(Continued from Part 1)
Inside was a basement, about thirty square meters. Thick dust in the corners, piles of old clothes and moldy cardboard boxes. Pipes ran across the ceiling, dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. In the center, a figure crouched — no, a shadow. Larger than any he'd seen before. Its outline resembled an adult male, but its edges shifted constantly, like flames, like ink bleeding into water.
The shadow turned its head toward Lin Yuan.
"Another one." Its voice was low, with a metallic grating quality, like two iron plates scraping together.
He stood still. The lines on his hand burned hot, as if trying to sear through his skin. But he didn't reach for the badge. Old Zhou had said: see, don't collect.
"Do you know what this place is?" The shadow stood, towering two heads taller than Lin Yuan. Its body nearly touched the ceiling, but its posture was strange — hunched, stooped, like someone who'd spent too long in a cramped space. "This is my kitchen. You came to deliver yourself?"
He didn't speak. The shadow's face — if it could be called a face — had no features, just a smooth, gray-white surface. But he could feel it watching him. Not with eyes, but with the orientation of its entire body, like a plant turning toward sunlight.
"You're a Dreamkeeper?" The shadow stepped forward.
"Yes."
"A small one." Its voice held a strange tone — not mockery, more like weary confirmation. "The last Dreamkeeper who came here, a long time ago. Taller than you, stronger. Didn't speak. Just looked and left."
"What did he look like?"
"Forgot." The shadow tilted its head. "Waited too long. Forgot many people. Only know I'm waiting."
Lin Yuan thought of the woman in the textile factory. She'd waited too — for someone to come back. But her obsession had been concrete: the button, the shirt, under the bed. This nightmare didn't even remember who it was waiting for. Only the act of waiting remained.
"Who are you waiting for?"
The shadow was silent for a long time. The flame-like edges of its body gradually stilled, its outline returning to human form. It crouched down, curling into a ball, like someone afraid of the cold.
"I don't remember," it said, its voice very soft, as if from far away. "Waited too long. Forgot who. Only know I'm waiting."
"How long?"
"A long time. Very long." The shadow looked up. "You should go. I don't eat Dreamkeepers. Hard to digest."
The door closed behind Lin Yuan by itself. The flashlight flickered once, then steadied.
He stood still, not moving. The heat in his hand had lessened, but still lingered. He looked at the shadow for a long time.
"How long have you been down here?"
"I don't know. No day or night. Only the dripping." The shadow pointed to the pipes overhead. "Drip. Drip. Drip. I counted. Counted to a hundred thousand. Then I stopped."
His heart sped up. A hundred thousand drips. Even at one drip per second, that was over twenty-seven hours. This nightmare had been down here for years, maybe longer.
"You don't go out?"
"I went out once." The shadow trembled slightly. "Too bright outside. Hurts my eyes. Better down here."
"The three people — the factory worker, the courier, the middle school student — did you see them?"
The shadow was silent for a long time. Long enough that Lin Yuan thought it wouldn't answer.
"Yes." Its voice was very low. "They came when I was sleeping. When I woke, they were gone."
"Gone where?"
"I don't know. The iron gate above was closed. They couldn't get out."
His heart sank. "They didn't get out?"
"They didn't get out." The shadow trembled again. "But they weren't here either. They disappeared. Like... something sucked them away."
"Sucked by what?"
"I don't know." The shadow curled smaller. "Too many questions. Go. Go."
The door opened. The flashlight beam cut into the corridor, casting a long shadow. Lin Yuan took a few steps toward the door, then stopped.
"Don't you want to leave?"
The shadow didn't answer.
"Don't you want to know who you're waiting for?"
Still no answer.
He walked out. The door closed behind him.
---
When he got back to the surface, the sky was almost dark. The yellow dog was still tied to the iron post. It looked at him and wagged its tail. He crouched, patted its head. Its fur was dirty, but its eyes were bright.
"You live here too?" The dog didn't answer. He stood up, brushed the dust off his hands.
Outside the scrap yard, a small convenience store. Dust layered the glass counter, inside a few packs of expired crackers and bottles of mineral water covered in dust. An old man sat at the entrance, reading a newspaper through reading glasses. Lin Yuan bought a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a sip. Lukewarm, with a hint of plastic.
"That scrap yard," he asked, "how long has it been open?"
The old man looked up and glanced at him. "Seven or eight years. The owner's surname was Liu. Died two years ago."
"Died?"
"Cancer. No kids, no wife. Died inside. No one found him for days."
Lin Yuan paused. "So who runs it now?"
"No one. Just that dog." The old man lowered his head and went back to his newspaper.
He stood there, looking at the iron gate. Seven or eight years. That nightmare had been down there for seven or eight years. Mr. Liu, the owner — maybe he was the one the nightmare was waiting for. Maybe not. Maybe he never knew there was something under his feet.
He walked back to the bus stop and waited. The streetlights came on, casting orange light on the ground, stretching his shadow long. The bus was still empty, the same heavyset driver, the same old song. He leaned against the window and watched the darkening sky.
---
Su Wanqing hadn't gone to the training room. She went to the east district instead.
The bus was nearly empty. She sat in the back row, leaning against the window. Outside, buildings gave way to warehouses, warehouses to empty lots. She didn't look out. She looked at her phone, scrolling through photos. Su Yuan's photo. Blue hoodie, ginkgo tree, smiling so hard his eyes disappeared. On the back of the photo, two words: Su Yuan. Her younger brother.
