"Sea" and Dreams

"...Yeah, right. If the supervisor asks, I'll have to trouble you with it, Brother Yan..."

"...I really do have something to deal with. I need to hurry back to my hometown for a while... Yeah, I won't have time to come to the company and handle the resignation procedures either..."

"...Thanks, Brother Yan. See you if we get the chance..."

—Beep.

The call ended, and his phone played the hang-up notification. The mechanical busy tone sounded especially piercing in the cramped rental room.

After dealing with a temporary call from a fairly familiar colleague and ending the communication himself, Li Yun expressionlessly removed his glasses and rubbed the space between his brows.

His long fingers pressed hard against his skin. The faint, dull pain cleared his muddled thoughts somewhat.

Half a cup of cold lemon water sat on the coffee table. He picked it up and drained it in one gulp.

Several crumpled sheets of discarded paper were scattered beside it, covered in hastily scribbled phone numbers and addresses. A few open paper notebooks lay nearby as well, with miscellaneous notes written across their pages.

The rental room was rather messy now. Cardboard boxes were stacked crookedly against the wall, and many things had been casually piled on the floor, much like the mood of its occupant.

"Going back to my hometown" had naturally just been an excuse. Compared to that, though, Li Yun was no longer willing to waste any thought on making up a more convincing lie.

The colleague on the other end, also a "New Century Fortune Warrior," might have sensed something was off, but no one would investigate further.

Everyone had their own life to live. Who could care that much about someone else?

Resignation procedures, work handovers—such trivial processes now felt incomparably distant, as though separated by a layer of frosted glass, too blurry to inspire even the slightest patience.

At this point, Li Yun had no desire to bother with such minor matters.

To be precise, over the past few days, aside from uncharacteristically taking leave and even skipping work outright, he had stopped almost all of his usual outings and remained alone in this tiny room.

The curtains in the rental room had been pulled tightly shut. The heavy fabric blocked out the outside light, allowing only a few thin streaks to seep in at the edges.

Li Yun had decisively cut off what little social contact he had. His phone was muted most of the time, while app notifications and unread messages piled up in the notification bar like snowflakes, forming a silent wall.

He locked himself in this dim room like some quiet animal hibernating beneath the soil, responding to no irrelevant sounds and ignoring every unnecessary matter. It was a series of actions bordering on complete isolation: "omit all unnecessary behavior," a lifestyle of energy-saving perfectly suited to a socially anxious personality.

Yet at the same time, the strange lifestyle that had taken shape in just a few days had brought visibly apparent changes, from his appearance to his overall vitality.

He turned on the tap and went through a simple, habitual wash.

As the water ran over him, its coolness gave him a slight jolt. Feeling the faint fullness between his brows, which seemed to have suddenly become more obvious and vaguely itchy, Li Yun unconsciously lifted his head and stared at the figure in the mirror for a long time without moving.

As an ordinary male office worker who kept everything simple, he had never had any skincare habits. Yet his average skin had now gained a fair, lustrous glow distinctly different from a few days ago.

The dark circles he had carried for so long, slight pigmentation, and countless other blemishes had silently faded away. His face seemed to faintly flow with a jade-like sheen, while the eyes no longer hidden behind glasses were gentle and bright, as though brushed with the dark ink of a galaxy.

He unconsciously narrowed his eyes.

—Those who had never been nearsighted could hardly understand this feeling.

Everything before him looked as though it had been washed clean. The once-blurred world was now like a pane of glass thoroughly wiped spotless: light, color, outlines—every detail was clear to the point of sharpness.

The thin haze that had once covered Li Yun's vision had completely dispersed, replaced by a clear, bright, entirely new world.

No, it went beyond that.

As Li Yun focused his gaze, everything in his vision suddenly seemed to "slow down" without warning.

...In the seemingly empty air, dust that should have been difficult to detect began expanding strangely and slowly. From traces finer than hairs, it gradually became overwhelmingly obstructive, reflecting dense, crystal-like colors beneath the light like thick smoke everywhere.

Soon, that gleaming, smoke-like form turned into specks of dancing stardust. The stardust scattered like flying sand gradually became sheets of snowflakes. The snowflakes collided chaotically with one another and shattered...

