Darkness.
Shennong couldn't feel his body. Again. The weightlessness was almost comforting this time, like sinking into a warm, endless sea. There was no panic—just… awareness.
And then he was there.
That same figure under the golden apple tree. Cloaked in a flowing robe that shimmered like molten glass, head bowed, hands deftly crafting something small, intricate—delicate runes glowing with each motion. The golden apples above shimmered with a divine luster, like they held secrets too vast for mortals to comprehend.
The same dream. The same man. Or woman? Why can't I see their face?
But unlike the first time, Shennong didn't try to reach out. Something within him knew—if he moved, the vision would vanish. So he simply… watched.
Who are you? And why are you always here?
