9 The Black Swan and the Counterattack

Baby Bus—no, the many-eyed creature was uttering syllables resembling language.

“Ga… la…”

Rachel tentatively reached out to touch it. A cold yet smooth sensation traveled from her fingertips to her mind. It seemed to even nuzzle her—Rachel thought—and immediately sensed the Baby Bus’s tone grow more joyful.

It seemed to be acting cute, Rachel reasoned calmly, wondering if she was losing her mind or at least teetering on the edge of madness.

After a brief hesitation, she softly began to sing:

“I awaken the sea
Awaken the mountains
I awaken the desert
Everywhere bursting with color
Beautiful places
Happily flying forward…”

In this utterly empty, relatively spacious space, Rachel heard her voice echoing between the walls.

Her usually dormant sense of embarrassment suddenly surfaced; she pinched her earlobe and continued singing.

The song was indeed fitting, titled “Happily Flying Forward.” Whether “happy” or “flying,” both words aptly described the little “Baby Bus” before her.

Rachel could truly feel its delight—the claw-like head swaying up and down, left and right, as if ready to start dancing any second.

From one of its “arms” hung a wing made of eyes, gently wrapping around Rachel’s body like an embrace.

But before the gesture was complete, it suddenly glanced back.

Its many eyes pierced through the wallpaper and paintings on the wall, looking toward the space diagonally above.

Rachel frowned in confusion.

She scratched the Baby Bus’s claw with her index finger.

The Baby Bus emitted a sound that initially seemed somewhat piercing but, upon closer listening, resembled a coquettish call. Then, a swirl of purplish-red mist appeared behind it, into which it shrank, as if passing through a portal that allowed its passage, and vanished in an instant.

Silence enveloped the space. The echoing sounds that had bounced between walls moments before vanished, replaced by a deathly stillness.

Rachel stood still, pondering the possibility that the Baby Bus might reappear through the now-dispersed pink mist to resume basic communication and then escort her safely away.

It seemed unlikely.

The Baby Bus probably lacked much ability to communicate with humans. Rachel stepped forward a few paces, then turned and pulled out her phone to photograph the scene, leaving a detailed record.

Clearing her throat, she declared:

“Forward, forward, forward!”

A fiery red military song—Rachel had heard and sung it countless times during her military training in her previous life. Its melody and lyrics were etched into her heart like chiseled carvings.

---

Truth be told, this kind of song was perfect for horror atmospheres. A red star would rise in the hearts of singers and listeners alike, radiating countless brilliant rays, like the People’s Army raising a torch to sweep away all surrounding gloom.

Though the lyrics here were not perfectly suited, they were certainly fitting—the goal was forward, toward the sun. Thus, at least this song could guide her toward the light.

Walking toward the light would surely make finding her way easier than in this deep, ocean-like darkness.

Sure enough, after that shout, Rachel felt the once grim atmosphere around her dissipate by at least half, as if spirits and apparitions melted away like snowflakes before the sun.

At the same time, she felt a strong impulse to stand tall and proud.

Charge ahead! She felt empowered!

“You truly are an intriguing young lady. I’d wager if I observed you longer, you’d reveal even more surprises.”

Rachel suddenly heard a voice from a corner she had previously confirmed was empty—the photos on her phone attested to this. Slowly, the silhouette of a woman materialized there.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t intend to eavesdrop on your singing. I just… arrived at an inconvenient time. Also, your voice is lovely, and you handle different styles quite well. I like it.”

A pair of eyes shifted from purple to warm orange as they gazed at her. Without distinct pupils, they carried a subtle otherworldly quality, tempered by the gleam of reflected light.

“A freshman at Origami University, a fledgling dreamweaver, and a Memetic Domain entity—I’m curious how you manage to get along with it so well?”

*

She was a mysterious woman.

Floating, draped in long, shimmering veils, her equally splendid hair flowing behind her. Before her hovered a beautiful and ornate object, whose purpose Rachel could not discern.

Her voice was enchanting, that mature feminine tone that made Rachel’s ears tingle slightly.

Rachel looked at her; the woman smiled mysteriously.

“Hello, little cutie. I’m Black Swan, a Rememberer. Your activity here drew me in—you should know what Rememberers are, right?”