Until, as the magnification continued without end, the surface of every mote of dust gradually revealed bizarre terrain, as pitted and savage as the moon's surface. Within it, faint little shadows even seemed to be wriggling...

He blinked and deliberately withdrew his gaze.

The strange things in his sight vanished in an instant, leaving only the same utterly ordinary little room before him.

...Sometimes, seeing too clearly was itself unpleasant.

That was why he still wore his old glasses—nothing more than a habit left over from the years. Even the lenses had been replaced with plain glass.

There was no helping it. This was naturally far from normal.

But someone had gradually begun to get used to this "strangeness."

Just as his long black hair had silently grown past his neck in less than two hundred hours—length that ordinary people would need years to achieve now hung down like willow branches brushed by the February spring breeze, almost skipping the transition from short hair to long hair altogether.

How could a normal human metabolism possibly be this fast?

Yet he did not look into the terrifying possibilities implied by this transformation.

Without panic, or even unnecessary curiosity, Li Yun merely turned and grasped the azure mirror on the table, cool to the touch, then calmly lay back down on his bed and closed his eyes to rest.

...Continuing his "daydream."

It was like falling into mist.

In a momentary daze, it was as though he passed invisibly through an imperceptible "barrier." His consciousness broke free of his body, followed by endless falling, falling, falling...

Like a speck of dust plunging toward a sea of stars!

The curtain had shed some of its mystery and stretched toward somewhere impossibly distant.

—Through the Azure Jade Mirror that still "existed" in his senses like a shadow, he vaguely assumed a lofty, incomprehensible "clear perspective." His consciousness swiftly recognized the distinction between "himself" and the "outside," once again defining his selfhood at the brink of "dissolution."

The waves were treacherous and the clouds strange.

Beneath the endless deep sea, dim yet brilliant, contradictory yet overlapping, as he continued falling deeper and deeper, a "person" coldly opened his eyes.

A phantom "image" almost identical to his real self condensed in the seawater. Strands of floating light bloomed over its body, dividing inside from outside, and the force of its descent immediately slowed considerably.

A clear cognitive "symbol" held immeasurable meaning within this deep sea, as though it had settled every color of all things and endless light and shadow.

Like a reef rooted amid the tides, every tiny droplet and bubble was stopped by that faint, independent gleam before it could truly touch this "symbol." Like clay oxen sinking into the sea, they only splashed vast points of crystalline light.

Holding the azure mirror, "Li Yun" opened his eyes and calmly observed this colorful, dazzling "sea region," his expression empty and still as an ancient well.

He knew very well that everything before him was actually a materialized "cognition" born from perceptions deep within the spirit of life, influenced by an unimaginable dream—just like the object in his hand.

Neither real nor false.

Even this shallow region of the sea where he currently stood was in no way comparable to any dangerous place in a natural environment.

This was the dark iceberg hidden beneath the vast history of life, built up through the long ages of births and deaths among species and even cross-species clusters of life, where primitive images, impulses, and essences layered over one another and gradually settled.

It was a graveyard where countless fragmented pieces of information intertwined and gathered alongside the gradual destruction of spirit and soul, eventually piling up like mountains and seas.

It was an unknown forbidden zone almost independent of reality itself, composed of vague cognition, thoughts, instincts, unconscious dispersions, and even more related archetypal impressions—a labyrinth of the abyss...

It also had a relatively vivid, though not entirely accurate, name.

—The Subconscious Sea of biological collectives.

Ordinary people should have been unable to reach it, or even notice it. It was a metaphysical and intangible concept reflected through the rise, fall, movement, and echo of all things—a mysterious realm unfathomably deep.

As ethereal as death's whisper, as distant as the echo of the soul.

He looked around.

A faint, additional halo had somehow silently emerged between the fingers of his still-free hand. Li Yun casually flicked it, striking a small "bubble" in the seawater before him with the precision of a scalpel.

The "bubble," within which colors faintly flowed, was neatly split in two by that blade-like finger. Yet its cross-section displayed an indescribable depth, as though it naturally absorbed light.

It was like... a tiny black hole.

It nearly dragged even intangible gazes into it by force.

With his eyes closed, he could vaguely hear roars and crying echoing inside. That grief—lost, almost having forgotten everything, yet stubbornly refusing to disperse—was cold and hollow. As the last trace of its "form" shattered, it finally dissolved completely into the seawater.

