Page 28 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“Nightmares walk in my world, Yumi,” he said. As if that weren’t the most terrifying thing someone had ever said. But he seemed unafraid. So maybe he wasn’t a complete waste. “But normally they’re formless, without the strength or ability to hurt people. I told you, I’m a nightmare painter. My kind keep them in control.”

“That…actually does sound a little heroic,” she admitted.

“See?” he said, sitting up. Then he wilted. “But I’m not a warrior.We use ink, and…it’s normally not dangerous. Boring and mundane, really. But I did encounter one. The foreman will take care of it though. Send for experts that…”

He stood up suddenly, causing her to yelp and pull back.

“The Dreamwatch!” he said. “They’re warriors, Yumi. They fight stable nightmares. Maybe if they come to the city, we can talk to them about your problem. Maybe the spirits want us to meet with them?” He hesitated. “That doesn’t make sense though. How would they help with your world? And why wouldn’t the spirits send one ofthemto you instead of me? So…I don’t know.”

Yumi nodded, though she was barely listening. She found her mind oddly cloudy. She…she had to…

Suddenly she was tired. Incredibly tired. Though she intended to respond to Painter, she instead stretched and curled up on the floor, nestled in the blanket. And fell asleep.

Yumi awoke todelightful warmth underneath her back. As her eyes fluttered open and she moved to sit, her hand—unfortunately—passed through the floor.

She could feel the warmth, but her body was again incorporeal. Next to her Painter sat up, disturbing blankets, wearing one of her thick, enveloping sleeping gowns. He looked toward the window, where sunlight streamed in, and groaned.

“I guess,” he said, “we’re going to have to do something about that bathing issue…”

I’ve often wonderedat the purpose of nightmares. Again, the normal kind, not the stalking kind. Why do we have them? Is there a point?

Maybe it’s a brutal way of making us more resilient.

Humans are incredibly malleable. Despite my breadth of experience, I’ve never stopped being surprised at how durable human beings can be. They can survive in almost any environment. They can recover from debilitating loss. They can be crushed physically, mentally, emotionally—and still ask you how your day is going.

Perhaps nightmares are Cultivation’s method of giving us a way of surviving trauma in a strangely safe environment. (At least safe physically.) A way to put it behind us, forget the details, but retain the growth. Nightmares are vicarious living done in our own minds.

In that way, nightmares serve much the same function as storytellers. Evolution doing a favor for those who, unlucky and unfortunate, never encountered me.

Painter finished his meal and barely managed to keep himself from wiping his mouth—his attendants had to do that for him.

Yumi paced behind him, invisible to everyone else. She’d barely spoken to him since they’d awoken. He kept trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him like one would a bad scent made by someone too important to stink.

Eventually the two attendants retreated—and were replaced by Liyun, in her strict formal outfit, her hairstyle impeccably symmetrical. There was a certain art to the way she loomed over him. He wondered if she practiced. How else would one explain her perfect posture, looking down at him without tipping her head, which made even the act of studying him seem like a huge inconvenience. The way she folded her arms to make her shadow expand across him, isolating him in darkness. The way she lingeredjusta tad longer than was comfortable…

It was impressive. Like a beautiful gourmet dish. Made from mud.

She settled down on her knees. “The people of the town,” she said, “are concerned about you, following your…episode yesterday.”

“I’m…sorry?” Painter said.

“I doubt I need to explain,” Liyun continued, “the indignity it would bring upon them to be refused the blessings of the spirits. They would see it as a terrible omen. They would be the town that caused the yoki-hijo to collapse. The shame would run deep, Chosen.”

“Look,” Painter said, “it’s not like I fainted onpurposejust to—”

“No,” Yumi said stepping up to him.

He turned, frowning. She was finally acknowledging him? He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

“You will repeatonlythe words I say,” she told him. “You are not to interact with Liyun without myexplicitguidance.”

“But—”

“You,” she said, “willrepeatonly thewords I say.”

He had admired Liyun’s ability to loom. But in one moment, Yumieclipsed her master. She stepped up to him, eyes wide, daring, hands in tense fists.Threatening.

Painter felt a sudden jolt of disconnect. He was…elevated, you might say, to a higher realm of understanding. Like a child painter who at long last gained enough skill to see the true artistry of a master, Painter was confronted by looming that was somehow more grandiose. While Liyun had loomed with exactness, it had felt performative.

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