“What’s the world around you look like right now?” The question left Nana Toki’s lips like a pebble into still water, ripples moving behind her eyes.

She lifted her chin and met Xuduo’s gaze, calm as moonlight on a blade. Even if the other was strong, with our Lady Protagonist’s cheat, we should see some cracks.

“You mean the scenery… it’s just bare wasteland, always,” Xuduo said, eyes sweeping the horizon like a broom over dusty ground.

“Let me make it simpler,” Nana said, voice cool as a night breeze. “Anything strange nearby? Don’t skip a single pebble. Re-check even what felt normal. Our way out hangs on it.”

“Even if you say that, I’m not seeing anything weird…” Xuduo mimicked Nana and looked up, face smooth as still water. The sunlight didn’t sting her eyes; she didn’t even shield them.

“I just think that sun’s odd,” she added, a frown like a thin cloud crossing her brow. “It isn’t bright, and it doesn’t look like a sun at all.”

“What do you mean?” Nana asked, wariness coiling like smoke.

“It looks more like the full moon at night,” Xuduo whispered, the words cool as dew.

“A full moon?” Nana’s brow arched, a sparrow lifting off a branch. That was a curious thread—sun as moon, day wrapped in night.

She raised a hand to shade the glare, eyes narrowing to a blade’s edge. They’d been walking under this sun for a long while, like ants on a salt road.

Xuduo hadn’t sweated a drop, her skin dry as parchment. Nana’s Qi hadn’t thinned either, steady as a winter stream under ice.

A sun that looks like a full moon… is it hinting at night? The thought pricked like a thorn.

She fished out her phone, smooth as a river stone. The screen read 11:32, digits sitting neat as soldiers.

Nothing odd with time; three hours since they left the campus, passing like mist. Nothing to flag, and yet the air tasted wrong.

What if she switched it to 24-hour? The idea fluttered in, a moth to a lantern.

Xuduo watched Nana’s thumbs dance, light flickering on glass like fish under water. With a tap, the numbers slid and settled at 23:32—night dressed as day.

So it’s that “advanced ghost-wall” the Protagonist Lord mentioned this morning? Nana’s mouth twitched, a blade of humor and a nick of dread.

She had underestimated these things, taking his tales as spice on a bland stew. Turns out they were bones under the soup.

But the situation felt bad, like storm pressure in the lungs. Her fingers found her chin, thoughtful as a cat before a leap.

If her guess held, they’d walked close to thirteen hours, feet ticking like beads. By rights, they should have reached Longvine Station.

Why hadn’t the station shown itself, like a door in mist? Time had raced like a thief; she barely felt it pass.

It echoed that last time in the Soul Carriage, hours melting like wax. She glanced forward at the wasteland, then back—endless in both directions, a road without a shore.

Was this just a ghost wall? Her doubt rose like crows.

By what she knew, a normal ghost wall couldn’t repaint the sky even with heaven-high power. If it was night, the canvas should be night.

Yet the world wore day, topped by a sun that wore a moon’s face. The mismatch hummed like a snapped string.

Could this be a dream? The suspicion slithered in, cold as creek water.

Maybe they’d already found Longvine Station long ago, steps stitched by fate. Maybe they boarded the Fourteenth Soul Carriage without a ripple.

At the instant they crossed its threshold, a hidden ghost spun them into dream, silk-soft and binding. This barren world might be spun sugar over a pit.

A ghost that can toss people or spirits into a woven dream, then keep them drowning forever—how deep must its teeth bite to do it without sound?

Wait… a pre-edited dream, a world that feels “of course.” The phrase rang like a bell in winter air.

This plane’s worldview had always been off, like a picture frame hung crooked. In the original plot, the Protagonist Lord’s first trip to Longvine Academy was on a normal bus.

Once inside, it was minor exorcisms only, small fires in old rooms. He never saw anything like the “old campus,” and Dorm Three’s ghosts didn’t so much as whisper.

But after Nana dragged him off that Soul Carriage, oddities swarmed like locusts, and the plot buckled like wet paper under her hands.

Everything shifted so “naturally” she didn’t feel the tilt, like a boat slowly turning with the tide. She’d chalked it up to a high-tier plane’s taste.

