Dream Ghost

News of the successful surgery spread quickly at the association headquarters. Within an hour, people in the cafeteria were already discussing it—who was the new old man, why Lin Ye personally brought him out of the teleportation array, and why Dr. Jiang personally performed the consciousness implantation. Those discussing didn't know the answers, but they knew one thing: Lin Ye had gained another secret. He had too many secrets, like a garment covered in patches, each patch concealing a hidden past.

Lin Ye ignored the comments. He stood in the training room, facing Gu Yan's consciousness projection. The projection wasn't distorted or fragmented; it simply stood there quietly, holding the old notebook. The training room lights were at their brightest, illuminating every corner without shadow. Lin Ye's shadow was compressed at his feet, small, like a black puddle.

"You're not practicing rule writing today." Gu Yan opened his notebook. "Today you're practicing 'deconstructing' rule weaving. If you can weave, you must be able to deconstruct. Weaving is creation, deconstructing is understanding. If you can only weave but not deconstruct, once someone invades your rule network, you won't even know how to shut it down."

Lin Ye nodded. The traces of yesterday's battle still lingered in his mind—three rules written simultaneously, seven targets entangled at the same time, and a 0.5-second time difference controlled. Every frame was as clear as a slow-motion replay. He replayed it countless times in his mind, finding three points that could be optimized. The angle of the consciousness entanglement could be shifted another five degrees, the triggering timing of the rule writing could be one-tenth of a second earlier, and Su Wanning's threads could be tightened by half a second.

"Begin." Gu Yan closed his notebook.

The air in the training room began to distort. Not a change in temperature, but a change in the rules. Gu Yan's consciousness projection was simultaneously simulating three different frequency rules—the sealing of chains, the replication of echoes, and the dismantling of deconstruction. The three frequencies superimposed, like three different colored threads twisted into a rope. The moment Lin Ye's extended perception touched that rope, it was repelled. Not an attack, but a "rejection." His consciousness frequency was outside the permissible range of that rope.

"This is the Dream Weaver Society's latest coordinated tactic." Gu Yan's voice came from behind the distorted air. "The chains first seal off the space, then the echo replicates your rules, dismantling and dismantling your defenses. The three of them attack simultaneously, with no time difference. The seven you encountered yesterday were just a test; the true core members are at least two levels stronger than them."

Lin Ye took a step back. The rope was approaching him, not fast, but with an extremely strong sense of oppression. His senses were compressed to a range of less than two meters around his body, like a garment being tightened. The chain's restraint had begun—not in three seconds, but instantly.

Lin Ye didn't panic. His rules exploded in his consciousness—not one, but four. The first—"A rule vacuum within one meter of Lin Ye." Not a true vacuum, but "isolation." He blocked the chain's sealing rule a meter away, like opening an umbrella. The second—"Lin Ye's consciousness frequency randomly jumps." For Echo to replicate his rules, it must first capture his rule frequency. The frequency was randomly jumping; she couldn't capture a stable sample. The third—"All rule outputs in the training room are locked to 'Gu Yan'." Not an attack, but "redirection." The deconstructed rules wouldn't disappear, but would be redirected to Gu Yan's consciousness projection. The fourth—"Qiu Ye, wake up."

The last rule wasn't written in his consciousness. It was written in his bloodline. Lin Ye looked down at the sleeping Qiu Ye on his wrist, the deep purple mark and gray patterns almost blending together under the light. His consciousness touched the sleeping surface of Qiu Ye's consciousness, like a finger gently knocking on a door. No response. He knocked again. Still nothing.

The chains of confinement were advancing. His rule vacuum was compressed to half a meter, like an umbrella blown by the wind until only the ribs remained. The echo replication was trying to capture his frequency jumps; although it couldn't find a stable sample, the frequency jumps themselves were consuming his conscious energy. The deconstruction was eating away at his rules one by one—the rule vacuum was being dismantled, the frequency jumps were being dismantled, the target redirection was being dismantled.

All three rules are invalid. Only the last one remains—"Autumn Leaf, wake up."

Autumn Leaf didn't wake up. But its veins flickered briefly. Very faint, gone in an instant. But in that fleeting moment, a scene flooded into Lin Ye's consciousness—Autumn Leaf stood on a golden grassland, the sky was deep blue, and the stars were large, like lamps hanging overhead. Its form wasn't veins, but a person. A young man, in his early twenties, wearing a white robe, with long, black hair reaching his waist. His face was pale, with soft features, like a landscape painting done in light ink.

"I'm dreaming," Qiuye said. Its voice was exactly the same as the one Lin Ye heard in his consciousness, soft, like the wind blowing through a distant valley.

"You're asleep," Lin Ye said, "but you can talk to me in your dreams."

"I can't wake up. My body is still asleep, but my mind can move. It's like someone lying in bed with their eyes closed, but their mind is clear."

