Dream Murmurs

"Restricted Superhuman, Number 1002—Ji Minghuan. The Instructor is visiting. Prepare for interrogation as soon as possible."

A cold, rigid command rang out from the horn-shaped broadcast device at the top of the ceiling, shattering the Dead Silence that had long enveloped the Imprisonment Room. Rows of glaring white tubes lit up, their cold light spreading across every corner of the room.

The string of aggressively intrusive noises was like a sudden rainstorm crashing into a lonely lake in an uninhabited place, stirring up the Swimming Fish resting at its bottom.

On the thin, spotless bed, Ji Minghuan, curled on his side like a fish, woke from his sleep.

He slowly turned over, his gaunt face now directed at the ceiling.

The Young Man in a Patient Gown's eyelids trembled slightly, as though the oncoming light was too harsh.

His bloodless lips parted in a yawn. Then, like a machine carrying out a fixed program, he stiffly and sluggishly raised a hand and rubbed his temples.

"Might as well die..."

He muttered softly and let out a listless sigh. His right hand, which had been kneading the bridge of his nose, slowly dropped back beside the pillow, hanging over the bed like a kite with its string cut.

He lay there without moving like a corpse, exhausted, for a while. Only when an irritating set of Footsteps reached his ears did he end his nap of less than five seconds and suddenly force open his Heavy Eyelids.

He blinked.

His unfocused pupils contracted under the cold light, and his retinas focused in an instant.

Raising his clear eyes, the Young Man in the Patient Gown stared motionlessly at the familiar silver-white ceiling.

Ji Minghuan blankly gazed at the surveillance camera beneath the ceiling for a while.

His face remained expressionless, as though he had not fully woken up. As the Footsteps drew closer, his nose twitched slightly.

Perhaps because his sense of smell was abnormally sharp, much like that of a small animal, his first impression of a person was always their scent, followed only afterward by everything else. To be honest, he did not like the thick, cloying smell of disinfectant on the Instructor. It made the man seem rather affected, and it always reminded Ji Minghuan of the doctors at the Welfare Home who came regularly to inject the children with immune serum. They always wore masks, revealing only cold brows, eyes, and the bridge of their noses. With syringes in hand, they gave off an overwhelming sense of distance.

After confirming the visitor's identity by scent, Ji Minghuan turned his head from the pillow and glanced toward the entrance to the Imprisonment Room.

In his line of sight, isolation doors made of some unknown metal opened one after another to either side. At the end of the corridor, a man with slicked-back hair and a white lab coat draped over his body arrived as expected. Carrying the smell of disinfectant with him, he walked inside.

His steps were light and slow, yet the Footsteps still echoed clearly through the Imprisonment Room.

Ji Minghuan leaned against the headboard and silently sat up, throwing off the quilt covering his legs.

After a while, the man finally passed through the layers of open electronic doors and stepped into the Imprisonment Room.

"Good evening, Instructor... Do you always have to come when I'm sleeping soundly?"

Ji Minghuan greeted him while turning his face toward the man. His tone was casual, as if greeting an old friend.

The face reflected in his eyes was not some distant, indifferent dummy like disinfectant. On the contrary, it was a gentle face. It would not be an exaggeration to say that this face could fit any television character symbolizing intelligence and justice: a wise and mild elder, or a sage skilled at reading hearts.

But that did not stop Ji Minghuan from hating him.

If this had been before—back when Ji Minghuan was still at the Welfare Home—whenever he encountered someone he disliked, he would make full use of the special status of being an "orphaned little brat." He would throw tantrums, make a scene, and roll around on the floor until he got to leave that person's side.

Of course, that had its drawbacks. The director would lock him in the attic above the Library—the place universally acknowledged by the Welfare Home's children as the "confinement room." It was terrifying to them, especially deep at night. But Ji Minghuan did not care. He was not afraid even when left alone in the attic overnight, so every time, he managed to make the director furious.

But now, though he was clearly still an "orphaned little brat," merely in a different location, he could no longer rely on that identity to pull the same tricks.

The reason was obvious: Ji Minghuan had been locked inside this strange place, like an iron box. Everything he said and did these days was being monitored. There were no windows here, only vents, so he could not see the sky or tell day from night. When the lights were off, the camera housing on the ceiling looked like the eyes of a demon, enough to send chills through his entire body.

The key question was, why had he been locked up here?

Even Ji Minghuan himself did not understand. It all felt absurd. Every night, he lay on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the pitch-black ceiling as he carefully retraced everything that had happened:

—About a month ago, he had still been living in a Welfare Home in Li Capital, the capital of China. One night, he went to sleep in the Welfare Home dormitory, only to wake up in this Imprisonment Room. What was frightening was that he had been completely unaware during the transfer, as if he had been teleported here. Of course, it was also possible that someone had drugged him.

