The entire Glory-lit Wood began to crack and shatter. The golden glimmers in the air rapidly faded, and the pale trees blurred bit by bit, like paint washed away by water.
Ryan took one last look at the white figure deep in the forest. It still stood there, quiet, blurry, and utterly motionless.
Then, the dream collapsed.
The familiar sensation of falling returned, but this time, Ryan did not panic. He already knew where he was going next.
Sure enough, in the next second, the familiar sound of a television reached his ears, accompanied by the clatter of a spatula hitting a pan in the kitchen. The smell of coal smoke in the air vanished, replaced by the savory aroma of home-cooked food.
Ryan slowly opened his eyes.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains into the living room. Sliced fruit sat on the table, and the evening news was broadcasting on the television. Everything was just as it used to be.
This was not his first time here. In fact, it was the only place where he could truly relax his mind now.
Every time he left the Glory-lit Wood, he would end up here. It was like a buffer in his dreams, or rather, a sort of anchor belonging to Lin Yuan.
Ryan—or rather, Lin Yuan—slowly sat up. The exhaustion weighing on his body dissipated bit by bit, and the tension from being chased by the wraith quickly subsided.
This dream was very strange.
It wasn't chaotic like ordinary dreams. Instead, it was excessively stable. Every time he entered, the layout, the lighting, and even the television programs were almost identical, like a fixed memory.
A familiar voice called out from the kitchen: “Lin Yuan, are you awake?”
Ryan exhaled softly. “I'm awake.”
As the words left his mouth, he felt a brief sense of dissociation.
He got up and walked out of the room. The living room looked exactly as he remembered.
His father sat on the sofa watching the news, a thermos cup resting on the coffee table. The TV volume was low, and his mother was stir-frying in the kitchen, the range hood humming softly.
These things used to be so ordinary that Lin Yuan had never paid them any mind. But now, they allowed his mind to unwind, bit by bit.
His father glanced at him. “Asleep for so long again.”
Ryan sat down beside the sofa without saying anything, simply listening quietly to the television.
His father didn't mind and continued watching the news, just like countless ordinary evenings in the past.
Ryan slowly leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
He could clearly feel his mental state recovering. The tension born from the constant oppression of the cultist world eased significantly upon entering this place, and even the burning sensation in his eyes subsided.
It was as if this dream were protecting him.
Or perhaps, this was his true "anchor."
His mother soon emerged from the kitchen carrying dishes. “Stop daydreaming. Time to eat.”
Ryan nodded, then got up to help fetch the bowls from the kitchen.
The warm rice, the steaming home-cooked food, and even the clatter of chopsticks against porcelain bowls filled him with a sense of peace.
Here, there were no Invisible Arts, no Glory, no Winter, and no Suppression Bureau that might knock on his door in the middle of the night. He didn't have to risk his life for a few pennies.
He was just Lin Yuan, an ordinary person.
At the dinner table, his mother rambled about minor household affairs—whose child had passed another exam, the fruit shop downstairs raising its prices, the drop in temperature. These were all things that used to annoy him, but now, Ryan sat and listened quietly for a long time.
His father suddenly looked at him. “Under a lot of pressure lately?”
Ryan was taken aback. “Huh?”
“You've been spacing out a lot recently.”
His father picked up some food with his chopsticks. “Stop staying up so late. What's the use of staring at your computer all day?”
Ryan looked down and smiled slightly. “I know.”
In this moment, he suddenly felt a reluctance to wake up.
Because only here could he truly feel alive.
After dinner, his mother went to wash the dishes while his father continued watching television. Ryan walked out to the balcony alone.
A gentle night breeze blew in. The city lights in the distance were bright, free from the damp coal smoke of London's East End, and devoid of fog.
He leaned against the railing and slowly closed his eyes.
Everything that had transpired today began to resurface in his mind.
The wraith, the white figure, the Glory-lit Wood, and that increasingly pronounced Lantern aspect.
Ryan knew he could never go back.
He couldn't hide in this dream forever. The world outside was the reality, and as his involvement grew deeper, there might come a day when he couldn't even enter this dream anymore.
At this thought, Ryan suddenly let out a soft sigh, then murmured, “At least... let me stay a little longer.”
...
When Ryan woke up, the view outside the window was still gray, and the scent of moldy floorboards and old wallpaper returned.
He lay quietly in bed for a few seconds, then slowly raised his hand to press against his forehead.
His head still throbbed slightly, but it was much better—at least it didn't feel like it was splitting open.
The glimmers he had absorbed in the Glory-lit Wood last night had visibly stabilized his mind.
Ryan sat up.
From outside his attic window, the faint sounds of the street drifted in—sweepers, milkmen, and the distant whistle of a steam workshop.
A new day in London's East End had begun.
Today was Saturday. The archive only opened for half a day and would close early in the afternoon.
At that thought, Ryan breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he could return early today.
He slowly got up to wash.
The water in the iron basin was bone-chillingly cold.
After a quick wipe of his face, Ryan sat back on the edge of his bed and began to do some basic math.
He currently spent about ten pence a day on food, and laudanum had almost become a necessity to stabilize his sleep and mind, costing him at least another two pence daily.
Ten pence a day for food, plus a fixed weekly rent of three shillings, and various sundries like coal, soap, and matches... it amounted to nearly two pounds and five shillings a month.
Right now, he only had about one pound and fifteen shillings, and he was still two weeks behind on rent.
Although he had been promoted to a formal clerk, money was still incredibly tight.
“Fuck, why is it that other transmigrators get to dominate the world with system points popping up left and right, while I'm stuck here every day calculating these stupid currency units and counting pennies?”
At this thought, Ryan suddenly understood why the veteran employees at the archive all looked so lifeless.
Working, budgeting, surviving day to day, and then working some more—just like machines.
He rubbed his face, pushing the thoughts aside, and put on his new deep-gray uniform.
The uniform was indeed much better than the one he had as a temporary clerk; at least it was a bit thicker.
After adjusting his collar, he pushed open the door and headed downstairs.
The courtyard downstairs was still damp. Last night's brazier had gone out, leaving only a pile of ash.
Ryan reflexively glanced toward the corner of the yard. There was nothing there now, but he still instinctively averted his eyes.
Just then, footsteps sounded near the doorway.
Irene was coming out of the house with her schoolbag. Today, she wore a faded deep-blue school uniform under a slightly worn, thick coat, clutching a few books to her chest.
Upon seeing Ryan, she was visibly startled. “You're up this early too?”
Ryan nodded. “Do you have classes on Saturdays?”
“Just a half-day in the morning.” Irene sighed.
After she spoke, she instinctively glanced at Ryan, clearly remembering what had happened last night.
However, both of them tacitly chose not to bring it up.
Rate on N.U.
