Dream Ghost

When Lin Ye returned to the association headquarters, it was already dawn. Not the bright, sunny kind, but the hazy, veiled light characteristic of a late autumn morning. The emergency lights in the corridor were still on, their dim yellow glow mingling with the greyish-white daylight streaming in from the windows, painting the entire corridor in an indescribable color. Su Wanning leaned against a bench in the corridor, silver threads dangling from her fingertips, spreading a small patch of silver light on the floor. She wasn't asleep; her eyes were open, staring at the end of the corridor—the direction Lin Ye would appear in. When she saw him, she didn't stand up, nor did she speak. She simply watched him walk towards her, his steps steady, his face somewhat pale, but his eyes clear.

"We won," Lin Ye said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"I won." Lin Ye sat down beside her, the springs of the bench creaking. His tracksuit was dusty, the cuff was torn, and black stains, seemingly from nowhere, were embedded in his fingernails. Su Wanning looked at him, at the dust, the tear, the stains. She reached out and patted the dust off his shoulder, once, twice, three times. The dust settled on the bench, floating for a moment in the dim light.

"Where is Fang Yuan?" she asked.

"They're gone. All three of them are gone. I didn't kill them."

Why?

"Kill them, and headquarters will send even stronger people. Don't kill them, and they'll think it over. One against three, and he escaped unscathed, without killing a single person. Those people at headquarters will wonder, did he lose, or did he not want to fight? If he didn't want to fight, why didn't he want to? If he couldn't win, why did he come back standing up?" Lin Ye leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights were off, leaving only round spots of light from the emergency lights. "Let them think about it. The more they think, the less they'll dare to act."

Su Wanning looked at him. His profile was somewhat blurred in the hazy morning light, like a sketch washed clean. But his eyes were bright, not the kind of bright that comes from winning a battle, but the kind of bright that says, "I know what I'm doing."

Chen Xuan walked over from the other end of the corridor, carrying a cup of hot tea instead of a water glass. It was a white ceramic cup with the association's logo printed on it. He handed the cup to Lin Ye, who took it and took a sip. It was hot, but comfortably so, warming him from his throat all the way to his stomach.

"I will report Fang Yuan's matter to headquarters," Chen Xuan said. "He attacked you outside of the investigation time, location, and by non-investigative means. This violates at least three of the investigation team's rules. The penalty is dismissal, or even expulsion."

Will headquarters take action against him?

"No. He's a radical, and radicals have a voice at headquarters. They'll protect him. But they'll warn him not to touch you again. Not because you're right, but because you're too strong. Strong enough that they don't want to be your enemy."

Lin Ye placed the teacup on the bench and stood up.

"Shen Heting is awake?"

"You're awake. In the medical room. He's been waiting for you."

Lin Ye walked towards the medical room. The corridor was long, and the emergency lights behind him went out one by one—not because they were broken, but because someone had turned off the main switch. It was dawn; the lights were no longer needed. When he pushed open the door, Shen Heting was sitting on the bed, holding a book—the same "The Interpretation of Dreams" from Lin Ye's desk, which he had somehow taken. His fingers moved slowly across the pages, reading slowly but intently, word by word.

"You're back." Shen Heting didn't look up.

"I'm back."

"Chen Xuan told me about Fang Yuan. You used Qiu Ye's rule library."

"Three were used."

"Each one used is one less available. Qiuye's rule library is its capital accumulated over three thousand years. It is not infinite."

Lin Ye sat down on the chair beside the bed. Morning light streamed in through the window, falling between the two of them like a transparent river. Shen Heting closed his book, placed it on the bedside table, and looked at Lin Ye.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Learn. Make Qiuye's rule set my own. Use one rule, learn one rule. Once you've learned it all, it's mine. Qiuye won't disappear; it will become a part of me."

Shen Heting stared at him for a long time. The morning light moved across his face, from his forehead to his cheekbones, and from his cheekbones to his chin. His face had age spots, wrinkles, and loose skin. But his eyes were not old; they were deep brown, like two bottomless wells.

"You're ruthless than your father," he said.

"You've said it many times."

"Because it's true. Your father would hesitate, think a lot, and be afraid of hurting others. You wouldn't. You only ask one question—'Should this be done?' If it should be done, then do it; if it shouldn't be done, then don't. No hesitation, no overthinking, no fear of hurting others."

"It's not that I'm not afraid. It's that I don't want to. If I think too much, I won't be able to move."

