Dream Ghost

The light had been growing inside his bones for a month. Not a little bit each day, but like the rings of a tree, expanding circle by circle. The first circle went from his palm to his wrist, the second from his wrist to his elbow, and the third from his elbow to his shoulder. Every morning when Lin Ye woke up, the first thing he did was raise his right arm and look out the window. The morning light shone through his skin, illuminating the silvery-white lines in his bones like an ancient map imprinted on parchment. The lines grew denser, transforming from sparse tributaries into a complex network of rivers, each root connecting to another, without end or beginning. His right arm had become noticeably heavier over the past month, not from the muscles, but from the denser bones. Meng Xiaoqing scanned him weekly, and the bone density data increased each time, from 120% to 200%, from 200% to 300%. His right arm was now almost twice as heavy as his left, but he couldn't feel it. The roots were in the bones, the bones were in his body, and his body had become accustomed to the weight, like a fish becoming accustomed to water.

Over the course of a month, the light emanating from the autumn leaves transformed from transparent to pale gold, then to silver-white, and finally to a color Lin Ye couldn't name—like the aurora borealis, like a rainbow, like all colors appearing and disappearing simultaneously. It was no longer just the lines on his palm; it had seeped into his blood. Meng Xiaoqing's scan revealed an unknown particle in Lin Ye's blood—not a cell, not a protein, but a carrier of "rules." The rules of the autumn leaves flowed throughout his body via his blood, updating with each heartbeat. His body adapted to the rules, and the rules adapted to his body.

Su Wanning's silver thread remained unchanged throughout the month. It was still that thin wristband, clinging to Lin Ye's wrist, following the veins of autumn leaves, and the traces of roots. But it was no longer an "external object." Lin Ye's nervous system had grown a new myelin sheath around the thread—not a disease, but "acceptance." His body had adopted the thread as part of itself, like accepting a transplanted blood vessel, wrapping it with its own tissue. Every day, Su Wanning would gently touch the wristband with her fingers, feeling its temperature. It used to be cool, but now it was warm, the same as Lin Ye's body temperature.

For the past month, Chen Xuan had been checking Zhou Zhou's monitoring screen in the technical analysis room every day. The Dream Weavers' lights hadn't reappeared—not a single one. They had vanished completely from the Dream Continent, as if they had evaporated. Qin Lan and twenty-three people had been guarding the outer perimeter of the World Tree for a month without encountering anything unusual. The defenses were solid, and the Dream Weavers remained inactive. Chen Xuan knew this wasn't a retreat, but rather a period of "hibernation." They were waiting for Lin Ye, waiting for Lin Ye to be ready, waiting for the roots to fully grow, waiting for the light to penetrate, waiting for the threads to grow into the nerves. They weren't in a hurry; they had waited three thousand years for the gate, and a few more months wouldn't matter.

Lin Ye knew they were waiting. He also knew he couldn't keep them waiting too long. Roots had grown all over his right arm, the next step being his shoulder, from his shoulder to his chest, and from his chest to his spine. The spine was the central nervous system, the pathway for nerves, and the main trunk of blood vessels. When the roots reached the spine, they reached the central nervous system. And when they reached the central nervous system, they could control his entire body. Not his consciousness, but the "rules" that controlled him. The roots would infuse the rules of the first generation of the Night Watch into every nerve, every muscle, every cell. At that time, he would no longer be Lin Ye; he would be the "incarnation of the World Tree." Not becoming a tree, but becoming a vessel of rules. The rule left behind by the first generation of the Night Watch would come alive within his body.

That day, he would step into the teleportation array, into the World Tree, into the core of the Dream Weavers. That day, he would face that young man—the student of the first generation of Night Watchers, a consciousness that had lived for three thousand years. He would face twenty-one Dream Realm Rulers. He would face a battle he had never fought before. He didn't know if he could win, but he knew he had to go.

