Dream Ghost

The days that followed seemed to stretch out. It wasn't that time slowed down, but that every second felt heavier—filled with more things. Training, meals, the rooftop, the "see you tomorrow" at the fork in the corridor—everything felt heavier than before, but that heaviness wasn't a burden; it was a perfect weight in the palm of your hand, like a warm coin.

That night, Qiuye learned the color of "embrace"—orange-red, like a campfire—and then it began frantically learning new things. It was like a machine that had been plugged in, all its indicator lights lighting up simultaneously. It learned the color of "farewell," the color of "reunion," the color of "regret," and the color of "relief." Lin Ye asked it why it learned so quickly, and Qiuye said, "Because I wasted three thousand years. Now I have to make up for it." Lin Ye didn't answer, but simply reached out and gently touched the orange-red patch on his wrist. Qiuye lit up, its frequency increasing faster than usual, like someone accelerating into a run.

One day after training, Chen Xuan called Lin Ye to his office alone. He took a document from his drawer, the cover stamped with a red "Confidential" seal. Lin Ye took the document and opened to the first page. It contained a photograph—a man in his forties, with a square face, short hair, and wearing a dark gray jacket. He stood in a place Lin Ye didn't recognize, with a grayish-white mist behind him. It wasn't Chen Xuan; it was someone else. But Lin Ye recognized him. He had seen this face in Lin Yuan's memory.

"Who is this?" Lin Ye asked.

"Your maternal grandfather," Chen Xuan said.

Lin Ye's finger paused on the page. He looked up at Chen Xuan, whose expression remained unchanged, but there was something Lin Ye rarely saw in his eyes—uncertainty. Chen Xuan was always decisive; training plans, combat strategies, life directions—he had everything planned out and never hesitated. But at this moment, there was a faint, misty uncertainty in his eyes.

"Your mother's name is Shen Ruo. She's no ordinary person. She's a descendant of the Night Watch, but her fragment hasn't awakened. Not that it's not there, but it's sealed." Chen Xuan sat in a chair, his hands crossed on the table. "Your maternal grandfather, Shen Heting, was a member of the previous generation of the Night Watch, and your father Lin Yuan's master. He knew about the Dream Weavers' plan, and he knew your mother would become their target. So when Shen Ruo was born, he placed a seal on her consciousness, sealing the fragment. The Dream Weavers couldn't find the fragment, so they gave up. But they didn't give up. They've been waiting, waiting for the day the seal loosens."

Lin Ye looked at the man in the photo. Shen Heting. His maternal grandfather. A man he had never heard of before.

Is he still alive?

"I don't know. Twenty years ago, after your father entered the World Tree, Shen Heting also disappeared. There's no record of him entering the Dream Continent, no record of him leaving the Association, and no record of him dying. It's like he vanished into thin air."

Where did he go?

"I don't know. But before he disappeared, he left a letter. It was for your mother." Chen Xuan took a yellowed envelope from the drawer and handed it to Lin Ye. "Your mother is gone. This letter should be read by you."

Lin Ye took the envelope. The paper was yellowed, and the edges were worn, as if it had been handled repeatedly. A line of text was written on the cover—"To Shen Ruo." The handwriting was old, but steady, each stroke forceful, like carving on stone. Lin Ye opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. There was only one page, with few words.

"Ruoruo, Daddy's going to do something. I'll be right back. If I don't come back, don't look for Daddy. Daddy's mission isn't to protect the seal, it's to protect you. The seal can break, the World Tree can fall, but you must live. Living is more important than anything else."

There was no signature, no date. Lin Ye folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

"He didn't know my mother had passed away," Lin Ye said.

"I don't know. Your mother was still alive when he disappeared." Chen Xuan stood up and walked to the window. "After your father entered the World Tree, your mother raised you alone. Her consciousness was only 30% intact, and she often fell into a coma, but she never complained. She read you stories every day until you fell asleep, and then sat up until dawn. She said she was afraid that if she closed her eyes, she wouldn't wake up again. She was afraid that if she didn't wake up, she wouldn't see you grow up."

Lin Ye's fingers clenched the envelope tightly. The paper crumpled in his palm, making a soft creaking sound.

When did she die?

"Seven days after you were born, her consciousness dropped to ten percent, and her bodily functions completely failed. She passed away peacefully, without pain, as if she were asleep." Chen Xuan turned to look at Lin Ye. "She named you 'Ye' (Night). Not darkness, but the time before dawn. She said that the darkest time is just before daybreak."

Lin Ye lowered his head, looking at the crumpled envelope in his hand. The paper was yellowed, the words were black, and the ink had blurred, making some words illegible. But he still remembered the last few words—"Living is more important than anything else."

"I need to find him," Lin Ye said.

Chen Xuan looked at him.

Are you sure?

"Yes, I'm sure. He's my maternal grandfather. My mother has passed away, and he was her last remaining relative in this world."

"do not you?"

Lin Ye raised his head and looked at Chen Xuan.

"I am. But I am also my father's son, the master of Qiuye, the descendant of Lin Yuanzhou, and Su Wanning's—boyfriend." He paused, the word still sounding a little awkward, like wearing new shoes for the first time. "I have too many identities. He only has two. The Night Watchman, and my father."