Three years ago, Su Yuan was still a Dreamkeeper candidate. Joined a year after her, more talented. Old Zhou said the kid might make S-rank. Su Wanqing didn't believe it, but every training session, Su Yuan was a step ahead. She never admitted it out loud, but she respected it. Then he died. Not on a mission. In his dorm room. Three in the morning. His roommate heard noise from his room, pushed the door open, and saw him lying on the bed, eyes open, pupils dilated, not breathing. The coroner said cardiac arrest. But Su Wanqing knew better. Su Yuan had no heart condition. He'd been killed by a nightmare.
The bus arrived. She got off and walked into an alley. Narrow, lined with old residential buildings, small ads plastered on the walls. Puddles on the ground, splashing under her boots. This was where the factory worker had disappeared three years ago. The file said F-grade nightmare residue, but she'd come to the scene back then and detected nothing. She'd told Old Zhou. He said the equipment might have malfunctioned. She didn't believe him. Equipment doesn't malfunction. People do.
She stopped in the middle of the alley and closed her eyes. Sounds slowly came into focus — a child crying in the distance, someone stir-frying in a wok, the clang of a spatula against iron, an electric scooter passing the alley entrance, its horn beeping once. No nightmare. Nothing.
She opened her eyes, pulled out her phone, and found the factory worker's photo. Standing in front of a supermarket, wearing a red down jacket, smiling happily. Su Wanqing looked at it for a few seconds, then put the phone away.
"Where are you?" she said to the air. No one answered.
She turned to leave. As she stepped out of the alley, she brushed past a man. Black jacket, cap pulled low, face hidden. Su Wanqing paused and looked back. The man had already walked away, turning into another alley. She frowned. Something about his silhouette seemed familiar. Where had she seen it? She couldn't place it.
She didn't follow. She kept walking to the bus stop. The streetlights were on, stretching her shadow long. The bus was still nearly empty, the same driver, the same old song. She leaned against the window, watching the darkening sky. Her mind kept turning. Su Yuan's case, the factory worker's case, the courier's case, the student's case. Were they connected? If so, how?
Her phone buzzed. A message from Old Zhou: Found something. Come to the Abyss tomorrow. I'll tell you.
She replied with one word: Good.
---
Lin Yuan got back to school after eight. The cafeteria was about to close, only a few leftovers at the window. He got rice and stir-fried greens, sat in a corner, and ate. The greens were too salty, the rice a bit hard. Halfway through, his phone buzzed. A message from Zhao Lei: My mom says thank you. Are the sweet potatoes good?
He replied: Good.
Another message came quickly: Good. I'm gaming now.
Lin Yuan put the phone on the table and finished eating. Halfway through, he looked up and saw Su Wanqing walk into the cafeteria. Not in combat boots — she wore sneakers, her hair down, a black hoodie. She looked less like a Dreamkeeper and more like a regular grad student. She got her food and carried her tray over, sitting across from him.
"What are you doing here?" Lin Yuan asked.
"Eating." Su Wanqing picked up a piece of tofu and put it in her mouth. "You went to the scrap yard?"
"Yeah."
"What did you find?"
"C-grade. Maybe higher. It doesn't eat people. It's waiting for someone, but it forgot who." Lin Yuan paused. "The scrap yard owner died two years ago. Cancer. That nightmare's been down there seven or eight years. Maybe it was waiting for the owner. Maybe not."
Su Wanqing didn't say anything. She ate a few bites, then put down her chopsticks.
"Do you believe what it said?"
"I don't know." Lin Yuan said. "But it said the three missing people weren't its doing. It said they disappeared — sucked away by something."
"Sucked away?"
"Its words."
Su Wanqing was silent for a moment. She picked up her chopsticks, then put them down again. "My brother was killed by a nightmare too. C-grade. Three years. Never found the source."
Lin Yuan froze. He'd never known Su Wanqing had a brother.
"You..."
"Don't ask." Su Wanqing stood up and picked up her tray. "Finish eating. Go back early. Training tomorrow."
She left. Her sneakers made no sound on the tile floor.
Lin Yuan sat there, watching her figure disappear through the cafeteria door. His rice had gone cold, but he finished it anyway.
---
Back in the dorm, Zhao Lei was still gaming. Old Zhao wasn't there. The other roommate wore headphones, on a call. Lin Yuan didn't turn on the light. He felt his way to the bed, sat down, took off his shoes, and lay back. He stared at the underside of the top bunk. The water stain on the ceiling was still there, shaped like a map. No. 17 Southeast Road — the nightmare that had waited seven or eight years in that basement. Mr. Liu, the owner, dead. Maybe the person it was waiting for was already gone. Maybe that person had never existed at all.
He turned over. The lines on his hand weren't glowing, but he could feel the heat, flowing slowly. Like a river underground, invisible, but there.
He closed his eyes. The shadow's voice still circled in his head. "Waited too long. Forgot who. Only know I'm waiting."
He thought of the old man Su Wanqing had told him about. Sixty-seven. Son went abroad, never came back for ten years. Died alone in his apartment, not found for half a month. His nightmare had taken the form of his son. Every night, it sat in the living room, waiting for him to come home for dinner. When she collected that nightmare, it asked: Dad, why are you thin?
He turned over again.
If he died one day, would someone wait for him too? Would a shadow crouch in some corner, repeating a meaningless action — waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to say a word, waiting for him to fulfill a promise that could never be kept?
He didn't know.
But he knew — starting today, he didn't want to wait anymore.
(End of Chapter 7)