Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 328 Before the Dream: A Quiet Night Under Starlight
"Some shipping routes are not on nautical charts and do not lead to ports."

It leads to a future where, even when someone remembers you, a ship still sets sail for you in your dreams.

—From *The Book of Sleep: The Dream Ferryman*

At Morning Star Manor, the night breeze was extremely gentle, as gentle as a caregiver who dared not disturb the wounded, passing through the leaves without making a sound.

Si Ming leaned against the railing of the second-floor balcony, his body still bearing unhealed battle wounds. His clothes were slightly open, and his gray-black cloak was stained with mottled bloodstains, which stiffened slightly in the wind.

He didn't move; only his eyes remained still, as if the stars were sleeping within them.

A kind of unfathomable weariness flowed through him, but it was not heavy; rather, it was a kind of quietude—the quietude of a narrator.

Selene sat on the railing next to him, her legs dangling and swinging gently.

She was still barefoot, her toes just touching a clump of drooping night-blooming roses outside the railing.

She didn't speak, but nestled into her cloak, leaving only her ears showing as they swayed gently in the wind.

Like a small animal curling up after a hunt, seeking warmth in the night.

Ian sat upright, as if he were maintaining some kind of secret pact with the world.

He was carefully brewing a pot of Star Dew Tea, and a misty fragrance wafted from the silver teapot.

His movements were always so disciplined and composed, as if even under the stars or before a dream, he had to face the universe with a proper posture.

Rex lay on the wicker chair under the parasol, his hands behind his head, his eyes half-closed, as if gambling with the never-setting stars in the sky, to see if they would dare to extinguish another one tonight.

They didn't speak.

Because it's night, we shouldn't speak.

This is not silence.

Rather, it is a lingering aftermath of the war that has not yet ended.

However—the lamp, the "dream lamp," suddenly rang.

In the center of the table, the silver-shaded lamp, a dream lamp made of star shells and incantations, emitted a clear "drip...tick" sound.

It's as if someone gently tapped the surface of a dream, dripping in a drop of undefined time.

Rex twitched his eyebrows, his eyes remaining closed, as if he could perceive the dream itself even in a dream. He only whispered:

"coming."

The sound was less like a warning and more like a lookout nodding to the crest of the deep sea.

"Drip... Answer."

The pocket watch chimed again.

This time, a wisp of iridescent mist slowly emanated from the lamp wick, its colors shifting and changing, as if directly burning the essence of an unstructured dream.

The fog didn't spread outwards, but rather seemed to consciously seep into each person's eyes, nasal cavity, fingertips, and skin pores.

There was neither aggression nor resistance.

The starry sky began to blur slowly, as if a giant hand was flipping through a canvas, refocusing the painting of the night sky.

The sound began to muffle, as if even the temperature of the tea had become a "recorded texture".

It's not a "dream".

It means "chosen by a dream".

-

The Dreamlike Dark Sea is now open.

-

The four of them slowly opened their eyes almost simultaneously. Their consciousness was not withdrawn, but they began to connect with another set of "sovereign world logic".

Before me lay a sea surface covered with pale golden stardust.

The seawater is like a sleeping language, each wave carrying fragments of light and memory; between the waves...
Bubbles float on the surface, each one reflecting a word, a sentence, or a tear—perhaps spoken, perhaps never spoken.

On this ancient, dreamlike ocean, a massive, anchorless, medieval-style pirate ship floats in mid-air.

—The Lost One.

The hull is mottled but without a single crack, and the deck gleams with the color of old wood in the dreamlike light, like a ghost castle floating in a dream.

At the bow, a dream lamp hangs high, swaying uncertainly, like the only lighthouse on the entire sea, the heart of the navigator.

And the one standing at the bow with a lantern was her.

Lilia.

Her cloak billowed automatically in the still air, her hair flowed like ribbons, and the arc of light from the entire sea of ​​dreams was reflected deep within her eyes.

At the helm, another person slowly turned around.

