A Dream Within a Dream

As early as the summer of 1956, Konehl-Ghervil had recalled many times the golden moment when he arrived in Mist City, was reborn, and to some extent, freed himself from illness. Before that, he wasn’t called this name.

As a boy born in the 21st century, tormented by illness for over a decade, with ancestral roots in Europe, he had a Chinese name, Mi Xia. He suffered from a rare disorder: Time Perception Dysfunction, medically known as ‘Klein-Levin Syndrome,’ with a global incidence rate of less than one in a million.

The primary symptom is excessive sleep, where one can sleep for several days at a time, and in severe cases, this can extend to weeks or even months, with no response to external stimulation.

Accompanying symptoms include emotional apathy, cognitive impairment, memory decline, and distorted sensory perceptions. During sleep, he required assistance for nutrition intake and even basic self-care.

The most frightening aspect was that modern medicine could not effectively treat it. The actual onset of the disease likely occurred in the sixth year of his life, although the exact date is unclear.

Initially, the symptoms would cause him to sleep for one to two days, a pattern that continued for three years. By the fourth year, the longest period of sleep reached half a month.

At thirteen, he experienced a single episode of sleep that lasted two months. His family, a complete unit, spent seven years traveling across the nation, trying every method and depleting their savings, but with no therapeutic effect.

Most patients with this syndrome naturally recover around the age of eight to twelve, which was the only positive news. Afterward, he persuaded his parents to stop seeking treatment elsewhere, as he didn’t want to further waste time and money, and since the condition was likely to resolve on its own, he didn’t want his parents to continue worrying.

To convince them, he promised to remain optimistic and strong during his treatment at home, living as normally as possible when awake. However, the situation did not improve with age.

He suspected he might not have ‘Klein-Levin Syndrome’ but rather a rarer condition with more severe side effects, including psychological and memory deterioration, causing him to forget many things while awake.

He lacked the desire for interaction, mobility, or even speech, necessitating the use of certain psychoactive medications. At eighteen, after a seven-month episode of sleep, he awoke to see an elderly couple by his bedside, their once-dark hair now streaked with white, their tired faces maintaining a smile.

He had forgotten their names and his relationship to them, barely remembering they were his ‘family.’ During rare moments of wakefulness, he overheard his parents discussing their decision to seek treatment abroad.

Through a friend of his parents, he was introduced to a small European country for treatment. By then, his time awake in a year was minimal, and he wasn’t sure when he had arrived in Europe.

All he knew was that five years later, he was hospitalized again, not due to his condition, but because of an accident.

Upon waking, he learned from others that the car they were in had been involved in a collision, caused by his father’s exhaustion, leading to a rollover.

Fortunately, the speed was low, and no one was seriously injured; he was the most severely hurt, with fractured ribs and arms. His parents had returned to their country two weeks prior, leaving him to receive treatment for his injuries and his original condition.

This explanation seemed unreliable. During his time in his home country, his parents were occasionally away, but never for more than two days, at least while he was awake.

Considering the severity of his fractures and the overly kind, almost pitying, attitudes of those around him, he formed an unsettling suspicion. Regardless of whether this suspicion was true or considering the concerns of those around him, he did not show any unusual behavior, cooperating actively with the treatment.

The hospital was located in a small town in the countryside. It was a facility run by the local church, more accurately, a hospital within a church, staffed mainly by clergy.

It was considered the most impressive structure in the area, though not the hospital itself, which could accommodate over five hundred people and was only a fraction of the size of the main cathedral, the Ghervil Cathedral, the town’s sole place of worship.

Its twin spires were nearly ten stories high. The garden was meticulously maintained, with flowers arranged in orderly rows. The spires were tall and slender, adorned with intricate carvings depicting mythical figures and stories.

The overall effect was one of grandeur, with a plethora of stained-glass windows casting vibrant light, and flying buttresses and tall columns adorned with sculptures of mythical figures.

It was a magnificent Gothic cathedral, barely believable in a rural setting, reflecting the devotion of the local faithful who were willing to invest more in their place of worship.

The unique aspect was the local faith, which differed from traditional Christianity in its object of worship: a goddess named the Dreamweaver.

