Volume Four: Lin Xi’s Dream

Prologue

Blinding fire ran like a scarlet tide through the bustling city.

A phoenix split the vault of heaven and cried, a sorrow that shook the clouds.

One dazzling warship after another sprayed foam, white arcs against a burning sky.

Taoist priests, staves in hand, flung spell after spell like talismans in a storm.

Even a sheet of rain came down like a falling curtain.

It couldn’t stop the celestial palace from crumbling, inch by inch, to ash in the flames.

It was a day that broke every heart.

Terror unfolded in plain sight, like a blade drawn in a marketplace.

And in the palace’s heart, a silver-haired, green-eyed girl laughed, a bell of ice in the fire.

Chapter One

A Girl from the Stars

The sky was a gray-blue, like old steel before dawn.

Even the afterglow of sunset couldn’t pierce the smeared dust-haze; only one light drew near.

An old whistle wailed across the stars, whoooo, and an aged space-train drifted in from the far sky, settling on the platform like a tired whale.

A girl hauled a huge case and stepped off the ship.

She wasn’t pretty; freckles and grime mottled her cheeks, and her sea-blue hair hung dull and dirty, like algae after a long winter.

She was alone. No one else disembarked; the gangway gaped to silence.

A remote planet, a sagging city—no one chose this soil unless they had to.

She tightened her grip on the big case, nodded to herself, and headed for customs like a small boat pushing into fog.

The arrival corridor had been gnawed by years and acid rain, a ribcage of rust. Varicolored corrosion bloomed on the rails. When she stepped on, the whole passage swayed and squealed like a cold hinge.

The glass was already shattered. The metal pillars were scaled with layers of posters, pasted and torn, torn and pasted, a palimpsest so thick the words were ghosts; like the hands that once smoothed them, all of it abandoned.

At the end lay a hall that was half station, half airport. Once, the floor must’ve gleamed like a lake under bright lamps.

Now only the dim sun lit the strip ahead of her, and black gum stains dotted the tiles like coins tossed and forgotten. The dirt had turned the color of night.

Farther in was the immigration desk. There should’ve been many windows open. Now only one flickered like a lone candle.

An old man sat there, bald crown bare, a heavy green coat swallowing his shoulders.

Hello, I’d like to apply to enter Dreamwood Star.

Okay… uh? A young miss? That’s rare…

He lifted his eyes from a drooping newspaper, curiosity flickering. A new face this young was a comet in a dead sky.

Here are my papers.

Mm…

He took them and stamped without looking. No one cared about details here. This was Dreamwood Star, a place even criminals couldn’t be bothered with. Border checks were a formality, like a prayer said to an empty shrine.

You’re cleared.

Thanks!

Stay safe.

He waved her through, smiled to himself, and went back to the rustle of newsprint, like leaves in late autumn.

She stepped into the main hall and lifted her eyes. Only a few years had passed, yet the emptiness had deepened like winter water.

No one. The sunset, through a broken dome, dragged the columns into long shadows. Half the hall was drowned in shade; the other half glowed gold for a breath, about to fall into dark.

Power seemed out. No humming screens. No lights. The cargo belts slept, furred with dust as thick as a blanket. The escalators were cordoned off by a busted sign, a broken rib in a dead beast.

Forget AC or heat. The place breathed cold drafts, a hollow cave after tidefall.

Looks like I’ll have to take the stairs…

She dragged her suitcase toward the stairwell, each step a pebble dropped into a well.

The case was as big as she was. Taking it down the stairs was brutal work. Even so, she moved it carefully, inch by inch, like lowering a lantern over ice.

After a few steps she was panting, breath white in the dim. No hands reached to help—not from coldness, but because there were no people, only the wind.

The front doors gaped wide. No staff. No guards. She finally pushed out of the station and met another small heartbreak.

The airport bus… is gone?

The bus sign was removed. In its place, a temporary notice swayed on a wire like a tired flag.

She read it and found that only at noon did a single canvas-topped lorry run between the city and the airport. One trip a day. No other transport.

Uh… what do I do now!

It was six in the evening. Eighteen hours to the next ride, a clock’s weight on her chest.

She sat on the steps outside, wrapped her arms around her knees, and let the stone cool her shins.

All around lay wild ground veined with tree roots, an earth of knuckles and scars. No place to sleep. Not even a nook to eat out of the wind.

The breeze on her face carried a muddy heaviness. Each breath felt like swallowing soot. Stay here long and anyone’s lungs would sprout troubles, like moss in a damp jar.

Her body could ignore it now, could shrug off this level of poison. Still, for reasons she didn’t want to touch, she refused to linger in air like this.

If I walk home, it’ll take seven or eight hours, right? This is bad…

Lost in thought, she noticed a little shape in the verge—a small hauler abandoned in a corner of the road.

They called it a hauler, but it was closer to a squat forklift, a utility crawler. Back when this planet was lively, it arrived with the bike-share craze. The difference was simple: bikes ate your legs; haulers drank your mana.

Scan to unlock, feed it mana, and it would trundle for you. In times like these, its lock had surely been smashed. Its parts had aged and gone missing, a skeleton missing teeth.

Even if you poured mana in, the conversion to motion would be lousy. An ordinary person would burn themselves dry and roll only a dozen yards. Not worth it at all.

None of that mattered to her. What she lacked, she lacked; what she had was mana, and plenty of it.

As a World Tree Maiden, a few dozen meters were nothing. A few dozen kilometers were just a morning stroll.

Yeah. I’ll use this—and go home.

She nodded. Yue Liuyi hefted her luggage onto the little hauler and set off on a journey “alone,” a small lantern bobbing into the long night.