Calvino.

He wore a dark blue cloak, his military cap was knocked askew, his face was calm, and his eyes held a faint green starlight, like a chronicler who had not returned home for a long night.

Si Ming's lips twitched slightly, as if she had finally turned back to the title page of an old book.

Rex patted Ian beside him, as if waking an old friend who refused to get out of bed:

"Let's go, the ship has arrived."

They got up together.

The scent of dreams still lingered around their ankles, like vines in the mist; with each step they took, they were already on a deck beyond reality.

Lilia greeted her with a smile and a gentle nod.

"Welcome back to the Lost One."

Selene gave a soft snort, a hint of familiarity hidden in the barely suppressed complaint at the corner of her mouth:
"Having to enter a dream every time... is too troublesome."

Calvino lowered the helm, turned around, clasped his hands in a gesture of respect, and spoke in a gentle tone, like a late-night confession written by an old captain in his dream sea diary:
“Illusions do not allow their presence in reality…and there is nothing I can do about it.”

"However—dreams are the only way we can reunite."

Selene didn't reply, only grunted and kicked the deck.

The ship rocked gently in response, as if a dream was echoing her stubbornness.

Si Ming looked up at the sky.

In the dream sky, there are no constellations, only slowly rotating star trails.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Beneath the waves, a huge, slowly floating silhouette appeared.

—Night Dream Whale.

It is one of the oldest existences in the Dream Sea, and it never reveals its full form, only leaving a scratch on the edge of the dream.

It's as if the entire sea of ​​dreams is composed of its sleep and breathing.

Ian said softly, his tone almost like a prayer:

"It... is still alive."

The wind rises, and the boat moves.

The sea of ​​dreams is boundless.

The story remains unfinished.

Baroque suddenly jumped out of the hatch, his movements so exaggerated that it seemed as if he had just sprung from the bottom of the dream sea. A few unbroken dream bubbles were still hanging from the corner of his clothes, squeezed flat like candy at the cuff.

He held aloft an absurdly shaped, enormous wine glass, nearly two meters tall, with faint reliefs of storms and whales engraved on the metal glass.

"Everything about Fantasy Dream is great, except—it doesn't make me feel anything when I drink beer!"

He shouted and laughed, his voice echoing across the empty deck, as if unwilling to let the old ship remain silent for too long.

Lilia leaned against the hatch, a smile playing on her lips, and nodded to the crowd.

Her eyes seemed to be both seeing her off and welcoming her, as if she had long been accustomed to countless separations and reunions.

"Being able to dream is already a blessing."

She raised her hand, her knuckles lightly tapping the gunwale, her tone gentle yet resolute.

"Welcome home."

Calvino remained silent throughout, only slightly raising his hand and hooking his index finger.

The Lost One—it's starting to move.

The ship had no anchor and no sails; it seemed to "remember" its direction and silently glided into the depths of the sea of ​​dreams.

Starlight was crushed on the sea surface, and strings of dream bubbles burst at the stern of the ship, like whispering ripples leaving traces in old dreams.

The night was as dark as ink, and the seawater shimmered with a faint, cold light. Each wave crest was like an unfinished poem, floating between sleep and wakefulness.

The group stood on the deck, gazing at the water's surface, which seemed to be composed of dreams and regrets.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Until Si Ming entered the cabin.

He made no unnecessary movements, but simply stepped into that familiar old hall.

She was right there.

Allison.

We've been waiting for this for a long time.

She was dressed in an old-fashioned military uniform, neatly tailored, with the gold-embroidered eagle feather on her right shoulder showing signs of fading.

He no longer wears medals on his chest, as if deliberately erasing all the glory of the past.

Her military boots were slightly worn at the edges, as if the outline had been gradually erased by the years, but she still stood straight, like a flagpole that had long been planted in the sea of ​​dreams, never falling.

Her long hair was tied into two braids, revealing her neat profile and distinct features, just like the blurry yet never lost image in my memory.

