"You've been here before?" Reason told Lu An that this was impossible, but Gao Ming couldn't be judged by ordinary standards. "You control the Deep World's dream rules. Maybe you really have."
The people coming and going had been busy with their own affairs, but when they saw Gao Ming and Lu An, they stopped and followed them. The "home" the Fate Masters had built in the Deep Dream was enormous. As they passed through one strange room after another, Gao Ming noticed a huge mirror in every room. Black cloth covered each mirror, seemingly not to be lifted lightly.
The closer Gao Ming came to the mirrors, the stronger that sense of familiarity grew.
As more and more figures wearing Paper Person Masks gathered behind them, Gao Ming gradually began to feel pressure. Seeing his cautious manner, Lu An smiled. "Don't worry. Most of them are poor souls killed by fate. After their bodies died, their souls returned here. They're much like the ghosts of the Deep World." Anyone else would hardly have found those words reassuring.
Gao Ming said little in response and followed Lu An to the center of the home. Amid the strange rooms stood a mountain of graves piled up from Paper Person Masks.
"Lives are thinner than paper, but pile this many together, and they rise higher than any mountain." Lu An lowered his head slightly, bowed before the grave mountain, and lit nine sticks of Fate Incense.
Before long, Fate Masters in all manner of clothing emerged from their rooms in every direction, all wearing Paper Person Masks. Their auras were murky, complex, and inscrutable. It was hard even to tell whether they were alive or dead.
"Are all of these Fate Usurpers?" Gao Ming swept his will across them. There were more