Dream Ghost

As the blue light of the teleportation array faded beneath his feet, Lin Ye smelled a strange odor. It wasn't rust, nor was it decay; it was a dry, windswept smell, like dust from a desert that hadn't rained in a long time. He opened his eyes and found himself standing on a gray plain. The ground wasn't soil or sand; it was a smooth, glass-like substance, grayish-white and translucent, through which he could vaguely see something slowly flowing beneath.

Su Wanning stood to his right, silver threads already dangling from her fingertips, spreading a small patch of silver light around her feet. Her expression was calm, but Lin Ye could sense her consciousness operating at high speed—the network of threads had unfolded, covering an area of ​​nearly two hundred meters around her.

"There are no living beings," she said. "Not a single one. Not even a flicker of consciousness."

Lin Ye's World Tree perception was fully activated. He sensed the World Tree—very far away, beneath his feet, above his head, and in all directions. They stood inside the World Tree, but not on its trunk, not on its branches, but on its roots. The deepest roots were anchored at the boundary between reality and dreams, in the cracks of time and space. The surrounding grayish-white "ground" was not soil, but wood fibers, flattened, worn smooth, and weathered, like a fossil polished by time.

"The coordinates are directly below, about 500 meters away." Lin Ye crouched down, pressing his palms against the ground. The grayish-white fibers were cool, but not the icy kind; it was the coolness of something buried deep in the soil, unseen by sunlight for thousands of years. His senses extended through the fiber layers, one, two, three. Each layer had a different, regular structure, like filters of different frequencies.

"First level, the Lin family's frequency. I can pass." He stood up, palm down, the deep purple mark emitting a soft light. The ground cracked before him, not shattered, but "melted." Grayish-white fibers, like heated wax, flowed to both sides, revealing a downward passage. The passage was narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time, the walls on both sides were silvery-white, emitting a faint glow, like moonlight shining on snow.

Lin Ye went in first. Su Wanning followed behind, silver threads weaving a net on the walls on both sides of the passage to prevent it from collapsing. The passage descended, very steep, almost vertical. Lin Ye used rules to create small "steps" under his feet—not physical objects, but points where rules converged—stepping on them felt like stepping on glass, stable, but a little slippery. Su Wanning's silver threads were wrapped around Lin Ye's waist, not as a restraint, but as a connection. If he slipped, she would catch him.

It took about ten minutes to walk through the first level. At the end of the passage was a door—not a wooden door, not an iron door, but a curtain of light. It was silvery-white, translucent, like a still water curtain. Lin Ye reached out and touched it; his fingertips passed through the light curtain without resistance.

"The second level, the frequency of the Shen family." Lin Ye glanced back at Su Wanning. "I'll go through this level by myself. Your consciousness frequency is different from mine; if you try to force your way in, you'll be repelled."

"how long?"

"I don't know. But I'll try to do it as quickly as possible."

Su Wanning looked at him, nodded, and loosened the silver thread wrapped around his waist. Lin Ye turned and walked into the light curtain.

Behind the light curtain was another space. Not a passage, but a room. Circular, about ten meters in diameter, the walls were black—not painted black, but black itself; light was absorbed, reflecting no light. In the center of the room was a stone table with a wooden box on it. Lin Ye walked over and opened the box. Inside was a letter, the paper yellowed and the edges worn. He tore open the envelope and took out the letter.

"Ruoruo, Dad has reached the second level. The third level requires the frequency of a Lin family descendant, which Dad cannot pass. But will you come? Perhaps not. Perhaps it won't be Ruoruo who comes, but someone else. Whoever you are, reaching the second level means you have the blood of the Shen family. You are my descendant. I don't know who you are, but I know you are looking for me."

Lin Ye folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He walked to the center of the room and closed his eyes. The rules of the second level required the frequency of the Shen family to open the passage to the third level. He had the blood of the Shen family in his consciousness, inherited from his mother, Shen Ruo. He tried to adjust his consciousness frequency to match the residual consciousness fluctuations on the letter—slowly, deeply, like a river that had flowed for thousands of years.

The ground began to shake. Not an earthquake, but an "opening." The black ground split open from the center, revealing a new passage. This time, the passage wasn't vertical; it was spiral-shaped, like a snail's shell. Lin Ye stepped into the passage, took a few steps, and then the black ground behind him closed up again, sealing off the second layer.

The third layer. The frequency of autumn leaves.

Lin Ye looked down at the autumn leaf on his wrist. The deep blue light shone brightly in the darkness, its frequency rapid, like someone tense.

"What did you feel?" Lin Ye asked.

"My own aura," Qiuye said. "Three thousand years ago, the first generation of Night Watchers inscribed a portion of the rules into my consciousness. Among those rules was this coordinate. I know this place. I've been here. Not physically, but through the 'rules.' My rules have left their mark here."

"Can you open it?"

"Yes. But opening it will consume a portion of my consciousness. I might fall into a deep sleep for a while."

Lin Ye's fingers tightened slightly.

