Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 209 Old Friends in Dreams, Reunion Amidst the Tides

The figure I met in my dream
It may not be true.

But that one sentence, "Long time no see," really makes you want to cry.

The corridors of the Lost One were so quiet they were almost empty, like echoes solidified from the depths of a dream.

The wooden planks creaked softly, each step seeming to tread on memories left over from yesterday, delicate yet not heavy, carrying a rhythm polished by the sea breeze and old dreams.

Si Ming walked through the corridor and looked up at the slightly swaying chandelier on the cabin ceiling.

The pale blue light flickered among the wood grain of the cabin, much like the countless nights he had spent alone—damp, quiet, and with a touch of hazy comfort.

He slightly raised the corner of his mouth, a smile that was extremely difficult to detect, like a tacit greeting between acquaintances that requires no small talk.

At the end of the corridor, his gaze sharpened.

At the corner, in the soft light and shadow, two familiar figures were walking slowly forward.

The salty sea breeze seeped in through the gaps in the cabin, blowing their hair lightly, as familiar as frames of old photographs.

"Allison? Ian?"

They turned their heads.

Ian grinned and lazily waved his hand: "Hey, Siming, long time no see. Your hairstyle is still as sloppy as ever."

Allison nodded and chuckled, her gaze falling on the dust on his shoulder and the bloodstains on his clothes that hadn't been wiped away:

"It seems you've gotten yourself into a lot of trouble lately."

Si Ming sighed, shrugged, and spoke as if complaining about a doomed play:
"Look, I just left the theater of some marionette maniac, after performing a show that gave me a headache."

The three of them walked side by side up the steps to the deck, the ship rocking slightly.

The sound of footsteps echoed harmoniously in the empty corridor, like a song of homecoming.

“I just saw Lilia through the porthole,” Siming whispered. “Did she and Calvino come back?”

Allison gently shook her head, her blonde hair tracing an arc of light with the movement.

"No. They're so busy right now they can't even spare a moment. This should just be a clone of their imprint."

"A phantom?" Si Ming raised an eyebrow. "They even need to 'remotely project' their return?"

"A new rift has recently opened up on the border of the Dreamlands," Ian interjected.
"Those slumbering beings won't wait. Extradition work is even harder than running dungeons for us."

"Truly dedicated." Si Ming shook his head and smiled wryly.

As they stepped out the door, a fresh breeze carrying the scent of damp sea salt wafted towards them, carrying an indescribable sense of familiarity.

On the deck, the wind was gentle and dreamlike, and the rustling of my clothes made me feel no cold.

It was a tranquility cleansed by the storm, like an old dream returning.

Siming looked up; the sky was as clear as a still sea, with streaks of mist dancing and intertwining in the clouds, and several silvery-white, translucent dolphins circling in the sky.
Sparkling bubbles emerge from its mouth, slowly bursting in the sunlight like snow falling in a dream, drifting into the clouds.

The deck was indeed "lively".

More than ten ghostly blue phantoms were working silently.

They have no physical bodies, yet every movement they make is perfectly orderly.

Wiping the railings, adjusting the sails, tidying the compass—it's as if they've never left, always here waiting for the next voyage.

At the bow, several illusory clones of "Lilia" were busy in front of the weather vane, their movements as fluid as a dance.

The runes drawn from fingertips gently disappeared into the core of the helm, guiding the ghost ship through dreams.

On the balcony of the captain's cabin, a phantom of "Calvino" is bowing his head and playing the violin. The music is like mist, like weeping and lamenting, as if whispering for all the departing crew members.

The other clone sat on a bench, half a scroll of nautical chart spread on his lap, his expression languid yet exuding a familiar tranquility.

“These are the marks they left behind,” Allison said softly.
"Calvino once told me: 'The captain can't stand on the deck forever, but the Lost One must always be kept in good working order.'"

She gazed at the phantom of Calvino sitting in the wind, her eyes as tender as if looking at an old friend.

"This ship will guard their way back, and it will also guard a faith that we who are still out there dare not speak of."

"They're so busy," Si Ming remarked, gazing at the phantoms.

