Analysis of Dreams: Xiao Zhao

This story is part of a fictional series. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. It’s also my first attempt at dipping my toes into fiction writing, haha~

“The overall atmosphere of today’s dream was one of fear and dread,” Xiao Zhao said to me.

Xiao Zhao is one of my clients. He has great faith in my “dream interpretation” theories, so whenever he has a particularly vivid dream, he always comes to me first to talk about it. As a teenager, Xiao Zhao’s dreams are wildly varied, and he also possesses a peculiar ability: sometimes, he can control the progression of his dreams. Though he says that manipulating dreams with “consciousness” makes them highly unstable and prone to waking him up, once he realizes everything around him is part of a dream, a wicked surge of exhilaration rises from deep within him: This is my world, I can do whatever I want (wet dreams being a typical feature of adolescence).

Today was slightly different. Normally, when I look at him, everything is clear—both him and the surroundings. But today, when I looked at him, he seemed a bit blurry. Strange—could it be my eyes playing tricks on me?

Before I could dwell on it further, he confessed somewhat sheepishly that he sometimes dreams about female classmates he once had crushes on—from elementary school, middle school, even high school!

“How do you control the dream? I mean, do you realize right from the start that you can manipulate it freely, or does it only occur to you midway through?” At this point, I could already guess the answer. If one could control the dream from the very beginning, they’d likely wake up before the “dream world” fully forms due to over-manipulation. The so-called “dream world” includes not just tangible things like buildings, people, plants, and the sky, but also intangible elements like inner thoughts and the overall atmosphere of the dream.

“At the beginning of the dream, everything follows the dream’s own logic—like going into the classroom for class or playing outside after school. But once I notice something that contradicts my subconscious common sense, memories, or facts, I realize this is a fake world and start controlling it with my consciousness.”

“Oh? For example?”

“For example, I might find myself at the entrance of my elementary school, about to walk in and head to my second-grade classroom, when I suddenly remember I’m already in college and was just playing games with Xiao F the other day. Or I might panic about not finding the exam hall for the college entrance test, only to recall I’m already majoring in KJ.”

“I see, roughly. So, tell me about today’s ‘memorable’ dream.” I emphasized the word “memorable” because, generally, people forget their dreams shortly after waking up unless they actively try to recall them. Otherwise, within minutes of getting up, the dream’s content fades completely.

“The atmosphere of the dream was fear and dread.”

I nodded, signaling him to continue.

“I was with a few others—I can’t remember exactly who—on the street in FZ Township, which I pass by when returning to my hometown, HD. I haven’t been back often, so I don’t know why it was that particular street.”

“Oh, it might just be a fragment of memory. That’s not important—go on.”

“Exactly. The setting was just a street, but the surrounding buildings were completely different, like some kind of密室 (escape room) or castle corridor. Strangely, I wasn’t scared, even though I knew there’d be frightening things inside—and that they were all fake. So, a few of us crawled in through the entrance. Here’s a detail: when we first entered, there was a small pit by the entrance, but when we crawled back out, it was gone. The moment we noticed the pit had disappeared, we were suddenly terrified and rushed out in panic. And yet, when we went in, we saw an old woman lying there motionless, and none of us felt afraid!”

“So, you’re saying the thing that scared you was completely irrational, is that it?”

“You could say that. I just don’t understand why I’d be afraid of a pit that mysteriously vanished but not of a person lying on the ground who might be dead.”

“Let’s set that aside for now. Keep going,” I said, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking the glass with both hands and sitting up.

“Then the entire atmosphere of the dream shifted.”

“That’s normal. Dreams are always bizarre—one moment you’re on a mountain, the next you’re back home.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, spinning the glass in his hands. “The setting didn’t change. It was still that street, but the mood of the dream shifted—into doubt, hope, anxiety, and waiting.”

“Do you know what you were waiting for?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. If he’d known, he wouldn’t be here seeking my help.

“No,” he replied, as expected. Everything was playing out just as I’d guessed.