Chen Xuan looked at him for a long time. Then he nodded.

"I'll check for you."

Emerging from Chen Xuan's office, Lin Ye stood in the corridor, clutching the letter. The corridor light was a warm yellow, but illuminating the yellowed paper, making the blurred ink appear like a faded painting. He looked down at the indistinct words—"Living is more important than anything else." A question suddenly occurred to him: Shen Heting said, "Living is more important than anything else," yet he himself had vanished. Where did he go? What did he do? Did he succeed? Is he still alive? Every question had no answer, and every answer could lead to another question.

Su Wanning walked over from the other end of the corridor. She saw Lin Ye standing in the corridor, holding a letter in his hand, his expression was not right. She didn't ask "What's wrong?", but just walked over to him and stood next to him.

"My maternal grandfather." Lin Ye handed her the letter. "Shen Heting. The Night Watchman. My mother's father."

Su Wanning took the letter, read it, folded it, and returned it to him.

"You want to see him?"

"think."

"I'll stay with you."

Lin Ye looked at her. The corridor light reflected two small points of light in her eyes.

"Do you know where to look?"

"I don't know. But two people searching is faster than one person searching."

Lin Ye didn't speak. He folded the letter and put it in his pocket, then reached out and took Su Wanning's hand. Her hand was cold, his was warm. In the warm yellow light of the corridor, the two temperatures clashed, inseparable.

Autumn leaves lit up on Lin Ye's wrist, their orange-red light appearing warm in the lamplight. It was learning. Learning how humans face loss—not running away, not collapsing, not pretending everything is alright. Just holding another person's hand. Knowing that the sun will rise again tomorrow.

During the afternoon training, Gu Yan brought new information. His consciousness had recovered to 85% of its original state, and he was beginning to receive some signals from the Dream Weaver Society—not actively, but passively. His fragments of consciousness were still in the hands of the Dream Weaver Society; although they had been separated, there was still a weak connection between them and his original body. That connection was like a stretched rubber band; it was imperceptible under normal circumstances, but would vibrate when the Dream Weaver Society made any significant moves.

"They found a new holder of the fragment," Gu Yan said.

Lin Ye was stretching, so she stopped.

"Where?"

"I don't know. But the signal strength is increasing, which means that person is getting closer. They might be in the same city, or the same province. The distance can't be more than 500 kilometers."

"What level of fragment?"

"The sixth piece. The sixth fragment of the seal of primordial fear. It has been missing for three thousand years. No one knows who it is, or even if it still exists." Gu Yan looked at Lin Ye. "It exists. And it has awakened."

The training room was silent for a few seconds. The fluorescent lights buzzed, like a swarm of bees flying around in a glass bottle.

"If the Dreamweavers get their hands on the sixth fragment," Chen Xuan said, "they'll have six. Adding the fragments released when the Primal Fear Seal was broken, they might have collected seven fragments. Not seven complete fragments, but fragments plus remnants, enough to activate something."

"Activate what?" Su Wanning asked.

"I don't know. But it won't be a good thing."

Lin Ye stood up and stretched his wrist. Autumn leaves glowed on his wrist, the orange-red turning a deep crimson, like congealed blood. It was on alert. It sensed danger—not from the training room, but from a distant place, an aura it didn't recognize but remembered.

"What are you afraid of?" Lin Ye asked Qiu Ye, looking down at her.

The autumn leaf was silent for a few seconds. Then its color changed. Not orange-red, not deep red, but a new color—like rusted iron, like dried blood, like the first dark purple hue to appear in the sky before a storm.

“I recognize this aura,” Qiuye said. “It was here three thousand years ago, when the first Night Watchman detached himself from me. It has always been there. In the cracks of the World Tree, in the core of the Dreamweavers, in all the forgotten corners. It is not a person, not a consciousness, but a ‘desire.’ A desire for power, a desire for immortality, a desire to control everything. It will not disappear because it has never truly existed. It is a desire. Desire does not need to exist, it only needs to be felt.”

Lin Ye looked at the dark purple mark on his wrist.

Where is it?

"It's in your heart. It's in everyone's heart. The more you fear it, the stronger it becomes. If you don't fear it, it's nothing."

Lin Ye was silent for a few seconds. Then he looked up at Gu Yan.

"Can the holder of the sixth fragment be found?"

"Yes, but it will take time."

"how long?"

"I don't know. But his consciousness fluctuations are getting stronger, which means he's awakening. The awakening is happening very quickly, maybe even faster than yours. It's not because he's talented, but because he doesn't know he has fragments within him. If he doesn't know, he can't suppress them, and if he can't suppress them, he'll lose control. The out-of-control fragments will devour the host's consciousness, turning him into an empty shell. At that time, Dream Weaver will be able to take the fragments away without lifting a finger."

"Then we need to find him before he loses control."

"right."