“Who made them the extradition brokers?” Ian put his hands in his pockets. “The tide between dreams and reality; people fall into the water every day, but they’re still building the bridge.”

"Dreams are the refuge of all wanderers." Allison gazed into the distance.

"And the Lost One was the only light on that journey home."

Si Ming nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing his eyes as he looked at the two Calvino clones.

It wasn't longing, nor was it sorrow; it was a respect between fellow travelers.

In the distance, a whale glides slowly through the clouds, its scales reflecting brilliant rainbows in the sunlight, as if draping the sky in a cloak woven from stars.

A silvery-white dolphin swam silently past the railing and approached Siming.

It exhales a string of crystal-clear bubbles, which rise into the air, slowly burst open, and disperse into a wisp of fragrant wind.

Si Ming gently raised his hand, caught the last bubble that hadn't yet dissipated, and smiled: "...They still remember us."

Siming watched all this, his eyes narrowed slightly, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Oh, right,” Ian suddenly turned his head, leaned against the ship's railing, and lightly nudged Siming's shoulder with his elbow, his tone light but with a familiar teasing.
"When I passed by your cabin door just now, I heard quite a commotion inside—when did you become a team leader?"

"You brought guests?" Allison turned her head as well, her voice as gentle as a spring night breeze, her eyes filled with a hint of inquiry and teasing.

"Is it a favor you owe, or a debt you owe with your life?"

Si Ming sighed and shrugged, a hint of weariness hidden beneath his usual lazy demeanor: "A troublesome task."

He paused, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable clarity: "A commission from the Mysterious Mystery Guild. Someone has been drawn into an unregistered world of portals."

I've run into trouble... I have no choice but to bring them all back. At least I can catch my breath before I die a horrible death in the next game.

"Yo." Ian whistled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You're still the same as ever, Siming—wherever you go, the wind blows, and missions chase after you. Others take on missions, but you're the one chosen by them." "So, are you a mystery strategist, or some kind of 'passively drawn-in-disaster constitution'?"

Allison chuckled and joked, "From the Mysterious Garden to the Blood Pact betting game, and then to the Dream Sea Gap... every unexpected event has your poker face."

"Don't flatter me." Si Ming glanced at her sideways, his voice neither hurried nor slow.
"I just happen to run into things I shouldn't have seen wherever I go."

“You’re just lucky.” Ian patted his shoulder, laughing heartily. “We walk the same path, at most we step on some loose bricks. But when you step on one, the whole world collapses.”

Si Ming smiled slightly, but did not refute. Instead, she shifted her position and leaned against the railing: "Where are you going this time, transferring from the Lost One?"

“The Sea of ​​Six Flowers.” Allison nodded, her expression turning serious for a moment.
"Alfred sent word that there's been a problem with the navy... with the old nobles. I'll go and handle it."

“And me—” Ian spread his hands, “I’m mainly here to be a bodyguard.”

"Tsk." Allison glanced at him sideways, a smile playing on her lips. "More like you're here to slack off and drink. With your alcohol tolerance, you'll barely be able to keep yourself out of trouble."

The three looked at each other and smiled; the unspoken understanding that came after a long separation flowed silently in the sound of the tide.

The sound of the piano still lingered on the deck, as if it came from beyond the starry sky.

The phantom Calvino stood quietly at the bow, eyes closed, his bow gently swaying on the strings—as if reliving a journey that never happened.

"I should go," Allison said softly, glancing up at the deep blue sky, her tone gentle yet firm.

Ian nodded: "If she leaves, I have to follow."

Si Ming smiled gently and pointed to the hazy, dreamlike hatch below her nails: "Don't worry. I'll take good care of them."

“I believe you.” Allison walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “This ship… feels more like home than any other place.”

She turned and walked towards the silver-gray inscribed door on the side, her fingertips lightly touching it, causing the inscription to ripple with light.
A door leading to the Sea of ​​Six Flowers slowly opened, and space split open like a water curtain.

Ian glanced at Si Ming one last time, his eyes gleaming with an undisguised nonchalance: "Don't stay too long, I'll wait for you to come back for a drink."

"I'll treat."