The moment I saw her, time seemed to have simply closed an old book and then quickly turned the page again.

Si Ming stopped by the door, not speaking immediately, a suppressed and subtle emotional ripple appearing in his eyes.

Allison spoke first, her voice low but revealing an undisguised tenderness and longing:

"You've arrived, our... Chief of Staff of the Lost One."

Si Ming's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't speak.

He took two steps closer, his gaze falling into her eyes, and slowly nodded.

At this moment, no words are needed.

They all knew that the things they could reunite with in their dreams were the warmth that could never be replicated in reality.

—

Inside the cabin is the old meeting room preserved from the Lost One.

Gray and white sail-woven fabrics hung all around, each fabric printed with a tattered nautical chart, its edges so incomplete it looked like a page cut from a historical fault line.

An old round table stood in the center, its surface scratched and mottled, upon which lay a few roughly engraved gold coins and a rusty dagger.
Like symbols deliberately left behind by a dream—they serve no specific purpose, yet remind us that the ship once truly existed.

Rex pulled up a chair without being invited and sat down, putting his feet up on the edge. He held a croissant in his hand, chewing it as he smacked his lips, unsure whether it was an object from a dream or a projection of reality.

"This chewiness is still a fake of the dream."

Ian replied calmly, his tone as steady as ever:

"But it doesn't taste bad."

Selene sat on the ship's railing, legs crossed, idly tearing apart a playing card.

She seemed to be dismantling a useless memory, or waiting for a signal to take action.

Baroque carried several buckets of bubbly new beer out of the rear cabin, laughing hoarsely as he shouted:
"Alright, sit down—this is the ship's opening meeting, lest our old captain have to put on another tragic monologue under the star sail."

Calvino wasn't annoyed at all. Instead, as if he had been told the truth, he earnestly moved a bench from the stern of the ship and sat down facing Alison.

He then picked up the now-empty wine glass and solemnly raised it to the crowd:
"The Lost Ones, all eight are reunited."

He paused, his voice lowering, as if he were writing a vow to a dream that could not be taken out of reality.

Even if it's just a dream... it's worth a toast.

A very faint sound of glasses clinking together filled the air.

The sound, by the time it reached the bulkhead, had transformed into a low, drawn-out "sound of ocean waves".

It seems as if the entire sea of ​​dreams is quietly writing down its thoughts for this reunion.

Si Ming gazed at Allison, his eyes flickering slightly, but there was no coercion like that of a questioner, only a calm whisper honed by the passage of time:

What will you do when you're free?

The moment the words left his mouth, the wind on the deck suddenly slowed down.

Allison didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the dream lamp in the cabin, its wick slowly turning, its light like an old, inextinguishable flame.

Her eyelashes trembled slightly before she looked up at him, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper, blending into the dream itself:
"I will... sail the entire Six Flowers Sea."

"Not relying on destiny charts, not relying on star trends."

Her voice carried a resolute quality that didn't belong to a dream, as if some unfinished reality was being quietly recalled.

Si Ming paused for a moment, then continued to press:
"What about you now?"

Allison turned her head and looked out the porthole at the shimmering golden sea of ​​sand.

The illusionary bubbles rose and burst, and on the sea surface, it seemed as if an entire inverted city was floating and sinking.

She gazed at that freedom that could never truly be reached and said:

"Now, I can only... run in my dreams."

After he said that, everyone fell silent.

No one interrupted.

—Because this sentence is too light, yet too heavy.

Until Calvino slowly opened his mouth, his voice like rock that had been soaked in a sea of ​​dreams and solidified by salt and rust:
"Alison is still unable to leave the Thirteenth Quiet Island."

A barely perceptible breeze swept through the cabin, causing the surface of the dream bubble to tremble slightly, as if even the pronunciation of those words had stirred up a vortex of memories.

Celian frowned, her tone tinged with resentment:

"Isn't it said that you can open doors in dreams? Dreams shouldn't have real cages."

