Dream Ghost

Su Wanning was unconscious for two whole days.

Dr. Jiang said her consciousness wasn't damaged, just exhausted. The silver threads were an extension of her abilities, and each thread required conscious effort to maintain. She had laid out twenty-three threads simultaneously in the training room, maintaining them for nearly ten hours—equivalent to her consciousness running a ten-hour marathon. She wasn't injured, but she was utterly exhausted. She needed sleep, real sleep, the kind without dreams.

Lin Ye visited her three times a day: before morning training, during lunch break, and after evening training. Each time, he would sit by her bedside for ten minutes, saying nothing, just sitting there. Sometimes he would look at her face, sometimes he would look out the window, and sometimes he would look at the marks on his palm. On the morning of the third day, when he pushed open the door, Su Wanning was awake, staring at the ceiling.

"You're awake," Lin Ye said.

"I'm awake," Su Wanning said, her voice a little hoarse, as if she hadn't used it in a long time.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hungry." She turned to look at Lin Ye. "Very hungry."

Lin Ye went to the cafeteria and got some porridge, pickled vegetables, and two boiled eggs. Su Wanning leaned against the bed, eating slowly but earnestly, as if she were completing a task. After finishing one egg and drinking half a bowl of porridge, she placed the remaining half bowl on the bedside table.

"Did Captain Chen tell you?" she asked.

"What did you say?"

"It's my matter." She looked into Lin Ye's eyes. "My level of consciousness is only 52 percent."

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds. Chen Xuan hadn't told him about this. Perhaps he felt it wasn't his place to say it, or perhaps he was waiting for Su Wanning to bring it up herself.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"When I was little, when I was seven, the Dream Weavers found my father. They wanted to use me as a hostage to force him to hand over something. My father didn't, so they experimented on me. They extracted a portion of my consciousness to test the fragment's reaction." Su Wanning's tone was calm, as if she were telling someone else's story. "They didn't succeed because I wasn't the fragment holder. But my consciousness was permanently damaged. Fifty-two percent. That number stayed with me for sixteen years."

"Is there no way to restore it?"

"Yes. But it needs to be a fragment that matches my consciousness." Su Wanning looked at him. "Your father's kind. A fragment of the consciousness of a descendant of the Night Watchers can be used to repair the consciousness damage of others. But your father's fragment has already been inherited by you. The fragments of others—Lin Yuanzhou's, Lin Yuanzhou's father's, Lin Yuanzhou's grandfather's—are all sealed in the World Tree."

Lin Ye didn't speak. He looked at Su Wanning, at her face. There was no crying, no complaining, just a calm statement of fact. This calmness was more painful for him than crying.

"That's why you train so hard," he said. "You want to get into World Tree."

"I want to take back what I lost," Su Wanning said. "Sixteen years ago, Dreamweaver took it from me. I want it back."

"You never told me."

"Because you already have enough on your plate. I don't want to distract you." Su Wanning lowered her head, looking at the silver thread hanging from her fingertips. The thread shimmered slightly in the morning light, as if it had just been pulled from the water. "I'm telling you now because I need your help."

"How can I help?"

"Enter the World Tree and find the seal of the Lin family ancestors. When inheriting their fragments of consciousness, leave me a tiny bit. Not much, five percent is enough. My consciousness integrity will then recover from fifty-two to fifty-seven. Fifty-seven is enough. Once that's enough, I won't suddenly fall into a coma again."

Lin Ye looked into her eyes, which held no pleading or expectation, only a calm confidence, as if she had already considered all possibilities.

"Okay," he said.

Su Wanning's lips twitched slightly, not in a smile, but with an expression that said, "I knew you would say that."

"When will the training continue?" she asked.

"You need to rest for at least three days. That's what Dr. Jiang said."

"Dr. Jiang's opinion doesn't count." Su Wanning threw back the covers and got out of bed. She was wearing a hospital gown, her hair was loose, and she was barefoot, her feet touching the cold floor. She walked up to Lin Ye, held out her hand, and said, "I decide for myself."

Lin Ye looked at her outstretched hand. It was thin, with distinct knuckles and thin calluses on the fingertips—from years of using silver silk threads. He took her hand in his. Her hand was cool, but not icy; it was the coolness of someone just waking up before the blood had reached their fingertips.