Then, from the voices coming through the ceiling broadcast device, he learned some very bad news: this godforsaken place was a research facility.

And Ji Minghuan... was their research subject.

That was right, a research subject. They repeatedly stressed that Ji Minghuan was a Restricted Superhuman, standing at the pinnacle of the rating system established by the United Nations. He possessed indescribable potential, and someone had even predicted that he would destroy the world.

So they hoped Ji Minghuan would cooperate with their research. They even threatened that if he refused, his fate would go without saying.

But Ji Minghuan had no idea what any of this was about. When he first arrived, he explained helplessly, "If I'm really a superhuman—and one from whatever most dangerous rating category you keep talking about—how could I possibly not know it myself?"

No one cared about his rebuttal.

And whenever they questioned him afterward, all he could do was prop up his chin, roll his eyes, and tell them, "What superpower could I possibly have? I'm just an ordinary Muggle, about as rare as a filthy stray dog. You can find a whole bunch on any street. Are you sure you didn't get the wrong person? There may not be many people surnamed Ji in China, but what if someone happens to share my name?"

Unfortunately, the researchers refused to believe him, dismissing it as meaningless excuse-making. Their attitude remained exceedingly cold.

By now, what else could Ji Minghuan do?

All he could do was submit to his circumstances. Like a mummy, he lay on this hard bed every day. When he woke up, he would prop up his chin and stare blankly at the hard ceiling.

This crappy place did not even have a television. When he was bored, he could only draw circles on the floor with his finger and try to let his imagination run wild—but trapped inside this tin box, it felt as though even his imagination had been bound. His mind was like a broken music box, clicking uselessly without moving, while the ringing in his ears never stopped.

Even taking a breath of fresh air was difficult here. Whether he shouted at the surveillance camera overhead or threw tantrums on the floor that was too clean, no one paid him any attention. But if he did anything that looked like self-harm, the collar around his neck would release an electric current, paralyzing his whole body. Then it would inject a sedative into his neck and put him quickly to sleep.

After going through that a few times, Ji Minghuan completely gave up struggling. Any claustrophobic person would probably go mad here, and even a normal person confined for long enough might develop Mental Split.

After that, whenever the Instructor and the Military Officer visited, it became Ji Minghuan's only chance to speak with other people in this iron box. Finding amusement in misery, he did not actually resent their visits.

And speaking of those two, Ji Minghuan sincerely found their performances amusing.

The Instructor was called the Instructor because he claimed to be here to guide Ji Minghuan in controlling his superpower. He seemed like a good person: gentle, tolerant, and patient in his instruction.

The Military Officer lived up to his name. Dressed in a German military uniform, he was harsh and cutting. He seemed like a bad person: violent and gloomy, often subjecting Ji Minghuan to corporal punishment and barking at him without warning.

One played the good cop, the other the bad cop. Their roles contrasted with each other, and their methods were the classic "whip and candy"—effective whether training dogs or children.

Fortunately, Ji Minghuan was different from ordinary children. He knew exactly what game the two were playing. So the person he guarded against was not the fierce, overbearing Military Officer, but the apparently gentle yet truly dangerous Instructor before him.

He understood that the Instructor was the one here to tame him, while the Military Officer was merely playing the villain. Once Ji Minghuan realized that the Military Officer in the German uniform was only being cruel for cruelty's sake, that cruelty lost its intended aggression.

Whenever the Military Officer berated him, the Instructor would often stand behind him, putting on a troubled expression. Sometimes, he would nod faintly and adjust his glasses, pretending he could not bear to watch.

Naturally, Ji Minghuan noticed this.

After all, the other man wanted him to notice it.

He scorned it, but did not show it.

What was laughable was that when meeting Ji Minghuan, the Instructor never directly belittled the Military Officer or condemned his actions. Perhaps he felt that doing so would seem somewhat fake and deliberate.

Even when he met Ji Minghuan alone, the Instructor would defend the Military Officer. "That's just his personality. None of us like the way he does things. Everyone thinks he's too rough and rash, so don't take it to heart. Actually, we're all doing this for your sake. If you can understand how dangerous your superpower is and cooperate with our work as soon as possible, there will be much less trouble from here on."

At the time, Ji Minghuan had merely propped up his chin and nodded absentmindedly, not taking it to heart at all. He knew perfectly well that whether these people played the good cop or bad cop, there was no fundamental difference: they were simply bad people who had silently locked a child in a research facility for over half a month.

In short, whether it was day or night, the Imprisonment Room once again received a visit from the Instructor.