“But…” He frowned, paused, then continued,

“We gathered around the entrance, sitting in a circle. Everyone looked anxious. Then, two people called out to me from the street, right next to the crowd. Their expressions were odd, so I followed them to the other side of the street.”

“Did you know those two?”

“I did, but I can’t remember who they were. And we weren’t particularly close—otherwise, I’d definitely remember.”

“That makes sense.”

“Then, with strange and seemingly angry expressions, they started arguing in front of me. I don’t remember the specifics, but it was something about one of them revealing information they shouldn’t have to someone, putting the other in danger.”

“What did they want from you?” I couldn’t help but interject.

“It seemed like… they wanted to borrow money from me.”

“Borrow money?” I couldn’t suppress a laugh, then quickly straightened up, realizing I’d lost my composure.

“Hmm, it was about borrowing money. After mentioning the loan, my first question was, ‘What do you need the money for?’ rather than asking how much they wanted. The moment I asked that, I regretted it because I felt that since we were friends, I should just lend it without question. Would I really refuse based on what they needed it for?”

“Was that your thought in the dream or how you feel now?”

“In the dream—that was my immediate thought right after asking, ‘What do you need the money for?’”

“I see. Go on,” I said, jotting down some notes.

“Then one of the two seemed furious, while the other hurriedly tried to explain. But the angry one wouldn’t listen and started chasing the other, who quickly ran away.”

“How did you feel when you saw them like that?” I asked deliberately, because in dreams, conscious thoughts are rare. Most dreams are driven by an overarching atmosphere, with the dreamer—the ‘I’—rarely expressing personal reflections.

“Actually, I did have a thought at that moment.”

I shifted slightly. “The same as before?”

“No, this time it was more like… relief, as if a weight had been lifted.”

“Okay,” I noted again.

Without waiting for my cue, he continued, seeming to delve deeper into the dream.

“Then something even stranger happened.” He paused to take a sip of water. “This street wasn’t supposed to have any buses.”

I understood—this was the dream’s logic. Like when you’re desperately thirsty in a dream, and there’s a lake right beside you, yet you don’t drink from it. Instead, you wander elsewhere, experiencing other illogical events. Without this, the dream couldn’t progress. That’s what I call the dream’s “setting.”

“But suddenly, someone spotted a bus appearing at a distant T-junction. It swerved erratically before driving away—backwards, moving farther from us. We all rushed after it as if it were our salvation.”

“Did you—or anyone—catch up to it?”

“No. The bus drove off, then exploded not far away.”

“Exploded?”

“Yes, exploded. We were all shocked and backed away—though we weren’t that close to begin with. I could sense it wasn’t just me; we all shared this thought: ‘Thank goodness we didn’t get on that bus.’” He paused again for another sip. I adjusted my slipping posture but stayed silent, waiting.

Yet he said nothing more, just stared blankly ahead, absently twisting the cup in his hands. The silence stretched too long, so I broke it. “What happened next?”

“Next came the… very SQ part. Honestly, I think I might be a pervert.”

I chuckled. “Most perverts don’t realize they’re perverts, just like most people don’t think they’re villains. They don’t see themselves as morally corrupt or irredeemable.”

“That’s not what I mean. Some of my thoughts aren’t normal, and in the dream, they manifest as perverted behavior.”

“Which behaviors do you think are abnormal?”

“For example, when I’m going downstairs, I’ll suddenly think, ‘What if my iPhone fell from here? I’d be devastated, right?’ Not only do I think it, but if no one’s around, I’ll even hold my phone out the window—though I’d never let go. I just want to feel that ‘my phone’s about to drop’ sensation.”

“Ah, that’s a bit of a psychotic symptom,” I remarked casually, still watching his eyes.

“Then how do I treat it? Will I actually go crazy one day?”

“It’s just a symptom. Knowing the cause helps. Let’s not dwell on ‘psychotic’—look how nervous you are.” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Go on.”

He hesitated, glancing at me before looking away. “Okay.”

“There’s another feeling… like the world revolves around me.”