Dream Ghost

After learning to be "silent," Qiuye developed a strong interest in the concept of "nothingness." It asked Lin Ye what color "nothingness" was. Lin Ye said "nothingness" wasn't a color, it was "emptiness." Qiuye then asked what color "emptiness" was. Lin Ye thought for a long time and said "emptiness" was transparent. Qiuye remained silent for the entire morning, motionless on Lin Ye's wrist, even its light dimming. Lin Ye thought it had fallen asleep, but at lunchtime, it glanced down and discovered that Qiuye was slowly changing color—from a light green to an extremely pale, almost invisible transparent color, like a piece of melting ice.

"What are you doing?" Lin Ye asked.

"I'm testing what color 'emptiness' is," Qiuye said. "Transparent isn't emptiness. Transparency is 'visible but colorless.' Emptiness is 'invisible and colorless.' They're different."

Lin Ye put down his chopsticks and looked at the almost transparent lines on his wrist. It was almost blending into his skin; if you didn't look closely, you couldn't see anything there. But Lin Ye could feel it—not with his eyes, but with his consciousness. Qiu Ye's consciousness existed quietly within those transparent lines, like a white rabbit hidden in the snow, undetectable if it didn't move.

"Did you find it?" Lin Ye asked.

"Found it," Qiuye said. It slowly regained its color, changing from transparent back to light green, and then from light green to a color that Lin Ye had never seen before—not white, not gray, but a color like morning mist, somewhere between existence and non-existence, a color that seemed to exist at first glance, and then seemed not at second glance.

"This is 'emptiness'," Qiuye said. "It's not that there's nothing. There is something, but you don't know what it is. Like fog. There's something in the fog, but you can't see it. You walk forward, and it recedes. You can never catch up, but it's always there."

Lin Ye stared at that color for a long time. He thought of many things. His father's fragmented consciousness had slumbered within the trunk of the World Tree for twenty years. He knew his father was there, but he couldn't see, touch, or hear him. Like something in the fog, he knew it existed, but could never reach it. Qiu Ye wasn't talking about "emptiness," but about "distance." That feeling of powerlessness—running forward with all your might, yet your goal always remaining the same distance away.

Su Wanning carried the tray over and sat down opposite Lin Ye. She glanced at the color on his wrist, said nothing, and simply placed a chicken leg from the tray into his bowl.

"Have the autumn leaves learned a new color again?" she asked.

"Yes. It has learned about 'emptiness'."

Su Wanning glanced at the misty color, picked up a mouthful of rice, and chewed slowly.

"Is it pretty?" she asked.

"It doesn't look good. But it's very real." Lin Ye ate the chicken leg, placing the bone on the side of the plate. "Qiu Ye said, 'Emptiness' isn't the absence of anything; it's the presence of something that you don't know what it is. Like fog."

Su Wanning put down her chopsticks and looked into Lin Ye's eyes.

"Do you also feel this fog in your heart?"

"have."

"What's inside?"

"I don't know. If I knew, it wouldn't be fog anymore." Lin Ye put away his tray, stood up, and said, "Training this afternoon, don't be late."

He left. Su Wanning sat in the cafeteria, half of her food still uneaten. She looked at the empty seat Lin Ye had left behind, where a single grain of rice lay, small and white, like a lost pearl. She reached out, picked it up, placed it on the edge of her plate, and continued eating.

In the afternoon training session, Chen Xuan arranged a mock battle. Lin Ye and Su Wanning faced off against Gu Yan and Chen Xuan. It was a two-on-two match, with no restrictions on ability or rules, and the battle continued until one side conceded defeat.

The temperature in the training room suddenly rose five degrees under the influence of the written rules. Su Wanning's silver threads flew from her fingertips, weaving an impenetrable net in the air, dividing the training room into two areas. Gu Yan's consciousness projection moved rapidly between the threads, like a black fish darting among silver seaweed. Chen Xuan did not move; he stood in the center of the training room, his eyes closed, like an old tree rooted in the ground.

