Chapter Nine: The Cloak of Shadows

If the “conscious layer” could be likened to a photograph, and the “preconscious layer” to a representational oil painting, then the “subconscious layer” would be abstract art. A representational painting still reflects reality, offering glimpses of the real world, but the profusion of elements in an abstract painting often leaves one unable to discern the subject at all.

When Chen Zi’ang awoke on the sofa, he found the living room had changed dramatically. The once tattered wallpaper was now fresh and new, the dining table replaced by a heavy rosewood piece, the sofa transformed into a row of armchairs, and where a carpet had lain there was now a bamboo mat. Portraits hung on the walls—dozens of them, and almost none were of anyone familiar.

His younger sister, Chen Xiaozhu, sat in one of the armchairs, wearing an elaborate, intricate princess dress and holding a folding fan, fanning herself with the grace of a noblewoman from the court. As in the upper layer of the dream, this Chen Xiaozhu was not blind, but she was nothing more than a phantom.

As for why she wore a princess dress—anything could emerge from the subconscious; there was no need to seek a deeper explanation.

Chen Zi’ang wandered the living room for a while, soon discovering that everything around him shifted constantly, at random, and without warning. The rosewood table abruptly became a draped bar counter, the armchairs gave way to canopied divans, the bamboo mat transformed into a lush meadow, as if the grass sprouted straight from the cracks in the floor.

Chen Xiaozhu had vanished from the chair, replaced by a weeping Tsukimi Suzuna, kneeling helplessly on the grass, tears streaming through the fingers covering her face.

He glanced at the spiritual pressure gauge on his wrist: the environmental spiritual pressure had now reached 30.

In a world with an environmental spiritual pressure of 30, the anomalies that might appear were extremely dangerous—far beyond the low-level ones inhabiting depths of 0–10. Prolonged exposure at this depth would push one’s spiritual perception ever closer to 30, so that even upon returning to reality, the risks of encountering such anomalies would skyrocket.

Yet, despite its strangeness and absurdity, the subconscious layer remained his own mental domain.

To seek those perilous, unknown secrets, one had to descend to the deepest level—the “collective subconscious.”

According to knowledge of “dream-walking,” there existed within the vast collective subconscious an ancient city called Enlank, inhabited by multitudes of Nightmares.

Nightmares were a rare breed among anomalies, mysterious beings willing to communicate with humans. Thus, Chen Zi’ang intended to seek out Enlank, hoping to learn from the Nightmares a way to cure his sister’s illness.

He closed his eyes once more and invoked the power of dream-walking.

———

He struggled awake to find himself lying on a grassy bank beside a river.

He seized the mandrake ritual sword at his side, then quickly stood, scanning his surroundings in wary vigilance.

The river resembled the Tone River, yet there were no embankments—only clear, murmuring waters flowing past. Both banks were wide meadows, scattered with star-blue flowers that swayed ceaselessly—not in the wind, but of their own volition.

Chen Zi’ang raised his head to see that the sky was a gradient of violet, streaked with frozen streams of light like curling clouds, and scattered with countless twinkling stars.

…What a bizarre and dreamlike world.

“Hello,” came a sudden voice nearby.

Chen Zi’ang spun, sword raised to parry, but the visitor made no move to attack, simply standing twenty meters away.

The figure wore a deep black, ornate, flowing robe. Emerging from the collar was a long slender neck and a face utterly expressionless—indeed, utterly featureless and smooth, save for a pair of spiraled ram’s horns curling back from the sides of the head.

From what would have been its shoulder blades—if this creature even possessed such bones—sprouted a pair of enormous skeletal wings, elegantly folded like fans. Its emaciated hands, protruding from the sleeves, gripped a staff of unknown material, its lines and contours intricate beyond reckoning.

Chen Zi’ang noted keenly that the creature’s hand, grasping the staff, had six bony fingers.

