, closing her eyes in contentment.

The next moment, Lin Xiao felt the world spin wildly before him.

When he came to, he was back in Yang Shubai’s small shop.

"How do you feel now? What’s your impression?" Yang Shubai smiled triumphantly.

Lin Xiao remained silent, dazed by the mingling of dream and reality.

But Yang Shubai spoke first, laughing:
"No need to say. I understand how you feel. Many men’s looks at me make me want to vomit from disgust. I’d bet their minds are full of filthy thoughts!"

Lin Xiao shook his head, "No, I really wasn’t disgusted. I just felt sorry for her."

"Sorry?" Yang Shubai was surprised by his answer.

"Shouldn’t you feel disgust or anger? A woman five feet tall weighing 170 pounds, fantasizing about intimate moments with you in her dream!"

Lin Xiao answered earnestly, "She meant no harm. She didn’t demean me in her dream; on the contrary, she was very humble."

Under Yang Shubai’s puzzled gaze, Lin Xiao continued:
"That was her dream; she could have indulged herself however she pleased.
But she scrimped and saved to afford that dinner in her dream, and didn’t even dare to imagine I was paying for it.
Her greatest joy was simply watching me enjoy the food.
Throughout, she treated me as a godlike figure, and the only physical contact was a brief touch of hands—because subconsciously, she felt unworthy..."

Lin Xiao stopped there, feeling a pang of sadness. This was a girl so timid and self-deprecating she was even cautious in her dreams.

If a man had such a dream, he wouldn’t dare imagine how miserable the female lead would be.

Throughout Lin Xiao’s narration, Miss Zhang’s face flickered with curiosity, surprise, and admiration.

She sighed, finally asking, "But she uses you as the object of her fantasies. Don’t you mind at all?"

"There’s a little discomfort," Lin Xiao said softly, "but that’s her freedom. If you can’t even fantasize in dreams, life would be too bleak."

He genuinely understood that feeling. In his previous life, lacking handsome features, he endured countless beatings during courtship attempts.

The warm yellow light from the lounge softly illuminated Lin Xiao’s sharply defined profile, outlining him in a gentle golden glow.

Yang Shubai watched him quietly, then sighed softly after a long pause. "Lin Xiao, you really are different."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Yang Shubai’s voice softened unintentionally, "You’re so sincere. Even though you are the one offended, you always empathize with others."

She paused, smiling warmly. "That side of you... it’s truly..."

Likeable?

"Curious!"

Lin Xiao sensed the probing curiosity in her gaze, as if he had become an object of intense study.

He felt uneasy. "No no no, even if I’m a bit different, I’m basically just an ordinary man."

That was genuinely how he felt, and it was what he told Mr. Zhang yesterday.

But Yang Shubai stepped closer, leaning in. "I’ve met too many men who strut and show off like peacocks, trying to prove they’re different. And yet you tell me you’re ordinary?"

"Do I really have such research value to warrant this level of scrutiny?"

Lin Xiao sighed, choosing to be honest. "Miss Yang, what exactly interests you about me?"

"I like your straightforward way of speaking. Before, I might not have told you the truth. But tonight, I want to share my honest thoughts. I suspect you’re the only real thing in this illusory world."

"What?" Lin Xiao was momentarily stunned.

"You know I’m a dream-type ability user. Over the years, I’ve experienced countless dreams—mine and others’."

Yang Shubai’s white dress swayed slightly as she adjusted her sitting posture. "Every dream feels incredibly real. But if they’re all false, how can we prove we’re not just dreaming right now?"

Lin Xiao was taken aback. Was this the occupational hazard of a dream ability user?

Just as he, a memory ability user, often faced blurred self-identity from immersing too deeply in others’ memories.

He nodded, signaling understanding.

This open-hearted conversation seemed to relax Yang Shubai.

She curled her legs onto the chair, her pale arms wrapped around her knees, revealing a slender calf and ankle wrapped in white socks.

The scene was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Do you think it’s possible that our world isn’t real, that a higher-dimensional realm is watching us—even this conversation?"

Yang Shubai smiled and asked.

"Ah?" Lin Xiao blinked, shaking his head. "I don’t know."

Her doubts were not baseless; in his past life, such questions were lifelong puzzles for brilliant philosophers: the mind-body problem, the brain-in-a-vat hypothesis, Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream...

"But... what does this have to do with me?"

"To question this world, you need a fulcrum. You’re special. At first, I saw your dreams, then I realized your thinking is entirely different from others’.
Don’t worry, I mean no harm. I just want to quietly observe you."

Lin Xiao understood. She was looking for a flaw in this world, and to her, he was an obvious anomaly.

No wonder she gave him that watch. Such a valuable "research subject" couldn’t be discovered and taken by others.

"Don’t you think someday you’ll change this world?" Yang Shubai asked again.

"Future matters can wait," Lin Xiao shrugged. "Right now, I’m just a small player. No need for grand talk."

"Ding dong! Ding dong!"

As Yang Shubai prepared to speak, an alarm rang out.

"Time’s almost up. The client is about to wake," she glanced at her watch.

"By the way, Lin Xiao, I remember you need painful memories, right?"

Lin Xiao nodded. "Yes, they’re very useful to me."

"Then follow me. I’ll introduce you to this client. He’s truly suffering, and I hope you can help him."

Yang Shubai stood, the curves of her hips outlined beneath her white dress, firm and full.

Lin Xiao couldn’t help but glance once more, but only once.

Though tempting, his mind was focused solely on painful memories.

His current source energy had dwindled to just ten points. These days, it was only declining, which troubled him deeply.

He was determined to obtain this client’s painful memories.

Following Yang Shubai into the lounge, Lin Xiao saw an elderly man lying on the bed in the center of the room, dressed in a black security bureau uniform, about sixty years old, his resolute face etched with the marks of time.

Even with his eyes closed, his imposing presence was unmistakable, though his brows bore the weight of deep exhaustion.