Dream Ghost

The countdown ended in one day. Lin Ye didn't go to the training room, didn't go to the rooftop, didn't go anywhere. He sat on his bed in his room, leaning against the wall, the bronze piece resting on his lap. The curtains weren't drawn, and sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on his hand and illuminating the deep purple mark. He wasn't looking at the mark; he was looking at the bronze piece. The piece was small, not much bigger than a coin, with regular symbols on the front and "Shen Ruo" on the back. He stared at it for a long time, so long that the sunlight moved from the foot of the bed to the headboard, changing from gold to orange-red.

Su Wanning didn't knock. She knew he needed to be alone. She sat on a bench in the corridor, silver threads dangling from her fingertips, spreading a small patch of silver light on the floor. She wasn't weaving nets, not training, just sitting. Chen Xuan walked over from the other end of the corridor, carrying two glasses of water, handing one to her and drinking the other himself. Su Wanning took the glass, but didn't drink it, placing it on her lap.

"Is he in the room?" Chen Xuan asked.

"exist."

"How long has it been?"

Six hours.

Chen Xuan remained silent for a few seconds. He leaned against the wall, looking at the window at the end of the corridor. The sky outside was darkening, and the orange-red sunset was like a thin veil spread across the window.

"The door will be open tomorrow," Chen Xuan said.

"I know."

"You can't get in."

"I know."

"He might not be able to get out once he goes in."

Su Wanning gently flicked the silver thread with his finger. The thread trembled, as if someone had been touched on a wound.

"He can get out."

How did you know?

"Because he promised me."

Chen Xuan looked at her for a long time, then nodded, turned and left. Su Wanning sat alone on the bench. The emergency lights in the corridor were on, their orange glow appearing faint in the grayish-white sky, like a candle about to go out.

Lin Ye was in his room. He placed the copper sheet under his pillow, stood up, and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was already dark, the streetlights were on, and the distant city skyline unfolded before him—a myriad of lights like a starry sky inverted on the ground. He reached out and pressed his hand against the windowpane. The glass was cool; his palm was warm. The coolness met the warmth, and a thin layer of fog formed on the glass. He didn't write anything; he simply pressed his hand. The warmth of his palm seeped through the glass, into the night breeze, and into the city lights. No one would feel it, but he knew it was there. His warmth was there, mingling with the myriad lights.

He turned and walked out of the room. The emergency lights in the hallway shone on his face, casting a long shadow on the floor. Su Wanning stood up from the bench, looked at him, and didn't say "Where are you going?", but simply followed behind him. The two walked through the hallway, entered the elevator, and went down to the fourth basement level. The vault door was open, and Chen Xuan stood in the doorway, holding the key.

"Are you going in?" Chen Xuan asked.

"Go in."

Chen Xuan stepped aside, and Lin Ye went inside. Su Wanning didn't follow; she stood at the doorway, watching his figure disappear into the darkness of the vault. The lights came on automatically. Lin Ye walked to the innermost shelf, squatted down, and looked at the small bottle on the bottom shelf. A fragment of Qiu Ye's consciousness, ninety-seven percent intact. Gray light drifted slowly within the bottle, like a firefly trapped in amber. He took the bottle down from the shelf, held it between his hands, and sat down on the vault floor, leaning against the shelf. Before him were forty-two bottles, forty-two orbs of light. His father's, his mother's, Su Wanning's father's, and those of people he didn't recognize. All the consciousnesses were here, glowing in the darkness, like a miniature starry sky.

Lin Ye closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking deep into his bloodline. He found the "point"—the door was open. He stepped inside and stood within the seed. The space was small, barely enough for one person. There were drawings on the walls, and next to them were his own words. He walked to the wall, reached out, and pressed his hand against the words "The seed will sprout." The words were golden, glowing in the darkness. His palm touched the words, feeling their warmth—not his own, but Qiu Ye's. It was there. It had always been there.

"Akiba. The door will open tomorrow. I need you."

The wall lit up briefly. Not light, but "temperature." The temperature inside the seed changed from cool to warm, like a heart held in the palm of one's hand for too long. Then, he heard a sound. Not language, but "frequency." Qiu Ye's consciousness frequency vibrated deep within his bloodline, like a plucked string. This time, the frequency didn't disappear; it persisted, growing stronger and more stable, like a person slowly rising in the darkness.

"I'm here." Qiuye's voice rang in Lin Ye's mind, soft but clear. It didn't come from afar, but from very close by—from the depths of his bloodline, from the walls of the seeds, from every place where Qiuye had left a trace.

"You're awake?" Lin Ye asked.

"woke up."

"When did you wake up?"

"Just now, when you were holding that bottle, the shards inside were calling to me. Not with sound, but with warmth. The warmth of the tears of the first Night's Watch, which had slumbered in the bottle for three thousand years. It called to me, and I awoke."