Rachel certainly knew what kind of… beings Rememberers were.

They believed the world was composed of memories; everything else was too impure and therefore discarded their physical forms, becoming clusters of memes. Thankfully, to outsiders, they still appeared human, so they had not been stricken from the roster.

Rachel asked, “Miss Black Swan, how long have you been observing me?”

Black Swan pondered: “Probably since you sang to that Memetic Domain entity, cheering it up. It likes you very much. You know, even I, a Rememberer, lack that talent.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest, as if wanting to take Rachel back for study.

“But enough of that for now, miss. I sense someone calling me. They need my help, and I must complete a transaction with them. Before I leave in haste, I think I should first take you somewhere safe. Even if you can converse amicably with a dangerous Memetic Domain entity, this more primal and perilous dreamscape… heh.”

Black Swan chuckled softly.

“It’s not a place fit for your long-term stay.”

Black Swan extended her hand toward Rachel, who did not hesitate and placed hers atop it. Her black glove felt like silk.

“I will take you back to a safe dreamscape. Let me see your memories, miss. Would you prefer to return to the Dreamweaving Border, or go directly back to school? We all know that after such an extraordinary half-day, returning to work mode is undeniably difficult.”

Rachel replied, “The Dreamweaving Border.”

*

She needed to request leave.

In theory, the dreamweaver group was quite reasonable, but if they refused... special measures would have to be taken.

She gripped Black Swan’s wrist, sensing the other’s pulse beneath the surface.

Amazing, Rachel thought; memes could simulate such detail, indistinguishable from a living person.

Yet she reminded herself that this Rememberer was essentially a wisp of memory—far more elusive than the Baby Bus that vanished into pink mist.

She made a request: “After I get my leave, can you take me to Mr. Sunday? The master of the Oak family and the dreamscape’s authority—I have matters to report.”

Black Swan said, “That depends on your speed, miss. Also, I’m afraid I can’t take you directly to Mr. Sunday. Given his pivotal status in the family and the entire Pinoconi dreamscape backing him, I’m just an ordinary Rememberer. I can’t bypass such heavy defenses and bring you there unscathed.”

Rachel did not insist. “Then forget it.”

She could try to contact Mr. Sunday herself.

In her eyes, safety within Pinoconi had plummeted from positive ninety to negative ninety in just half a day—the Masked Jester, the strange dreamscape filtered through a bizarre lens, and the smuggler she didn’t know the whereabouts of…

All of these, including Black Swan herself, hardly seemed stable factors.

Of course, her main reason for intending to see Sunday was twofold: he was the only high-ranking Pinoconi official she could reach, and…

The Unknown Guest, the smuggler lady, and the Masked Jester girl—if they were all trapped in the same dreamscape, perhaps it was wiser for the family to send people to retrieve them.

For the sake of Pinoconi’s market value, after all, she planned to stay here and make a living as a dreamweaver. If the Daydream Hotel’s patronage dropped, Rachel felt she wouldn’t rest in peace even after death.

She had burned through her hard-earned top scores and three sleepless days selecting schools—ah!

Black Swan smiled gently. “As you wish, dear.”

She reversed her grip on Rachel’s wrist. The sensation that had brought Rachel into this dreamscape with the fireworks surged again, but this time it faded much faster.

Rachel returned to the observation deck, Black Swan floating beyond the railing, one hand resting on it, blinking.

“Well then, let me temporarily—”

Her elegant farewell was abruptly interrupted by a chant without any preamble. She saw Rachel’s lips moving, and for a moment, her composure faltered.

“You carry their perfume scent—it’s my nose playing tricks~”

Black Swan sensed a new meme forming within the fabric of her being.

It represented smell, but she couldn’t immediately decipher it. These memes were intricately woven into her informational makeup. Even if she paused everything to clear the scent memes, it would take twenty full system cycles to purge them completely.

“Hm, iris flower scent. Quite pleasant.”

Rachel took a deep breath, capturing the fragrance’s essence carried on the breeze. She raised her hand in a light farewell gesture to Black Swan, a small fang peeking from the corner of her lips, her green eyes shining with curiosity and defiance.

“Let’s part ways for now. As for this perfume… next time you appear, I’ll know you’re near, Miss Black Swan.”