Lin Ye moved first. His consciousness coiled from his fingertips, entangling Gu Yan's ankle. Gu Yan swayed, but didn't fall—his consciousness had recovered to 76% of its full potential, nearing the peak of the Dream Weaver level, so Lin Ye's consciousness coil had limited effect on him. But what Lin Ye wanted wasn't control, but "delay." In those fractions of a second when Gu Yan was entangled, Su Wanning's silver threads had already sealed off all his escape routes.

"Good coordination," Gu Yan said. His consciousness projection flickered between the threads and disappeared. It wasn't that he was defeated, but rather that he "teleported"—an ability at the level of a Dream Domain Overlord, allowing his consciousness projection to move instantly within a certain range. Lin Ye's extended perception detected his new location—less than two meters behind him.

He didn't have time to turn around. Su Wanning's threads were faster than his; three thin silver threads flew from her fingertips, weaving a small net the size of a palm where Gu Yan had appeared, just covering his face. Gu Yan's consciousness projection struggled for a moment within the net, then smiled.

"I give up," he said.

Chen Xuan remained standing in the center of the training room, eyes closed, motionless. Lin Ye and Su Wanning exchanged a glance and simultaneously attacked him. Lin Ye's rule was written: "Temperature increases by ten degrees." The training room instantly transformed into a sauna, the air scorching hot. Su Wanning's silver threads softened in the intense heat, like melted sugar threads, wrapping around Chen Xuan's body from all directions. Chen Xuan opened his eyes. He didn't dodge, didn't block, but merely glanced at Lin Ye. That glance was calm, so calm that a cold sweat suddenly broke out on Lin Ye's back.

He overlooked one thing. Chen Xuan's fragments hadn't awakened, but his consciousness strength was at the late stage of the Dream Weaver realm, two minor realms higher than Lin Ye's. Rule writing is effective against targets of the same or lower level; against higher-level targets—the effect depends on whether the other party "believes." Chen Xuan didn't believe. He didn't believe Lin Ye's rules could make him feel hot. So the temperature in the training room didn't rise ten degrees, only two. Su Wanning's silver threads wrapped around his body; he reached out, grabbed a handful of threads, and gently tugged, breaking the threads.

"Your teamwork was excellent." Chen Xuan released his grip, and the broken silk thread fell to the ground, turning into silver specks of light and dissipating. "But you forgot one thing. Your opponent won't stand still and wait for you to attack. Your opponent will move, change, and counterattack. You only practiced how to attack, but not how to deal with counterattacks."

He walked up to Lin Ye, reached out, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Next time, I will fight back."

Lin Ye looked into his eyes. There was no murderous intent in those eyes, only something heavy, like stone. It was fifteen years of experience, the intuition accumulated from countless brushes with death.

"Understood," Lin Ye said.

After training, Su Wanning sat on the floor of the training room, carefully reconnecting the broken threads one by one. Her movements were slow and meticulous, as if she were sewing a very precious garment. Lin Ye sat beside her, watching her fingers move among the silver threads.

"Can a broken thread be reattached?" he asked.

"Yes, it's possible. But the reattached thread isn't as strong as the original." Su Wanning held up a piece of the reattached thread to her eyes and examined it under the light. "It's like a wound. It's healed, but the scar is still there."

Lin Ye looked at the tiny scars on her fingers—marks from long-term cuts from silk threads. Some had turned white, while others were still pink, like miniature lightning bolts.

"You have many scars," he said.

"Um."

"Does it hurt?"

"It hurt then. It stopped hurting later. But every time I see them, I remember the pain." Su Wanning finished attaching the last thread and withdrew her fingertip. "That's how memories are. Things pass, but memories remain. Memory isn't a scar; memory is what's beneath the scar. You can't touch it, but it's always there."

Lin Ye remained silent. He stared at the deep purple mark on his right palm, which shone quietly under the fluorescent light. It wasn't a scar; it was something his father had left him. Not a painful memory, but proof of existence.

"What your father left you is more than just a mark," Su Wanning suddenly said.

Lin Ye looked at her.

"What else was left?"

"A name." Su Wanning stood up, brushing the dust off his pants. "Lin Ye. 'Night' isn't darkness. 'Night' is the time before dawn. The darkest, but soon to be light."