Now, with all threads in hand, she suspected the “normal bus” at the original start was the Soul Carriage wearing a pretty mask. The dream-weaver ghost made the Protagonist Lord see a common ride.

In the original, he never subdued a Red Robed Wraith like Li Kexin. No one was there to drag him out of the carriage’s belly.

The true route likely had him drowning in that ghost’s dream, life fading like a candle in a jar, until he became part of the Soul Carriage itself.

Everything about Longvine Academy afterward was his dream-view, a storybook murder told as a lullaby. The mastermind behind Longvine Academy had fingers far stickier than Nana thought.

At least, this disaster taught her a lesson, sharp as frostbite. Don’t trust the System’s “worldview” and “plot” wholesale.

She’d seen this trick once in the Misty Tide plane, a wave that doubled back. She never thought the System would reheat the same dish.

Turns out that sly System isn’t as dumb as it plays—fox-grin under a scholar’s robe.

Ding—! “Congratulations, Host, on unlocking this plane’s hidden worldview [Nightmare Fairy Tale],” chimed the familiar voice, clear as silver bells. “Extra rewards await after this plane ends.”

The electronic tone rang in her mind, buzzing like a dragonfly. Nana lifted her head and met Xuduo’s tense gaze, eyes tight as knotted strings.

“What is it?” Nana asked, her voice soft as shaded rain.

The Lady Protagonist seemed nervous about being alone with her, shoulders drawn like shutters.

“N-nothing,” Xuduo said, words trembling like reeds. “Your face looked pale. I wanted to ask what you’ve pieced together, and if I can help.”

The air’s heat pressed like a heavy quilt; it was getting hard to breathe. Her nerves showed like frost on glass.

“I don’t need help,” Nana said, tone steady as an anchor. “Just stick close. And when we wake, please don’t make a mess of it.”

She drew out an Amber Talisman from her pocket, yellow as dried leaf. She wrapped it around her index and middle finger, neat as silk on bone.

Her right hand rose, fingers forming a gun toward the sun, a hawk locking on prey. No more playing by dream rules.

She’d traced every strange strand; there was no need to stay obedient in this rotten theater. That cheeky ghost tossed her into odd dreams—she wasn’t letting it slide.

She fed a fine thread of Qi into the Amber Talisman, warmth pulsing like a heartbeat in paper. She leveled at the blazing sun and held her breath.

Xuduo saw the Amber Talisman flare with blue fire, small and pure as a lake flame. Between Nana’s fingers, the flame sharpened to a point.

It jolted forward, thunder-quick, and struck the sun like lightning hitting glass. The sky answered like a drum.

Crack—

Crack-crack—

Crack-crack-crack—

Before their eyes, the moon-faced sun split with a seam, dark as ink. Fractures spidered outward, a chain reaction crawling like frost.

Whoosh—

At last, the world around Nana broke like a mirror with a final echo. With the last fissure, it collapsed in a roaring spray.

Zzzzz—

Xuduo snapped her eyes open, breath catching like a hooked fish. A familiar face leaned close, lit like a lamp in fog.

“You’re awake?” Nana’s voice carried a teasing curl, a smile like a cat’s tail. The glint made Xuduo feel a roguish breeze.

“Where… are we?” Xuduo asked, words thin as thread.

“You still don’t get it?” Nana’s voice rolled through the carriage like a low tide. “We’re on Bus Fourteen.”

Her words echoed inside the Soul Carriage, cold layering like hands upon hands. Xuduo felt the chill hold her like iron vines.

Behind Nana, passengers sat with faces calm as dead water, eyes quiet as stones. They watched without blinking, a row of unlit lamps.

“Surprised to see me again?” Nana called from the last row, smile light as snow. She skimmed the mood like a dragonfly, unwilling to sink.

The ghost driver met her gaze in the rear-view mirror, glass dull as winter sky. He looked away at once, obedient as a dog in rain.

Silence soaked the Soul Carriage, heavy as fog over wetlands. Four or five passengers stared at the newly awakened pair, neither speaking first.

Nana let her gaze drift across the seats, a lantern’s glow finding a figure. It settled on a familiar silhouette, clear as an old scar.

That was their primary goal, the anchor for this ride. Her eyes warmed like coals.

“Hello,” she said, voice gentle as night tea. “Classmate, I found the friend you’re waiting for on this bus. Will you get off with me to meet him?”