“Don’t be alarmed, human,” the being said—not with a mouth, but as a voice resonating directly in Chen Zi’ang’s mind, as if by telepathy.

The voice was soft and feminine, almost that of a young matron:

“I am the High Priestess from the Temple of Enlank. You may call me Nico.”

Nico introduced herself with an air of poise, clearly well-versed in human etiquette.

Chen Zi’ang did not wish to share his true name; in the realm of the occult, true names had power. So, coldly, he uttered a fabricated alias:

“Aske.”

“Mr. Aske,” Nico replied with a smile. “If you are willing, I would like to invite you to visit the city of Enlank.”

Chen Zi’ang was silent for a long moment before asking,

“Is this a common occurrence? I mean, for a human to come to this world and receive such an invitation?”

“Yes, and no,” Nico replied languidly. “Humans are not frequent visitors here, but neither are they exceedingly rare.”

“As for inviting you—this is the will of the Lord of the Deep Sea.”

“The will of a deity?” Chen Zi’ang wondered in surprise.

“Do not worry,” Nico laughed again. “The august Lord of the Deep Sea bears you no ill will. Is not your very presence in this world, granted by their power, the best proof of that?”

That may not be so, for with deities the line between benevolence and malice is perilously thin… Chen Zi’ang turned the thought over in his mind, then pressed on:

“Could you be more specific? This ‘visit’—what, exactly, does it entail?”

“It seems Mr. Aske still harbors some wariness,” Nico said with an indifferent smile. “Very well, we can talk as we walk.”

She gave her staff a gentle wave, and a beam of light shot from its tip, racing away toward a distant point.

“Shall we?” Nico said.

Chen Zi’ang sighed inwardly; there was no sense in shrinking back now. The two walked side by side, following the glowing path. As Chen Zi’ang was marshaling his questions, Nico spoke:

“Though the Lord of the Deep Sea did not specify, our people can surmise the general reason… Mr. Aske, are you familiar with the ‘War of the Three Realms’?”

“The War of the Three Realms?” Chen Zi’ang repeated, astonished.

“The so-called Three Realms are Shadow, Mist, and Flesh,” Nico patiently explained. “Each corresponds to one of the three great deities of the Abyss.”

“Long ago—so long that memory fails—the three deities clashed. Thus the realms began their endless warfare.”

“We Nightmares belong to the Shadow faction, serving the supreme Chaos. Since the Lord of the Deep Sea has shown you favor, it must be that you possess some trait that could bring victory to our Shadow side…”

“Trait?” Chen Zi’ang asked warily.

He wanted to probe further, but a sudden, violent headache shattered his thoughts.

The influx of forbidden knowledge sent his spiritual perception soaring, and his human reason teetered on the verge of collapse—in his vision, chaos, shadow, and writhing darkness seemed to extend their tendrils from the abyss, winding around him in countless coils as Nico’s words fell.

But a cool sensation bloomed at his brow; Nico pressed a badge to the center of his forehead.

“O ignorant child, glimpsing a sliver of the true world from your cradle, lost in terror, panic, and suffocating dread,” she chanted softly. “Accept this cloak—the shadow shall shield you from losing yourself.”

The headache receded like a retreating tide. Chen Zi’ang, trembling, accepted the badge Nico offered, and croaked,

“Thank you. What… is this?”

“The Shadow Cloak,” Nico replied. “It will shield you from the influence of the Mist, preventing knowledge from warping you, and will lock your spiritual perception, sparing you from endless anomalous assaults.”

A cloak? Chen Zi’ang peered closely at the badge.

It was a sharply contoured circle, and—wait.

To his unease, he discovered he was unable to discern the shape of the badge or the design engraved upon it.

At a glance, it seemed circular, but up close it bore countless distinct angles. The sigil engraved upon it hovered between clarity and blur, each line’s thickness and direction apparent when scrutinized in isolation, but when he tried to take in the whole, he could see only a shifting, indistinct pattern unknown to him.