She left. Lin Ye sat on the floor of the training room, watching the orange-red light tinged by the setting sun at the doorway. Her figure disappeared into the light, like a drop of ink falling into orange water, slowly and irreversibly spreading out.

That evening, Lin Ye went to Lin Yuanzhou's room. The old man was sitting by the window, holding a book in his hand, but not reading it. He stared at the moon outside the window, the silvery moonlight falling on his face, making his wrinkles look very deep.

"When you were young, did you have a crush on anyone?" Lin Ye sat down next to him.

Lin Yuanzhou turned to look at him, a faint, distant memory appearing on his aged face.

"I used to like him," he said.

"And then?"

"Then she left. I waited for three thousand years, but she didn't come back." The old man's tone was calm, but Lin Ye could hear what lay beneath the calmness—not pain, but a dullness that had become one with pain, a numbness that was indistinguishable from pain or habit.

"What's her name?"

"I don't remember." Lin Yuanzhou looked at the moon outside the window. "It's not that I really don't remember. It's that I don't want to remember. Remembering too clearly will hurt. If I don't remember, it won't hurt."

Lin Ye fell silent. He gazed at the old man's profile, the moonlight clearly outlining his features—a high-bridged nose, deep-set eyes, and thin lips. In his youth, he must have been a very handsome man. Women had admired him, and he had admired women in return. But three thousand years had passed; good looks were meaningless now. Admiration was meaningless now. Only memories remained, and the pain they brought.

"Qiuye said that memories aren't scars, but what lies beneath them," Lin Ye said. "You can't touch them, but they're always there."

Lin Yuanzhou looked at his hands. Those old, wrinkled hands had once caressed his lover's face, carved a seal on the trunk of the World Tree, and raised three scroll-level creatures. Now, they could only hold teacups, trembling slightly in the moonlight.

"Qiuye understands better than any of us," the old man said.

Lin Ye came out of Lin Yuanzhou's room and encountered Gu Yan in the corridor. Gu Yan's consciousness projection leaned against the wall, his hands in his trench coat pockets, looking at the moon outside the window. Moonlight passed through his body, leaving no shadow on the floor.

"Your projection has no shadow," Lin Ye said.

"I know."

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"It's not painful. I'm used to it." Gu Yan turned to look at him. "When do you plan to tell me about you and Su Wanning?"

Lin Ye was taken aback.

"What is it?"

"You like her. She likes you. You both know that. But neither of you says anything." Gu Yan's tone was calm, as if he were analyzing a tactical problem. "How long do you plan to drag this out?"

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds.

"have no idea."

"Not knowing is the worst answer." Gu Yan got up from the wall and walked to Lin Ye. "You know, I also had someone I liked back then. I didn't tell her. Later, I joined the Dream Weaver Society, my consciousness was taken away, and my body was controlled. She waited for me for three years, but I didn't come back. She married someone else."

Lin Ye looked at him. Moonlight pierced through Gu Yan's consciousness projection, casting a transparent, faint patch of light on the wall behind him.

"What do you want to say?" Lin Ye asked.

"I want to tell you you won't die. But you might have to wait. Waiting isn't the problem. The problem is you don't know what you're waiting for. Waiting for her to say it? Waiting for her to leave? Waiting for time to pass?" Gu Yan turned and walked away, then stopped after a few steps. "Some things, if you say them, you won't die. If you don't say them, you might regret it for the rest of your life."

He left. Lin Ye stood in the corridor, watching his figure disappear into the moonlight. Gu Yan had no shadow, and neither did his back. He was like a gust of wind, blowing from one end of the corridor to the other, leaving no trace.

Lin Ye returned to his room and lay down on the bed. The moon outside the window was full, and its silvery light shone through the gaps in the curtains onto the floor like a thin river. Autumn leaves shone quietly on his wrist, their misty color appearing exceptionally pale in the moonlight, almost disappearing.

"What are you thinking about?" Akiha asked.

"Thinking of someone."

"Su Wanning?"

"Um."

Why don't you go find her?

Lin Ye stared at the crack in the ceiling. It was two meters and three-tenths of an inch long, with eleven branches. In the moonlight, the crack appeared very deep, like a scar carved by a knife.