Lin Ye walked to the window and looked at the sky. The sky was a deep blue, cloudless, like a clean, washed blue cloth. The distant city skyline shimmered in the sunlight, like a forest built of glass and steel. In some corner of that forest, there was a man, unaware that a fragment from three thousand years ago lay hidden within his consciousness. He didn't know that fragment was devouring his consciousness. He didn't know someone was looking for him. He knew nothing. He simply lived as usual: went to work, ate, slept, and dreamed. Perhaps he had strange dreams, dreams filled with unfamiliar symbols, buildings, and people. He remembered nothing upon waking, only feeling exhausted. More exhausted each day.

Lin Ye turned around.

"The training plan needs to be changed."

Chen Xuan looked at him.

"How should it be changed?"

"Shorten rest time. Increase practical simulation. I need to use rule weaving and rule writing in battles, while maintaining at least five rules."

"Five? You can only maintain three at most right now."

"So you have to practice."

Chen Xuan looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded.

"it is good."

Su Wanning stood to the side, silent. She looked at Lin Ye's profile, at the familiar yet unfamiliar light in his eyes. It was determination, not impulsiveness. Impulsiveness is hot, determination is cold. His determination was cold, like the water beneath the surface of a river in winter—calm on the surface, but flowing beneath.

That evening, Lin Ye went to Lin Yuanzhou's room. The old man was sitting by the window, with no book or tea in his hand, just sitting there. Moonlight shone in through the window, falling on his white hair and gilding each strand with a silvery-white hue.

"You know," the old man said without turning around.

"Understood. The sixth fragment."

Lin Yuanzhou remained silent for a few seconds.

"The sixth fragment belongs to my brother."

Lin Ye walked over to him and sat down.

"Your brother?"

"Lin Yuanshan. Five years younger than me. Three thousand years ago, when the first generation of Night Watchers sealed the primordial fear, my younger brother was responsible for guarding the sixth fragment. After the sealing was completed, he disappeared with the fragment. No one knows where he went, no one knows why he disappeared. He only left behind one sentence—'I will come back.' He didn't come back. Three thousand years have passed, and he hasn't returned." Lin Yuanzhou's voice was calm, but Lin Ye could hear what lay beneath the calm. It wasn't pain, but a dullness that had become one with pain, a numbness that couldn't be distinguished from ache or habit.

Is he still alive?

"I don't know. The fragments are still there, which means his consciousness hasn't completely dissipated. But he himself—maybe he's gone."

Lin Ye looked at the old man's profile. The moonlight made his wrinkles appear deep, like lines etched into stone.

"I will find his fragments," Lin Ye said. "And I will find him. The living, I will bring them back. The dead, I will bring back their fragments."

Lin Yuanzhou turned to look at him. Something flickered in his cloudy eyes.

"You're just like your great-grandfather."

"How are they the same?"

"He likes to take on other people's burdens." The old man's lips curled up slightly. "Your great-grandfather was the same. When the primal fear was sealed away, he carried the heaviest part all by himself. When others asked him if he was tired, he said 'not tired.' But his hands were shaking, his legs were shaking, his whole body was shaking. He was tired, but he didn't say it."

Lin Ye looked at his hands. His right palm bore a deep purple mark, while his left wrist bore the pattern of autumn leaves. Two hands, two beams of light, two inheritances from different eras. He suddenly felt his hands were incredibly heavy, not because of the marks and patterns, but because of what had been entrusted to him—his father's memories, Qiu Ye's trust, Lin Yuanzhou's expectations, Chen Xuan's entrustment, and Su Wanning's waiting. Everything weighed heavily on his hands, not just caught with his hands, but with his life.

"Are you tired?" Lin Yuanzhou asked.

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds.

"Yes. But I can't say."

Why?

"Because if I tell people, they'll worry. If too many people worry, I won't dare to move forward."

Lin Yuanzhou stared at him for a long time.

"You're ruthless than your father."

"Where is it ruthless?"

"Your father will get tired, he'll talk. After he's done talking, he'll keep going. You won't say anything. If you don't say anything, people will think you're not tired. You'll carry it all by yourself, until you can't carry it anymore." The old man reached out and placed his hand on Lin Ye's hand. That hand was cold, the skin as thin as paper, and you could see the bluish veins underneath. "You can talk. Talk when you're tired. Talk when you're scared. Talk when you want to give up. If you talk, no one will look down on you. If you talk, people will know how to help you."

Lin Ye lowered his head, looking at the old man's aged hand covering his own. Two hands, one old, one young. One cool, one warm. The distance of three thousand years was shortened to less than ten centimeters in this moment by the two hands.

"I'm tired," Lin Ye said. His voice was very soft, as if he was afraid the moonlight outside the window would hear it.

Lin Yuanzhou gripped his hand tightly.

"I know."

That night, Lin Ye sat in Lin Yuanzhou's room for a long time. They didn't speak, just sat there. The moon outside the window moved from east to west, its silvery light slowly crawling across the floor like a slow snail. Autumn leaves shone quietly on Lin Ye's wrist, their dark purple fading and turning back to orange-red. It was learning. Learning how humans rest—not by doing nothing, but by temporarily setting aside their burdens and letting others carry them for a while. Even just a little while would be enough.