Allison shook her head, her voice soft, yet like a dull knife slowly slicing across the interface of reality:
"I tried."

"Burning the star of reason, triggering the mysteries of the 'Gate of the Mirror Sea,' and even attempting to use life runes to sense the nodes of the shipping route."

She closed her eyes, her throat bobbing slightly, as if swallowing a stone weighing on her heart:
The result is... blank.

There is no wind there.

"There are no stars."

"Like a cage without 'sky'."

Rex frowned, his eyes revealing a hint of weariness yet a clear understanding:
"It sounds like some kind of miniature barrier."

Ian shook his head, his voice extremely low:
"No, if it were truly a sealed boundary, the gate should be able to sense the abnormal fluctuations."

His gaze sank into the sea, as if searching for something.

Si Ming was silent for a moment, then raised his head, his tone carrying the detached judgment of a reviewer finally confirming that "no author's signature exists":

"That means that the thirteenth Shizushima Island does not belong to the 'Sea of ​​Six Flowers'."

"It... may have been hidden in a dead zone of fate."

The cabin fell into complete silence.

Even the waves of the dream sea seemed to pause for two seconds at this moment. The air was frozen as if by a spell, and even the temperature in the dream dropped slightly.

"The Thirteenth Tranquil Island" is more than just a geographical term.

That was a forbidden dead island where the royal family, with the power of destiny and mysterious decrees, completely severed the world's "coordinate perception" of a certain point.

It's not "hard to find".

Instead, it is rejected by the "narrative structure" and thus not remembered.

Even dreams must avoid using his name.

-

Calvino finally took a deep breath, placed the wine glass back on the wooden table with a barely audible "click".

He looked at Si Ming, his tone becoming steady and firm:
"However, there is also good news."

He paused slightly.

"The route of the dream is being restored."

Lilia continued, her voice like a drop of ink falling onto an old map:

"As long as... there are still people who speak our names in their dreams."

She spoke softly, yet her words were so clear they pierced through everyone's heartbeats.

Calvino looked around at the crowd, his gaze piercing through the mist and bubbles, like an old friend returning from a bygone era, recounting a legend that was about to be forgotten to those who were still alive:
"As long as there are still people dreaming of illusions."

"We can then open a sea route for them."

Ian nodded, his tone remaining restrained as he provided additional information:

“The Morning Star has recently started a pilot program for ‘Dream Lights’ on the streets, where each light will bring them a dreamlike faith.”

Rex, with a cigarette between his teeth, sat slightly tilted to one side.
"As long as they light the lamp—they will remember the dream."

"As long as the Dream Light remains lit, the Lost One... will be able to reach the shore."

As he finished speaking, a slight wave rose on the sea outside the cabin.

At that moment, no one moved, yet it was as if everyone had moved a little closer to that still-burning dream.

Si Ming nodded, silently turned around, and looked at Baroque, who was raising his empty wine glass in a gesture of respect.

His voice was deep and clear, like gently tossing a chip onto a chessboard of dreams:
"And what about you over there, big guy?"

"How are things going with Allison's former subordinates?"

As soon as the words were spoken, the air in the Dream Sea, which had been slightly undulating, seemed to freeze for a moment.

All eyes turned to Baroque.

The man, who was usually always laughing and joking and relied on alcohol and strength to get by, slowly calmed down at this moment.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead looked down and pulled out a black bronze military badge wrapped in an old canvas corner from his pocket.

Those were brought to him by Alison's former subordinates.

A worn and heavy keepsake.

He stared at the badge for a long time, his knuckles rubbing back and forth on its surface.

The black bronze badge was already rusted and mottled, with even traces of being bitten by teeth on the edges. It was neither an ornament nor a collectible souvenir.

It was once pasted on the chest, a mark of the remnants of the army stitched together by blood, salt, and betrayal, a testament written by the bones and flesh of the battlefield that read "still alive."

