There can't be a Harvest Moon in the RimWorld.

But the voice of the shriveled head did not stop, continuing its intermittent description.

"A long time ago... I don't know how long ago... I was actually a human being..."

I laughed in anger: "With your tentacle monster-like appearance, are you even human?"

“That was… a long time ago…” the monster said hesitantly, its limbs twisting unnaturally.

A monster with a human head dares to call itself human? Does it think my intelligence is equivalent to that of a gibbon? Does it look too easy to fool?

"Then tell me your surname and given name? Where are you from? How many people are in your family? How many acres of land do you own per person? How many cows do you have on your land? Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

I'd like to see if Constable Yan's golden questions can help you remember who you are.

“A long time ago… my name was… Yorkson… Proviston…”

Chapter 189 Little Question Mark: Do You Have Many Friends?

Yorkson Proviston.

It's an unremarkable name, neither adorned with the elaborate titles of nobles nor with the straightforward nicknames of country folk. Yet, this simple name, so direct and to the point, evoked many thoughts in me.

I thought of the ancient bricks of the hot spring house, the early days of the mining town, the strange stories associated with this name, and the lingering mystery surrounding this person...

How do you know about Old Yorkson?

My first reaction was, how could this monster know this name! Even in this small town, Yorkson Providence had been completely forgotten, with only scattered memories of him remaining in the minds of Gotz and Harris.

The shriveled head writhed on the ground, its flesh and tendrils slowly coming together and flowing into the dried-up skull, giving the wrinkled head a sliver of life, as if it were still alive.

However, the constantly surging liquid beneath the skin still made the scene seem eerie, as if countless earthworms were lurking inside, ready to burst out at any moment.

Having seen this kind of scene so many times tonight, I've even gotten a little used to it. I'd only be truly terrified if this monster actually answered me honestly.

The next moment, all those fleshy tentacles finally burrowed into the shriveled head, the wrinkled and damaged skin showing a glimmer of light, and the tightly closed eyes suddenly opened, their gaze piercing my eyes and emitting a blinding white light!

…………

Just as the white light stung my vision and I instinctively closed my eyes, I opened them again to find myself in a vast, boundless void. The white light was of the same intensity from all directions, but it no longer stung my eyes.

But when I looked down, I couldn't see my own body!

The body that should have been supporting my head is completely gone!

I observed everything around me with my senses, but I couldn't feel the presence of my nose. Or rather, I am now simply a consciousness existing in this space, like a dream come true, constantly looking down on the world with a godlike perspective.

How could I have fallen for that monster's trick again!

"Not bad, you are the most cultured person I have ever met." A cold voice came from behind.

"...Your next sentence will be 'Welcome to the Main God Space'?"

What emoji should I use to express my frustration? A smiley face would be fine, right?

But the voice unexpectedly answered me: "Although I don't know what you mean, it's definitely not what you think."

Something's not right. How does this voice know what I'm thinking?

The icy voice immediately rang out: "That's right, I can read your mind. Or rather, you are currently in my dream."

I was horrified. Just one look from that monster and I was trapped in a dream... It seems I didn't come to the God's Space... It's a pupil technique!

That bastard from the Uchiha clan used Tsukuyomi on me!

"I've already said it's not what you're thinking. Why are you having such absurd ideas in your head!" The cold voice finally lost its composure, a hint of emotion creeping into its tone.

Suddenly, I noticed a strange man standing before me. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, his face deeply hidden in the shadows of the brim. He wore a brown cloak that matched the hat perfectly, but was also outdated in style. Through the large cloak, I could see that despite his tall stature, he was very thin.

“Nice to meet you, I am Yorkson Providence.” The strange man introduced himself in a soft, hollow voice, and politely tipped his hat. “You can also call me Old Yorkson.”

It was a face that had aged considerably, with a slightly hooked nose, but a noble air, and even some lingering handsomeness from his youth. But what caught my eye most was his hairstyle, which exuded an aura of power…

I said respectfully, "Could you be... Dr. X?!"

“I introduced myself as Yorkson, so it’s definitely not what you think.”

Pshaw, I didn't even ask if you were Saitama-sensei, so you were already right.

I have to admit that it was the noble lineage and refinement that this person exuded that made me associate him with the wise and elegant old bald man.

The only difference is that he doesn't have the loving and tolerant aura of Doctor X.

His expression was too indifferent and expressionless, and his unusually pale face gave people a sense of anxiety and unease.

"Are you really Old Yorkson?"

I suddenly wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. In this strange situation, it seemed unnecessary to insist on an identity that was so unfamiliar to me.

If Goetz and Harris were to hear this, they might be filled with awe and even follow their advice. But as an outsider, I have absolutely no reason to respect an ancient person I have never met.

"Genuine or genuine."

"So what do you want from me?" As a vague and ethereal consciousness within a dream, I don't know how I switch between thinking and speaking. But it seems that with just a little effort, I can make a sound in this blank space, somewhat like... a colonizer summoning system?

The strange man put on his hat, hiding his expression in the shadows, and said, "There's no particular reason. My original plans were all ruined for some reason, and I'm barely clinging to life." He sighed, "But seeing you suddenly piqued my interest, and with my last breath, I wanted to talk to you."

"why me?"

I'm curious. If he really is Old Yorkson, his true heirs should be the two gay men lying dead in the cave. Why drag me, an innocent comrade-in-arms, into this? Am I really that repulsive?

"On one hand, it's because seeing your ability to defeat the Deep Ones makes me think you're a unique individual."

Well... there might be a misunderstanding between us... actually, it was Gray who defeated it while it was offline.

As for me... I'm ashamed to say that I only did some minor work—like throwing Adou to the ground.

"On the other hand, I think that the people who were chosen by Hook must have something special about them that I haven't discovered yet."

