Deep Sea Embers
chapter-647

In the familiar confines of his apartment, Zhou Ming found himself surrounded by the unchanged layout of his simple furniture. The living room remained empty, preserved as if frozen in time, a small time capsule where the passage of years seemed irrelevant since nothing had shifted since his departure.

Stepping into the living area of his bachelor pad, a place he had inhabited for many years, Zhou Ming sighed in relief. It had been ages since his last visit, and he often felt as if he had banished memories of this modest abode to the farthest corners of his mind.

Yet, he was aware that pretending to forget was just self-deception.

With a knowing chuckle and a head shake, he skipped his usual routine of checking the still-closed window. The little decorations that had once adorned the windowsill and the remnants of flour from an old protective ritual were now cleaned up, removed after his previous visit. In this secluded, misty home, he no longer expected visitors.

On his desk, a soft green glow was fading, and within this dim light, a new item slowly revealed itself in his “collection.”

As he sat down, Zhou Ming rested his hands on the cool desk surface, observing the emerging entity with a calm and thoughtful demeanor. It was a vibrant “sapling,” seemingly floating above the desk.

This miniature tree, with leaves as wide as a human arm, was lush, emerging from a solid clump of earth. Its roots, embedded in this soil, stretched and dangled in the air.

The sapling floated about ten centimeters above the desk, an unusual sight compared to the other static items on nearby shelves.

Zhou Ming then glanced at the large shelving unit. There, the rest of his collection was neatly organized in separate compartments, each object stationary and lifeless.

In stark contrast, the “sapling” on the desk was clearly supernatural, visibly endowed with magical qualities.

Could it be that this specimen, taken from the realm of “dreams,” retained its dreamlike properties even after being incorporated into his physical collection?

Engrossed in thought, Zhou Ming reached out to gently touch the canopy of the “World Tree” named Atlantis. The “floating bonsai” swayed under his touch, then whimsically returned to its original position.

Apart from this movement, the sapling showed no other signs of life. It remained silent, unresponsive to Zhou Ming’s touch.

“You’ve returned to your original form, a young sapling…” Zhou Ming murmured softly, his voice gentle as he examined the miniature “World Tree” intently. He stood silently, lost in thought for a long while before breaking the silence. “I wonder, can you hear me? Truly, I do not understand how you transitioned into a ‘collection’ after being exposed to mystical flames, but…”

His voice trailed off as he turned his attention to a nearby shelf that held various supernatural miniatures—the Vanished, the White Oak, and models of two city-states.

“This shall be your sanctuary from now on,” he whispered to the quiet room.

The models on the shelf remained lifeless, oblivious to his words. It felt like he was merely speaking to the emptiness, a somewhat embarrassing realization if anyone were to witness. Fortunately, no “outsiders” had visited this secluded space for a long time.

With careful movements, Zhou Ming reached for the clump of earth that rooted the Atlantis sapling, intending to move it to a shelving unit in the corner of the room. He handled the fragile-looking earth delicately, conscious that losing any of the soil could be problematic, potentially vanishing into the crevices of the floor forever.

In this small space, even “soil” was precious.

To his surprise, however, the soil, which appeared loosely held together, was unexpectedly cohesive, held together by an invisible force. Not a single speck of dirt fell off as he carefully carried it across the room.

He placed the sapling in its new spot on the shelf, next to the model of the Vanished, where it continued to hover serenely like a meditative bonsai.

Zhou Ming stood back, observing his latest addition. Unlike before, a flurry of complex thoughts swirled within him, and it took a while before he sighed, a sigh heavy with unspoken realizations.

He knew he could now report back to Goathead, confirming that the “sapling” was indeed safe and secure.

“You likely don’t need water, do you?” he suddenly pondered aloud, a new thought striking him which he felt compelled to voice. “Logically, you shouldn’t… And I do hope you don’t grow; space here is quite limited…”

As expected, the “World Tree” gave no response to his casual musings. Atlantis remained still, except for a gentle, idle spin.

Shaking his head slightly, Zhou Ming returned to the chair in his tiny apartment. He sank into the cushions, allowing himself a moment of rest, then absentmindedly picked up a book nearby, flipping through its pages without real intent.

The book, once perhaps enjoyable, now felt stale and joyless after countless readings.

