Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun looked down at Lund.

The man, still unconscious, was pale, but the fingers clenched at his sides were no longer as taut as when he had just been rescued.

"It wasn't your fault."

"That thing will come after him sooner or later," said Xilun.

Sarah glanced at him in the rearview mirror: "You're good at comforting people?"

"Won't."

Xilun said calmly, "I'm just stating the facts."

Sarah paused for a moment, then chuckled softly.

The laughter was soft, tinged with weariness, and also with a hint of something indescribable.

"No wonder Lund was willing to take you as a student."

The car turned down the long street and stopped in front of an old-fashioned manor.

Lund's South Estate was quieter than Weston had imagined.

Wet vines climbed all over the outside of the iron gate, the lawn in the yard was bent by the rain, and several tall cypress trees stood in the gray mist, their canopies like a row of silent guards.

The gatekeeper had already been informed and immediately opened the iron gate when the car stopped.

Saiwei, pale-faced, hurried down the steps, holding a black umbrella.

Behind him followed an elderly butler and two servants. Their expressions changed simultaneously when they saw Lund being carried off the carriage by Xilun.

"teacher!"

Savi's voice trembled, but he still forced himself not to pounce on her.

"Is the room ready?" Siren asked.

"It's all ready. It's on the second floor, east side. The fireplace is lit, and there's hot water, clean bandages, and a first-aid kit."

"doctor?"

"We have invited two people, and they are waiting in the living room."

"They are not allowed to touch his left arm, smell his blood, or stay alone in the room."

Xilun carried Lund into the house, speaking slowly but deliberately, each word carefully enunciated.

"Prepare tranquilizing potion, cleansing incense, a silver basin, clean cold water, and strong liquor. All those who have entered the Seventh Wharf should change and wash their clothes first, seal the clothes separately, and then burn them."

The butler turned pale upon hearing this, but immediately bowed and replied, "Yes."

Sarah followed behind, tossing the wet cloak to the servant.

"Send two more people to guard the gate, but they didn't see anyone this morning. The patrol team is the same."

The butler looked at Xilun.

Xilun nodded: "Do as you say."

The manor quickly became bustling with activity.

Lund was placed in the east bedroom on the second floor.

The fireplace in the room was burning brightly, and the firelight reflected off the heavy curtains, dispelling some of the dampness.

A clean white cloth was laid out beside the bed, and the water in the silver basin swayed slightly. After the incense for cleansing the mind was lit, the faint smoke swirled in the air, suppressing the cold, fishy smell seeping from Lund's wound.

After examining Lund's common injuries, the two doctors looked increasingly grim.

"Excessive blood loss, fractured ribs, and multiple contusions to the shoulder and back," the older doctor said in a low voice. "As for the left arm... that's not a common infection."

"So don't touch it."

Xilun stood by the bed and took off his soaking wet coat.

The servant handed him a dry towel, which he simply wiped the rain off his face before bending down again to examine Lund's left arm.

The dark lines are sunken beneath the skin.

Like a tiny net, it clings between blood vessels and tendons.

Xilun stretched out his hand, and a faint white light shone from his fingertips.

Sarah stood on the other side, her gaze fixed on his wrist.

The right wrist cuff was soaked with water and clung tightly to the fabric, and occasionally a blurry shadow of black mist would appear through the fabric.

It is like a quiet, thin ring, gently tightening as the white clouds gather in Xilun.

Sarah's gaze darkened, but Siron ignored her.

He placed the white dot at the deepest point of the black line on Lund's left arm.

Lund's body trembled violently, and the bed made a soft creak.

The black line was forced back by the white light, and very faint gray smoke rose from its edges. Suddenly, the air was filled with the smell of rotten seaweed and burnt bones.

Cold sweat beaded on Xilun's forehead.

He didn't try to do too much; he simply pressed slowly around the outermost layer of the black line, forcing the still-active remnants of pollution back into the depths of the wound, and then immediately stopped.

The white light went out.

Xilun's fingertips trembled slightly.

"Is that enough?" Sarah asked.

That's enough for tonight.

Xilen took the bandage and wrapped it around Lund's left arm herself.

"The rest depends on him waking up and me recovering."

As soon as he finished speaking, Lund suddenly frowned.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his lips parted slightly.

"No...don't go there..."

Savi immediately bowed: "Sir?"

Lund did not wake up.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his breathing became rapid, and his fingers gripped the sheets tightly, as if he were clutching something he was about to lose in his dream.

"car……"

"The rain is too heavy..."

"Dad...no..."

The people in the room fell silent.

The housekeeper stood at the foot of the bed, his face contorted with struggle, his eyes slightly red.

He looked at Siren, his voice low: "Mr. Siren, what's wrong with the gentleman?"