"Because I don't know what to say."

"Say what you want to say." Qiu Ye's voice echoed in Lin Ye's mind, very soft, like the wind blowing through bare branches. "She won't laugh at you. She likes you. When you like someone, you don't stop liking them because of what they say."

Lin Ye closed his eyes. He thought of Su Wanning's face, of her standing in the corridor holding a cup of coffee, of her holding his hand and saying "okay," of her standing on the rooftop looking at the morning glories. Every image was vivid, like a painting carved into stone, indelible by the wind and rain.

He opened his eyes, sat up, put on his shoes, and walked out of the room.

The corridor was quiet. The emergency lights cast a dim, yellowish glow, leaving round patches of light on the floor. Lin Ye walked to Su Wanning's room and stood there for a long time. The door was closed, but a sliver of light shone through the crack—she was still awake.

He knocked on the door.

The door opened. Su Wanning stood in the doorway, wearing pajamas, her hair loose, holding a book in her hand. She paused for a moment when she saw Lin Ye.

"What's wrong?"

Lin Ye looked at her. The corridor lights cast soft shadows on her face, outlining her features gently.

"It's nothing," he said. "I just wanted to see you."

Su Wanning's fingers tightened slightly on the spine of the book. She looked into Lin Ye's eyes, which held no panic, no hesitation, only a calm, moonlit certainty.

"Finished reading?" she asked.

"I've finished watching it."

"and then?"

"Then go back to sleep."

Lin Ye turned and left. Su Wanning stood at the door, watching his figure disappear around the corner of the corridor. She lowered her head and found that the corners of her mouth were turned up. She didn't know when she started smiling, nor did she know why she was smiling. She just felt that she could get a good night's sleep tonight.

She closed the door, placed the book on the bedside table, and turned off the lamp. Moonlight streamed in through the window, painting a silvery-white patch on the ceiling. Looking at that patch, she thought of Lin Ye's words, "I just wanted to see you." Nothing special, just to look. After looking, she went back to sleep. Like autumn leaves falling, winter snow falling, spring flowers blooming. No reason needed, no explanation needed. It just happened.

She closed her eyes, but the smile remained on her lips.

In the corridor, Lin Ye walked back to his room. Autumn leaves shone on his wrist, their misty color turning into a pale pink, like cherry blossoms just blooming in spring.

"You smiled," Qiuye said.

"no."

"You smiled. I saw it. Your mind was smiling. Not your mouth, but your heart." Qiuye's voice was soft, but certain. "That's what love is. Smiling in your heart, but not admitting it with your mouth."

Lin Ye didn't answer. He pushed open the door, went into the room, and lay back down on the bed. The moon outside the window was still round, its silvery light still bright. He looked at the crack in the ceiling; in the moonlight, the crack seemed less deep. Perhaps it was because he was no longer looking at it alone. Perhaps it was because he knew that in the next room, someone was also looking at the moonlight.

He closed his eyes. Autumn leaves shone quietly on his wrist, and the pink cherry blossom slowly bloomed in the moonlight.

In winter, the trees have lost all their leaves, but their roots remain firmly planted in the soil. Silence isn't a lack of words, but rather an abundance of them, making it difficult to know where to begin. Lin Ye understood. The first thing he wanted to say was—"Su Wanning, I like you." He didn't say it aloud, but he said it in his heart. Saying it in his heart was enough. He would say it to her face tomorrow. It's too late tonight; she needs to sleep.

He rolled over, facing the wall. The bird formed from the water stain still had its wings tucked in, but its head seemed to be raised slightly, as if looking at the moon. Lin Ye looked at the bird and smiled. Not a smile from within, but a smile from his mouth. He laughed at himself for being like a high school student who had just learned to write love letters, running to someone's door in the middle of the night, saying, "I just wanted to see you," and then running away.

He smiled and then fell asleep. In his dream, there was no World Tree, no Dream Weavers, no fragments of consciousness. He dreamt he was standing on a rooftop, a pot of purple morning glories in front of him. Su Wanning stood beside him, holding two cups of coffee. She handed him one, saying, "Less sugar." He took it and took a sip. Not bitter, not sweet. Just right.