When I wake up, it is in the foyer of my apartment. If not for the endless darkness that stretches beyond the half-open door, I would have been safe in assuming that this was the same place I had left.
I make to open the front door, but a shifting from behind me reminds me of something I had forgotten to do. I turn around, and atop the couch, curled up within its golden coils so that only its antlers are visible, is an old friend. There is a low rumble as it acknowledges my presence, which shifts into a rising growl. A question.
‘No, he wasn’t supposed to see you,’ I say. ‘Perhaps the veil is indeed getting thinner.’
It uncurls itself from my couch and drags the scaly coils of its body along the wooden floor towards me. I hear the clack of hundreds of pairs of legs hitting the ground, and the brush of antennae against my pant legs. Despite possessing eyes, it is almost completely blind.
A squelch as one of its front claws extend, turned upwards as if asking for something. It always asks for the same thing, and my answer does not change this time.
‘I wish to keep them,’ I say quietly.
It shakes its magnificent head, the usual display of annoyance. It has another request, however.
‘Hmm? Stay close, then. I would not like to lose you.’
It huffs, a suitable imitation of laughter. It follows me out into the foyer, sticks closer when I open the front door completely.
The outside is completely dark. Uncharted territory, as my friends liked to call it. I find myself falling back into a habit, caution in my every step. This place knows no master, and it is not immune to the vice of gluttony.
The soft ground almost gives way when I step on it. Still, it knows me, or rather the being following me, well enough to not follow through on its promise.
There is nowhere to go but forward. The clacking of many legs from behind me becomes more agitated as I go further into the dark. At one point, the front claws rush out and grab me by the shoulders to stop me as their owner assesses its surroundings, releasing me when it deems the situation safe enough.
Even without my sight, I can feel that its caution is well-earned. There is the squelching of the ground every time I step on it, but in the distance I can hear the sound of something ripping apart. Like the slow tearing of a particularly thick sheet of paper.
It is reckless, but if I want any chance at an answer, I must take that risk. I position myself so that I am facing the sound and begin walking towards it.
There is a growl from behind me, but it does not attempt to stop me. I keep walking until—
The light that hits my eyes is bright enough to hurt. Shielding my face from the source, I squint at the situation before me.
The light is coming from a gap in the floor, about the size of a manhole. I kneel down to take a closer look, the ground giving way almost in delight before stopping, just firm enough for me to steady myself. The hole in the ground is irregular, like a pierced piece of fabric. Through it I can see what lies beyond the dark; millions and millions of stars, their heat almost scorching my skin when I forget to take a step back. They are close, too close. I avert my gaze and look up.
A pair of pale, frightened eyes meet me in the dark.
She is small, almost mouse-like in her movements, scurrying forward until her face is bathed in the light from the gap. I do not know her, but she recognises me.
‘Are you Mr. Zhongli? From the funeral parlour?’
I nod. ‘Are you Miss Zhang?’
‘Yes! I mean, —’ She swallows. ‘Please, get me out of here. I don’t know what I did to end up here, but I’ll pray… I’ll pray…’
She breaks down into sobs. I want to comfort her, but that would mean reaching across the gap in the ground and enduring that hellish heat. Instead, I raise my voice slightly. ‘Just follow me, Miss Zhang. I assure you, I will bring you home.’
She wipes the last of the tears from her face and looks up, about to nod, but freezes in the last second. ‘Mr. Zhongli,’ she says softly. ‘What is that behind you?’
It takes me a moment to realise that the reassuring sound of clicking claws is no longer present. Then, the cold. Cold not possible in the warmth of Liyue, the depths of a winter wind, contrasting with the heat radiating from the gap in front of me.
On instinct now, I throw myself to the side just in time to avoid the shadow hurtling towards me. My face pressed against the ground, I see a flash of it when it leaps over the gap—long and lithe like a big cat, a streak of stars streaming behind it—and I hear the scream.