Legend had it that this goddess granted people sleep, dreams, and the restoration of spiritual and physical fatigue, protecting them from the corruption of night, mist, and plague, and preserving their humanity.

Some said the goddess created dreams to wash away and imprison evil within people, while others claimed she was the creator of all things. There were many such stories.

He was brought here for treatment because, according to the clergy, he lacked the goddess’s gaze, causing him to remain in a perpetual state of sleep. They even gave him a local name, roughly translated as ‘Konehl-Ghervil.’

It was said that the Ghervil family, the most devout followers of the Dreamweaver, were also the builders of the cathedral. As for why ‘Konehl’ sounded like a surname, the priest who had prayed before the goddess’s statue did not reveal the reason.

Everyone simply accepted that he was now ‘Konehl-Ghervil.’ As a non-believer, Mi Xia had no interest in the legend or his name, or perhaps he was simply too disheartened to care.

That day was Sunday, and most of the town’s residents were at the cathedral.

‘Is that the child left behind by that couple? I hear he has such a terrible illness…’

‘How unfortunate…’ ‘He’s been here almost a month, and his injuries still haven’t healed…’

‘At least he can walk now, right?’

‘They love him so much, they protected him to the last moment during the fall…’

‘May the goddess soon bless him…’ ‘Hush, no one has told him the truth yet!’ …

The one who silenced the crowd was the voice of a nun who often took care of him. Unexpectedly, perhaps due to the aftereffects of his condition or other reasons, he felt no emotional response, standing motionless as the choir’s prelude calmed the congregation.

The sky was vast, with no clouds on the distant horizon, and the afternoon sun filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a golden glow over the entire nave.

He was placed in the front row, facing the radiant, semi-naked goddess statue. As the prelude ended and others bowed in prayer, he instinctively looked up and met the goddess’s gaze—her face was serene, her eyes a striking red, like a rose, with a barely noticeable golden pupil at the center.

No one else seemed to notice this ‘anomaly.’ He felt a warmth spread through his body under the statue’s gaze, and a familiar drowsiness overcame him, causing him to collapse without warning. … In an incredibly vivid and lengthy dream, he dreamed of a family with a similar background, where the sick son was also named Mi Xia.

This family did not travel abroad for treatment and did not experience a car accident.

The boy kept his promise, remaining cheerful and optimistic until adulthood, when his condition naturally resolved at eighteen, allowing him to return to a normal life and start anew. The dream ended there, and when he opened his eyes, everything had changed.

… ‘Is he still alive?’

The voice was calm and deep, belonging to a young woman behind him. Disoriented and opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was the goddess statue above, no longer with its golden aura and red eyes, but a pale stone color under the moonlight.

His limbs and body felt numb and unfamiliar, his mind foggy, a sensation he had experienced many times after an episode of sleep. It took him over a minute to piece together his memories. He should have been attending the service when his condition acted up… what happened now?

Looking around, he realized he was in the cathedral, which also housed a hospital. Even if he had woken up, he should have been in a hospital bed, but now…

Slowly, he propped himself up, feeling the rough texture of the carpet beneath his hands, facing the unmoved goddess statue. Indeed, it hadn’t been moved, and why was she asking that…

‘Since you made enough noise to attract me, and then fell asleep or passed out, three hours and forty-two minutes have passed.’

The voice came again, closer this time. Mi Xia turned his head, trying to make sense of the situation, but he couldn’t form a reasonable guess, so he looked toward the figure who had observed him for three hours and forty-two minutes.

The dark, blurred figure gradually became clear, and the voice matched the image—a young woman in her early thirties, with well-maintained skin showing no wrinkles, half-closed eyes revealing a hint of dark gold irises and… an expression of slight coldness and seriousness.

More was indiscernible, as a headscarf and a black-and-white nun’s habit covered everything but her face. Mi Xia noticed that the woman, after approaching, retracted her outstretched foot, stopping three meters away, just out of the moonlight’s reach, her pupils widening slightly as she stared at him.

In the past month, he had seen most of the nuns in the cathedral, but this one was unfamiliar. And this cathedral…

“Where am I…?”

“It’s very late. I’ll take you somewhere you can rest. We can discuss why you’re here tomorrow.”

Her raspy, weak voice cut him off before he could finish. Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the door. After a few minutes, Mi Xia had regained his sense of physical presence, though there was something unusual.