Inside the cabin, the light seemed to have dimmed a little.

Si Ming stopped urging him and stood still, his gaze as calm as the seabed.

Baroque finally raised his head.

He made no exaggerated gestures, yet his tone was more steady than ever, like an anchor driving piles in a stormy night:

“I was with her in the Sea of ​​Six Flowers.”

"When she set sail from the Sea of ​​Dreams, she was our pirate queen; when she returned, she became their prisoner."

Allison's eyes flickered slightly, and the corners of her lips lifted slightly, but she never looked away from the military insignia.

The Baroque style continued, its sound like the old tide lapping against the shore:
“We have robbed the nobles’ grain ships and burned their private harbor wine cellars.”

"Exchange the gold and silver on the ship for a year's worth of food for the poor people in Fog Harbor."

“You all remember that night, the ‘Red Coral Night’.”

He suddenly smiled, as if recalling an old song carried on the sea breeze:

"We'll take the Doomsday Royal and blow up the Imperial Border Fleet's fifth supply line with a single shot."

Before his smile faded, he fell silent:

"But she disappeared after that night."

"The navy set a trap, disguising themselves as a refugee ship to lure her closer."

"They captured our first mate using the most despicable means."

Allison's voice was very low, yet it sounded like nails hitting the deck:

"...That's because I trusted them too much that they still had a bottom line."

Baroque waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a worthless fly:

"After you left, I didn't hide."

"In your name, I have recalled your remnants; we have retrieved the old flag, and the old map hidden in the storm belt."

"The ship was hidden in the 'Iceland wind belt'."

The atmosphere tensed instantly.

Rex put down his glass, sat up straight, and his gaze darkened.

Without batting an eye, Ian picked up the parchment from his dream and quietly wrote down every word of the Baroque style.

Si Ming remained silent, his eyes unwavering, waiting for him to finish speaking.

Baroque took a breath and glanced at everyone, as if to make sure they were all "still listening."

"Sixteen nautical miles north of the foggy city, there is an island that no one dares to mention."

“Call it ‘Iceland of the Nameless’.”

"That place is now a refuge for her remnants, and a haven for abandoned naval veterans, families of war-damaged soldiers, and orphans of the Empire."

"They do not believe in the king, nor in the church."

They only believe one person—

He looked at Allison.

"They are waiting for you to come back."

Allison was taken aback.

The ice that had frozen in his eyes after the war finally began to warm.

It's not gentleness, it's the light of responsibility being rekindled.

The God of Fate asked in a low voice:
"Why didn't you tell me?"

Baroque grinned, his tone as if he had just dropped a burden:
"You have your own situation to play, and she has her own situation to maintain."

"I'll be right behind you. Just hold it up so it doesn't collapse."

He paused, then added an even more important piece of news:

"As for Fog City, regarding the 'Sleeping Number Liberation Uprising' that you asked me to keep an eye on, I have already placed those people in the defensive line between Iceland and Fog Harbor."

"I'll light it whenever you move."

Rex chuckled through gritted teeth and tapped the corner of the table:
"So you're not just good at carrying things and drinking."

Ian shook his head slightly, his voice cool:
"He was never."

Calvino raised his eyes, his gaze serious, his voice calm:

"Naval warfare is not just about cannons and flags."

"And there are those who keep their names."

Allison looked at Baroque, and for the first time, her eyes welled up with undisguised tears.

Her voice was softer, but much gentler than usual:
"Thank you."

"It's not just about watching over them on my behalf, but—not forgetting."

Baroque abruptly turned his head away, as if afraid that others would look at him for even a second longer:
"Stop babbling, my dream wine has gone cold."

He raised the enormous cup, the one from which he would never actually drink, and gulped it down.

I didn't get to drink anything.

But after that one bite, his eyes—reddened.

The Lost One sailed slowly on the Dream Sea.

The ship gently rose and fell amidst the golden and blue waves of stardust, as if a slit had been quietly opened between heaven and earth and a dream.
This old ship never truly returned to port, nor did it truly leave; it simply set sail again and again on the course of memory.

