When Zheng Qing's consciousness regained clarity, he realized he was not sitting in a classroom but standing amidst a vast expanse of fog.
From experience, it was easy for him to judge that he was still in a dream.
He looked around.
The fog around him wasn't very thick, just slightly above his ankles, flowing like a babbling creek beneath his feet, cool and smooth. Stepping on it felt like stepping on a rubber track, soft and not abrasive to the feet.
The dream seemed to have sensed the young man's thoughts.
Just as he thought of the words "rubber track," the fog in front of him rolled away, revealing a dark red rubber track. In the middle of the track stood a black cat, twisting its head and staring at him with its pair of amber eyes.
"Meow~"
The black cat let out a soft cry and turned its head, promptly running forward briskly.