Dream Ghost

Three days after the standoff ended, the pale golden tear in Lin Ye's right palm began to change color. It didn't change from pale gold to deep gold, but from pale gold to transparent, from transparent to silvery-white, and from silvery-white to a color he had never seen before—like the palest shade of blue in the dawn sky, existing between existence and non-existence. The tear was changing color, and so were the roots. The silvery-white roots that had been coiled on his arm sank below the skin's surface, not disappearing, but "sinking." From the epidermis to the dermis, from the dermis to the muscle, from the muscle to the blood vessel walls, from the blood vessel walls to the bone surface. The roots found the bone, clinging to it like vines climbing a stone wall. No pain, no itch, no sensation whatsoever. Lin Ye only noticed this when he accidentally touched his right arm while showering, discovering that the bone beneath the skin was no longer smooth, but textured. The texture of the roots was etched into the bone.

When Su Wanning first touched those patterns, her fingers lingered on the ulna of his forearm for a long time. Her fingertips were cool, and the root-like patterns on the bone were also cool. Coolness touching coolness, she felt the shape of each root—not straight, but spiral-shaped, like the double helix structure of DNA, with two main roots intertwined and extending downwards, from the elbow joint to the wrist, from the wrist to the palm, and from the palm to the fingertips of each finger.

"It's in your bones," Su Wanning said.

"Yes. Bones are its last soil. Inside bones is marrow, inside marrow are blood vessels, inside blood vessels are blood vessels. In the blood vessels are the rules of the first generation of the Night's Watch. The roots found the rules, so it stopped and began to take root. Not into the flesh, but into the bones."

"Does it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt. It's like growing hair or nails. You can't feel it, but it keeps growing."

Su Wanning withdrew her hand, releasing the silver threads from her fingertips, and began to re-weave the wristband on Lin Ye's wrist. It wasn't the old one; it was new. She wove the threads finer, denser, and closer together, like a layer of skin covering the traces left by the sinking roots. Those traces were faint, almost invisible, but Su Wanning knew they were there. She remembered the shape of every single root. She wove the threads into that shape not to record, but to "connect." The threads followed the traces of the roots, and the traces of the roots followed the patterns of the roots on the bone. Three layers, one on top of another, like a sandwich. She, Lin Ye, and the World Tree, all stacked together.

Autumn Leaf awoke. Not the kind of awakening that "speaks in a dream," but a true awakening. Its transparent veins shone brightly all night beside the teardrop on Lin Ye's right palm, not with a flickering, breathing light, but with a continuous, steady glow, like a light bulb that had been switched on. Lin Ye woke up in the middle of the night to find his right hand glowing. The transparent light bathed the entire room as if it were immersed in moonlight. Autumn Leaf didn't say "I'm awake," it spoke with light. The light was telling Lin Ye: I am here, I have always been here, and I will always be here.

Lin Ye raised his right hand, looking at the transparent lines beside the teardrop in his palm. The lines of the autumn leaf were no longer lines, but "light." The transparent light flowed in his palm, like a river that had just thawed, flowing over the teardrop, over the traces of roots, and over the silver wristband woven by Su Wanning. Three lines, three sources, converged at this moment. The light of the autumn leaf seeped into the teardrop, and the teardrop's color changed from silvery-white to transparent, transparent to pale gold, and pale gold to the color of the autumn leaf. The three colors blended in the teardrop, making it impossible to distinguish which part was from the autumn leaf, which part was from the roots, and which part was from Su Wanning's threads.

Lin Ye didn't go to the training room. He sat on the bed, his right hand resting on his knee, watching the merging light in his palm. Su Wanning walked in at some point and sat beside him without saying a word. The two sat side by side in the darkness, watching the light in Lin Ye's palm grow from chaos to clarity, from clarity to stability. The light finally settled on a color—not the transparency of autumn leaves, not the silvery white of roots, not the silver of silk threads, but a new color. Like moonlight reflecting off snow, white, but not a ghastly white, a warm white, with a hint of gold, a hint of silver, a hint of something indescribable, like "hope."

"It has merged," Su Wanning said.

"They've merged."

"What is it now?"

"It is the World Tree. Autumn leaves, roots, and threads—three things combined to form something new. It is not a tree, not a root, not a thread. It is a 'door.' Not a door to the future, but a door to all places. I can go anywhere from here, as long as I wish. The bark of the World Tree, the inside of the seed, the space behind the door, the core of the Dream Weavers, and right beside you."

Su Wanning looked at him.

"Can you come to my side?"