Zhou Ming had established a routine of seemingly mundane activities whenever he returned to his studio apartment. He would read a few pages of a book he knew by heart, jot down some thoughts in his journal, rearrange items that hadn’t been moved, or even clean an already spotless room. To him, these small, routine acts helped maintain a sense of normalcy, like running a local shop or tending to graves—an affirmation that he still belonged to the structured world of the living.

After some time, he put the book aside, signaling to himself that it was time to return to the Vanished. As he prepared to get up, he suddenly paused, his gaze sharply drawn to the desk across the room.

There, the “World Tree” known as Atlantis hovered calmly, unchanged from before.

A moment of doubt flashed through Zhou Ming’s mind, prompting him to squint at the floating sapling, questioning his memory. He walked over to the desk to inspect the “World Tree” still levitating in place, then glanced back at the shelf where he had just adjusted its position.

He hesitated only briefly before reconfirming Atlantis in its designated spot on the shelf. He stared intently for a few seconds, ensuring it was properly settled, then stepped back. However, on a sudden impulse, he turned around again.

Atlantis was still there, faithfully resting within its compartment.

Zhou Ming exhaled slowly, a furrow of confusion marking his brow, and turned to leave the room. Yet, as his hand almost touched the doorknob, a sudden urge made him turn back.

To his amazement, Atlantis was once again perched above his desk as if it had silently defied his earlier efforts to place it.

Without a word, Zhou Ming’s expression hardened, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the floating “sapling.”

“Do you enjoy teasing me? Are you capable of moving by your own will?” he asked, though he expected no response from the silent tree.

Despite the lack of an answer, he observed the “World Tree” for a moment longer, then with a firm grip, he placed it back on the shelf, ensuring it was securely within its spot. He deliberately turned his back to the shelf, silently counting to ten before glancing over his shoulder again—Atlantis was back above his desk.

A reluctant smirk appeared on Zhou Ming’s face. He walked up to the desk and pointed down decisively.

“This desk, this is where I work. When I acquire new ‘collections,’ they appear here, on this desk,” he explained as if laying down rules for a mischievous child.

With a purposeful gesture, he pointed towards the large shelf: “And that spot over there, that’s where you belong. The second shelf from the bottom, that’s your home. You should be there, not here, intruding on my workspace.”

Atlantis continued to float silently, its gentle spinning seeming to highlight the delicate balance of the supernatural within the ordinary confines of Zhou Ming’s apartment.

Zhou Ming’s eyebrow twitched involuntarily as he watched the “sapling.” Swiftly, he reached out again, grasping the trunk of Atlantis as he placed it back in its designated space on the shelf. He stood watching intently, as if challenging it to move again.

For a moment, it seemed his will was respected; Atlantis did not reappear on his desk.

Suddenly, a series of dull thuds broke the silence. Zhou Ming turned just in time to see the World Tree’s roots striking the compartment that held the model of the White Oak, each impact threatening to knock the model off the edge.

“Stop this at once!” Zhou Ming commanded, stabilizing the White Oak with one hand while pressing against Atlantis’s foliage with the other. “You mustn’t harm your ‘neighbor,'” he scolded.

Atlantis shuddered under his touch and disappeared with a quick, almost playful flicker. Zhou Ming’s vision blurred momentarily, and when he focused on the usual spot above his desk, there it was—Atlantis, floating peacefully as if it had never moved.

Zhou Ming released a silent sigh, his patience clearly strained by the antics of the floating tree.

Meanwhile, Duncan Abnomar entered the captain’s quarters aboard his ship, his features marked by evident fatigue. As he settled into the chair behind the navigation desk, the goat head mounted at the table’s edge came to life, craning its neck to look directly at him.

Before the goat head could speak, Duncan, with a weary gesture, anticipated the forthcoming conversation.

The goat head, still as talkative as ever, perked up at sensing the captain’s presence. “Ah, Captain! You’ve returned. I assumed you’d come straight here—though I didn’t expect…” It paused, its wooden expression seeming to wane as it noticed the captain’s tired look. “Oh, you look quite exhausted?”

Another quiet gesture from Duncan, coupled with a sigh, paused the dialogue.

The silence lingered until Duncan met the goat head’s gaze firmly. “Your little ‘sapling,'” he began solemnly, “has claimed my desk.”