"how long?"

"I don't know. Maybe a day, maybe a year. Maybe longer."

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds. Qiu Ye was his most important source of perception within the World Tree. If it was dormant, he would essentially lose a third of his abilities. But without opening the third level, he wouldn't be able to reach the fourth level and find Shen Heting.

"Open it," he said.

The autumn leaf flashed. Not a flash, but a "burning." The entire stripe changed from deep blue to bright white, like a filament burning at its brightest. The light exploded from Lin Ye's wrist, illuminating the entire passage. The walls of the passage began to change in the light—the silvery-white fibers became transparent, like glass, allowing a view outside. Outside was emptiness, endless emptiness, without stars, without light, without anything at all.

At the end of the passage was a door. Not a light curtain, but a physical door. It was bronze, very large, at least three meters high, its surface covered with runes—symbols exactly the same as those in Zhao Lin's dream: circles, vertical lines, and dots. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, not silver-white, not gold, but a color Lin Ye had never seen before—like blood, but paler; like fire, but colder.

Fourth floor.

The color of the autumn leaves changed from bright white back to dark blue, but it was much lighter than before, like a piece of clothing that had been washed too many times.

"I... want to sleep for a while." Its voice became very soft in Lin Ye's consciousness, like the wind blowing through a distant valley.

"Go to sleep. When you wake up, I'll show you new colors."

The autumn leaf did not answer. Its light went out. The entire stripe turned from deep blue to gray, like a dried-up riverbed. But Lin Ye could sense that it was still there—just asleep. Like someone who had walked a long way and finally found a place to lie down.

Lin Ye took a deep breath and pushed open the bronze door.

Beyond the door lay emptiness. No ground, no walls, no ceiling. Only endless darkness, and in the center of that darkness, a single point of light. The light was small, like a fist-sized star, suspended in the void, slowly rotating. The light's color changed—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. The seven colors cycled endlessly, like breathing.

Lin Ye took a step. There was no ground beneath his feet, yet he didn't fall. Something in the void was supporting him—not a physical entity, but a rule. The rule of the fourth level—"Possession." Not loss. Su Wanning was right. The fourth level required not "loss," but "possession." To possess someone, someone you'd be willing to go anywhere with. That kind of possession is more powerful than loss.

Lin Ye walked up to the ball of light. The light stopped in front of him, ceasing its rotation. Its color fixed at silver-white—the same as the association's emblem, the same as Su Wanning's silk thread, the same as the anchor point in Zhao Lin's pocket.

There was something in the light. A human-shaped silhouette. Small, curled up, like an infant. But Lin Ye knew it wasn't an infant. It was Shen Heting. His maternal grandfather. He entered this place twenty-one years ago and never left. His body was gone, but his consciousness remained. Protected by the rules of the fourth layer, he had been asleep for twenty-one years.

"Grandpa," Lin Ye said.

The silhouette shifted. The curled-up body slowly unfurled, like a flower blooming in slow motion. A person rose from the light. Not tall, about 1.7 meters, thin, with gray hair, wearing a dark gray long robe. His face was exactly the same as in the photograph, but twenty-one years older. The wrinkles were deeper, the eye sockets more sunken, and the lips thinner. But his eyes were bright, like two polished stars.

He stared at Lin Ye for a long time.

"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in a long time.

"Lin Ye. Shen Ruo's son."

Shen Heting's eyes widened suddenly. His hands began to tremble, his whole body shook. He reached out, wanting to touch Lin Ye's face, but his hand stopped less than ten centimeters away. Not because he was afraid, but because he was afraid. Afraid that this was a dream, and that touching it would wake him up.

Lin Ye reached out and grasped his hand. Shen Heting's hand was cold, while his palm was warm. As the cold and warm touched, Shen Heting's tears finally fell. Not tears, but a "melting." Twenty-one years of loneliness, twenty-one years of darkness, twenty-one years of waiting, all melted into tears at this moment.

"Is Ruoruo... alright?" he asked.

Lin Ye remained silent for a few seconds.

"She's gone. Seven days after you left. Her level of consciousness dropped to ten percent. She passed away peacefully, without pain."

Shen Heting lowered his head, looking at his aged hands. Tears dripped onto the back of his hands, one drop, two drops, three drops.

"When I left, she was 30% conscious. I thought... I thought she could hold on."

"She held on. She held on until the seventh day after you left."

Shen Heting didn't speak again. He stood there, holding Lin Ye's hand, tears falling drop by drop onto their clasped hands. Autumn Leaf slept on Lin Ye's wrist, its gray veins appearing dim in the silvery light, but it was still there. It hadn't disappeared; it was just asleep. When it woke up, Lin Ye would show it new colors. When Shen Heting woke up, Lin Ye would show him his mother's photograph. When everyone woke up, Lin Ye would take them home.

"Grandpa, I'll take you back."

Shen Heting looked up at him. The tears in his eyes were still wet, but the corners of his mouth had already turned up slightly.

"Okay," he said.