Long opened his eyes to a world transformed. One moment he had been sitting in the ritual chamber, and the next, he found himself standing in the open air. Or what seemed like open air—here the sky was a patchwork of swirling colors, twilight blues bleeding into dreamlike violets. There was a faint luminescence to everything, as if the world were lit from all directions by an unseen moon.
He was still in the Temple of Serene Dream… and yet not. The layout was familiar—the courtyard, the archways—but the details were wrong, hazy at the edges. Buildings appeared where they should be, but their doors opened to impossibly long hallways or inverted rooms. The gardens stretched on in repeating loops; he saw the same willow tree and pond appear three times in different corners of his vision. It was as if the temple had been copied and pasted by a muddled artist's hand, the pieces overlapping in Escher-like recursion.
Zhou Wei stood at his right, turning in a slow circle, mouth slightly agape at the distorted surroundings. Elder Lin was to Long's left, her face composed but eyes wary. Gan stumbled a step behind them, catching his balance on what looked like solid ground but rippled like water underfoot.
"Stay together," Elder Lin reminded softly. Her voice had a slight echo, as though the air itself were a vast chamber.
Long took a breath. The air smelled faintly of lotus and rain—just like the temple in reality. He flexed his hand; it felt solid, and he could sense his qi flow normally within. This was a mental realm, but they had form and substance here, a shared dream where their wills could still exert power.
From somewhere distant came a soft chorus of whispers, like countless people uttering faint words just out of comprehension. It wasn't menacing, but it set Long on edge. This whole realm was alive with the collective subconscious of the sect.
"Is everyone alright?" Long asked quietly.
"Define alright," Gan quipped, though his attempt at levity wavered. "I'm peachy, aside from standing in a nightmare version of my home."
Zhou Wei closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. "I think I'm okay. It's strange, I can feel my body here, but also a... lightness. As if I could float away if I don't focus."
"That's the dream trying to dissolve your sense of physical form," Elder Lin said. "We must maintain our self-awareness."
Long remembered the resonance bell. Faintly, at the very edge of hearing, he thought he could detect a rhythmic gonging, like a heartbeat through water. Their tether. It gave him some reassurance.
They moved as a group across the courtyard. Under their feet, the flagstones rippled and then steadied, adjusting to their presence. Long realized that as they focused on something, it firmed up and became real, but the unfocused periphery remained fluid and shifting.
Above them, the sky whorled with clouds that formed patterns—Long almost thought he saw faces in them, sleeping visages with closed eyes, exhaling mist. He kept his attention ahead.
At first, they saw no one else. The entire sect seemed deserted but for them. Zhou Wei led the way toward where the disciples' quarters would normally be. "If our people are truly here, maybe we can find them in familiar places." His voice was hushed, as if loudness might attract unwanted attention.
They passed through a row of archways that should have led to the dormitories. Instead, they found themselves back at the main gate of the temple, now closed and towering above like an enormous monolith. The inscription "Temple of Serene Dream" glowed faintly on it.
Gan cursed under his breath. "Walking in circles... or the place is rearranging around us. Typical dream nonsense."
"It may be reacting to our expectations," Long said thoughtfully. "If we think of a destination strongly, perhaps we can shape the path."
Elder Lin nodded. "Worth trying. Everyone, picture the Sanctuary." By that, Long knew she meant the hall where the sleepers were kept under care in the waking world—a sanctum where ailing or deep meditating disciples rested.
He focused on the image: a side chamber with floor mats and curtained beds, where they'd lay those who didn't wake. He had glimpsed it earlier from Zhou Wei's description and his own imagination of such a place.
They walked forward again, passing beneath the arch. This time, instead of looping back, the space opened into a long corridor lined with silken curtains gently fluttering. The air was cool here, tinged with that medicinal herbal scent common to infirmaries.
Beyond one gauzy curtain, Long saw a still figure on a low cot. Zhou Wei rushed ahead, pulling the curtain aside. "Brother!" he gasped.
On the cot lay a young man in simple robes, eyes closed. His face was peaceful but unnaturally so, like a doll or a painting of a sleeping person. Zhou Wei knelt beside him. "This is my brother, Zhou Yun," he said, voice trembling with emotion. "He's one of those who didn't wake..."
Elder Lin approached and placed a hand over the sleeper's forehead. "His soul is still tethered. We might be able to rouse him if—" She stopped abruptly. Her hand hovered above Zhou Yun's brow, not touching, and a deep frown creased her face. "This isn't right."
Before Long could ask, Zhou Wei let out a yelp. He had clasped his brother's hand—only for his hand to pass through it as if through smoke. The entire body of Zhou Yun flickered, like a reflection on disturbed water.
"An illusion?" Long said, eyes widening.
The sleeping figure dissolved into motes of light and then re-coalesced a few steps away, now standing upright. It was Zhou Yun, but his eyes were open and blank, and he stood facing them in silence.
Zhou Wei stood, heart in his throat. "Brother?"
The figure of Zhou Yun slowly smiled, but the expression was eerie and vacant. When he spoke, it was with a strange chorus of tones beneath the voice, as if many voices spoke through one mouth. "Zhou Wei... why are you here? You should be dreaming, little brother." The last words warbled, shifting pitch oddly.