Xilun looked at Lund.

That face, which was always cold, silent, and seemingly unbreakable, was now pulled back to a younger, more vulnerable moment by the nightmare.

"It's probably a dream."

"Silen said in a low voice."

The butler opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't ask any more questions.

Sarah drew the curtains tighter, and when she turned around, the sharpness in her eyes softened slightly.

"He used to do that too."

She said, "Every time there's a stormy night, I stay up all night, saying I'm reading, but actually I keep a gun by my side and the light on until dawn."

Xilun sat down on the chair beside the bed.

His right wrist was still throbbing, and he was mentally exhausted as if he had been sanded by sandpaper, but his gaze remained fixed on Lund's face.

"I won't let him wake up alone tonight."

Inside the room, the fireplace crackled with the sound of burning wood.

Outside the window, raindrops tapped against the glass, making a soft, dense sound.

Lund's breathing became increasingly rapid, and the struggle between his brows deepened.

In his dream, he returned once again to that relentless torrential rain that had occurred ten years ago.

The sound of rain came from a very far place.

At first, there were only light taps, like someone gently scraping glass with their fingernail.

Then, the sound grew denser and heavier, finally turning into a torrential downpour that pounded on the roof and the windshield, making the entire old car tremble slightly.

Lund opened his eyes; he was sitting in the back seat.

The carriage was filled with the smell of cheap leather, damp clothes, and old tobacco.

There was no South End Manor outside the window, no fireplace, no Siron, and no Sarah.

Only rain, relentless downpours!

The streetlights were stretched into long yellow lines by the curtain of water, and the riverside avenue was blurred in the rainy night.

The car's windshield wipers struggled to move, and with each sweep of the glass, the darkness ahead seemed to draw closer.

A man was sitting in the driver's seat.

His shoulders were not broad, his back was slightly hunched, his fingers gripping the steering wheel were rough and white, his cuffs were worn from washing, and his collar was frayed from repeated ironing.

Roy!

His father.

Lund stared blankly at that figure, his chest feeling as if something was gripping it tightly.

For ten years, this figure has appeared in his dreams countless times.

Each time, he was always short, cowardly, and silent.

It made him angry every time.

Shame him.

He wanted nothing more than to pounce from the back seat, grab the man's collar, and demand to know why he always bowed his head, why he only smiled in the face of the humiliation from the nobles, and why, even knowing his son was being bullied, he only said, "Just bear with it."

This time, however, Lund didn't utter a curse.

He looked down and saw his young hands.

A sixteen-year-old's hand.

The knuckles were scraped from a recent fight, and the bloodstains had turned white from being soaked in rain and sweat.

There was another "self" sitting next to him.

That naive, stubborn, and angry young boy, Lund.

The boy stared intently at his father's back, his eyes filled with humiliation and fear, though the fear was masked by anger.

Lund sat in his dream, like an observer.

He looked at his younger self, then at his father in the driver's seat, and suddenly felt a lump in his throat.

"dad……"

He tried to shout, but his voice was swallowed by the rain.

The car jerked violently, and the road ahead disappeared.

The riverside avenue collapsed in the rain, and the streetlights seemed to be extinguished one by one by an invisible giant hand.

The screeching sound of brakes tore through the car body, and the next moment, the car had already crashed onto the approach bridge of Pier 7.

There is no river under the bridge, but a black sea.

The seawater surged, like countless mouths breathing at the same time, and the sound of the tide was mixed with a faint nursery rhyme, coming out of the radio intermittently.

"Sleep...sleep..."

"There is no pain underwater..."

Young Lund turned pale with fright and reached for the car door.

"Don't open it!"

Roy turned around abruptly.

That face, which always wore a fawning smile, was now terribly pale, yet cold and unfamiliar.

"Sit still!"

The boy froze, stunned by the shout.

Lund froze; he remembered that sound from ten years ago.

That was the first time he had heard his father speak in such a tone.

It was not pleading, not persuading, not evading, but commanding.

Roy rammed the car to a stop on the side of the approach bridge and reached under the driver's seat to pull out the badly worn old long knife.

The blade was chipped, and the handle was wrapped with blackened strips of cloth, as if it had been held and hidden for many years.

When young Lund saw the knife, the fear in his eyes was replaced by shock.

"you……"

Don't ask.

Roy unbuckled his seatbelt, his voice trembling, but still quickly.

"Listen to me, there's a maintenance platform down there, and an inspection vehicle along the track. Get on the vehicle, pull the brake, don't worry about anything else, just keep going forward to find Sarah."

"And you?"

Young Lund's voice was shrill, like a thread about to break.

Roy did not answer, and the bells rang outside the bridge.

one more time.

It's not a church bell.

The sound came from the seabed, muffled, hollow, and cold, each strike feeling like it was hitting one's bones.