“Hook…you mean Old Man Hook? I’ve never met him before, how did you know he chose me?” I asked, puzzled.

"I never imagined that the child from back then would now be called 'Dad'... How late I am... Although you have never met him, you have a special meme that proves that you had some unknown contact with him."

The man, who appeared to be Old Yorkson, sighed. "I don't know why this pattern is on you, but it must be related to him."

"Because according to the plan, he was supposed to be the one to summon me back at the crucial moment..."

The strange man's tone was filled with deep regret, and a blinding light shone forth once more, filling this void world.

"Want to know? Let me show you what happened back then..."

The next second, the entire Void White World was turned upside down!

Chapter 190 The Burning Town

It was sunset, the clear air reflecting the sky ablaze with the setting sun. Old Yorkson and I emerged from an old pioneer-style house.

So-called pioneer houses are old-fashioned houses with rough layouts and clumsy materials, widely used in wilderness development, emphasizing the use of local materials. Nouveau riche, however, would add all sorts of vulgar and crude decorations after the mansion was completed, adding a touch of ridiculous crudeness to its already shabby state.

But as I stepped out of the house, I knew it wasn't a place of luxury. On the contrary, I'd seen this type of architecture before, only the owners didn't want to waste time on the minutiae. What he needed was a sturdy and secure refuge to store his vast and forbidden knowledge.

The owner of this knowledge is the bald old man next to me.

Just like the tapering spire of a house, which becomes a faint, indistinct shadow under the night sky, this exceptionally knowledgeable fellow also transforms into a ghost wandering the world at this moment.

"Don't be curious, this is a scene recreated in my dream. About three days before the town was destroyed, an ominous atmosphere had already spread throughout the town. And the original me should have been trapped in the house, unable to move, and could only rely on letters and Browning's help to have limited communication with the outside world."

As he said this, I did indeed look curiously at a middle-aged man in an old-fashioned police uniform who rushed out of the police station building in a panic and walked straight through my body, as if he and I were phantoms that did not exist in this world.

Old Yorkson nodded and said, "That's Browning, a poor lucky fellow who never got the hang of things, but that's also his secret weapon for survival."

Looking at the incredibly realistic bricks, tiles, and vegetation around me, I asked, "Why can't these people see us?"

Old Yorkson lowered his hat brim: "I built this town with my own hands. I know every blade of grass and every tree by heart, so recreating it would be a piece of cake. But if human actions are controlled by dreams, then the memories I want to show you become arbitrary fictions. Therefore, I can only let them follow their original paths and not intersect with us."

Then, a question suddenly occurred to me: "But the Deep Ones outside are still struggling. If we keep dreaming for too long, what if they attack us once they regain their mobility?"

This is also my biggest worry; not killing the monster is a constant source of anxiety. How can I sleep soundly with a monster right next to my bed?

Old Yorkson's indifferent expression revealed a unique kind of certainty.

"In the final years of my life, through my study of the occult, I mastered the method of crossing the gates of dreams, relying on dreams to completely monitor this town. This is also the reason why I was able to construct this dream. We are now in the colorful dream beneath my original white dream, where one hour outside is equivalent to one week here."

Inception?! He can even master such forbidden knowledge?

It seems that the movie did say something like this: one hour in reality in the first layer of the dream is equivalent to twelve hours in the dream, and one hour in reality in the second layer is equivalent to about a week in the dream.

There are third and fourth layers of dreams below, with time also proportionally extended.

The fourth layer is an extremely unstable dream state, very close to the edge of the subconscious, and one hour is roughly equivalent to 15 years.

If you reach the deepest part of your dream, which is the most terrifying edge of your subconscious, once you fall into it, a second could be equivalent to a week, or 50 years, or you might never wake up again. You could very well fall into an endless dream.

Old Yorkson read my thoughts precisely again and said coldly, "Don't worry, I can't and don't want to take you to the subconscious level. We're in what you call the second layer of dreams, which I call the Colorful Dream, a stable dream that can fully reflect real matter and also properly integrate fantasy."

He walked ahead without turning around and said, "I only want to introduce you to the content, which is 12 hours long in total. The outside time is about 2 minutes. The monster you are worried about will definitely not be able to recover."

“Alright, that puts my mind at ease.” I said with relief. “I’m starting to believe you’re old Yorkson. What do you want to tell me? About Old Man Hook?”

"Little Hook? Let's start with him then."

Old Yorkson swiftly took two steps forward and pushed open the door to the next room.

Although times have changed and I've been transported to a timeline completely unfamiliar to me, I can still tell that old Yorkson lived in the same place where the later mayor, Thomas, lived, and the police station has remained the same for decades.

Pushing open the door to the detention cell, I saw a disheveled, listless young man.

"That's Little Hook, the old Hook you're talking about."

Old Yorkson walked up to him, blocking the gaze of young Hooker who had been staring at him with narrow eyes, and pointed his arm through his body to an old book on the table.

“On the first day of his arrest, I entrusted him with an important task.”

…………

Anonymous Diary

(Time unknown, recorded on a blank page.)

I've always known that only the bizarre can defeat the bizarre. And all the knowledge I possess is now completely useless.

The meme of "ultimate calamity" spread rapidly across the land, expanding at an unimaginably terrifying pace. There must have been some flaw in my previous plan that allowed it to slip out of control so cleverly when I was at my weakest.

But no one could have imagined that, in the final moments when my body was being eroded by forbidden knowledge, I would transcend the material world, pass through the gates of dreams, and, in a deep slumber, coldly observe everything, preparing my final plan. (This section has been altered and the handwriting is illegible, but it is likely a person's name.)

The most ironic thing is that my final and most powerful weapon actually came from my enemy.