Lin Ye opened his eyes and looked down at the gray patterns on his wrist. The patterns were changing, from gray to silver, from silver to gold, and from gold to transparent. They weren't disappearing; they were "coming alive." The autumn leaf patterns were no longer patterns; they were "light." Transparent light flowed across his wrist, like a river just thawing. It flowed over his wrist, over the back of his hand, and over his fingertips. Then it stopped, merging with the deep purple mark in his right palm. The mark had changed. In the center of the deep purple crescent-shaped pupil, a teardrop shape had appeared. Transparent, like a tear.

Fragments of Autumn Leaf. Tears of the first Night's Watch. After three thousand years, it has finally returned to Autumn Leaf's body. Not a fusion, but a "homecoming." Tears were originally a part of Autumn Leaf, and Autumn Leaf was originally a part of the first Night's Watch. Separated for three thousand years, now they are united.

Lin Ye stood up and put the bottle back on the shelf. The light was gone; the shards were gone. He turned and walked out of the vault. Su Wanning was still standing at the door, as was Chen Xuan. The two of them looked at him, at the palm of his right hand—a crescent-shaped eye with a single, clear tear in its pupil.

"Qiuye has woken up," Lin Ye said.

Su Wanning reached out and gently touched the shape of the teardrop. Her fingertips were cold, and the tear was cold. Cold touching cold, devoid of warmth, yet she felt it—not warmth, but a "heartbeat." Autumn Leaf's heartbeat was slow and steady, like a struck bronze bell, its sound carrying far, far away, to the deepest part of the World Tree, to the other side of the door. The door heard it; it responded. Tomorrow, it will open.

Lin Ye walked into the corridor, Su Wanning following behind him. The two crossed the corridor, entered the elevator, went up to the first floor, and left the association headquarters. A night breeze greeted them, not a biting cold, but the coolness unique to late autumn, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and dust. Lin Ye stood on the steps by the door, looking up at the sky. The moon was full, its silvery light spilling onto the rooftop, onto the street, and onto the two of them.

"You'll be going in tomorrow," Su Wanning said.

"meeting."

"I'll wait for you outside."

"it is good."

The two remained silent. They stood on the steps, watching the moon move from east to west, the clouds drift from north to south, and the city lights go out one by one. Dawn was approaching. A pale white tinge appeared in the eastern sky, like a thin white line slowly unfolding on the horizon. The countdown was over.

Lin Ye turned and walked into the association headquarters, Su Wanning following behind him. The two walked through the corridor and into the room containing the teleportation array. Zhou Zhou was sitting at the control panel, with Meng Xiaoqing standing beside him, holding a laptop in her arms. Chen Xuan stood at the edge of the teleportation array, without a water glass in his hand. Lin Yuanzhou sat in a wheelchair, with Shen Heting standing beside him. Everyone had arrived.

Lin Ye stepped into the teleportation array and stood in the center of the rune array. Su Wanning stood beside him, silver threads extending from her fingertips to his wrist, wrapping around and around. Not just one, but many threads. She had wrapped all the threads around his wrist, like a silver wristband.

"These threads can extend for three thousand kilometers. The space inside the World Tree is not physical space, so distance is not a problem. As long as your consciousness remains, the threads will not break." Su Wanning took a step back, standing outside the rune array. "Go in, I'll be here. Whatever you see, I can see too. Whatever you hear, I can hear too."

Lin Ye looked down at the silver thread on his wrist. It was intertwined with the transparent patterns of autumn leaves, one thread glowing, the other transparent. One thread connected to Su Wanning, the other to the Night Watchman from three thousand years ago. Two threads, two worlds, two people. Both were in his hand.

"Start it," he said.

Zhou Zhou pressed the start button.

The rune array glowed white. The light engulfed everything.

A feeling of falling. Darkness. The sound of wind. And then—landing. Lin Ye opened his eyes; he was standing on the bark of the World Tree. Silvery-white fibers stretched out beneath his feet, like a flattened snowfield. But unlike last time, the fibers were moving, breathing, undulating. The World Tree had awakened. Because it sensed—the door was about to open.

Lin Ye walked towards the dotted line. This time, he didn't walk; he ran. Silvery-white fibers splashed at his feet, like snow. Su Wanning's silver threads trembled gently on his wrist, like a string on a musical instrument plucked by the wind. He knew she was there. She had always been there.

The dotted line has been reached. The crack is no longer virtual; it's real. Silvery-white fibers curl at the crack's edge, like paper burned by fire. Inside the crack is black, not the black of darkness, but the black of emptiness. Nothing is there, yet anything is possible. The door opens.

Lin Ye stood before the crevice, gazing at the black void. Without hesitation, he took a step and entered the crevice.

Darkness swallowed him.

Su Wanning stood before the teleportation array, the silver thread on her wrist taut. She couldn't see what Lin Ye saw, nor hear the sounds he heard. She could only sense the thread's state—it was there, unbroken. Lin Ye's consciousness remained. The information transmitted through the thread was faint, like someone shouting from afar, the sound scattered by the wind, leaving only scattered, broken syllables.

But she heard one word.

"wait."

She was waiting. She had been waiting.