The tall, thin man in a white lab coat pulled over a chair and sat at the table not far from the bed. He straightened his glasses and looked up at Ji Minghuan.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your rest."

"It's fine. You do this every time anyway. Next time you come, it'll still be the same—no warning at all."

Ji Minghuan shrugged, teasing him verbally as he climbed out of bed.

Barefoot, he stepped onto the icy floor and dragged his thin body toward the table. He pulled out a chair and sat opposite the Instructor. Propping his chin up with his right hand and resting his elbow on the table, he said carelessly, "Well... why not just tell me what you came for?"

"Then I'll keep it brief. I asked the orphanage where you used to live about some things recently," the Instructor said. "They said that when you were little, you liked locking yourself away and wrapping your body in rolls and rolls of tissue paper. The children at the orphanage called you a freak. Is that true?"

"Ah... Did that happen? I don't really remember."

Ji Minghuan tilted his head slightly and muttered to himself as he recalled it. After a long while, he raised his head and glared at the Instructor irritably. In an odd tone, he asked, "Even if it was true, Instructor, don't you think it's perfectly normal for people to do stupid things when they're children?"

"That is true." The Instructor smiled. "I also heard from the Nurses that when you were at the orphanage, you liked sneaking into the Computer Room to play games?"

"That part is true."

"What kind of games did you like most?"

"Let me think... What Remains of Edith Finch, or Fallen City Story?"

The Instructor shook his head.

"What a pity. I've never heard of either."

"Oh, then that really is a pity." Ji Minghuan responded carelessly, his eyelids drooping. He raised a finger and lightly tapped the table, his gaze shifting between the surveillance camera on the ceiling and the Instructor's face. Then he asked, "Come to think of it, since you insist I have a superpower, what exactly is it? Is it really as powerful as you claim?"

"According to our tests, you should be a Reality Alteration superhuman. It is also the most dangerous category in our assessment system." The Instructor paused. "By the way, since you said you enjoy playing games, your superpower may appear to you in a form related to 'games.'"

"Why?"

Ji Minghuan raised his brows and looked up, seeming to gain a little interest.

Seeing the child's wandering gaze finally settle on his face, the Instructor chuckled twice. Thinking himself witty, he held back the answer for a while. Only when impatience began to show in Ji Minghuan's eyes did he raise a finger and tap the table with a faint tap, tap, beginning a detailed explanation.

"Every form of superpower will help its user understand itself."

"For example, if a superhuman was a woman who pursued fashion and always stood at the forefront of trends before awakening, then one night, she might suddenly dream of a huge LED billboard. That billboard would display the 'selling points' and methods of using her superpower through rotating images."

At that point, the Instructor interlaced his fingers and raised his head to meet Ji Minghuan's gaze.

"And you... since you enjoy video games, your superpower will most likely appear in this form—it will turn itself into a game level to test you and guide you, helping you clearly understand how to use it."

"A game level..." Ji Minghuan looked thoughtful.

He looked up at the Instructor in confusion. "Why does it sound like you're saying that superpowers have minds of their own, capable of helping their users adapt to their existence?"

The Instructor shook his head, then raised a hand to straighten his glasses.

"I originally wanted to deny that, but perhaps you're right. Superpowers may possess their own will. After all, they lie beyond the realm of science. Throughout history, many people in the West have regarded superhumans as God's people and superpowers as miracles. Thus, they believed superpowers contained God's will, while those whose superpowers went out of control had angered God and were punished, forced to sink into madness."

"I see." Ji Minghuan sounded as though he only half understood.

After pondering for a while, he added, "Come to think of it, besides computer games, I also like playing cards. Or rather, those were the only things at the orphanage that were even slightly interesting. Still, they were far better than this godforsaken place."

"Then you..."

"Then one day, I might dream of a deck of cards, with every card showing how to use my superpower?" Ji Minghuan interrupted and asked first.

"Correct."

The Instructor picked up the thermos on the table and took a sip of warm tea from the cup.

As he screwed the lid back on, he looked at the Young Man across the table and asked with a smile in his eyes, "Why are you suddenly interested in superpowers?"

"Because I'm bored." Ji Minghuan sneered. "Or rather... you people haven't given me any right to have fun. What can I do here besides stare at the walls and reflect on my mistakes? I'm bored to death, okay?"

"I'm sorry. We have no choice either."

There was apology in the Instructor's voice.

He kept smiling and silently watched Ji Minghuan for a while before slowly saying, "By the way, that deaf-mute girl who came here with you before... She's also an albino. That really is quite rare."

His expression grew slightly more serious as he tested the waters. "Do you want to know how she's doing?"

At those words, Ji Minghuan's gaze suddenly froze, settling on the tabletop for several seconds.