On the seventieth day, the roots reached the spine. They didn't spread from the arm; they "jumped" from within the bones. In Meng Xiaoqing's scan, a silver-white line suddenly appeared between the root patterns on Lin Ye's right arm and his spine, like a bridge connecting the two sides. The line was thinner than a hair, but it was bright, shining like lightning in the scan. The spine began to change; it wasn't the roots growing, but the "rules" writing. The rules of the first generation of Night Watchers were released from the roots, like ink flowing from a pen, writing the first symbol on the spine. A circle, representing the world. The bones of the spine vibrated slightly at the location of the symbol, like a tuning fork being struck. The vibration spread throughout Lin Ye's body; every bone resonated, not with sound, but with frequency. The frequency was very low, inaudible to the human ear, but Su Wanning's silver threads detected it. The threads trembled on Lin Ye's wrist, like someone suddenly awakened.

Su Wanning stood up from her chair, walked over to Lin Ye, and looked at him.

"Did you feel it?"

Lin Ye nodded. He felt it. Not pain, not numbness, but a feeling of being "filled." Like a riverbed that had been dry for a long time finally receiving water, the water flowing down from its source, filling every cracked crevice. His body was absorbing the rules, and the rules were transforming his body. It wasn't invasion, it was a "return." These rules originally belonged to his bloodline, to the Shen family's bloodline, to the bloodline of the first generation of Night Watchers. Three thousand years had passed, and they had finally returned to where they belonged.

"Have the rules been written?" Su Wanning asked.

"No. Only one symbol was written. A circle. The world. And a vertical line and a dot. The vertical line is the boundary, and the dot is existence. Only when all three symbols are written is the rule complete."

"How much longer?"

"I don't know. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. The spine is long; you write one segment at a time, and each segment needs to vibrate before you can write the next symbol. You can't rush it."

Su Wanning didn't ask any more questions. She sat back down in her chair and began to weave the silver threads again. Not the old ones, but new ones. She wove the threads finer, denser, and closer together, like a second skin, covering Lin Ye's right arm and spine. One end of the thread was connected to Lin Ye's wrist, and the other end to Su Wanning's fingertips. She could feel every tremor in Lin Ye's body.

On the seventy-fifth day, a second symbol appeared on his spine. A vertical line, representing a boundary. The symbol appeared between the cervical and thoracic vertebrae, and that vertebra vibrated all day, from dawn till dusk, before finally stopping. Lin Ye didn't sleep. He sat on the bed, eyes closed, feeling the vibration travel from his spine to every rib, from the ribs to the sternum, from the sternum to the collarbone, and from the collarbone to the shoulder blades. His entire upper body was vibrating—not a painful vibration, but a "resonance." His bones were learning, learning the frequency of rules, learning the meaning of boundaries. Boundaries are not separations, but connections. On either side of the wall are two different worlds, and the wall itself connects the two worlds.

Su Wanning sat beside him all day without leaving. Her silver threads danced on Lin Ye's wrist all day, like a string on a musical instrument swaying in the wind. She didn't speak, just sat there. Her fingers tapped lightly on the back of Lin Ye's hand, not with rhythm, but with a sense of "companionship." She was beside him; he knew it.

On the eightieth day, the third symbol was written. A dot, representing existence. The symbol was written at the very end of the lumbar vertebrae, at the coccyx. That vertebra was small, smaller than the others, but it vibrated the longest. For two days and two nights, the vibration never stopped. Lin Ye lay on the bed, his body curled up like a baby in the womb. His bones were cracking, not with crisp snapping sounds, but with a muffled buzzing, like distant thunder. Su Wanning lay beside him, her hand on his back. Through skin and muscle, she could feel his spine vibrating. One beat after another, slowly but steadily. Like a heartbeat.

On the morning of the third day, the tremors stopped. Lin Ye opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. The crack in the ceiling was still there, two meters and three-tenths of an inch long, with eleven branches. He no longer counted them, but he remembered their shape. It was like a tree, a tree without leaves, a tree in winter. Now, the winter tree was sprouting. It wasn't the crack in the ceiling, but his body. On his spine, three symbols—a circle, a vertical line, and a dot—connected end to end, forming a complete pattern. The pattern wasn't carved into the bone; it "grew" onto the bone. Like the rings of a tree, circle after circle, from the spine to the ribs, from the ribs to the limbs, from the limbs to the fingertips.

