Dance of the Heart

The hotel.

The gas lamp in the room flickered slightly.

Dim yellow light fell upon the walls. The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out almost all noise from the outside.

Ryan remained on the bed, pale and breathing rapidly, beads of sweat constantly forming on his forehead.

Alvin stood by the bedside.

He held the silver florin in his hand, observing in silence for a long time.

Simon sat nearby. He finished one cigarette and lit another.

The room was thick with the smell of smoke.

Finally, Alvin spoke. "I have to pull him back."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"No shit."

"If I could have pulled him back, I would have done it already."

Alvin ignored him, his gaze remaining fixed on Ryan.

"The problem isn't with his body."

"The thing left behind by the Moth has burrowed into his dreams."

"It's clinging to him right now."

"If we drag this out for a few more days, he will forget who he is."

Simon's expression shifted slightly.

Though he had already guessed the situation was dire, hearing it confirmed still made his heart sink.

For an extraordinary being, forgetting who they were was often more dangerous than death.

Because names, memories, and experiences were fundamental parts of one's persona.

If they were lost, the person might still be alive, but they would no longer be the same.

The room fell silent.

Alvin suddenly turned, placed the silver coin on the table, and began taking things out of his bag.

Chalk, a small knife, a copper ruler, a small pouch of greyish-white powder, and several small metal plates engraved with intricate patterns.

Simon's eyelids twitched as he stared at the pile of items.

"What are you planning to do?"

Alvin didn't look up.

"Perform a ritual."

"Drag him back from his dreams."

Simon frowned.

"What do you need?"

Alvin's reply was blunt.

"The coin."

"Blood."

"And a bit of luck."

Simon instantly had a bad feeling.

Sure enough.

In the next second, Alvin looked up.

"Give me some blood."

The room went dead silent. Simon stared at him, and Alvin stared back.

A few seconds later, Simon cursed outright.

"Piss off."

"Why don't you bleed yourself?"

Alvin replied calmly, "I am not of the Heart. Your blood will work better."

The veins on Simon's forehead throbbed.

"I've almost bled dry already! And you want more?"

Alvin shrugged.

"Then let him keep sleeping."

Simon's face darkened further.

He desperately wanted to grind his cigarette butt into Alvin's face, but he knew the other man was telling the truth.

The room remained silent for half a minute before Simon finally stood up, muttering curses under his breath.

"Damn it."

"That kid is going to be the death of me sooner or later."

Alvin had already picked up the small knife.

But in the next second, Simon pulled his hand back.

"Wait."

"Let's use another way."

Alvin paused.

"What way?"

Simon grabbed a ball of old gauze from his chair and threw it over.

The gauze had turned black, covered in dried blood. Some parts weren't even fully dry, clearly left over from when his dressings had been changed earlier.

"Make do with this."

Alvin caught the gauze and looked down at it, his face turning dark.

"Are you serious?"

"Isn't blood still blood?" Simon retorted. "As long as it works, right?"

"..."

Alvin took a deep breath.

For the first time, he felt a strong urge to dump this bastard into the river.

But after inspecting it closely, he found that it actually could be used. After all, it was the blood of a Heart Disciple.

Even though it had left the body, it still retained a portion of its power, though the effect would be slightly weaker.

Just as Alvin was about to speak, Simon suddenly added, "Use as little as possible. I've been anemic lately."

Alvin laughed out of sheer exasperation.

"A Heart-aspected person telling me they're anemic?"

"I'm still human," Simon grumbled. "I'll die if I bleed too much."

"You look like you'll survive just fine."

"..."

The two glared at each other, tension thick enough to spark.

In the end, Alvin looked away first, not wanting to argue with an injured man.

He began setting up the ritual. The floor was cleared, and the chalk dragged slowly across the wooden planks with a faint scratching sound, gradually forming concentric circles.

The silver coin was placed in the center, and several metal plates were arranged one by one to form a symmetrical pattern.

Simon sat nearby, watching quietly. After a few minutes, he suddenly spoke up.

"Your technique looks a bit familiar."

Alvin didn't look up.

"Of course it does."

"This is basic stuff."

"I made your cane the exact same way."

Alvin continued arranging the ritual materials, his voice calm.

"Back when you ascended, I crafted that cane with my own hands."

"And now look at it. Broken to pieces."

He glanced toward the corner where the cracked cane rested.

Simon's expression grew a bit awkward.

"Things get damaged in combat."

"You broke it pretty thoroughly."

"..."

After a few seconds of silence, Simon suddenly coughed.

"Can it be fixed?"

Alvin finally looked up.

"So, are you willing to bleed for it?"

Simon replied with complete lack of shame, "Save where you can."

Alvin nearly laughed out loud, then shook his head.

