Ancestors are ancestors, and Fang Canran is Fang Canran. Individuals inherit the relics of their ancestors, but they may not inherit their will.

Time is the end of all beliefs.

Once He Lingchuan makes a wrong judgment, what awaits him may be a devastating disaster.

"Let's take a closer look. Today's contact is at least a good start."

He sat down to meditate and adjust his breath, and it took him two hours to finish.

He Lingchuan played the flute for a while longer, then took out the small town dreamland that Dunyuan had found for him, placed it on his pillow, and fell asleep peacefully.

…

As soon as he entered Panlong City, he stood under the Juluo tree.

The tree is green and swaying in the wind. It is already taller and taller than other street trees by the river.

He patted the tree: "When will another golden leaf grow for me?"

Ju Luoshu naturally ignored it.

Instead, the weird head on the tree shouted: "Hey, what are you talking about with a tree? Where is my dreamland?"

"You can see it when you go out." He Lingchuan took it off the branch, shook it twice, and found that it became lighter again.

No matter how erratic the monster head is in reality, coming and going freely, in Panlong City, it can only be hung on a branch of a Juluo tree. If He Lingchuan doesn't pick it up, it won't be able to move.

"Why would someone collect dreams?" He Lingchuan wondered, "They are not nightmares."
Chapter completed!