"Three days," he said. "At least three days of rest. During these three days, you can watch from the sidelines, but you can't do anything."

Su Wanning looked at him, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She pulled her hand out of his, turned around and walked back to the bedside, sat down, and pulled her feet back under the covers.

"Three days," she said. "I'll train with you in three days."

Lin Ye nodded and walked out of the medical room.

In the corridor, Chen Xuan leaned against the wall, holding a glass of water, waiting for him.

"Did she tell you?" Chen Xuan asked.

"I told them."

What do you think?

"Help her," Lin Ye said. "When you enter the World Tree and inherit the ancestral fragments, leave a portion for her."

Chen Xuan took a sip of water and remained silent for a few seconds.

Do you know what it means to enter the World Tree?

"Know."

"I don't know." Chen Xuan put down his cup. "The World Tree isn't the Dream Continent, nor the Sea of ​​the Subconscious, nor any place you've ever been. It's a living thing. It has consciousness, emotions, and memories. When you go inside, it will read your mind. The things you fear most, the things you least want to face, the things you most want to forget—all will become real within the trunk. You'll see your mother, your father, and everyone you've lost within the trunk. They will talk to you, touch you, and smile at you as if they were alive. If you can't distinguish between reality and illusion, you'll be trapped inside forever."

Lin Ye remained silent. The emergency lights in the corridor cast a dim yellow glow, casting deep shadows on Chen Xuan's face.

"Do you still want to go in?" Chen Xuan asked.

"want."

Why?

"Because Su Wanning needs that five percent," Lin Ye said. "Because my father needs me to bring him back. Because my mother needs me to find her consciousness. Because the World Tree needs me to stop that thing."

He paused for a moment.

"Because no one but me can do these things."

Chen Xuan stared at him for a long time. Then he reached out and patted Lin Ye on the shoulder. The hand was heavy, but steady.

"You are better than your father," he said.

"Lin Yuanzhou said the same thing."

"He's right." Chen Xuan turned and walked away, then stopped after a few steps. "Training continues tomorrow. Six o'clock, training room. Don't be late."

He left. Lin Ye stood in the corridor, watching his figure disappear around the corner. The sky outside was already bright; morning light streamed in, spreading a golden glow around his feet. He looked down at that light for a few seconds, then turned and walked back to the training room.

In the training room, Gu Yan's consciousness projection was sitting on a bench, holding the old notebook in his hand. He saw Lin Ye enter and closed the notebook.

"Su Wanning is awake?"

"woke up."

"Did she tell you?"

"I said so."

Gu Yan remained silent for a few seconds.

"After I donated my fragments, my consciousness integrity dropped to 52%, just like Su Wanning's," he said. "The feeling was like there was a hole in my body. It wasn't pain, it was emptiness. No matter what I did, ate, or watched, it couldn't fill the void. Later, I slowly recovered to 60%, but the hole was still there. It just got smaller, it didn't disappear."

"How can I fill it up?"

"Find what's lost." Gu Yan stood up, tucking his notebook under his arm. "You help Su Wanning find it. She's luckier than me."

He left. Lin Ye stood alone in the training room, looking at the empty mats and walls. Morning light streamed in through the window, drawing a bright rectangle on the floor. He walked into that rectangle, stood still, closed his eyes, and placed his palms up.

The temperature in the training room rose by half a degree.

He opened his eyes and looked at the deep purple mark on his palm. The mark glowed softly in the morning light, its light flickering like breathing.

He continued writing the rule. "The temperature rises by one degree." Once, twice, three times. His consciousness was like a pen, repeatedly tracing those words in the void, writing until his fingers went numb and his temples throbbed.

The temperature in the training room has risen by half a degree. It's now a full degree higher than it was this morning.

He did it.

Gu Yan said that the core of rule writing is not "writing," but "believing." You must believe that the rules you write are the truth of this world. You must believe even more than you believe that the sun rises in the east.

Lin Ye now believes it.

It wasn't because the temperature rose. It was because he realized that there was no "truth" in this world. The sun rises in the east because someone wrote this rule. Gravity makes apples fall because someone wrote this rule. Dream creatures experience fear because someone wrote this rule.

Rules are not discovered; they are created.

Lin Yuanzhou understood this principle three thousand years ago. That's why he was able to tame three scroll-level creatures, leave seven seals on the World Tree, and ensure that the Lin family would protect the Dream Continent for generations.

