Chapter Thirty-Six: The Hidden Resting Place

Consciousness, preconsciousness, subconsciousness, and collective subconsciousness are collectively referred to as the “realm of dreams.” If one likens each person’s inner world to an iceberg, then consciousness forms the visible tip above the water; preconsciousness lies submerged yet discernible beneath the surface; while the parts that cannot be observed belong to the domain of the subconscious. As for the collective subconsciousness, it is like the hidden currents beneath the icebergs, flowing from the base of one iceberg to another.

“Oh, I think I’m starting to understand now,” Suzuna Tsukimiya exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Let me tell you, when I was in high school, there was one time I walked into the classroom and instantly sensed something was wrong. Even though no one spoke, the whole class was enveloped in a sorrowful atmosphere.”

“Afterwards, I learned that everyone’s favorite teacher, Mr. Akita, was leaving. So, this ability to read the air—isn’t that also part of the collective subconsciousness?”

“I think that’s simply because you’re good at reading people,” Chen Zi’ang replied, rubbing his forehead. “True collective subconsciousness is more like—let’s say—a town ravaged by disaster, where a pervasive sense of bleakness lingers. Many attribute it to restless spirits, but it might actually be the influence of the hidden collective subconsciousness.”

“To return to the point, the power I’m about to invoke is called [Dreamwalking]. It allows us to transform our bodies into spiritual forms, enabling us to traverse freely among the preconscious, subconscious, and collective subconscious realms.”

“That’s incredible!” Suzuna Tsukimiya exclaimed in genuine wonder—not feigned but sincere. [Dreamwalking] was a rare and precious power; as far as she knew, no more than three deities possessed it, and the only human able to access it was the Lord of the Deep Sea.

So, had her senior ever met the Lord of the Deep Sea?

“There’s something else you must remember,” Chen Zi’ang cautioned. “Whether it’s the Security Bureau or the Detective Agency, people like us who walk the path of the arcane, our powers and sealed artifacts are strictly confidential—never speak of them.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone,” Suzuna Tsukimiya replied earnestly.

“Good.” Chen Zi’ang continued, “You might feel dizzy at first, but you’ll get used to it. Let’s go.”

He grasped Suzuna Tsukimiya’s arm and activated the power of Dreamwalking.

It was as if she had suddenly plummeted downward. When Suzuna Tsukimiya collected herself, she realized they were still in the room at the hot spring inn, but something about their surroundings had changed.

Outside the window, it was not daylight but utter darkness—so thick one could see nothing. Suzuna Tsukimiya could sense, distinctly, something in the darkness was watching her.

“This is my preconscious space,” Chen Zi’ang explained. “The darkness represents my unfamiliarity with Ryou City, and the feeling of being watched stems from my own alertness and unease.”

He activated Dreamwalking again, and their awareness descended further, plunging into the subconscious.

In the world of subconsciousness, the inn room had transformed into an ancient island-style décor, complete with tatami flooring and paper sliding doors.

“Oh—” Suzuna Tsukimiya giggled. “Is this how you think a hot spring inn should look, Senior?”

“Perhaps,” Chen Zi’ang waved his hand. “The subconscious is uncontrollable and inexplicable. I suggest there’s no need to dwell on it.”

Just as he finished speaking, Suzuna Tsukimiya saw an apparition of herself.

The apparition knelt in the center of the tatami, hands pressed tightly against her cheeks, tears streaming ceaselessly through her fingers.

Suzuna Tsukimiya stared blankly at her own tearful phantom, her expression uneasy and bewildered.

“Well, the subconscious is like that—anything can appear,” Chen Zi’ang said awkwardly. “Actually…”

“That’s disappointing, Senior,” Suzuna Tsukimiya murmured. “Is my miserable, tearful face really so memorable to you?”

“…Sorry,” Chen Zi’ang could only admit his fault.

After a brief silence, Suzuna Tsukimiya spoke again, “Will you make me cry again next time, Senior?”