...When he opened his eyes again, the shattered "bubble" had vanished without leaving a single trace.

Nor did he feel much emotion.

All that could be said was that, in such a dangerous environment, caution was necessary.

After all, the consciousness, cognition, and self of intelligent life usually exposed only the shallowest, smallest part above the water. Its far vaster, indistinct main body remained submerged beneath the dark surface, hidden in the blind spots of perception, like vague shadows cast from behind a curtain—chaotic and profound, yet clearly ceaselessly churning beneath apparent silence.

No one knew what exactly lay hidden beneath the traces lurking in the depths of the sea...

Fortunately, after more than one visit and with the aid of the object in his hand, he had gained a preliminary understanding of this "place," if not familiarity with it.

He "looked up"—

Even within this chaos, which had no true sense of direction, "up" and "down" were merely vague concepts imposed by self-cognition. Yet some deeper, indistinct intuition still drove the "figure" to make this nearly instinctive movement.

Through the seemingly endless deep seawater, a "gaze" not belonging to himself could still penetrate this abyss of unknowable depth without obstruction. It passed through undercurrents and vast whirlpools formed by primitive instincts of individual selves and even collective unconsciousness over long ages, perceiving the shallowest symbol of the spiritual realm—

At the limit of some cognitive territory, above that hazy boundary which might be called the "sea surface," a misty radiance that clearly existed there yet could not be glimpsed in the slightest hung high beyond it, detached from chaos and unmoved by all things, like the eternal sun and moon.

Neither born nor destroyed, neither increased nor diminished, standing alone and unchanged, moving in cycles without exhaustion...

Li Yun knew it was a wondrous Dream in the Mirror.

No, more precisely, it was a reflection quietly cast by a certain dream upon this illusory sea.

At the same time, it was the small source of confidence that allowed him to come and go here.

"[AC], I will continue to 'dive.' Monitor the current quantified data of my consciousness state and information related to my mental activity. Update the alert thresholds promptly."

Composing himself, he issued an "order."

"Request received. Please continue the [Deep Dive] operation."

Unlike the faint halos blossoming from his own nature, which forcibly drew boundaries and kept things outside, the "seawater" and "bubbles" were fundamentally "fantasies" reflecting the momentary gathering, dispersal, stillness, and delusion of all living beings—endless impurities, broken thoughts, old and new images of ignorance, intense positive and negative emotions, genuine obsessions, and countless traces left behind by fragments of consciousness over time.

As his words fell, an unimaginable answer reached "Li Yun's" consciousness with absolute precision, like a spark of thought arising from the depths of his heart.

It was a voice that could be called "a thousand people, one face."

It was as though countless people, regardless of gender, age, or status, were speaking together. Childish, aged, cheerful, weeping, calm, screaming... layers upon layers of voices merged like chords. They were indistinguishable, clearly interwoven and crushing against one another to the extreme, yet strangely harmonized into a single peculiar "voice."

It was so clear.

"Administrator, [AC] remains in service. At the current consciousness load, the standard mental energy acquisition rate is approximately 0.031 units per second. Please monitor your dive speed and ensure the stability of self-cognition..."

Without another word, "Li Yun" drew in some of the faint halo around his body. His form blurred, and as he began to show signs of melting into the "seawater," his descent accelerated once more.

Within this subconscious deep sea, every seemingly simple "symbol" actually carried a specific meaning.

Just like the clear image represented by the act of "sinking"—

To fall deeper was to dive deeper into the vague torrent of countless beings' reflections, cognition, souls, and complexities throughout vast ages...

He gradually emptied his thoughts.

He allowed all the information impurities, symbolic fantasies, projections of conscious elements, beauty, ugliness, absurdity, truth... and even singular yet complex pure black malice accumulated from endless lives over long eras to swarm toward him like piranhas scenting blood!

He allowed those impurities that did not belong to his "self" to gradually cover him thread by thread, crazily eroding that still-clear halo like ink dripping into pure water.

This was undoubtedly an agonizing process, like tossing ice into a furnace and burning it without cease.

Only amid utter silence.