Lin Ye now understands.

He left the training room and returned to his room. He took out the black anchor point from under his pillow—the one Lin Yuanzhou had given him, the one engraved with the World Tree. He held the anchor point in his palm and closed his eyes.

The World Tree's perception activated automatically. The cracks inside the trunk remained, the gray-green consciousness remained, and the slow, continuous whispers persisted. But this time, Lin Ye didn't listen to what it was saying. He didn't need to know what it was saying. He only needed to know where it was.

The precise location of the crack. In the middle section of the World Tree's trunk, approximately three hundred meters from the ground. It is surrounded by silvery-white wood fibers, some of which have begun to turn grayish-green. These grayish-green fibers, like tiny snakes, slowly spread against the silvery-white background.

Lin Ye memorized that location.

He opened his eyes and put the anchor point back under the pillow. It was already bright outside, and sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains onto his bed, drawing a thin golden line on the white sheets. He lay down and looked at that golden line. It was thin, but very bright, as if someone had lit a lamp in a distant place.

He closed his eyes.

Chen Xuan changed his training method in the afternoon.

"I won't hit you today," he said. "You hit me today."

Lin Ye looked at him.

Are you sure?

"Agreed. You use your abilities. I'll use my body." Chen Xuan stood in the center of the training room, his hands hanging at his sides, not adopting a defensive stance. "Come on."

Lin Ye didn't stand on ceremony. His consciousness-binding technique activated instantly, and invisible ropes extended from his fingertips, wrapping around Chen Xuan's ankle. Chen Xuan swayed, but didn't fall. He looked down at his ankle, then looked up at Lin Ye.

"Not enough force. Try harder."

Lin Ye increased the intensity of his mental binding. He could feel the mental ropes around Chen Xuan's ankles tightening, like a python squeezing its prey. But Chen Xuan's expression remained unchanged. He took a step, and the ropes around his ankles were freed—not freed, but "ignored." His mental strength was higher than Lin Ye's; although his fragments hadn't awakened, his fifteen years of training had made his consciousness as resilient as a steel wire. Lin Ye's mental ropes binding him were like using cotton thread to tie steel bars.

"Your consciousness entanglement is effective against targets below the same level," Chen Xuan said. "It's very ineffective against targets at the later stages of the Dream Weaver realm. You need stronger control."

"How can we strengthen it?"

"It's not about increasing control. It's about increasing 'deception.'" Chen Xuan walked up to him. "Don't let your target feel restricted. Make him feel that being 'restricted' is his own choice."

Lin Ye was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

"It means you don't need to tie someone up with a rope. You need to let them walk into the cage on their own, and then close the door." Chen Xuan patted him on the shoulder. "The same goes for rule writing. Don't force changes to the rules. Make the rules feel that 'changing' is their own will."

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds.

"You know better than I do."

"I've been fighting for fifteen years. After taking so many beatings, I've learned my lesson." Chen Xuan took a few steps back and stood in the center of the training room again. "Let's do it again. This time, don't tie my feet. Let me walk over myself."

Lin Ye closed his eyes. He wrote a rule in his mind—"Chen Xuan, take three steps to the left." It wasn't mandatory, but a "suggestion." The tone of the rule wasn't "you must," but "you can." You can take three steps to the left. There's a more comfortable position on the left, better lighting, and a wider view.

Chen Xuan took three steps to the left.

Then stop.

He looked at Lin Ye, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"You've learned it."

Lin Ye opened his eyes and saw Chen Xuan standing three steps to his left. His heart was pounding, but his hands were steady.

"It's still a long way off," he said.

"It doesn't matter if you're far off. As long as you're heading in the right direction, you'll get there." Chen Xuan walked back and stood in front of him again. "Continue."

For the rest of the afternoon, Lin Ye practiced writing "suggestive" rules. He instructed Chen Xuan to move left, right, forward, and backward. He succeeded each time, but each time required full concentration. If he became distracted, the rules would fail.

"You need to practice until you can write rules without thinking," Chen Xuan said, "as naturally as breathing."

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. I haven't even done it myself." Chen Xuan picked up his water glass and took a sip. "But you can. You're younger than me, more talented than me, more—"

He paused for a moment.

"You have even more reason to become stronger than I do."