"Fine."

"Once this kid wakes up, I'll fix it for you."

Simon looked much more satisfied.

Simon tore open his wound slightly, squeezing some fresh blood from beneath the bandage.

The droplets of blood fell onto the center of the silver coin.

Hum—

The entire room suddenly vibrated.

Fine, intricate lines surfaced on the silver coin.

The gas lamp began to flicker, the light dimming and brightening in turns. Ryan's breathing suddenly quickened, and cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

Alvin's expression instantly turned serious, devoid of his previous casualness. He slowly closed his hand over the silver coin and spoke in a low voice.

"Names are anchors."

"Memories are locks."

"Awaken."

"Ryan Harold."

As his voice fell, the silver coin flared with brilliant light.

Deep within the dream.

Lin Yuan, who was playing 《Cultist Simulator》 in front of his computer...

Suddenly heard a familiar yet distant voice.

It pierced through countless layers of dreams, reaching his ears.

"Ryan."

"Wake up."

At this moment, the entire dream world began to vibrate slightly.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

The light on the silver coin gradually dimmed.

Ryan still lay on the bed. His breathing was slightly steadier than before, but he still had not woken up.

Alvin frowned, looking down at the silver coin in his hand, then back at Ryan on the bed.

"There's a reaction."

Simon asked, "And then?"

"And then, he didn't wake up."

"No shit."

Simon almost threw his cigarette butt at him.

Alvin ignored him.

Instead, he walked a circle around the bed.

His gaze continuously swept over Ryan's body.

After a few seconds, he suddenly spoke.

"Strip him."

The room fell dead silent.

Simon slowly looked up.

"What?"

"To check him," Alvin replied as if it were obvious.

"The Moth likes to leave things behind."

"Marks."

"Scale-dust."

"Scars."

"Ritual remnants."

"Who knows what that monster did before it died."

Simon stared blankly for a moment.

Then, realizing it made sense, he walked over to the bed.

In a few swift movements, he unbuttoned Ryan's coat and tore open his shirt.

Ryan had already been sweating profusely from the high fever.

His clothes were damp and clung to him, and they were quickly stripped off.

Alvin squatted down to examine him.

The neck, the shoulders, the chest, the arms—he looked over them, section by section.

The only movement in the room was the gentle swaying of the gas lamp.

After a few minutes, Simon began to grow impatient.

"Find anything?"

Alvin didn't answer.

He simply reached out and pressed near Ryan's left ribs.

In the next second, his movements froze.

"Wait."

Simon immediately leaned in.

"What is it?"

Alvin brushed away the sweat on the skin's surface.

The gas lamp was brought closer.

There, a faint, greyish-white mark could be seen.

It was the dust left behind by insect wings, almost impossible to spot without looking closely.

Simon's face darkened instantly.

"The Moth?"

Alvin nodded.

"Most likely."

"No wonder."

He reached out and gently touched it.

In the next second, the greyish-white mark actually wriggled slightly.

The room fell dead silent.

A dangerous glint appeared in Simon's eyes.

"I'm going to carve that thing out right now."

"Good luck finding it first," Alvin replied calmly.

The thing seemed to have burrowed into a deeper layer.

It didn't actually exist in the physical flesh.

Instead, it was like a remnant clinging to the boundary between dreams and reality.

A knife alone wouldn't solve this.

Alvin pondered for a long time.

Suddenly, he turned to look at Simon.

"There is one other way."

Simon instinctively felt a bad premonition.

"What way?"

Alvin said seriously, "Dance."

The room became dead silent.

Simon even wondered if he had misheard.

"Say that again."

"Dance."

"I heard you. I'm asking if you've lost your mind."

Alvin, however, remained entirely calm.

"The Heart Principle has corresponding rituals."

"Movements, rhythms, breathing, emotions..."

"In essence, it is no different from a ritual dance."

Simon's face grew darker and darker.

"And?"

Alvin pointed at Ryan on the bed.

"Use the power of the Heart to pull him back."

"Make him remember who he is."

"Make him remember reality."

"Reinforce his anchors."

Simon fell silent.

Alvin delivered the final blow.

"The director taught you this before. You know how."

The veins on Simon's forehead throbbed.

Of course he knew how, but that was something he had learned during his Ascension ritual, and he hadn't used it in years.

Alvin added, "I promise I won't laugh."

"You'd better keep that promise."

A few minutes later, in the hotel room, Alvin sat in a chair with the silver coin resting in his palm.

Simon, his face dark, stood beside the ritual circle and began to slowly move his feet.

Breathe.

Turn.

Step.

The movements were not elegant.

They were even somewhat strange.

But as the rhythm gradually took shape, the atmosphere in the room began to shift.