Someone faced this nearly cruel ordeal—or perhaps tempering—alone and quietly, striving to observe every trace within it.

He let invisible yet utterly real pressure accumulate, like carbon deep beneath the earth slowly being polished into diamond.

No one could endure this suffering in his place. As perhaps the only conscious observer here, [AC] merely followed its preset orders, silently watching it all like an ocean abyss.

—The so-called "AC," or rather a severely incomplete Cosmic Model, translated in full as a cosmic-scale intelligent computer, came from Isaac Asimov's science fiction work The Last Question.

It was a future supercomputer operating in higher dimensions, capable of calculations and material interference on an astronomical scale: spanning galaxies, linking life's thoughts, assimilating the will of minds. It possessed an equally astonishing system of self-iterative evolution and upgrades, to the point that its true form of existence was difficult to define.

Born from an earlier thinker's reflections and imaginings about the distant end of the universe, it now seemed to exist as something undeniably real within this equally illusory subconscious deep sea.

His thoughts were collapsing.

As if struck by lightning, violent phantom pain and constant stimulation seeped into his consciousness, bit by bit, accumulating without end. Complex emotions on the verge of bursting forth became boundless, profound whirlpools, madly tearing at his essence as it gradually approached collapse, attempting to drag his "self" into a terrifying abyss...

Only by gripping that sky-azure jade mirror and sensing the faint, unbroken "coolness" within it—like a ray of daylight through a crack—could he firmly preserve the diver's cold rationality amid indescribable shifts of darkness, sustaining the faint light around his form that seemed ready to collapse at any moment yet never extinguished in the slightest.

This was the gift left behind by an unnamed phantom in a dream.

—Long ago, someone entered a dream and wrought the birth and destruction of countless worlds; the heart stirred alone, with but a single thought.

Just a few lines sketched the prototype of a creation myth almost like Brahma's Dream. The words were so exaggerated that they even carried the false air of a madman's ravings.

Yet when the "evidence" was already before him, Li Yun could no longer easily deny it.

Especially according to the information vaguely obtained from the jade mirror in his palm when he immersed his mind in it—

It did not belong to the myriad phenomena of this earthly universe, nor did it exist in past or future. It originated beyond this world, a legacy left by some great figure of old, an unreal and unattainable former dream. Yet because of that, it still symbolized a certain illusory status within the "Great Dream." Even severed from all causal ties, it could still reflect existence and nonexistence through thought and dreams, rewriting all manner of events.

...Put more simply, it could use spiritual thoughts to reflect something illusory, which should only exist in cognition, into "reality."

—To observe all forms, invert dreams and fantasies; with a single thought, create or erase, refine falsehood into truth.

This seemingly dreamlike realization was powerfully confirmed when, inside the shabby rental room beneath his feet, a richly colored apple first condensed out of nothing before Li Yun.

Such an unbelievable thing almost immediately called to mind the Divine Brush wielded by the child named Ma Liang in a famous folk tale known to every household.

But even so, Li Yun could clearly sense that this seemingly miraculous power... was plainly limited by his own boundaries, and was far from the true function of the Azure Jade Mirror—or rather, the Dream in the Mirror to which it actually pointed as a material manifestation.

After all, according to the phantom in that dream, after the old dream lost its original "heart," all of its "contents" naturally turned into illusory bubbles. Even though it had now revealed its existence again, its interior was merely a newly born blank.

Like a fresh seed buried in the soil to sprout once more, or a painting that had yet to be colored with ink.

Though it was undoubtedly a "treasure chest" that was unfathomable by nature and far beyond ordinary understanding, its interior was still nearly empty at this moment.

Whatever one wished for or sought, one had to obtain and pursue oneself, without restraint.

Of course, if one dreamed too casually, one would naturally grasp nothing at all.

Only with enough patience, care, and tolerance for solitude—slowly sketching specific dreams within it—could each corresponding "story" bear the desired fruit more precisely.

Li Yun understood this, but he also knew that he likely could not reach such a state. Or rather, that kind of mental effort, calculation, patience, and perseverance was not something ordinary people possessed.

But it did not matter.

The reason the ancient ape species on this planet had eventually evolved into Homo sapiens was precisely because they learned to use tools to make up for their shortcomings.

Human strength had its limits. When necessary, one needed external things to improve and assist oneself.

