Yè Chényōu paused at the edge of the Misty Abyss. Faint spiritual light seeped through the fog, illuminating his gaunt face. Cold sweat from the previous night's struggle with visions still clung to his skin. The biting wind carried the scent of decaying leaves and wet earth, like ancient whispers rising from the ground. With each step, the fallen leaves beneath his feet seemed to sigh softly, as if warning him that this journey was far from ordinary.
He pressed on. The valley narrowed, the mountain walls twisted dizzyingly, as if the entire world were stretched and warped within this space. Looking up, he saw that moonlight barely pierced the thick fog; only scattered glimmers floated in the air like the eyes of wandering spirits. Branches clashed in the wind, producing sharp metallic sounds, like the low growl of some unknown creature.
An indescribable sense of oppression gripped him, and his steps faltered. The whispers of the valley rose again, clearer this time:*"You… do not belong here… you… will be lost…" *The voice struck his nerves as if from deep within, yet also seemed to come from an ancient abyss. Yè Chényōu closed his eyes and covered his ears, but the words penetrated to his very bones. His reason wavered on the edge of fear, each thought threatened with devouring by the unknown.
Suddenly, he noticed the water ahead rippling slightly. Its surface shimmered with strange interwoven hues of purple and green, almost beckoning him closer. Staggering forward, he felt a peculiar sense of familiarity—as if he had visited this place in a dream. Floating on the water were not ordinary reflections, but vague human forms and indistinct silhouettes of creatures. They watched him silently, eyes deep enough to consume all, seeming to peer into his deepest fears and desires.
Yè Chényōu instinctively stepped back a few paces, his hands trembling as he barely held his dagger. He forced himself to steady his breath, trying to reason: "This is a Lingyu illusion… just a trial by unknown forces…" Yet the more he clung to reason, the stronger his inner turmoil grew. Loneliness, fear, helplessness—these emotions crashed against his heart like relentless waves. He doubted whether he could continue forward, whether he could retain his sanity.
At that moment, the wind abruptly ceased. Silence fell across the valley as if time itself had stretched, each breath echoing in the stillness. The whispers returned, not as warnings this time, but as vague revelations:*"The red light will appear… the ancients still slumber… the path ahead, marked in blood…" *Yè Chényōu held his breath, unable to fully comprehend their meaning, yet deep down sensed a guidance—an indication of a path leading deeper into the Lingyu.
He slowly lifted his gaze. Through the distant mist, a crimson halo appeared, like a flame flickering in the fog, exuding both an ominous pressure and an alluring pull. He realized that the place he sought was no ordinary valley; it was an ancient, mysterious domain—harboring the deeper secrets of the Lingyu, and concealing unpredictable dangers.
Stepping forward again, his heartbeat thundered, the dagger in his hand gleaming coldly. Every step felt as if he were walking on the edge of the unknown, yet the obsession driving him—drawn by a mysterious force—refused to let him stop. He followed the crimson halo, traversing the twisted valley and eerie tree shadows. The soil beneath his feet grew soft and slippery, the air thick with mingling scents of blood and decay.
As he approached, the crimson halo brightened, rising like a blood moon against the night, illuminating the outlines of an ancient mountain village. The settlement lay shrouded in thick mist; its houses were dilapidated yet carried an uncanny sense of order. From afar came deep, guttural beastly roars and the low chants of ancient rituals. Yè Chényōu paused, sensing the intersection of Lingyu's aura and the human world. Fear and curiosity coiled together in his heart—he knew the village ahead was the next stop fate had arranged.
The mist slowly parted. Under the blood-red glow, the village's contours grew clearer. Yè Chényōu drew a deep breath and stepped into the mountain village beneath the blood moon, silently vowing that no matter how dark the path ahead, he would uncover the truth of the Lingyu.