The attic gradually fell silent, with only the sound of rain outside tapping endlessly against the glass.
The kerosene lamp was burning down to its last drops.
The dim yellow flame flickered gently, casting long shadows of the table and chairs.
Ryan sat leaning against the side of his bed, motionless.
His head still throbbed with a dull ache.
His temples, in particular, felt as though something were slowly pulsing beneath the skin.
Although he had already hidden the black booklet under the bed, that bizarre sensation had not faded.
On the contrary, the more he tried not to think about it, the clearer those sentences became in his mind.
“The Glory is a fragment of truth...”
“Dreams are doors...”
“One must not gaze into it for long...”
Ryan closed his eyes.
Yet those writhing characters still drifted in the darkness, branded into the depths of his consciousness like white-hot iron.
He rubbed his hair in frustration, then muttered a curse under his breath.
“Damn it.”
He couldn't sleep. Though his body was exhausted to the point of collapse, his mind was growing increasingly alert.
It was alert to an almost unnatural degree.
This feeling was all too familiar; it was exactly how he used to feel in his past life when he stayed up too late.
His brain simply wouldn't shut down. But the problem was, this wasn't a safe rented apartment—this was the nineteenth-century East End of London.
He had to work tomorrow.
If his mental state faltered, a simple cataloging error could get him fired.
To say nothing of the dangerous knowledge currently swirling in his head.
Ryan looked down at the laudanum on the table.
The brown glass bottle sat there quietly.
The kerosene lamplight reflected off its surface, gleaming like a silent temptation.
He hesitated for a long time. Reason told him it was best not to touch this stuff too much.
Laudanum was a common painkiller in this era, but it was essentially an addictive narcotic.
Drink too much of it, and a person would be ruined.
That was how many people in the East End met their end.
It would start with treating a cough, progress to daily dependency, and end with the person completely hollowed out.
But the problem was, he desperately needed sleep right now.
Ryan slowly let out a breath and finally reached for the bottle.
“Just this once,” he said.
Though he didn't even believe himself.
He popped the cork, and the familiar, cloyingly sweet scent wafted out once more.
Ryan picked up his teaspoon.
This time, he poured slightly more than he had yesterday.
The dark brown liquid shimmered slowly under the lamplight.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then threw his head back and swallowed it.
As the medicine slid down his throat, a warm sensation quickly began to spread.
The first change was in his chest.
His lungs, which had been aching with a dull pain, gradually relaxed.
Soon after, a wave of exhaustion surged through his body like a rising tide.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed in a daze as the sound of rain in his ears began to fade.
The flame of the kerosene lamp blurred, and his consciousness sank bit by bit.
Finally, he slowly lay back onto the bed.
The worn-out mattress creaked softly.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
...
...
When he opened his eyes again, the sky was blue—a genuine, brilliant blue.
There was no thick London fog.
No coal smoke.
And no suffocating, dreary gray skies.
Sunlight filtered down through the leaves.
It was unbelievably warm.
Ryan froze for a moment.
Then, he slowly realized.
He was dreaming again.
No. Or rather, he was back.
He looked down at himself.
Clean clothes.
No coughing.
No pain in his lungs.
His hands were no longer pale and emaciated.
When the wind blew, he could even smell the scent of green grass and fresh soil.
It wasn't the foul stench of the East End mixed with sewers and coal smoke, but the genuine aroma of summer.
The sound of cicadas echoed in the distance, along with the thud of a basketball bouncing on the ground.
Ryan slowly raised his head and saw the familiar apartment buildings.
The shade of the trees.
Electric scooters parked by the roadside, and the little shop downstairs selling popsicles.
He stood in place, motionless for a long time.
At this moment, he could hardly tell which world was real.
Just then, a familiar voice called out from upstairs.
“Lin Yuan—”
“Time to come home for dinner!”
Ryan's body trembled slightly.
He looked up.
On the balcony, a woman leaned halfway out, calling down to the street.
The setting sun bathed her in its light.
The scene was so warm it made him feel dazed.
Ryan opened his mouth, but his throat suddenly felt tight.
