Ye Chenyu advanced slowly along the dimly lit passage, his steps careful on the slippery, cold stone slabs. Occasionally, drops of water fell from the ceiling, producing sharp, eerie sounds. The faint luminescence surrounding him danced on the damp walls, as if the entire ruin were breathing ever so slightly. The air carried the musty scent of age, tinged with a subtle hint of scorching, as though hidden threats lingered, waiting to be noticed.
At the end of the corridor, Ye Chenyu entered a spacious stone chamber. Its walls were covered with intricate, bizarre runes, shifting in form—sometimes resembling crawling vines, sometimes writhing fish scales, and sometimes forming labyrinths of countless eyes. Light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating every groove of the runes, yet it could never reveal their full extent. Ye Chenyu reached out to touch the wall; the cold surface contrasted strangely with the faint, flowing glow within the symbols. He felt that these markings were not mere carvings—they were like an ancient language, an archaic order silently speaking of the secrets of South Mountain.
The runes seemed to move subtly under his gaze, their contours flickering between light and shadow. Some lines intertwined into three-dimensional structures beyond his comprehension, extending beyond space itself, defying natural dimensions. Occasionally, he glimpsed traces of life lurking within them—a faint shadow sliding across the wall, vanishing instantly into the intricate labyrinth of symbols. A sense of oppression gripped him; these runes did not merely record the power of South Mountain—they seemed to contain judgment, assessing him silently, sending his heartbeat racing.
At the center of the chamber stood a towering stone pillar, also etched with runes, but of even stranger form than those on the walls. Its top seemed fused with the chamber's ceiling, and light seeped through the cracks, casting eerie shadows on the floor that resembled a miniature mountain range. Ye Chenyu realized that these runes were not merely decorative—they maintained the structure and aura of the ruin, as if concentrating a portion of the South Mountain spirit domain's power within themselves.
He carefully circled the pillar, noticing how the runes' glow subtly warped with his movement, as if whispering in the darkness. He felt he could perceive the logic underlying the symbols—a form of order beyond human intuition. South Mountain was not merely a collection of mountains and rivers; it was one of the five major regions of the spirit domain, carrying deep, hidden power and secrets. Each rune seemed like a key, yet simultaneously like a labyrinth, evoking both the desire to explore and an irresistible, primal fear.
Suddenly, a faint breeze stirred from deep within the chamber, causing the runes on the walls to tremble slightly. Ye Chenyu looked up and saw a figure emerging from a shadowed corner. A woman's face was partially obscured by mist and dim light. Her eyes glinted with a cold, piercing brilliance, and her gaze fixed squarely on him, as if peering into the depths of his soul. She stood motionless, appearing as if she were part of the ruin itself, yet just as real as the air and the runes around her.
"This place will collapse soon," her voice was low, yet clear, reaching Ye Chenyu as if it had seeped from the very depths of the runes, a warning embedded in the ancient stone. He instinctively took a step back, realizing that every rune he touched, every stone beneath his feet, carried latent danger. He wanted to ask her name, but his tongue seemed bound by the runes, unable to speak. The woman merely nodded slightly before merging with the shadows, vanishing into the chamber's dim light.
Ye Chenyu stood frozen for a moment, breathing heavily, his mind awash with complex emotions—reverence, fear, and unspoken confusion intertwined. Slowly, he turned, his gaze lingering on the chamber's dim glow and the labyrinthine runes, sensing the warnings and tests encoded in their whispered language.