Shen Heting's lips twitched slightly. It wasn't a smile, but an expression of "you're right." He reached out and patted Lin Ye's shoulder. The hand was unfamiliar—slightly chubby, with age spots, belonging to a retired teacher named Zhou Demao. But the pressure on the shoulder was familiar, exactly the same pressure Shen Heting had used to pat Lin Yuan's shoulder twenty-one years ago.

When Lin Yuanzhou pushed open the door, he was carrying a bowl of porridge. The white rice porridge was steaming hot, with a few goji berries floating on top. He placed the porridge on Shen Heting's bedside table and sat down on the other side of the bed. The two elderly people, one sitting on the left side of the bed and the other on the right, were separated by Shen Heting's new body.

"Lin Yuanzhou, this is Shen Heting. Shen Heting, this is Lin Yuanzhou." Lin Ye introduced them, his voice flat, as if he were reading a list.

The two old men exchanged a glance. Lin Yuanzhou's eyes were cloudy, but bright. Shen Heting's eyes were deep brown, like two bottomless wells. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then simultaneously looked away.

"You don't look like Lin Yuanshan," Shen Heting said.

"You don't look like your father either," Lin Yuanzhou said.

The two old people didn't speak again. They sat on either side of the bed, like two old trees planted in the same flowerpot, their roots intertwined in the soil, their branches gently touching in the wind.

Su Wanning stood at the door, not coming in. She looked at the three people in the room—Lin Ye sitting in a chair, Lin Yuanzhou sitting on the left side of the bed, and Shen Heting sitting on the bed. Three people, three eras, three thousand years. Lin Yuanzhou represented the past, Shen Heting represented the present, and Lin Ye represented the future. They sat in the same room, sunlight streaming in through the window, falling on the three of them and casting their shadows on the floor. The three shadows were different lengths, but all pointed in the same direction.

Lin Ye stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was fully bright; the sun rose between the tall buildings in the east, bathing the entire city in gold. On the distant streets, more cars and people were appearing; a new day had begun.

"I've found the seventh fragment," Lin Ye said.

Shen Heting and Lin Yuanzhou looked at him at the same time.

"In my blood. The blood of the Shen family. The blood of the first generation of Night's Watch direct descendants."

Lin Yuanzhou tapped his knee lightly with his fingers.

"How do you plan to use it?"

"I don't know. It's been inside me for twenty-two years, and nothing has happened. No awakening, no abilities, no abnormalities. It's just a dormant bloodline, like a seed that will never sprout."

"Seeds will sprout," Shen Heting said, "but they need suitable soil, suitable water, and suitable temperature. You haven't found the right environment yet."

"What kind of environment?"

"I don't know. The first generation didn't say. He only said one sentence—'The key is in the blood, the door is in time.'"

Lin Ye turned around and looked at the two old people. Sunlight spread out a golden light behind him, casting his long shadow on the floor, stretching all the way to Shen Heting's bedside.

"Time. What is time?"

Lin Yuanzhou remained silent for a few seconds. He lowered his head and looked at his aged hands.

"Time is not a clock, not a calendar, not day and night. Time is 'change.' Trees grow old, people die, and stones weather. Change is time. The 'time' that the first generation spoke of may not be the time on a clock, but 'change' itself. When the key encounters the right change, the door will open."

Lin Ye looked at him.

"What changes?"

"I don't know. But you will find out. Because you are changing. You change every day. You are different today than you were yesterday, and you will be different tomorrow than you are today. When you change to a certain extent, the key will find the door."

Lin Ye stood there, sunlight spreading a golden glow behind him. He stretched out his hand, looking at his palm. The deep purple mark appeared faint in the morning light, yet it glowed. One moment bright, the next dim, like a heartbeat.

Autumn leaves slept on his wrist. The gray veins were almost invisible in the morning light, but he could feel them—like a faint, yet not yet extinguished, star. It would occasionally flash in its sleep, very slowly, like someone turning over in their dream.

Su Wanning walked in through the door, went to Lin Ye's side, and stood beside him by the window. She didn't speak, just stood there, looking at the city outside the window. The sun was already high in the sky, its golden light turning into white light, illuminating the entire city.

"Lin Ye".

"Um."

What are your plans for today?

"Training. Turn Qiuye's rule base into my own. Use one rule, learn one rule. Once you've learned it all, it's mine."

"I'll stay with you."

"it is good."

The two walked out of the medical room and into the corridor. All the emergency lights in the corridor were off; only the natural light streaming in from the windows, a pale gray, illuminated the entire corridor. Their footsteps echoed in the corridor, each beat like a heartbeat.