In the depths of the Black Sea, a massive silhouette slowly rose.

The curtain of rain was drawn back.

The waves rolled backwards.

Countless pale hands reached out from the water's surface, only to be crushed by the shadows deeper within.

The severed limb with white eyes in the palm emerged from the black tide, resembling the remains of a forgotten idol at the bottom of the sea, or a piece of a natural disaster still decaying.

Young Lund couldn't scream.

All he does is tremble.

Lund stood in his dream, looking at the trembling boy, and suddenly felt no longer the disgust he used to feel.

He had hated himself for this moment countless times.

He hated himself for not rushing out, for not grabbing his father, for not facing that thing with him.

But now, looking at that sixteen-year-old boy, he finally saw clearly what was in the boy's eyes.

That's not cowardice.

That was the instinctive fear a child felt when they saw an incomprehensible monster.

That's because people are afraid.

Humans are naturally afraid.

Roy yanked open the back door and dragged the boy Lund out.

The rain instantly soaked the father and son.

The boy struggled to stay, crying, cursing, and shoving, but Roy's hands were surprisingly strong.

He dragged his son down the bridge to the rusty inspection vehicle, practically shoving him inside.

"dad!"

Young Lund finally cried.

He clutched his father's sleeve, his voice broken.

"Don't go! Let's go together! Aren't you the best at hiding? Go ahead and hide!"

Roy paused for a moment.

A very unpleasant smile suddenly appeared on that rain-soaked face.

He reached out and touched his son's head.

His hands were rough, with calluses on his palms, and smelled of machine oil and rust.

"He's been hiding his whole life."

He said in a low voice.

"We can't hide this time."

In the dream, Lund stood beside him, feeling cold all over.

He knew what was going to happen next; he had seen it countless times.

Roy will push down the gate, and the patrol car will rush into the darkness.

Young Lund would lie on the back of the car crying, would see his father standing in the pouring rain with a knife, and would hear the words he would never forget.

Don't try to hide like me!

Then came the explosion.

Firelight, collapse.

A silhouette that will never return.

Everything remains the same.

Roy turned around, drew his sword, and headed towards the Black Sea.

His steps were unsteady.

It could even be described as quite embarrassing.

He is afraid.

I was so scared that my shoulders trembled, so scared that my hand holding the knife almost slipped from my grasp several times, so scared that every step I took felt like I was being dragged back by my instincts.

But he still left, step by step.

They walked toward the monster that pressed down like a mountain.

The severed limb in the dream suddenly opened its palm and turned white.

It looked at Roy, then at Lund.

"Cowardly blood..."

The voices of countless drowning victims rose from all directions.

"The runaway child..."

"Hiding behind her father..."

"You're alive...he's dead..."

Young Lund cried out in the patrol car.

Lund stood in the rain, listening to those sounds, feeling as if his heart was being torn apart.

Every time he dreamed of this place in the past, he would be overwhelmed by this sentence.

He would be angry, he would struggle, he would wake up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, and then sit in his study before dawn, pretending that nothing had happened.

Each time, he tried to escape this relentless downpour!

Each time, he was trapped in place by the cowardice and humility of youth!

But this time, he did not back down.

He looked at the white eye and slowly clenched his fist.

"Shut up."

The sound was very soft.

The rain was so heavy it was almost inaudible.

The white eyes of the severed limbs rolled, and more complaints poured in.

"You are the weakness he left behind..."

"You hate him because you're like him..."

"You can hide too..."

Lund looked up as the torrential rain lashed his face.

It was very cold, a real, icy cold.

He saw his father's figure receding into the rain, saw his younger self crying uncontrollably in the patrol car, and saw another scene emerge from the depths of the rain.

That was last night.

Inside the collapsed old cavity, black water surged and steel beams broke.

He plunged into darkness, thinking that everything would repeat itself.

But a young man rushed out.

Xilun was covered in blood, but his eyes were terrifyingly calm. With his almost depleted white light, he tore open the black rope, held him tightly, and rolled down through the rubble and mud.

The look in his eyes at that moment overlapped with the look his father had given him ten years ago when he turned back to look at him.

It's not about being great, nor is it about being fearless.

Even if you're afraid, you have to do it.

Even knowing that there are monsters ahead, they still want to bring people back.

The rain in my dream suddenly lessened, and the sound of the patrol car faded into the distance.

The tolling of the bells at sea grew faint; Roy's figure remained ahead, but he was no longer alone.

A young man suddenly appeared in front of Lund, holding a golden spear, his white shirt torn, but his shoulders and back ramrod straight.

He shielded Lund from the black tide, and he also shielded young Lund from the voices that had haunted him for ten years.

"Teacher, please let me protect you just this once!"