Dream Ghost

The seven-day countdown began the moment Lin Yuanzhou said "seven days from now." On the third basement level of the association headquarters, next to the teleportation array, a countdown calendar was posted on the wall. Zhou Zhou had drawn seven circles on it with a red pen, crossing one off each day. Today was day one.

Lin Ye stood in the center of the training room, a ball of light floating before him. It wasn't lamplight, nor sunlight; it was something he had created himself—a product of the written rules. He had woven together the rules of "temperature increase" and "air refraction" to create a continuously emitting light source. It needed no electricity, no flame; as long as his consciousness remained, the light would not go out. The light was bright, illuminating every corner of the training room without a shadow. Su Wanning stood outside the light, his long shadow cast on the wall.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm practicing maintaining the rules." Lin Ye didn't turn around. "I need to know how long a rule can last. This light started shining at six this morning, and it's been shining for four hours now. There's no decay, no fluctuation, it's very stable."

"How long can it last?"

"I don't know. Maybe forever."

Su Wanning walked to his side and looked at the ball of light. The light wasn't round; it was teardrop-shaped, pointed at the top and rounded at the bottom, like a teardrop suspended in mid-air. Its surface was subtly flowing—not liquid, but the flow of "rules." Lin Ye had woven seven layers of rules onto the outer shell of the light, each layer supporting the other six. Like an arched bridge, each stone pressing down on the one next to it; none was superfluous.

"Aren't you going to learn the rules today?"

"I learned it. I learned five rules today. From the Qiuye rule library."

"Gojo?"

"Five articles. Learn from 12,996 articles to 12,991 articles."

Su Wanning looked at him. His face was paler than yesterday, and the dark circles under his eyes were deeper. 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 time is running out."

"You're learning too fast. Your body can't handle it."

"It can hold." Lin Ye reached out and touched the ball of light with his fingertips. The surface of the light slightly dented under his touch, then bounced back like a resilient water droplet. "Not much time left. Seven days. No, six and a half days."

Su Wanning remained silent. She walked to the corner of the training room, released silver threads from her fingertips, and began weaving a new network. Not a defensive network, but a network of "perception." Her threads extended one by one, passing through the walls of the training room, through the corridors, and through every room in the association headquarters. She was scanning the entire building with the threads, not to find enemies, but to "remember." To remember the consciousness frequency of every person, the regular structure of every room, the distribution of light in every corridor. The door seven days from now was in the "future," not in the present. She couldn't enter, but her threads could. The threads were extensions of consciousness, and consciousness could transcend time.

"What are you doing?" Lin Ye asked.

"Preparing. My consciousness is only 58% complete, so I can't enter the door. But my silk threads can. I'll wrap the silk threads around your hand, and when you go in, the silk threads will follow. I'll be outside, and the silk threads will be inside. The door will close, but the silk threads will still be there. I can see what you see and hear what you hear."

Lin Ye turned around and looked at her. Her fingers moved swiftly among the silk threads, like a weaver. Silver threads wrapped, knotted, and wove at her fingertips, forming a complex net. One end of the net was connected to her hand, and the other end to Lin Ye's wrist. Not bound, but "connected."

"Are you afraid I won't be able to get out once I go in?" Lin Ye asked.

Su Wanning's fingers paused for a moment, then continued knitting.

"I'm not afraid. But I need to know what happened to you inside."

Lin Ye looked down at the silver thread on his wrist. It was very thin, almost imperceptible. But its presence was strong, like an invisible rope binding the two of them together. He suddenly thought of Qiu Ye. Qiu Ye was also tied to his wrist. The gray lines were still there, but the color was fading. It had been asleep for six days, without waking up. Lin Ye would touch it every day, calling its name with his mind. There was no response. But he could feel it there—like a faint, yet not yet extinguished, star. A star won't shine forever, but it shone. That was enough.

Chen Xuan pushed open the door and came in, without a tablet or a water glass in his hand. He was wearing a dark jacket and his hair was neatly combed, as if he were about to go out.

"Headquarters sent word," he said. "Fang Yuan has been dismissed. Not because of you, but because he secretly accessed fragmented data from headquarters. The radicals couldn't protect him; the evidence was too conclusive."

Lin Ye looked at him.

"Did you do this?"

"No. It was Qin Lan. She checked the data access records at headquarters and found that Fang Yuan accessed your consciousness fluctuation data in real time while you were fighting. She submitted this data to the headquarters disciplinary committee. Fang Yuan can't explain why he was accessing your data right when you were fighting."