“...Coming.”
His voice was slightly hoarse when he spoke.
He slowly walked toward the stairwell, his steps quickening.
Soon he was almost jogging. The familiar white walls of the stairwell, the small doors covered in flyers, the smell of a neighbor's cooking... everything was terrifyingly real.
He could even hear the sound of a television playing the news upstairs.
“The recent heatwave continues—”
Ordinary.
Mundane.
But it was precisely because of this mundanity that it was so painful.
Ryan—or rather, Lin Yuan—pushed the door open.
The lights in the apartment were already on.
Piping hot dishes were laid out on the dining table.
His mother was in the kitchen ladling soup, while his father sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone.
“What took you so long?”
The man didn't even look up.
“Out wandering around again?”
Lin Yuan stood at the entrance.
For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
He just stared blankly at it all, a lump forming in his throat.
“What are you daydreaming for?”
His mother walked out carrying the soup.
“Wash your hands and eat.”
Lin Yuan gave a soft murmur of assent.
Then he walked into the bathroom.
His reflection in the mirror was normal.
Healthy.
Young.
There were no bloodshot eyes, nor was there that deathly, sickly pallor.
He leaned down and turned on the faucet, letting the warm stream of water wash over his hands.
At that moment, Lin Yuan's eyes suddenly grew hot.
Because he suddenly realized he hadn't touched warm water in a very long time.
Winter in London's East End was too cold, and hot water was a luxury.
He had almost forgotten what it felt like.
Lin Yuan kept his head lowered, motionless for a long time, until a voice called out from the living room.
“Lin Yuan, dinner's ready!”
“Coming...”
He slowly dried his hands.
He walked out and sat down at the dining table.
The aroma of the food wafted over him.
His father was still looking down, scrolling through short videos, while his mother kept piling food onto his plate.
“Eat more,” she said. “You've been looking so pale lately.”
Lin Yuan lowered his head to eat, a sudden sting of emotion hitting his nose.
This was all too wonderful.
Too wonderful to be real.
No hunger.
No cold.
No lung disease.
No worrying about tomorrow's rent, no worrying about dying in the street, and no fear of bizarre, corrupting knowledge.
This was just an ordinary life.
So ordinary it made him want to weep.
Halfway through the meal, his father suddenly spoke up.
“How's the job hunt going?”
Lin Yuan's movements paused for a second before he registered the question.
This was the past.
The period right after he graduated from college.
Back then, he had been anxious about his future every single day, feeling that his life was bleak.
But looking back now, even that anxiety was a form of happiness.
At least that world didn't eat people alive.
Lin Yuan lowered his head and let out a soft laugh.
It was barely audible.
“It's going well.”
His father gave a grunt of acknowledgment.
“Don't put too much pressure on yourself.”
“Take your time.”
Lin Yuan didn't reply, simply lowering his head to continue eating.
Yet his eyes grew warmer and warmer.
Outside the window, the setting sun sank bit by bit, painting the entire room in warm hues.
The television was still playing commercials, and the aroma of pork rib soup lingered from the kitchen.
Time seemed to slow down, wrapping him in a quiet warmth that made him never want to leave.
But just then, Lin Yuan suddenly heard the sound of wind.
No, it wasn't wind. It was the rustling of a forest swaying.
Rustle...
Rustle...
His movements paused slightly.
He slowly raised his head.
Unbeknownst to him, the sky outside had darkened.
The familiar view of the residential complex began to blur.
The apartment buildings seemed to be swallowed by fog.
In the distance, a dark forest gradually materialized.
The trees were unnaturally tall, their twisted branches standing like massive shadows in the dark.
Lin Yuan's heart suddenly constricted.
Because that forest... did not look like anything from reality. It resembled a place deep within a dream.
Moreover, he couldn't shake the feeling that something inside the woods was watching him.
In the next second, what seemed like a blurry white figure flashed faintly behind one of the trees.
Immediately after, the low toll of a bell echoed in his ears once more.
Dong—
The dream began to shake.
The dining table, the lights, and his family... all faded rapidly like washed-out paint.
Rate on N.U.