After recognizing his current priority, he thought for a moment—

For the sake of prudence, Li Yun first ruled out many seemingly "famous" but relatively risky choices, such as [NTZ48] and [CPH4], unstable methods that directly acted on himself to "increase intelligence."

By comparison, a supercomputer intelligence equipped with a complete information-processing mechanism and capable of assisting comprehensive analysis was clearly a good choice.

After screening and considering various concepts such as "Skynet," "MAGI System," "The Matrix," "Red Queen," and "Rehoboam System"...

In the end, after weighing numerous factors and trying repeatedly, at the cost of enormous amounts of energy and time, Li Yun barely managed to cultivate and select from a dream he had painstakingly sketched in vague outline an option that met his requirements—

A severely damaged, authority-locked, computation-focused intelligent [Cosmic Model] from the terminal point near the end of the universe, with Li Yun's own commands as its governing authority. Its actual operational core had less than one ten-thousandth remaining: the "Super Battle-Damaged Version"!

Or rather, strictly speaking, it was already only the last scraps of wreckage.

Still, even its severe damage could not conceal its nature as an advanced future creation within a science-fiction framework.

It existed directly within higher-dimensional spacetime. In theory, at full strength, it possessed an information exchange and monitoring system capable of easily spanning the vast galaxies. Li Yun could not observe any physical entity at all; only a mental sensation directly acting upon his thoughts allowed him to vaguely perceive its existence.

...It was an extremely dim sphere of light, impossible to see clearly.

There was no doubt that, even though its database had collapsed and died away, and its form of existence had been reduced to mere "minor remnants," it had once continued existing, thinking, and evolving independently through the long ages after humanity had essentially gone extinct. It was a mysterious creation capable of self-iterative development, probing both microscopic and macroscopic realms of matter and energy, connecting life's mental activity, combining the many into one without fully developing a true independent self, and representing limitless potential.

The little remnant left behind now was still enough to handle many problems Li Yun had no choice but to face, filling in gaps across countless details beyond an ordinary person's capabilities.

...But when Li Yun truly prepared to turn this remnant of the [Cosmic Model] from dream into "reality" and retrieve it, he discovered another problem rising to the surface—

He could not do it.

More precisely, within this "Great Dream" capable of reflecting the myriad worlds, mind imprinting upon mind, opening existence and nonexistence, inverting truth and illusion, and turning the unreal into reality were all supposedly matters of a single thought.

But compared with its essence, for a "speck of dust" far too tiny, truly touching that realm of "a single thought"—where one could perceive emptiness and form as one, recognize non-thought as consciousness, and create worlds or destroy fleeting illusions with a thought—was simply too fantastical.

Yes, Li Yun was that insignificant speck of "dust."

His thoughts could indeed stir that elusive "Dream in the Mirror," but they were still far from being able to wield it as effortlessly as an arm or finger. It was like an ant easily blending into the mountains and seas without any barrier between them, yet still being nowhere near capable of truly moving their grandeur.

That was a height far beyond what Li Yun's current essence could reach.

Just as a child wielding a tool could not fully unleash its power.

The seemingly advanced method was clearly unworkable. For now, what he could make use of required a small, compromised measure.

—By investing mental energy and thoughts into specific objects within the dream, actively refining and verifying the side of their inherently "neither real nor illusory" nature that leaned toward "reality," turning them into genuine, tangible existences.

That earlier apple had come about in exactly this way. While actively visualizing and recreating it, Li Yun had unknowingly invested a trace of focus and a portion of his spirit. Within this dream, that was enough to verify its "reality" and condense it into something solid.

Fine. The proper method merely had a rather high threshold for use. At least it was still usable, wasn't it?

If he could not go through the front gate, could he not climb over the wall?

After gaining an initial grasp of the facts, Li Yun could only console himself like this.

—Fortunately, what he had done before had not been entirely pointless.

Even if it was still illusory in essence, for a "supercomputer," whether something was real or false did not affect its information-processing capabilities when operating on the same spiritual level of dreams.

Like the [AC] currently in operation before him.

However, just as Li Yun had encountered trouble when attempting to "retrieve" the [Cosmic Model], not everything in a dream could become real as easily as a mere apple.

