William Clark stood motionless in front of the passage.

　　The surrounding kitchen twisted from time to time in the dream, like flowing phantoms.

　　He didn’t know how much time had passed—ten seconds, or maybe twenty.

　　Time in dreams didn’t really have any meaning.

　　William Clark slowly lifted his foot and took a few steps closer to the passage.

　　“This crack... is definitely connected to the main nightmare that made me feel fear before.”

　　William Clark had a suspicion in his heart.

　　“The aura coming from inside here feels exactly the same as what I experienced during my previous nightmares!”

　　Just standing in front of the crack, he felt the skin on the front of his body turn cold and stiff—exactly the same as in his previous nightmares.

　　“I have to go in and take a look.”

　　William Clark paused, making up his mind. After all, it was just a dream—he wouldn’t die. At this moment, curiosity finally outweighed the trace of fear in his heart.

　　He calmed himself for a moment, then finally lifted his foot and walked step by step into the crack.

　　Whoosh...

　　As soon as his head entered the crack, William Clark felt a chill all over, as if he’d been plunged into bone-chilling ice water.

　　Everything before his eyes was pitch black, with faint howling wind on both sides.

　　Very soon, in less than three seconds, William Clark’s eyes suddenly brightened.

　　The icy feeling on his body slowly faded. Although he was still a bit cold, he could bear it now.

　　What appeared before him was a European-style living room made of gray-black stone.

　　He was standing at one end of this rectangular living room.

　　To his left, nearby, was a fireplace—a reddish-brown, worn-out stove, with a bust of a solemn-faced, curly-haired man placed on top.

　　William Clark couldn’t help but reach out and touch the bust: hard, cold, smooth.

　　“!?” He was slightly startled and jerked his hand back as if shocked.

　　“This vivid sense of touch... it’s so much stronger than before. It feels real...”

　　Thinking of this, he hurriedly turned to look behind him.

　　On the wall behind him, the crack he had just entered was shrinking rapidly at a speed visible to the naked eye, disappearing.

　　Faintly, the crack reflected the subtle scene of the kitchen inside.

　　Before William Clark could react, the crack suddenly shrank even faster, and in a few blinks, it was completely sealed.

　　“……”

　　William Clark stood there in a daze. He could still feel he was in a dream, but...

　　He lowered his head and saw wisps of black mist in the air around him, like threads, constantly burrowing into his body, into his skin.

　　He felt himself being accepted here, being infected by this place...

　　It was a strange sensation.

　　He seemed to feel that he could stay here for quite a while.

　　It was an instinct, a sudden, inexplicable instinct.

　　There was a strange sense of security here.

　　Steadying himself, William Clark looked up and surveyed the entire hall.

　　In the center of the rectangular hall stood a conspicuous dining table covered with a white cloth. The cloth was splattered with dark red stains, the color dull, torn and old.

　　On the black floor with yellow streaks, there was a layer of cold, hard, unknown stone.

　　From the pale yellow ceiling above hung a standard petal-shaped black candle holder. Sixteen remaining white candles, some long, some short, were arranged in a petal shape, unlit.

　　On either side of the hall, one side had a large rectangular window, the other a pale yellow wall covered with various oil paintings.

　　William Clark paused, then walked toward the large window.

　　Standing in front of the window, he slowly reached out and lifted the gray-black curtain, looking out through the grid window.

　　Outside, it was gray and gloomy. Nearby, a few gnarled, bare tree shadows swayed in the wind. Beyond the wall in the distance, there was only darkness.

　　William Clark let the curtain fall, was silent for a moment, then turned and walked toward the other wall.

　　There, all kinds of oil paintings hung.

　　But all the oil paintings were blurry now; you could barely make out that some were portraits, some landscapes.

　　“It’s no different from my previous dreams. As soon as I focus on the details, everything becomes blurry.” William Clark felt a little more at ease.

　　This familiar sense of dreamlike similarity made him much calmer.

　　He reached out and touched the surface of the oil paintings. As before, there was still no sensation at all, as if his hand was wrapped in thick cotton.

　　He was very patient, checking each oil painting one by one. Only after a long while did he step back and look toward the hall’s exit.

　　In one corner of the hall was a wooden door leading to other rooms.

　　William Clark didn’t stop, quickened his pace to the door, gripped the black horse-head-shaped handle, and gently twisted.

　　Click.

　　With a faint sound, he slowly walked into the adjacent room.

　　At the entrance to the room, a curtain with dark patterns hung as a divider. Now the curtain was tied up, parted in the middle, revealing the room inside.

　　Inside, two dark red bookshelves faced the doorway, filled neatly with all kinds of books.

　　“It’s a study,” William Clark guessed.

　　He paused, but didn’t go in. Based on his past dream experience, the books in the study were always unreadable, all a blur. He might as well explore elsewhere and see if there was anything new.

　　William Clark turned and left, returning to the hall.