"Can you fight?"

Qiu Ye remained silent for a few seconds. The golden grassland undulated beneath his feet, like a wheat field swaying in the wind. The stars in the sky were bright, casting the shadows of the two people on the grass, their shadows very close together.

"Yes. But only once. After that, I'll sleep even more soundly. I might not wake up for a long time."

Lin Ye looked at Qiu Ye's face. That young, pale face, like a watercolor painting. For the first time in three thousand years, it appeared in someone else's consciousness in human form. It didn't know what it looked like; this image was pieced together from Lin Ye's concept of "human"—the white robe was borrowed from Lin Yuanshan's memories, the long black hair from Lin Yuanzhou's memories, and the facial features were projected from Lin Ye's own consciousness. It wasn't a person, but it wanted to be one.

"Once is enough," Lin Ye said.

The autumn leaf smiled. Not a relieved smile, not a bitter smile, but a very faint smile, like a spring breeze. For the first time in three thousand years, it smiled. No one had taught it how to smile, but it knew how. Because it had seen the hearts of three thousand years of people, it knew what a smile looked like.

Lin Ye opened his eyes. The battle in the training room continued. The chains had compressed to within ten centimeters of his body, like a tight-fitting suit, making it hard for him to breathe. The echo's replication was still trying to capture his frequency shifts, and the deconstruction was still devouring his newly written rules, one by one. But he stopped writing. He was waiting. Waiting for an opportunity.

The chains touched his skin. In that instant, his consciousness frequency was locked—not by echo detection, but automatically recognized by the chains' locking rules. Locking rules require knowledge of the target to complete the lock, so they read the target's consciousness frequency the moment they make contact. The reading takes only 0.01 seconds.

But 0.01 seconds is enough.

Autumn Leaf stirred. It didn't awaken; it "borrowed." It lent Lin Ye the rules and knowledge accumulated over three thousand years—not one by one, but the entire "repository" opened at once. Thirteen thousand rules flooded into Lin Ye's consciousness, each one recorded by Autumn Leaf within the World Tree over three thousand years. There were original rules written by the first generation of Night Watchers, annotated rules supplemented by Lin Yuanzhou, knowledge rules organized by Lin Yuanshan, and experiential rules left by countless generations of Night Watchers. Thirteen thousand rules, like thirteen thousand books being opened simultaneously.

Lin Ye's rule writing was no longer "writing," but "reciting." He didn't need to construct rule texts in his consciousness; he only needed to call upon existing rules from the thirteen thousand available. The chain's blockade? There was a rule specifically designed to deal with blockades—"The blockade rule automatically becomes invalid upon contact with the target," he recited. The chain's blockade crumbled the instant it touched his skin, like a rope stretched too taut suddenly snapping.

Echo's copying? There's a rule—"A rule cannot be copied if it bears 'Autumn Leaf's' signature." He read it aloud. Every rule Echo captured bore Autumn Leaf's signature; she couldn't copy it.

Deconstruction? There was a rule—"The rule of deconstruction automatically backfires on the caster when the target is deconstructed." He recited it. With each rule deconstructed, the short-haired woman's consciousness would suffer a backlash. By the third rule, her consciousness became confused.

Three rules, three seconds. Gu Yan's consciousness projection retreated to the corner of the training room, returning to its original form. The notebook was still tucked under his arm, his expression unchanged, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"You used Qiuye's rule library."

"Borrowed. It's still sleeping."

"Each time you borrow, you can borrow less. Qiuye's rule library is its capital accumulated over three thousand years; each one used reduces the remaining amount. It is not infinite."

Lin Ye looked down at the autumn leaf on his wrist. The gray veins were fainter than before, like a riverbed about to dry up. It had fallen asleep again, this time sleeping even more soundly. Lin Ye could sense its consciousness—still there, but further away. Like a person walking from a room to the end of a corridor; the door wasn't closed, but the distance was greater.

"I know," he said.

The training room door opened, and Su Wanning walked in. Her complexion was better than yesterday, and her dark circles were lighter, but there was something in her eyes that Lin Ye had never seen before—not nervousness, not fear, but "ready."

"People from headquarters have arrived," she said.

Lin Ye looked at her.

"Who?"

"Headquarters investigation team. Three people. Two early-stage Dream Domain Masters, one peak Dream Weaver. They want to see your combat data."

Chen Xuan walked down the corridor, holding that glass of water that never seemed to run out. His expression was calm, but Lin Ye could sense what lay beneath that calm—not anger, but the weariness of "I knew this would happen."

"The investigation team is waiting for you in the conference room," Chen Xuan said. "I'll go with you."

Lin Ye walked out of the training room, Su Wanning followed behind him, and Chen Xuan walked in front. The three of them walked through the long corridor, which was lit by warm yellow lights, casting their shadows on the floor, one in front and three behind, like a small team.