When Ye Chenyu stepped into the depths of South Mountain, the mist had grown so thick it seemed to carry weight, like an invisible curtain cutting him off from the village behind. The mountain wind howled, rushing through cracks in the stones, carrying with it a low, elusive chanting—like echoes of an ancient sacrificial rite.
Before him stretched a scatter of towering boulders. They rose into the clouds, twisted into bizarre shapes, as though placed by some unfathomable hand. Yet amid the chaos, a strange order lingered. Each stone face was lined with cracks and moss, and between the fissures, vague markings seemed to trace ancient symbols.
Ye Chenyu stared, and his chest tightened. The symbols writhed like living things, as though trying to crawl into his eyes.
"...This is no land of mortals," he muttered, tightening his grip on the short blade at his side.
Inside the stone forest, the silence was unnerving. Even the wind had vanished. Each of his steps echoed tenfold, rebounding endlessly off the walls of stone, as if countless ears were listening. He tried to find his bearings, but quickly realized he was trapped in a maze. Forward or back, the scenes repeated: the same patterns of stone, the same cracks at the same corners, identical to what he had seen before.
He looked up. The gray-white sky was cut to pieces by the jagged stones, like the severed remains of a sacrifice. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow gliding across a stone wall. Long, twisted, vaguely human—yet dragging tendrils no human could possess. He spun around. Nothing.
His heart thundered. A whisper rose in his ears. Not from any one direction, but seeping from every stone surface around him:
"...Return... blood and bone... sacrifice..."
The voices were ancient, fractured, like breath leaking through the cracks of the stones—or the throat of heaven and earth itself. He clutched his ears, but the sound could not be blocked. It rang inside his skull, branded into his memory.
Forcing himself to remain calm, he pressed on. Soon, the stones ahead aligned into a strange circle. At its center stood a smooth monolith, polished like a mirror, carved with intricate symbols laid out in patterns resembling the paths of stars. Ye Chenyu approached, his breath growing ragged.
The surface pulsed faintly, as though stained with fresh blood. From within the glow emerged a blurred vision—countless eyes covering the stone, all fixed upon him. They had no pupils, only endless black, brimming with suffocating dread.
"...Witness... Challenger..."
The whispers returned. Under their gaze, his blood surged, his ears roared. Shutting his eyes brought no relief—on the contrary, deeper visions erupted. Beneath the stone forest lay mountains of bones, skeletal arms raised high in ceaseless prayer.
Suddenly, the ground shook. Deep within the labyrinth, a massive boulder slid aside, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness, as though some will sought to draw him further. From the corridor wafted a chill wind, damp and metallic, reeking faintly of blood—the breath of the abyss.
Ye Chenyu clenched his jaw, throat dry. He knew there was no turning back. The stone forest itself was a gate, and he had been chosen as its key.
Softly, he murmured, "If this is the beginning of the trial... then let me see what price the so-called Lingyu demands of those who trespass."
With that, he stepped into the black passage. Behind him, the stone walls closed with a thunderous crash, sealing the forest in silence once more. Only the whispers remained, echoing in the unseen depths, never fading.