Two hundred and nineteen. “Immortal”

"...I spent twenty-three years in my dream," the man murmured softly, his head bowed in recollection.

This dream was almost as long as his life itself.

Lu Li did not disturb the man's reminiscence.

He was not recalling the events from his dream, but rather what had happened when he first visited the Detective Agency twenty-three years ago.

It was indeed a very distant memory.

In some ways, the dream had become equivalent to another life for him, with only the occasional chaotic flashes reminding him: these are your dreams.

That sounds not too bad; the man's dreams were merely prolonged, not multiplied by some factor.

But it was terrifying enough.

This meant that his next dream could last a hundred years—using only a few hours of sleep time.

The man emerged from his memories, not speaking of what he had experienced in the dream, but questioning like an ordinary person who might face such a situation, "Am I still myself...?"