Chapter 2: Reality or Dream

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[Detecting current sleep stage...]
[...]
[Current sleep stage: REM (Rapid Eye Movement), meeting the basic requirements for synchronized dreaming.]
[Verifying neurotransmitter and hormone levels...]
[...]
[Serotonin levels: normal.]
[Acetylcholine levels: normal.]
[Norepinephrine levels: normal.]
[...]
[Would you like to establish neural synchronization and enter the Dream Hall?]
[Before using this service, please carefully read and fully understand the Dream License and Service Agreement, as well as the Synchronized Dream Privacy Protection Guidelines and other terms.]
[You should also pay special attention to the clauses in the aforementioned agreements which exempt or limit the liability of our company (Gospel Biotech), restrict your rights, or stipulate methods for dispute resolution and jurisdiction.]
[If you have read and agree to the above terms, please confirm 'Yes' to begin using the synchronized dream service. If you refuse, you will not be able to enter or synchronize any dreams, and the connection to the Dream Synchronizer will be terminated.]

From the abyss of endless darkness, a burst of pure white light erupted, coalescing amid flickers into lines of hazy, ethereal text.

At the same time, a neutral, androgynous voice began to recite the words as they appeared, echoing as if beside one's ear.

[Establishing neural synchronization...]
[...]
[Synchronization complete!]
[Current synchronization rate: 60%]

The pure white glow spread, engulfing everything in sight, constructing a vast, white space.

Simultaneously, countless radiant particles converged to form the body of a man—appearing just past his early twenties, with handsome features, a slender build, and skin that was unnaturally pale and sickly.

Li Nanke looked down at his body. It was no different from his real self, yet there was a distinct sense of unfamiliarity—a sensory discordance caused by a relatively low synchronization rate, allowing users to distinguish the dream from reality and avoid confusion.

He muttered to himself, “The bug from using third-party plugins—every time I return to the Dream Hall I have to reconnect.”

As his mind finished connecting with the main Dream Hall, a series of different scene frames floated before his eyes: a battlefield shrouded in smoke, an autopsy table holding corpses, a raucous fighting arena, a shooting range equipped with every kind of firearm and bullet, a dimly-lit, decadent bedroom...

Each frame represented a different dream.

Li Nanke’s gaze landed on the dream he’d just modified per his employer’s request...

[Dream—‘A Cat’s Tragedy’]
[Dream Synopsis: After his wife’s death, former professional hitman Johnny is left with only a ragdoll cat named V to accompany his solitude. However, a gang of criminals breaks into Johnny’s home, kills his cat, and steals his beloved vintage car. Pushed beyond his limits, Johnny returns to the underworld, embarking on a bloody path of revenge for his beloved cat...]
[Warning: This dream contains extreme violence, serious crimes, and other 18+ content. Please synchronize with caution.]
[Base synchronization rate for this dream is 60%. For a more realistic experience, please purchase a membership: VIP members may experience 70% synchronization, SVIP members 80% (maximum for 18+ dreams).]
[Summer special: annual SVIP subscription at 20% off. Click ‘Membership’ to buy now...]

The synchronization rate affects not only the sensory realism and emotional immersion of a dream, but also its degree of freedom.

However, when the synchronization rate reaches 100%, the immersion becomes so real that the brain receives overwhelming psychological cues.

Under the influence of excessively high synchronization, special experiences within the dream can, with some probability, inflict irreversible physical or psychological trauma on the user. Cardiac patients and those with weak willpower might even experience real-life sudden death due to dying in a dream.

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Moreover, when the synchronization rate is too high, users may gradually forget their memories of reality, becoming completely lost within the dream.

In such circumstances, if one is able to act without restraint in the dream, it becomes all too easy to blur the boundaries between dream and reality, leading to confusion about which world one truly inhabits—resulting in a cascade of serious consequences.

