Recap
“Which hospital do you work at?”
“A sanatorium.”
“Which one?”
The questions were sharp, but the man remained calm, patient, as though speaking to his own patient.
“Paradise Sanatorium.”
Shen Ji’s gaze darkened. He asked the final question: “What is your name?”
The man smiled faintly.
“Yu Yi.”
The hand holding the ID card suddenly clenched tight. Shen Ji already knew he had fallen into a deeper layer of dream.
Eighteen layers of dreams had made him die eighteen painful deaths, stripping away his reverence for life. In his eyes, death could mean rebirth. And if he wanted to wake up, there was only one fastest way — kill his other self inside the dream.
The boy’s disappearance proved Shen Ji was still dreaming. But the doctor’s appearance in reality meant this was a fabricated reality.
His fingertip brushed the sharp corner of the ID card, calculating in his mind the fatal odds of slitting his own throat. If he hurt himself, perhaps the doctor wouldn’t let him die. But if he attacked the doctor, that would break the rules — the fatality rate would be one hundred percent.
Shen Ji made his choice, and stepped forward. “Dr. Yu, I have something to—”
His shirt was tugged from behind. Shen Ji froze, turned his head.
The bathroom door cracked open. A small arm reached out and grabbed his clothes. Even without seeing the body or face, Shen Ji was certain it was the boy’s arm.
Why was the boy here in the dream? Could it be… this wasn’t a dream, but reality?
His unwavering belief collapsed, suffocating him like being buried alive.
He turned back to the doctor’s mature, gentle face. It was as if he heard those five words: “The experiment is officially over.” But this time, Dr. Yu only looked at him quietly. The words never came.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Dr. Yu asked.
— Thump, thump, thump.
His heart pounded inside his chest, sending out endless vitality, as if reminding him this was reality.
Shen Ji’s heart trembled. He flipped his wrist, revealing the ID card in his palm, and said hoarsely, “I picked this up. It’s yours.”
Dr. Yu took the card, confirmed it, and smiled again. “Thank you.”
The heartbeat grew louder, as if covering up the fear of a restless heart. Shen Ji lowered his gaze, as though soothing that frightened heart. But the person before him was real, not vanishing just because unseen. Shen Ji knew — he truly existed.
After Dr. Yu left, Shen Ji closed the door, sat cross-legged before the bathroom. The boy sat inside, facing him.
Shen Ji asked, “Where did you go?”
The boy said, “I was locked outside the door.”
“Is this reality?”
“This is outside the door.”
“Do I need to wake up?”
“You are already awake.”
Hearing this, Shen Ji believed it completely. His heart finally calmed. Slowly he said, “I almost… I dreamed, and in the dream I died many times. I was worried.”
“Worried about what?” The boy’s calm voice seemed to see through everything.
“Worried the dream would merge into reality.”
“They aren’t frightening.”
“That’s why I worry for them.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Do you know? The first moment I saw Dr. Yu, my instinct was to wake up. To be blunt, I wanted to kill him. But that’s not right.”
“What’s not right about it?”
“Humans shouldn’t harbor killing intent toward their own kind. At least, not under the law. Unless…”
“Unless what?” the boy asked.
Shen Ji’s calm eyes turned chilling. “Unless they are not our kind.”
The boy lifted his head, gazing upward through the ceiling, as if looking at unreachable light. Emotions tangled in his clear black-and-white eyes, dimming his voice. “The mutation has already begun.”
Shen Ji stayed still. His lowered eyes fixed on a corner with a strange perspective. At first, only one insect crawled out. Then more and more, until countless swarms poured forth, flooding the bathroom in an instant.
Watching the boy remain unmoved, Shen Ji finally understood where the mutation began.
He raised his hand — but another hand reached from behind the world, gently covering his eyes. Shen Ji blinked, as if plunged into pitch-black night, his raised arm frozen.
“Teacher, welcome back.”
In the unseen depths, the flutter of wings swept across the world, light as dream dust.
…
A half-eaten cake appeared in his sight. Sweet but not cloying, the taste spread in his mouth. His body was satisfied, yet his mind resisted.
Shen Ji snapped out of it, set down the cake, his gaze sweeping every corner, thoughts briefly incoherent. He didn’t know what he was searching for.
Picking up the manuscript on the desk, he found in the latest draft the name of an insect — butterfly.
Flipping back, scattered memories pieced together. His doubts grew heavier. Was the butterfly the clue he sought? Wasn’t he searching for… insects?
The fluttering sound echoed again in his mind. Shen Ji’s face turned pale. He clutched his head, fear barely rising before someone gently covered his ears, shutting out all intrusion.
After a long while, he calmed. A voice behind him called: “Teacher.”
He turned. His neighbor’s face appeared, flawless and smiling. In the dim light away from the desk, that gentleness seemed fake, making one want to peel off his skin.
Shen Ji lowered his eyes. “Didn’t you go to school today?”
The neighbor knelt, resting his face on Shen Ji’s knee. The submissive gesture carried a pitiful weakness. His upward gaze and soft neck exposed a harmlessness that serves to soften his defenses.
“No class today,” the neighbor replied.
“Who let you in?”
The neighbor’s gaze burned. “I missed you.”
Shen Ji frowned, pushed him away, and stood up. “This cannot happen again.”
“Teacher, what I mean is… I couldn’t hold back.”
Shen Ji’s steps froze.
After a pause, he spoke, still stiff. “…Not during the day.”
A cold kiss fell on his nape, making his body shudder. The kiss wasn’t a kiss — it was like a damp snake’s tongue, marking him, like fangs piercing prey. A kiss of death.
“When it gets dark, okay? Teacher.”
“…Okay.”
From that day on, Shen Ji no longer looked forward to nightfall.
When night came, heavy chains wove into nets, becoming necklaces on his body. Shackles no longer bound only his feet, but also his neck, displaying beauty at the edge of fragility.
The thick night had barely begun, yet the monster beneath him was already impatient, sighing with endless hunger.
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T/N: ummmmmm…
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