Lin Ye reached out and gently touched her cheek. His fingertips were warm, her cheek was cool. Cool touching warm, just like before. But what was different was that as he touched her, the light in his palm illuminated her. The light fell on her face, making her eyelashes appear long and casting a small fan-shaped shadow under her eyelids.

"I can. No matter where I am, the light will bring me back if I want to. Your threads are in the light, and the threads connect me to you. You are in my hands, and I will never lose you."

Su Wanning didn't speak. She reached out and placed her hand on Lin Ye's right palm, on the ball of light. Her fingers were cool, the light was warm. Coolness met warmth, the light didn't go out, it just adjusted its color—from warm white to pale pink, like cherry blossoms just blooming in spring.

Chen Xuan stood outside the door for a long time. He didn't knock, didn't make a sound, just stood there. He knew Lin Ye and Su Wanning were inside, knew they were doing something very important—not training, not fighting, but "connecting." Their consciousnesses were linked together through that ball of light, indistinguishable as to which part belonged to Lin Ye and which to Su Wanning. Chen Xuan had seen many kinds of connections: intertwined consciousnesses, woven rules, webs of threads. But he had never seen anything like this. This wasn't an ability, it was a "relationship." A relationship isn't learned, it grows. Like tree roots, it grows from the soil, from the bones, from the light.

He turned and walked away. The corridor was long, the warm yellow light casting a long shadow on the floor. He reached the door of the technical analysis room and pushed it open. Zhou Zhou sat at the control panel, three screens lit up simultaneously in front of him. Meng Xiaoqing stood beside him, clutching her laptop. Neither of them looked well.

"The Dream Weavers have withdrawn," Zhou Zhou said. "All twenty-one points of light have vanished. Not hidden, but 'departed.' Their consciousness signatures have completely disappeared from our monitoring range. The last place they appeared was deep in the valley outside the World Tree, and then nothing more. Not teleportation, not instantaneous movement, but 'dissipation.' Like ice melting into water, water evaporating into vapor, and vapor disappearing into the air. They're still there, but not in a place we can monitor."

Chen Xuan looked at the blank area on the screen. All the red dots were gone, leaving only green ones—Qin Lan's twenty-three men were still on the ridge.

"Does Qin Lan know?"

"I know. She sent a message saying that when the Dreamweavers withdrew, they left no trace. No footprints, no remaining rules, no fluctuations of consciousness. As if they had never existed."

Chen Xuan remained silent for a few seconds. The Dream Weavers withdrew, not because they couldn't win, not because they were afraid, but because they had "waited for it." They were waiting for Lin Ye to appear, and Lin Ye appeared. They saw him, saw the light in his right palm, saw the roots, autumn leaves, and threads within that light. They saw what they wanted to see, and then they left. Without leaving a trace, without saying goodbye, like watching a movie—the lights come on, the people disperse.

Lin Ye walked in from the corridor, Su Wanning following behind. He walked to the screen and looked at the blank area. The light in his palm had dimmed, not gone out, but "retracted." The light was absorbed into his tears, the tears into his mark, and the mark into his bones. The light was in his body, in his bones, in his blood. The Dream Weavers couldn't see it, the monitoring equipment couldn't detect it, only he himself knew.

"They will come back," Lin Ye said.

"When?" Chen Xuan asked.

"When the roots have grown all over my bones. When the light of autumn leaves has mingled with my blood. When Su Wanning's threads have become part of my nervous system. Then, they won't need to look for me; I will look for them."

Chen Xuan looked at him.

Do you know where they are?

"I don't know. But the roots know. The roots will find them, just as the roots find the soil. The roots will always find a way."

Lin Ye turned and walked out of the technical analysis room into the corridor. Su Wanning didn't follow; she stood at the doorway, watching his figure disappear around the corner. The corridor was long, the warm yellow light casting his shadow on the floor, a very long, endless road. She watched for a long time, then turned and walked back into the technical analysis room.

Meng Xiaoqing was still looking at the data; the screen displayed a 3D image of Lin Ye's right arm's skeletal structure. The surfaces of the ulna and radius were covered with fine lines, like tree roots, blood vessels, or tributaries of a river. These lines weren't carved in; they "grew" in. The roots clung to the bone, the bone absorbed the roots, and the roots became part of the bone. It wasn't invasion; it was "symbiosis." The bone cells were dividing, and so were the roots. Two different life forms, within the same person's body, had grown into the same thing.

"His right arm bone density increased by forty percent in three days," Meng Xiaoqing pointed to the data on the screen. "It's not a disease, it's 'enhancement.' The roots of the World Tree are reshaping his bone structure, making the bones denser, harder, and more impact-resistant. If this continues, his right arm will become like a weapon."