Miss Zhang is on the ground, her expression frozen into horror. I feel myself gasp as I see the foot-long spikes protruding through her chest. Blood drips onto the hungry ground, and it drinks greedily, calling out in a shrill hum for more, more. The claws drive themselves deeper, the sound of breaking bones pounding against the inside of my skull. I have to get out of here, I think as Miss Zhang slides off the claws into a heap, sinking further into the ground.
I close my eyes, reaching for something—there, the thread— and pull on it like it is my lifeline.
It snaps, and I reawaken.
~~~
I wake up to sunlight streaming through my windows. It must be the next morning, then. Ignoring the queasiness in my stomach, I reach for my phone lying on the coffee table.
It takes me a while to remember his number, but when I get it on my screen I hit the call button with more force than necessary.
Xiao picks up immediately. ‘Good afternoon, my lord—I mean, Zhongli.’
‘Good day,’ I say. ‘I have encountered your dreamer.’
‘My… apologies. I do not understand what it is you are saying.’
I explain from the beginning, from his suspicions about an invader in the dream. The rift in the wilds of the dark, and the hellish heat radiating from the stars that rest beyond it. And Miss Zhang, and the thing that killed her.
‘I hope,’ I say, ‘that the usual rule of dreams applies to her here. If her death in the dream somehow transfers over to our world, this situation may be pricklier than we thought.’
I remember the words of Mr. Yang’s widow, and something begins to crawl underneath my skin.
I hear Xiao inhale sharply on the other end of the line. ‘The situation is dire. I am asking permission to venture into the… charted parts of the dream.’
‘Permission granted,’ I say. ‘But do make sure he is out of sight before entering. I would not want your progress to be undone by a single glance.’
Xiao grunts in agreement.
‘And as for me,’ I continue. ‘I will keep an eye on the waking world. If worst comes to worst, I will personally intervene. The veil is weakening more than I thought it would.’
‘The veil?’ There is a faint note of panic in his voice.
‘I saw him,’ I say. ‘In the waking world.’
‘In the waking world… do I hear someone knocking on your door?’
Indeed, from the front door comes a series of increasingly agitated knocks. They’ve probably been there for some time, and I had not noticed. I tell Xiao I’ll text him later and head to the door, creaking it open by an inch.
A shock of ginger greets me. Childe tilts his head to meet my eyes, letting out a low whistle. ‘Wow. Just woke up?’
‘Did I ever tell you where I lived?’
‘Well, no.’ He frowns, then takes a step back. ‘But I didn’t stalk you back home or something, I’m not like that. Hu Tao told me to look for you. It’s late afternoon, and… uh. Is everything all right?’
I smooth down my hair. ‘I have been neglecting to sleep these few days. I will heal in time.’
Childe raises an eyebrow. ‘You should really talk to someone.’
I have, and I tell him as much. He shrugs. ‘All right then. I’ll tell Hu Tao you’re okay. Gods, she’s going to tease me so much… I’ll get back to my job, then. Take care.’
‘Wait.’ I open the door after his retreating figure. ‘Do you have time tonight?’
Childe turns to me, smiling again. ‘What is it?’
‘I have just purchased fresh bamboo shoots from Qingce Village in the north,’ I say. ‘The first harvest of the winter. I have been thinking of making soup from them. Would you say no to dinner in my home?’
‘No—I mean yes—I mean, yeah, I’ll come,’ he splutters, not looking me in the eye. ‘It’s just—uh—wouldn’t going out for dinner be less troublesome?’
‘Nothing is too troublesome for a friend,’ I say. The words feel like ash on my tongue, and even more so when a flush rises high on his cheeks.
‘I—uh. Thanks. I’ll see you then.’
He gives me a grin and dashes off. I release a sigh when I hear the elevator doors closing. The lie still tastes bitter, and I doubt it will be washed off by a good bamboo shoot soup.
Still, I do not forget its reflection in his light-devouring eyes.