Using his hands and feet, he pushed himself from a half-sitting to a standing position, locating the source of the strangeness.

First, there was a sensation of weight in his chest, and looking down, he saw a black bow tie contrasting sharply with the white dress underneath.

What truly shocked him was the slight bulge of the white blouse, forming two small mounds, roughly the size of two buns. What was this…? His build was leaner than his peers, and he had never exercised to develop any ‘special features’…

In his shock, he also noticed a few strands of hair hanging loosely and a slight disarray in his reflection, as well as on his cheeks and in the corners of his eyes. It was pure white, almost unnoticeable in the moonlight.

Had he slept for so long that his hair had grown long and turned white… but not the brittle, aged white. It was as white as snow, soft and silky, slipping through his fingers when he let go.

“If you plan to spend the night here with that cold statue, I don’t mind waiting a few more hours, as long as you don’t want to be arrested for theft or trespassing.”

Standing at the side door, the woman in the nun’s habit coldly stared at him, her voice low but threatening. Coming to his senses, he put aside the ‘strangeness’ of his body and, keeping his head down, slowly made his way to the woman’s side.

He was already at fault for being on someone else’s property, so it was best to obey. Eager but not so much that he neglected to observe his surroundings. He realized this was not the cathedral where the service was held; the hall was smaller, the statue less grand, and the decor less opulent.

With a copper key, the woman locked the door and led the way, her pace just fast enough for him to follow. The view outside the hallway confirmed his suspicions—there was no familiar, well-maintained garden, and no carvings on the stone pillars.

This… was not the Ghervil Cathedral, so this nun must be… Mi Xia did not ask. Her willingness to let him stay for the night was already a great kindness, and he didn’t want to impose further, especially given her temper.

They passed through the hallway, climbed a spiral staircase to the second floor, and stopped at the second door on the left. From a large ring of keys, she precisely selected one and unlocked the white-painted door.

A bedroom, with a wardrobe at the foot of the bed, landscape paintings on the walls, and a flower vase on a long table, along with some other classic furniture. Without pausing, she walked to a mirror in the corner, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

Since falling ill, such strong emotional responses were rare. The mirror reflected a very beautiful girl with a hint of fatigue and something unusual about her expression.

She was about 160 cm tall, her snow-white hair falling to her mid-chest. A black bow tie was tied at the junction of her neck and collar, with her collarbone barely visible.

The area from her neckline to below her chest was white, while from her waist to the hem of her skirt was black, with a white lace trim skirt that fell just below her knees, and purple and white ribbons crisscrossing the sides, with black and white lace detailing throughout—a Gothic-style corseted dress.

White tights hugged her shapely legs, ending in a pair of delicate black boots. What drew her gaze most was the face beneath the snow-white hair, slightly flushed from climbing the stairs and walking, her breathing labored.

Her face bore traces of her original features, inheriting her ancestors’ European mix, presenting a soft, East Asian beauty. Her eyes were large, with red irises and a golden pupil in the center.

These eyes reminded her not of an eye condition but of vampires in movies, though they lacked the sensual allure. Just the eyes, combined with her thick eyelashes and the hint of maturity or coldness they conveyed, seemed at odds with her face and height.

Her nose was perfectly proportioned, and her lips, though small, balanced her overall youthful appearance. A young girl’s face. ‘This… is really a girl…’ Her soft, delicate voice seemed to confirm this ‘change,’ making everything real.

Her pupils widened, and her breathing grew more rapid, her palms sweating. The shock of her body’s transformation brought a new emotion—joy.

For most of her life, she had been in a state of sleep, and the aftereffects of her illness had left her apathetic toward everything around her, almost oblivious. Despite putting on a cheerful, optimistic front, only she knew the truth. Even learning about the tragedy had not brought a single tear to her eyes.

Perhaps… even her illness had left with her old body?

“My room is next door. Eat these and then rest. Don’t leave this room after I’m gone.”

Mi Xia jumped, turning to see the woman placing a metal tray on the table, containing a cup of milk and a bowl of steaming porridge. Her gaze and tone were unnerving.

“Tomorrow, I need a reasonable explanation for your presence here, or else… I’ll have you taken to the police station.”