During the testing phase before the Dream Synchronizer hit the market, there were already cases where testers, overwhelmed by excessive synchronization, committed mass shootings in schools and plazas. Before being taken down by security forces, they screamed in desperation, “I can’t tell... I really can’t tell anymore!”

As a result, all Dream Synchronizers on the market have synchronization rate caps, with the same legal regulations enforced in every safe zone and city-state: normal dreams are limited to a maximum of 85%, while 18+ dreams are capped at 80%.

Yet, after experiencing a succession of novel dreams, there are always thrill-seekers who find the restrictions intolerable, craving greater intensity and freedom.

And if, at this moment, there exists a group able to break the rules and offer higher synchronization rates for others, an illegal underground trade will inevitably emerge.

They call themselves “Dreamweavers,” but outsiders despise them as... Nightmares.

Li Nanke had completed the employer’s requested modifications to the dream “A Cat’s Tragedy,” and, using a third-party plugin, successfully generated a brand-new version.

After a final check to ensure there were no errors, he clicked to exit the Dream Synchronizer.

[Lowering synchronization rate, severing mental connection...]
[...]
Li Nanke slowly opened his eyes. Above him was a mottled, peeling ceiling, stained with irregular patches left by long-dried water leaks.

Clearly, these were marks left by previous leaks in the roof.

He sat up on his narrow bed and removed the Dream Synchronizer from his head—a device resembling a combination of bone-conduction headphones and a VR headset, looking thoroughly high-tech and out of place in his dilapidated bedroom.

The walls were yellowed and flaking in patches, adorned at random with posters of scantily clad women. On a nearby shelf, various data discs were piled up, most covered in dust.

Mentally exhausted, Li Nanke’s eyelids drooped, his head spinning.

Although users are technically asleep during synchronized dreams, the intensity and realism of these experiences cause the cerebral cortex to become highly active—just as having many dreams during sleep signals poor rest, leaving one dizzy and drained upon waking.

He stared blankly at his shabby room, then at the Dream Synchronizer in his hand, his gaze somewhat dazed.

Moments ago, he was a legendary hitman braving a hail of bullets; now reality sneered mercilessly at him, exposing him as a thorough loser.

For a moment, Li Nanke couldn’t tell if he was still dreaming.

He took a diary from his nightstand and leafed through it, page by page, to reinforce his memory of reality.

“It’s already pretty impressive—if those hardcore gamers from my previous life got to experience artificial dreaming, they’d probably fight tooth and nail to cross over here...”

“But if they crossed into a body with a terminal illness and only a few years left to live, I doubt anyone would want that... cough, cough.”

As he was sighing, a sudden, violent cough wracked his body, so fierce it tore at his lungs and brought up flecks of blood.

He fumbled for the pill bottle beneath his pillow, popped two pills into his mouth, and took several deep breaths before slowly regaining composure.

ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—a chronic, progressive neurological disorder, commonly known as “Lou Gehrig’s disease.” Stephen Hawking had it.

Patients typically develop progressive muscle weakness and paralysis within three to five years, gradually losing the ability to speak, swallow, and breathe, until respiratory failure causes death.

The original owner of this body was diagnosed last year. Now, the numbness and weakness in his limbs were clear. Though obvious muscle atrophy hadn’t set in yet, complications like lung infections and arrhythmias were already beginning to show.

In this world, with its advanced science and medicine, such diseases aren’t truly incurable—at least, not for the wealthy. Nowadays, illnesses considered terminal are rare.

Unfortunately, Li Nanke wasn’t wealthy...

“I’m racing against death. To earn enough for the special medication, I’ll need at least three more years.”

He glanced at the digital clock on the wall, then got out of bed.

His bedroom was on the second floor; the ground floor was a small shop, its shelves packed with countless dream data discs—action dreams, literary dreams, horror dreams, sci-fi dreams, and so on.

The latest releases were displayed in the glass case near the entrance.