His thin body, wrapped in a Patient Gown, did not move. He was frozen in the chair like a statue, like a pale paper cutout taken from some picture book.

A moment later, he parted his lips, and the corner of his mouth moved soundlessly.

"She..."

Having been locked here too long without cutting his hair, he lowered his head, his eyes concealed beneath his hanging bangs.

For some reason, he seemed unable to hear clearly... whether the voice echoing in the Imprisonment Room had come from his own throat.

"Hm?"

The Instructor looked at him through his lenses with a puzzled gaze.

"She has a name." After a long silence, Ji Minghuan spoke. His voice was still low.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you clearly."

"She isn't called the deaf-mute girl. Kong Youling—that's her name. I hope you remember it."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't watch my—"

"Is she okay?" Ji Minghuan interrupted him.

"She is..."

The Instructor smiled gently. He lifted his head, about to answer, but halfway through his sentence, he suddenly froze.

Just then, he had met Ji Minghuan's eyes.

The Young Man across the table nodded faintly, shoulders slumped, both hands hidden beneath the table like reeds cut down. His face was expressionless, but his dark pupils were terrifyingly hollow, like some strange creature lurking in a deep ravine, waiting to devour someone.

After a moment, the Instructor recovered from his shock. He tilted his head away to avoid Ji Minghuan's gaze and said, "Her situation is safe. Although our people judged her to be a rare Mental Superhuman, objectively speaking, her danger level is far lower than yours. So she has comparatively more freedom. Her movements are not as restricted."

At that, the Instructor paused and met Ji Minghuan's gaze once more. He asked quietly:

"Do you want to see her?"

"When?"

"Tomorrow. I'll bring her here to see you."

"You're not lying to me?"

"No." The Instructor shook his head and calmly denied it. "There is no need for me to lie to you. You and she are both good children. I will do my best to arrange opportunities for you to meet."

But after those seemingly sincere words, what answered him was deathly silence.

Seeing that the other party remained silent, the Instructor picked up his thermos and said, "In any case... let's end today's conversation here. Get some rest early." As he spoke, he rose from his chair and turned toward the exit.

"Goodbye, Instructor."

Just as he bid the man farewell, Ji Minghuan suddenly looked up and called after him.

"Wait... I have one more question."

The Footsteps came to an abrupt stop. The hem of the Instructor's white lab coat had already swept over the metal threshold.

He stopped in place and turned halfway around.

"What question?"

"When can I leave this place?" After saying that, Ji Minghuan added softly, "I... want to go back to the Welfare Home."

The Instructor did not answer immediately. He stood there with his hands behind his back. After a moment of silence, he adjusted his glasses and showed his usual smile.

"If you behave like a good child and cooperate seriously with our work, then perhaps... you'll be able to leave after you grow up."

With that vague answer, he turned and left without looking back.

Ji Minghuan sat expressionlessly in his chair, quietly watching the Instructor's retreating back.

He understood that he would most likely never leave this research facility. Or perhaps... by the time he was qualified to "leave," he would already be a corpse unable to open its eyes.

As the tap, tap of Footsteps faded away, the Instructor's figure was soon covered by the closing metal doors. Then the lights in the "bedroom" went out one after another—if this iron box could even be called a bedroom.

Naturally, Ji Minghuan returned to his state of utter boredom and could only rise from his chair.

The surroundings were pitch-black, so dark he could not see his hand before his face. Fortunately, he had already memorized every detail of the Imprisonment Room. He silently walked to the bed, turned around, spread his arms wide, and leaned backward, collapsing onto the bed in a listless sprawl.

He could not even be bothered to pull the blanket over himself. Closing his eyes directly, strangely enough... Ji Minghuan did not feel disappointed. He had simply grown used to it.

The silent Imprisonment Room, the cold reflective surveillance eye, the patient Instructor, and the moody Military Officer made up Ji Minghuan's life for the past month.

In the darkness, the consciousness of the Young Man in the Patient Gown gradually blurred, as though sinking toward an unknown dimension.

A sudden sensation of weightlessness wrapped around his body. It was as if he were plummeting from the rooftop of a high-rise building, the glass curtain walls stained golden by the lingering glow of sunset, reflecting his distorted body as it fell at terrifying speed. Then, in the next instant, it was as though he had fallen into Siberia's icy sea, where a solitary moon hung high overhead and the shadows of cod swam slowly beneath the ice.

In the end, all that remained was an unconscious blue, so cold that it made his heart tremble, stripping away every sensation.

He fell asleep.

Welcome, our Number One Player.

"Infinite Split Game" has been loaded. You will now enter the "Game Character" creation process.

That was the last voice he heard.