Lin Ye was silent for a few seconds. Qin Lan. Head of the headquarters investigation team, short hair, silver-white strands, thin lips. She had said in the meeting room, "I agree to your conditions." She kept her word. Fang Yuan wanted to bypass Chen Xuan to check the data, but she stopped him. Not because she liked Lin Ye, but because she was herself. She would do what she said.

"Where is Qin Lan now?" Lin Ye asked.

"At headquarters. She's writing an investigation report. Fang Yuan's matter is only part of the report; the other part is about the Dreamweaver Society publicly disclosing the coordinates of the World Tree. Headquarters is discussing whether or not to send someone into the World Tree." Chen Xuan walked to the window, looking at the sky outside. "Some advocate going in, some advocate not going in. Those who advocate going in are afraid of causing trouble, and those who advocate not going in are afraid of missing an opportunity. They've been arguing for two days, and there's still no result."

"They won't go in," Lin Ye said. "They don't know where the door is. The door Lin Yuanzhou said is in the tree rings, in the 'future.' The people at headquarters don't know that. They think the coordinates that Dreamweaver will publicly disclose are the location of the door. They'll go there, and then find nothing there."

Chen Xuan turned around and looked at him.

"You know where the door is."

"I know. But I won't tell headquarters."

Chen Xuan stared at him for a long time. Then he smiled, not a happy smile, but a faint smile, like "You really are you."

"You're ruthless than your father."

"You've said it many times."

"Because it's true."

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Shen Heting entered, still wearing his dark blue coat, the sleeves a bit too long, but rolled up neatly. His gait was more steady than a few days ago; his new body was adapting quickly. He walked up to Lin Ye and pulled something from his pocket—a copper plate, engraved with regular symbols on the front and "Shen Ruo" on the back. Lin Ye's plate.

"You left it under my pillow again." Shen Heting handed him the copper piece. "Why?"

Lin Ye took the copper piece and held it in his palm.

"Because I don't know if I'll be able to come back after seven days. If I don't come back, please keep it safe for me."

Shen Heting stared at him for a long time.

"Come back."

How did you know?

"Because your mother has waited for you for twenty-two years. You haven't gone to see her yet. You won't let her wait in vain."

Lin Ye didn't speak. He put the copper piece into his pocket and didn't return it to Shen Heting.

Lin Yuanzhou walked in from the corridor, leaning on his cane. He walked slowly, but each step was steady. He walked up to Lin Ye, took out a thin notebook from his pocket, the pages were yellowed, and the edges were badly worn. He handed the notebook to Lin Ye.

"This is Lin Yuanshan's notebook. He left it for me before he entered the World Tree. I've never opened it. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't dare. If I opened it, he would really be gone." Lin Yuanzhou's voice was calm, but Lin Ye could hear the emotion beneath the calm. "Here you go. Take it with you when you go in. It might come in handy."

Lin Ye took the notebook. The paper was brittle; he had to be very careful when turning the pages. The first page had only one line written on it—"Brother, I've entered the World Tree. Don't wait for me." The second page was blank. The third page was also blank. The entire notebook contained only that one line. Before Lin Yuanshan entered the World Tree, he thought he would die. He didn't want his brother to wait for him, so he wrote "Don't wait for me." But he didn't die. He lived inside the World Tree for three thousand years, writing down the rule library with his consciousness and guarding the sixth seal with fragments. He had been waiting. Waiting for someone to come and take him home. That person came. It was Lin Ye.

Lin Ye closed the notebook, put it in his pocket, and placed it together with the copper sheet.

"I will bring him back," he said.

Lin Yuanzhou looked at him, something shimmering in his cloudy eyes. It wasn't the light of tears, but the kind of light that said, "I've waited so long, and finally I've got it."

Outside the training room, in the corridor, Zhou Zhou stood before the countdown calendar, a red pen in his hand. Today's date was crossed out; the red cross was thick and heavy. He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked back to the technical analysis room. New data was flashing on the screen—the signal from the World Tree coordinates was getting stronger; it wasn't that Dreamweaver was increasing its transmission, but that someone was receiving it. Many people were receiving it. Dreamers all over the world were staring at the same coordinates, the same location, the same door.

The door wasn't open yet. But everyone was waiting. Waiting for the door to open, waiting for an opportunity, waiting for fate. Lin Ye was waiting too. But he wasn't just waiting idly. He was training, learning, preparing. He wanted to transform himself into a blade. A blade doesn't wait for anyone; a blade is held by someone. The one holding the blade is himself. He won't let go.