At the edge of the deck, the dorsal fin of the Night Whale silently skimmed the surface of the sea, its massive body resembling a silent floating island.

It neither cries nor roars, yet it leaves a long, star-like trail in the bubbles created by its tail fin, as if it were the footprints left by some forgotten god in a dream.

The wind swept across the deck, and from the depths of the tide came ancient and indistinct whispers, sounds like vows repeatedly dreamt of on another time scale.

And they, eight people, sat around this ship that no longer belonged to reality.

Like a forgotten fragment of a chapter in history.

The pages are wrinkled, but the figures remain.

They're like some kind of troupe of fallen pages, still rehearsing that play without an audience.

Selene leaned against the deck, her boots half-off, kicking the deck listlessly, her tone carrying an inexplicable weariness:

"You're making it too complicated."

She rolled over and continued muttering:

"Didn't we used to just charge in and etch our faith onto the faces of our enemies?"

Baroque grinned, shrugged innocently, and muttered with a laugh:

"That's just your violence."

Rex, propping his head up with his hand, lazily added:
That's also what makes you so adorable.

Selene raised an eyebrow, opened her eyes to look at him, and drawled out her words:
"……What did you say?"

Rex coughed lightly and immediately turned to look at Siming:

"Siming, aren't you going to say something?"

As soon as he finished speaking, everyone's eyes turned to Si Ming.

He remained standing, his cloak slightly billowing, his gaze fixed on the slowly churning sea in the distance.

The sea of ​​dreams is not deep, but gently ethereal.

It doesn't swallow up like the sea of ​​reality; it lifts up and embraces.

Each wave is like an unfinished wish, each ripple like a name someone hasn't yet uttered in their dream.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and clear, as if providing a footnote to this night:

I didn't believe in dreams before.

"I think dreams are a kind of... passive existence."

He turned to look at Calvino, then Allison, then Baroque, Rex, Ian, Selene, and Lilia.

These names, each like a "broken card" in a deck of cards, discarded by reality, can still hold each other here.

"But now I know—dreams are the only place that will come looking for us even after we've lost everything."

He paused.

There was a hint of tranquility in his voice after his weariness.

“Dreamland is more than just a refuge.”

"It is our harbor, the light we have never truly docked at, yet we have always recognized."

The words fell.

Calvino remained silent for a long time, then finally gently clenched his fist against his chest and chuckled softly:
“What a beautiful line… ‘The lamp I recognize’.”

Lilia's voice echoed as if in a dream:
"These are the words that I dream of hearing."

Allison watched all this quietly, and the long-unmoved lake in her eyes finally rippled gently.

Her voice was almost inaudible:

"thank you all."

It's not a ceremony.

It was from the bottom of my heart.

Baroque coughed twice and pretended to rub his nose awkwardly.
"Alright, alright, you're making me not want to wake up."

He raised his empty glass high, as if to toast an ending that never happened.

Selene sighed, plopped down on the deck, and gazed at the swirling sea of ​​stars:

"Okay... I can dream for a few more minutes."

Rex leaned against the mast, let out a long breath, and watched the sails slowly billow.

"got windy."

A gentle breeze stirred in my dream.

The Lost One once again glided with the current, heading towards an unknown shore.

-

At that moment, the Dream Sea was exceptionally quiet.

There was no thunder, no alarm, no countdown to fate.

Only the ripples of water spoke softly, as if the stars were turning the pages of an old book.

The ripples left by the stern slowly spread across the surface of the dreamlike sea.

Like ripples in time.

Like the moment when a forgotten person's name is mentioned again.

They sat quietly, between light and night.

There was no argument.

There was no fighting.

There is no destiny.

Only the silence that remembers each other's names.

"We don't dream in order to wake up."

"We do this so that in our dreams, we can remember that someone is waiting for us to wake up."

(End of this chapter)