Lin Ye looked at him. Chen Xuan's gaze was fixed on the distance, seemingly looking at something.

"Team Leader Chen."

"Um."

"I will help you investigate your daughter's matter."

Chen Xuan did not answer. He put down his water glass, walked to the window, and turned his back to Lin Ye.

"No rush," he said. "Let's finish what's in front of us first."

Lin Ye didn't say anything more. He walked to the corner of the training room, picked up his water bottle, and took a sip. The water was cold, but comfortably so, cooling him from his throat all the way down to his stomach.

That evening, Lin Ye went to Lin Yuanzhou's room.

The old man sat by the window, gazing at the city lights at night. The city lights twinkled in the darkness, like a starry sky inverted on the ground. He held neither tea nor a book; he simply sat and watched.

"You've come." He didn't turn around.

"You're here." Lin Ye sat down next to him. "I want to ask you something."

"explain."

"That thing inside the World Tree—you know what it is."

Lin Yuanzhou fell silent. The light from the window cast interplay of light and shadow on his aged face, like a portrait painted with light and darkness.

"I know," he said.

"What is it?"

Lin Yuanzhou turned his head and looked at Lin Ye. His eyes shone brightly in the darkness, like two lamps that were about to go out, burning with all their might in their last moments.

"It's you," he said.

Lin Ye was stunned.

"Three thousand years ago, when the first generation of Night's Watch sealed the World Tree, they didn't just seal the World Tree. They sealed 'themselves'." Lin Yuanzhou's voice was soft, as if he were telling a story from a very, very long time ago. "Before each generation of Night's Watch dies, they inject their consciousness into the World Tree to strengthen the seal. Your father's consciousness is in the seventh seal, your grandfather's in the sixth, your great-grandfather's in the fifth. And so on, up to the first generation."

"That thing inside the tree trunk—"

"It's the 'negative' aspect of the first generation of Night's Watch," Lin Yuanzhou said. "Three thousand years ago, when he sealed himself into the World Tree, he stripped away his fear, anger, despair—all his negative emotions. Those negative emotions didn't disappear; they gathered together and slowly became an independent consciousness. It's not a monster. It's the shadow of the first generation of Night's Watch."

Lin Ye sat there, motionless.

"So it's not trying to destroy the World Tree," he said. "It's trying to return to its original form."

"Yes. But it can't go back. Its original form has been dead for three thousand years. It can only stay inside the World Tree, endlessly, endlessly, endlessly trying." Lin Yuanzhou's voice was a little hoarse. "It's in pain. Three thousand years, alone in a dark, narrow, endless space, with no one to talk to, nothing to do. Only its own fear, anger, and despair accompany it. It's not bad. It's just too lonely."

Lin Ye didn't speak. He looked out the window at the city, at the lit windows, one after another, like countless open eyes.

"I want to go in," he said.

"I know."

"It's not about clearing it out. It's about bringing it out."

Lin Yuanzhou looked at him, a complex expression appearing on his aged face—not relief, not sadness, but something deeper, more profound, as if he had finally waited for something.

"You are better than your father," he said.

"You've said it many times."

"Because it's true." Lin Yuanzhou turned around, looking at the city outside the window. "Your father will go in and clear it away. You will go in and bring it out. Clearing it away and bringing it out are not the same thing."

Lin Ye stood up and walked to the door.

"Lin Yuanzhou".

"Um."

"Three thousand years. You've worked hard."

He left. Lin Yuanzhou sat by the window, watching his figure disappear into the corridor. The city lights flickered in his eyes, like two stars about to go out.

The old man lowered his head, looking at his hands. Those aged, wrinkled hands had once stroked the heads of wolves, the scales of snakes, and the wings of birds. They had once carved seven seals on the trunk of the World Tree. They had once raised three scroll-level creatures. They had once watched their son walk into the teleportation array and never return.

His hands were trembling. Not because of illness, but because he had finally waited for it.

Lin Ye went into his room, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. The crack in the ceiling was still there, two and a half meters long, with eleven branches. The water stains on the wall were still there, along with the image of a bird with its wings tucked in.

He stared at the bird for a long time.

Then he closed his eyes.

The World Tree's perception operates automatically. Within the cracks of its trunk, a gray-green consciousness whispers slowly and continuously.

This time, he didn't listen to what it was saying.

He understood.

It's saying, "Is anyone there?"