He sat up, raised his right hand, and looked at the teardrop in his palm. The teardrop's color changed, from pale gold to deep gold, from deep gold to amber. Sealed within the amber was something—not an insect, not a plant, but a seed. The seed of the World Tree, not the previous one, but a new one. This seed grew from his bones, from the rules, from the three symbols. The seed was tiny, smaller than a sesame seed, but it had roots. Roots extended from the seed, piercing his palm, piercing his veins, piercing his bone marrow. He and the seed were inseparable.

Su Wanning stared at the seed within the amber, saying nothing. She reached out and gently touched the teardrop with her fingertips. The teardrop was cool, the seed was cool. Coolness touched coolness, and the seed stirred. Not a vibration, but a "germination." From the tip of the seed, an extremely thin, silvery-white sprout emerged. The sprout was tender, like the tip of a blade of grass just emerging from the soil in spring. It grew very slowly, millimeter by millimeter, peeking out from the teardrop and touching Lin Ye's skin. The skin did not resist it; instead, it slightly indented where the sprout touched, then enveloped it. The sprout grew into Lin Ye's skin.

Lin Ye looked down at the silvery-white sprout. It grew quietly in his palm, unhurried and patient. It had plenty of time. He had plenty of time too.

"What will it grow into?" Su Wanning asked.

"The tree. Not the World Tree, but 'my tree.' The World Tree grew from the seed of the first Night's Watch three thousand years ago. This tree grew from my seed. How it grows depends on me. If I am strong, it is strong. If I am weak, it is weak. If I die, it will die too. I and it are inseparable."

Su Wanning gazed at the silvery-white sprout in his palm. It was thin and fragile, as if a gust of wind could break it. But it didn't break; it grew. A millimeter each day, from his palm to his wrist, from his wrist to his forearm, from his forearm to his elbow. Roots in the bones, sprouts on the skin. One inside, one outside, one yin, one yang. It would grow into a vine, twining around his arm, intertwining with the roots in his bones, the light of autumn leaves, and Su Wanning's threads. Five things—roots, sprouts, light, threads, and the mark—would weave a complete pattern on his right arm. The day the pattern was complete, he would be ready.

Chen Xuan walked in from the corridor, 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.

"Qin Lan sent a message. The Dream Weaver has appeared. Not on the outskirts of the World Tree, but near the Association headquarters. Consciousness fluctuations were detected, located in the west of the city, less than ten kilometers from us. The intensity is very high, at least a late-stage Dream Domain Master. Alone."

Lin Ye stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was very blue, without a cloud, and a bird flew over the rooftop, its wings shimmering silver in the sunlight.

"A man. He's not here to fight, he's here to deliver a message."

"What letter?"

"The time has come." Lin Ye turned to look at Chen Xuan. "They can't wait any longer. I can't wait any longer either. The roots are full, the buds are growing, the light is penetrating, and the threads have grown into my nerves. I'm ready."

Chen Xuan stared at him for a long time.

Are you sure?

"Sure."

Lin Ye walked out of the room and into the corridor. Su Wanning followed behind him, silver threads dangling from her fingertips, leaving two thin streaks of silver light on the ground. Chen Xuan followed behind Su Wanning, clutching the anchor point in his hand. Zhou Zhou peeked out from the technical analysis room, Meng Xiaoqing following behind him with her laptop. Everyone was there. Everyone was looking at him.

Lin Ye stepped into the teleportation array and stood in the center of the rune array. Su Wanning stood beside him, silver threads wrapped around his wrist, alongside the light of Qiu Ye, the buds of the World Tree, and the traces of its roots. Four things, four threads, four people—Qiu Ye, the World Tree, Su Wanning, and Lin Ye. They were together.

"Start it," Lin Ye said.

Zhou Zhou pressed the start button. The rune array lit up with a white light. The light engulfed everything.