Su Wanning stared at the silvery-white lines on the screen. They were fine, dense, and neat, like parts machined by the most precise lathe.

Will it spread throughout the body?

"I don't know. Maybe yes, maybe no. It depends on how much space the root needs. The root's task is to find the rules, the rules are in the blood, and the blood is in the bone marrow. The root has found the bones; the next step is the bone marrow. Once the bone marrow is found, the root has completed its mission. Then it will stop, just as it stopped before."

Su Wanning reached out and pressed her hand on the screen, on the skeletal image. Her fingers were cold, the screen was cold. Cold against cold, her fingertips, through the screen, touched the silvery-white patterns on the image. The patterns lay quietly beneath her fingertips, motionless, still, and unglowing. They simply existed there, like a map drawn on bones. The map's endpoint was bone marrow, bone marrow's endpoint was blood vessels, and blood vessels' endpoint was rules. With the rules found, the root ceased. Lin Ye was safe.

In the corridor, Lin Ye stood at the door of his room, not going in. He leaned against the wall, his right hand in his pocket, the light in his palm gone, but still there. In his bones, in his blood, in his heart. He could feel the light flowing, from his right hand to his heart, from his heart to his entire body. The light was searching, searching for the rule left behind by the first Night Watchman. The rule was in his blood, the blood in his marrow, the marrow in his bones. The light had found the bones; the next step was the marrow. Once the marrow was found, the light would stop. He could rest. But he couldn't rest now; the light was still searching, and so was he. Searching for the rule written three thousand years ago, about the door, the roots, and the tears.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into his right arm. Not through perception, but through "light." The light flowed across the bone, like water flowing in a riverbed. He followed the light, from his elbow to his wrist, from his wrist to his palm, from his palm to the tips of each finger. The light stopped at his fingertips, not because it couldn't find its way, but because it had "arrived." The fingertips were the end of the path; beyond that, there was no more bone. But the light didn't disappear; it seeped out from his fingertips, through his fingernails, through the air, and landed on the wall of the corridor. A small, faint point of light appeared on the wall, like a distant star.

Lin Ye opened his eyes and stared at the point of light on the wall. The point of light was moving slowly, not aimlessly, but "drawing." It drew a line on the wall, not a straight line, but a spiral, like the veins on a bone. The spiral stretched from one end of the wall to the other, from one end of the corridor to the other, from one end of the association headquarters to the other. At the end of the line was the direction of the teleportation array.

Lin Ye followed the line. The corridor was long, the warm yellow light illuminating the walls like a golden tunnel. A point of light on the wall stood before him, like a guiding lamp. He followed the light, through the corridor, around the corner, up the stairs, and down to the third basement level. The door to the teleportation array room was open, its runes emitting a faint blue glow in the darkness. The point of light stopped on the wall, stopping at the runes of the teleportation array. It had found it. Not a rule, but a "path." The light was telling him that the teleportation array was a path, a path leading to the World Tree, and within the World Tree lay the rules. The rules were waiting for him.

Lin Ye stood before the teleportation array, not entering. Now was not the time; the roots were still growing, the light was still searching, and he wasn't ready. But he knew that one day he would step into the teleportation array, into the World Tree, and into the realm of rules. That day was not far off. The point of light disappeared from the wall—not extinguished, but "absorbed." The light was absorbed into the rune array of the teleportation array, the rune array into the rules of the World Tree, and the rules into the tears of the first Night Watchman. The tears were in his palms, in his bones, in his blood. As long as he was there, the tears were there. As long as the tears were there, the roots were there. As long as the roots were there, he would not be lost.

He turned and walked back down the corridor. Su Wanning stood at the corner of the corridor, silver threads hanging from her fingertips, leaving two thin streaks of silver light on the ground. She looked at him, not asking "Where did you go?" She saw the spiral line on the wall, the light in the direction of the teleportation array, and she saw him return.

"Have you found the way?" she asked.

"Found it."

"When are you going?"

"Wait until the roots are full of marrow. Wait until the light of autumn leaves and my blood merge together. Wait until your threads become part of my nervous system."

Su Wanning walked up to him, reached out, and took his hand. Her hand was cool, his hand was warm. In the warm yellow light of the corridor, the two temperatures clashed, inseparable.

"How long will that take?"

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

"I'm waiting for you."

"it is good."

The two walked back to the room side by side, their footsteps echoing in the corridor, each beat like a heartbeat. A light flashed in the darkness from Lin Ye's right palm—not to probe the way, but to confirm. To confirm he was there, to confirm she was there, to confirm the path was there. To confirm everything was alright.