“No, no, I won’t,” Chen Zi’ang hastily assured her, then paused, confused. “Wait, wasn’t your last bout of tears not caused by me?”

Suzuna Tsukimiya smiled, deftly changing the subject, “Let’s not talk about that. How do we enter the collective subconsciousness?”

“The collective subconsciousness is the aggregation of all individual subconsciousnesses,” Chen Zi’ang answered. “For example, if all the residents of a village live beside a river and have a vivid impression of it, then the river is likely to appear in their collective subconsciousness.”

“The more people impressed by something, the greater its chance of appearing in the collective subconscious. Our task now is to search the collective subconsciousness of ‘Ryou City’ to investigate the hidden truth behind the town.”

“And the townsfolk will remain completely oblivious,” Suzuna Tsukimiya realized. “Because they can’t perceive the subconscious layer.”

“If they could, it wouldn’t be called ‘subconscious,’” Chen Zi’ang said with a laugh. “Let’s proceed.”

For the third time, Chen Zi’ang invoked Dreamwalking, now quite adept, quickly visualizing “Ryou City” in his mind.

Soon, they found themselves within a town.

The surroundings seemed to resemble Ryou City, but it was clearly far livelier than the real one. Though it was night, every household was brightly lit; the cries of babies, barking of dogs, and shouts of adults echoed from time to time.

Suddenly, all sounds ceased.

From the distant end of the street, the houses on both sides extinguished their lights simultaneously—from living rooms to bedrooms, from the first floor to the second.

The blackout spread like dominoes, quickly sweeping through neighboring homes, one after another… With the orderly extinguishing of lights, darkness surged towards Chen Zi’ang like a tide.

A sense of alarm welled up inside him; Chen Zi’ang swiftly opened his intuition, confirming the presence of immense danger lurking in the depths of the darkness.

He grabbed Suzuna Tsukimiya’s hand and dashed toward the nearest home.

The front door was locked, and the yard wall rose over two meters, impossible to climb unaided.

Chen Zi’ang raised his left hand, summoning the Touch of the Abyss from the ground.

A massive tentacle erupted from the earth, instantly carrying them over the wall and into the yard.

Chen Zi’ang rushed to the balcony door and tugged at the handle.

It was locked, as expected.

He stepped back half a pace, lifted his left hand, and the Touch of the Abyss appeared from beneath the floor inside, its tip gripping the lock and gently twisting.

The lock clicked open.

Pulling Suzuna Tsukimiya inside, Chen Zi’ang quickly shut and bolted the door, finally letting out a slow breath.

“Amazing, Senior,” Suzuna Tsukimiya exclaimed.

“Shh,” Chen Zi’ang motioned her to silence.

After a moment—about ten seconds—strange voices suddenly rose from the street outside.

An island dialect?

Chen Zi’ang was momentarily stunned. Although over 90% of people in North City were Islanders, the official language was Imperial Mainland, and society generally regarded “island dialects” as rural speech. Thus, most everyday communication was in Mainland language, and though Chen Zi’ang had lived in North City all his life, he only recognized four dialect words: “Kawaii,” “Koishi,” “Soga,” and “Sodaji-nai.”

But soon, Suzuna Tsukimiya kindly brought her phone screen close.

Chen Zi’ang leaned in and saw her fingers flying over the keyboard, translating the voices outside into Mainland script for him to read.

“…So it was Mr. Souke who passed away.”

“Hurry and send his body to the Body Repository; may he rest in peace in the [Otherworld].”

The term “Otherworld” was specially bracketed by Suzuna Tsukimiya, indicating she wasn’t sure how best to translate it.

“Should we hand him directly to the Repository priests? Honestly, their faces scare me every time I see them.”

“Shut up—can you say such things so carelessly? If you want to die, keep your blood off me.”

The voices outside faded until they could no longer be heard. Suzuna Tsukimiya put away her phone and looked at Chen Zi’ang with earnest eyes.

After a moment’s silence, Chen Zi’ang took out his phone and typed:

“Let’s go check out the Body Repository.”