Si Ming's lips curled up, and he waved his hand lazily: "How many times have I told you, your wine is awful."

Ian shrugged: "Then let's put it another way—next time you're treating, drink my awful liquor."

Two figures stepped into the portal one after the other, gradually disappearing into the ripples of light, as if they had never existed.
Only the wind swirls on the empty deck, like the sound of an old zither, passing through time and tides, drifting into the depths of the cabin.

When he returned to his cabin, Si Ming unconsciously slowed his pace, as if he were stepping into a fragile dream rather than a ghost ship.

The tremors beneath the planks had subsided, and the mist drifted silently through the portholes, gently patting the hull, like a weary soul whispering the story of its return.

The ship was completely silent, so quiet that you could hear the different levels and weights of each breath.

Mu Sisi was slumped on the old sofa in the corner of the cabin, still clutching the sketchbook in her arms, with a few charcoal pencils scattered around her knees.

She leaned her head against the back of the chair, her sleeping face showing the weariness of an unfinished line drawing;
Fujimiya Sumire curled up on the bed closest to the door, her brows furrowed, as if she were still walking on the red carpet of a marionette theater in her dream.

Rudolf leaned against the doorframe, his posture stiff yet composed, one hand hanging naturally at his sides, the other still clutching a well-worn copy of "Principles of Ship Mechanics" that he had somehow found.
The cover is yellowed, but my fingers still unconsciously linger on that page of formula calculations, as if I'm solving some unsolved problem even in my dreams.

On the bed, Duan Xingzhou and Lin Wanqing had regained their color and were fast asleep.

The wounds on his shoulder blades and knees were so well healed by the Ghost Potion that they were almost invisible, and a faint silver sheen shone beneath his skin, like stardust rolling up from the ocean waves.

Their breathing was steady, as if they had finally been gently lifted back to the world from the brink of death.

The ghost ship's doctor has quietly departed.

He never said goodbye, leaving only a faint lingering scent of herbs in the air and a wisp of blue light drifting like dust.
It was as if he were merely an illusion in the night wind, a tender surgical scar that once existed in an old dream.

In a corner of the cabin, Vera was still awake.

She knelt before a bed by the window, a faintly golden card floating in front of her, its inverted angel ring slowly rotating like a distant ray of holy light falling from a church dome.

She clasped her hands together, her forehead bowed, and the card trembled slightly at her fingertips, as if responding to her prayer, or listening to every unforgotten soul on the ship.

"Still not asleep?" Si Ming leaned against the door frame, speaking calmly and softly, as if afraid of disturbing the rare tranquility of this ghost ship.

Vera opened her eyes, a golden halo around them, and nodded: "I am praying."

Her voice was soft, yet firm.

“Their lives have been saved.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over the still-sleeping crew members. “The ghost doctor’s medicine… is even more effective than I expected.”

Si Ming glanced at the cabin ceiling; the familiar, deep blue chandelier hung silently, its base gleaming with a faint red light.

It had already quietly risen, as if a ring of blood was wrapped around the light source, slowly seeping upwards.

“How much longer can we stay?” Vera asked.

“Once it turns completely red, we’ll have to leave.” Si Ming lazily shrugged, his tone nonchalant, yet revealing a chilling understanding of the ship’s true nature. “About three more hours.”

Upon hearing this, Vera stood up, patted her clothes, and stood ramrod straight, but no longer forced herself to remain sober.

"Then I need to take a nap." She walked to an unmade bed and sat down silently.
He remained kneeling, but put the card back in his palm to prevent the light from disturbing others' dreams.

Si Ming did not disturb her.

He simply stared at the lamp, its pale blue light like moonlight spilling across a misty sea, while the red glow spread in concentric circles, like a warning rising from the tide.

This is not a sanctuary, but merely an isolated island in the intertidal zone, a deck for a brief respite.

Outside, the deep sea churns with nightmares.

It is the end they have not yet reached.

He turned around and gently closed the door, leaving only a room filled with dreams and whispers, like a harbor in a dream.

"The Lost One will eventually reach the shore."

But those waiting on the shore,

Perhaps they are not people returning home.

Rather, it's the next nightmare.

(End of this chapter)