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Li Nanke opened the glass door plastered with promotional dream posters and raised the shutter.

Instantly, a cold, damp wind mixed with drizzle swept in, making him shiver involuntarily.

It was the dim hour before dawn.

The shop stood in a narrow, cramped alley, the ground perpetually slick with reeking puddles. Cigarette butts, empty bottles, and rats gnawing at garbage were everywhere. Outside the alley, a few vague figures drifted by—addicts high on their latest fix, petty thugs peddling illicit drugs, and shifty street preachers.

Yet from here, one could look up and see the dazzling, dreamlike glow of neon in the distance.

Atop a forest of skyscrapers, hallucinatory holographic ads bloomed beneath the low sky, their multicolored lights swirling through the mist, making the world seem like a dream.

Every so often, a floating car flashing red and blue would sweep past, sirens wailing, sometimes drawing close, sometimes fading away.

When the steel jungle donned its splendid neon attire, its savage, predatory nature was well disguised. Only in the reflections of stagnant alley puddles could one glimpse traces of its cruelty.

“This city of redemption...” Li Nanke shook his head, closed the glass door, and shut out the cold, chaotic wind and rain.

He switched on the television hanging in the corner of the ceiling. A striking female anchor sat upright, her voice crisp as she reported:

“According to the latest from the Crisis Management Bureau, on the 17th (the day before yesterday), a major Forbidden Catastrophe erupted in Safety Zone A91, governed by the Old Federal Government. The danger level is ‘Critical’—just one step below ‘Calamity’...”

“This Forbidden Catastrophe triggered a massive tsunami, devastating the A91 coastal safety zone. Waves reached up to 56 meters, submerging more than half the area...”

“Our reporter braved the wilds overnight to cover the disaster’s impact on A91, but unfortunately, severe electromagnetic interference has made live footage impossible at this time...”

“Director Anderson of the local Crisis Management Bureau estimates that at least 180,000 people have been affected, with direct economic losses exceeding one billion credits...”

“...”

“Dear viewers, with Forbidden Catastrophes erupting unpredictably, safety zones in the wild are no longer truly safe. Only the city-states autonomously governed by major corporate conglomerates are the warmest, safest havens for humanity—especially the City of Redemption, under Gospel Biotech...”

Words like “Forbidden Catastrophe,” “Wilderness Safety Zones,” and “Crisis Management Bureau” stirred up a wave of unpleasant memories.

With a snap, Li Nanke changed the channel. Several beautiful virtual idols replaced the news anchor, twisting their waists in a seductive dance. Soon the heavenly singing ended, and an advertisement cut in:

“Celestial Girl Group virtual idol androids now on sale, 1:1 lifelike models, fully functional to fulfill your every fantasy and desire. First thousand orders enjoy special priority pricing—first come, first served...”

Click. Another ad—this time for electromagnetic smart firearms, no aiming required, automatic headshots.

Click, click, click—Li Nanke cycled through the channels, finally giving up and turning off the TV altogether.

“In times like these, living in a dream might be better...” he sighed. No wonder artificial dreams had become such a craze.

On the surface, Li Nanke was a retailer for artificial dreams, running a small shop that sold all kinds of artificial dream experiences.

But the business barely scraped by, just enough to keep food on the table.

Aside from wealthy collectors or fans who liked the bonuses that came with physical discs, hardly anyone still bothered with the inconvenient, cartridge-swapping data discs.

Purchasing and downloading dreams from the cloud was far more convenient.

Some publishers had even stopped including data discs in their physical boxes, offering only a download code and a few collectible extras.

If Li Nanke relied solely on selling legitimate dreams, he’d never make enough for the special medication for the rest of his life—a life that would end of old age, not illness.

So, he had no choice but to turn to faster ways of making money, dealing in less-than-legal dreams...

“Welcome!”

The glass door swung open. Sensing a customer, the electronic lucky cat by the door waved its little paw, meowing politely and sincerely.