The old man sat behind a huge wooden desk, reading a book thicker than his torso. White hair, neatly combed. A gray Zhongshan suit. When he heard footsteps, he looked up and took off his glasses.
"You're here," he said. Voice dry. Sandpaper on wood. "Faster than I thought."
"Who are you?"
"Call me Old Zhou." He closed the book. "Librarian."
"What is this place?"
"Lanshan College, Basement Level 2." He smiled. "But we call it the Abyss."
---
"The Abyss?"
"Old myth. All rivers flow into it. Bottomless pit under the sea." Old Zhou stood, pulled a book from a shelf, opened it. No text. Just moving images. An ocean, rivers pouring in. Never filled.
"But here," he said, putting the book back, "the Abyss is where memories end. And where they begin."
"You sent the text?"
"Not me." Old Zhou shook his head. "The one who sent it — you've already met him."
Lin Yuan's stomach tightened. "The boy in the library?"
"We call him the Librarian." Old Zhou said. "He can't leave this place. He chose you."
"Chose me for what?"
"To pay a debt."
Old Zhou turned to look at Lin Yuan's right hand. The gloved hand.
"The scale isn't a disease. You owe it. From a past life."
Lin Yuan hid his hand behind his back. "My past life?"
"You were dragon-kin. Last of your line. They called you the Abyss King." Old Zhou's voice was flat. Like he'd said this a hundred times. "You could pull things out of dreams. Weapons. Creatures. Anything. We call it Anchoring."
"A thousand years ago, your own people betrayed you. You died here. Your memories were sealed in this library, locked under those gold scales."
"Now the seal is breaking. The Librarian brought you here to give you a choice. Either recover your memories and reclaim your power. Or let the seal shatter — and in three months, die in your sleep as your soul tears itself apart."
Lin Yuan listened. Then he was quiet for a long time.
He looked at Old Zhou. Old Zhou looked back.
No windows here. No moonlight. Just the soft glow of books.
"What if I leave?" Lin Yuan asked.
"Then leave," Old Zhou said. "The door isn't locked."
"And I die in three months?"
"In your sleep. No pain. You'll forget all this. Think you died normally."
"That's a terrible deal," Lin Yuan said. "I haven't even had my first kiss."
Old Zhou blinked. Then he laughed.
Not loud. But in this quiet place, it sounded strange.
"You're interesting," Old Zhou said. "The last person who came here — his first question was 'how strong can I get?' Yours is about kissing."
"Who was the last person?"
"Chu Yunfei. S-rank Dreamkeeper. Went into the Abyss three years ago to reinforce the seal. Never came back."
Old Zhou's smile faded. He looked at Lin Yuan with something unreadable.
"You're not him. Maybe that's a good thing."
He pulled a drawer open and slid a badge across the desk. Dark gold. A dragon on it. Same as the one in Lin Yuan's dream.
"Wear this, and you become a Dreamkeeper candidate," Old Zhou said. "You'll see the world as it really is. And then you'll find out — you were never the invisible man."
Lin Yuan stared at the badge.
His grandmother. Those bright eyes on the hospital bed. "One day, someone will come for you."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the badge — electricity shot up his arm. Not painful. Numbing.
Vision blurred. Images flashed. Fire. Dragons. Battlefields. Falling. Too fast to grab. But the emotions stayed. Rage. Grief. Defiance. And something like relief.
Then it stopped.
He opened his eyes. A thin gold line had spread from the scale on his hand down to his wrist. Like an ancient rune.
Old Zhou looked at him.
"Welcome back, Abyss King."
Lin Yuan looked down at his glowing right hand.
"Old Zhou."
"Yes?"
"I still haven't had my first kiss."
Old Zhou laughed again. Longer this time.
"Don't worry," he said. "You haven't even caught your first nightmare yet."
---
Lin Yuan walked back up the ramp at 1 AM.
Halfway up, he stopped. Took off the glove. The gold lines on his hand pulsed faintly in the dark. Like a heartbeat.
He stared for a few seconds.
"Not ordinary," he whispered.
Then he laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so ridiculous — ridiculous enough that laughing felt like the only thing left to do.
He put the glove back on. Pushed open the small door. Stepped into the moonlight.
The moon was the same. The building was the same.
But he knew — starting tonight — he wasn't.
Not because of the lines on his hand. Because for the first time in eighteen years, he'd chosen to stay.
---
（End of Chapter 2）