Thick fog rolled slowly at the foot of Nanshan, swallowing the shrubs on both sides of the narrow path like a rising tide. Yè Chényōu stepped cautiously on the slippery stone trail, each step feeling as if he were treading into bottomless darkness. In the distance, the peaks loomed, their silhouettes twisted, as if kneaded by some unknown force.
The cold wind howled, carrying the scent of soil and wet moss, scattering fallen leaves across his face like silent whispers. His heart raced with tension, every breath stabbing his chest with icy sharpness. A foul mixture of blood, decay, and damp earth hung in the air, as if he had wandered into an ancient, forgotten graveyard.
Suddenly, an unusual presence made him halt. The sensation was not the chill of the wind, nor the breath of another human—it was the gaze of an ancient life, profound, distant, and irresistibly oppressive. Yè Chényōu's instincts screamed that some extraordinary being lurked ahead.
From the fog emerged a strange creature. Its body resembled a fusion of hunting dog and monkey, covered in coarse, blue-gray fur streaked intermittently with silver, luminous like moonlight. Its limbs were long and crooked; each step made a deep, wooden creak, as if walking through the seams of time. Its head twisted unnaturally, combining the sly cunning of a fox with the eerie deformity of a monkey. Its eyes, black and abyssal like obsidian, radiated an ancient, unfathomable intelligence.
Most unsettling were its lips, which twitched as it whispered in a language beyond human comprehension. The words sounded like the echo of wind through fractured stones, or some lost, archaic tongue. Yè Chényōu strained to hear, catching fragments:"Warning… approaching… lost… confusion…"The faint whispers were like a cold blade cutting through his chest.
The divine beast slowly raised a forelimb, pointing toward a distant valley. Its whispers came again, as though conveying a prophecy, yet the meaning was obscure—a brief, cryptic warning:"The path ahead… tread carefully."Yè Chényōu could not discern if this was a caution or guidance, only feeling a chill creeping from his feet through his whole body.
The fog thickened, obscuring even his fingers, yet the presence of the creature glowed like a dim lantern, igniting a flame of both fear and curiosity in his heart. His breathing grew rapid; his hands gripped the tattered map, yet he could not tell if what he saw was reality or illusion.
The creature slowly turned, its form fading in and out of the mist, its steps deliberate yet eerily silent. It moved along the mountain trail, disappearing into the dense fog, leaving only rustling leaves and the lingering pressure in the air. Yè Chényōu felt a peculiar solitude rising within him, as if the mountains themselves did not welcome intruders—and he had already been marked by this unknown power.
Standing still, he sensed the fog curling around him like arms, every gust of wind whispering, as though the trees, stones, and soil were watching him. The path ahead was obscured and uncertain. He knew he had entered a realm not belonging to the human world. Slowly, he stepped forward, still hearing the whisper:"The path ahead… tread carefully."Here, every tree, every rock, every breath of wind seemed to silently observe him.
Each step felt like treading through the seams of time. The surroundings warped: tree branches stretched like tentacles, dead leaves crawled slowly on the ground, and the wind carried indistinct murmurs. Deep within his mind, an unknown force called to him, testing his will. A strange impulse rose: part of him wanted to flee, yet part of him yearned to approach the unknown. Perhaps this was the trial of the Lingyu—finding direction in fear, seeking truth through the mist.
The night grew darker, the fog thick as ink. The border of Nanshan was no longer just a mountain forest—it was a gateway to the unknown. And Yè Chényōu had no way to turn back.