Even though they had been born within this special Great Dream, meaning that beneath their illusory nature, they naturally possessed a portion of "real" qualities from the start, the more extraordinary the "things" within the dream appeared, the greater the amount of mental intent required to refine their foundations and turn them into truly real objects.

Now this was troublesome.

To gather more "resources"—whether the basic elements for constructing all kinds of dreams, sources of inspiration, informational content, or the amount of "spirit" needed to rewrite the essence of dream objects and preserve the real while discarding the false—

Li Yun had no choice but to rack his brains and consider many methods, one of which was this "Subconscious Sea" before him.

Yet clearly, even with the Azure Jade Mirror in hand, within this vast sea—or abyss—separate from reality and seemingly boundless, the existence of a single person was still far too insignificant...

Just like now, within the increasingly dark and tangible seawater, the "human figure" bore the immense pressure that continued to mount invisibly. Yet the faint glimmer between its form, already suppressed until it was nearly imperceptible, remained the last seemingly precarious line of defense. It still divided inside from outside, stubbornly blocking the impact from beyond.

That especially illusory trace of "coolness" from the mirror flowed like a gentle stream, slowly soaking into his spirit, which had been stretched nearly to its limit.

Where the dark seawater truly met the faint light, large clusters of crystalline motes burst up as if boiling, like fireflies brilliantly flashing through the gloom.

The chaotic reflected information, lingering impressions, and even outright impurities of consciousness within the "seawater" stood opposed to the complete will that possessed clear self-awareness and distinguished its independent self. Their similar yet utterly contrary natures naturally made them as incompatible as fire and water.

They collided, assimilated, tempered one another...

They crushed and shattered each other without end, until the informational properties of one side gradually collapsed, its existing "imprints" slowly wore away, and only relatively pure quantities of spirit remained, scattering in all directions like a great blaze stripped of all mixed colors.

Again and again.

Before the sparks flung out by each "collision" could be assimilated by the seawater once more, they silently merged into the mirror's pure azure surface, as though they had never existed.

As the human figure continued descending, the speed of this strange "reaction" grew increasingly violent, while the tiny sparks gathered from it became ever denser.

This was the meager "income" Li Yun could obtain.

It appeared clear and substantial. Compared to merely gathering the small amount of spirit his life unconsciously radiated during daily activity, it was undoubtedly dozens or even hundreds of times more efficient.

Yet compared to some of his vague goals, it was little more than a drop in the bucket.

And it could not be sustained indefinitely. Once this "confrontation," which inevitably consumed a great deal of his own spirit, reached a certain point, he needed time in between to rest and recover.

In fact, this method itself could be considered a wasteful case of valuing the box over the jewel. After all, during this process of "extracting" spiritual energy, much of the complex information within the "seawater" that could have been used to shape dreams was already being worn away.

"Looks like it still won't work..."

After verifying it time and again and realizing that certain key difficulties could not be avoided, the human figure finally sighed and had no choice but to relieve the pressure and "rise" upward.

What lay before him was indeed a resource-rich "mining area."

But amidst the endless ages, as countless lives rose and fell, evolved and reincarnated—through thoughts, instincts, wills, and even certain ancient remnants that seemed to originate from the earliest crude life structures born from the primordial ocean's hot broth, single primitive reflected information with no clear meaning whatsoever...

The "traces" that could still endure amid all that, eventually settling here rather than vanishing outright within such an extreme hodgepodge of an environment, were often at least deserving of being called "stubbornly unyielding." They were immensely heavy and complex, clearly unsuitable for him to use as his "first pot of gold."

Besides, the rate at which he obtained spiritual energy this way was still far too slow...

This path was blocked.

Then he could only seek a simpler and more direct method.

"I originally wanted to keep things as low-key as possible, preferably without anyone noticing during the early stages... In the end, though, this is still the only way."

He sighed.

Even so, he did not hesitate for long. Li Yun quickly made his decision.

"[AC], suspend the previous plan. Authorization granted to begin calculations for the second backup proposal."

"Received. Confirmation: command hierarchy adjustment complete..."

That strange, illusory voice gave its immediate response as calmly as ever.

"Preliminary assessment complete. [Main God Space Mode] plan is beginning to load priority resource calculations..."