Ye Chenyu stepped onto the edge of West Mountain, and the ground beneath him quickly shifted from soft soil to a desolate expanse littered with white bones. Every step he took caused the dry skeletons to emit faint clattering sounds, as if whispering ancient laments. The bones were varied in form—some vaguely human, others grotesquely alien—fingers and claws protruding sharply from decayed remains, as if preserving their final struggles. The air was thick with the stench of blood and rotting earth, each breath threatening to suffocate him.
A low, murmuring wind swept across the wasteland, carrying an indescribable aura—both familiar and alien, like a dark echo from the depths of the soul. Ye Chenyu felt an oppressive sense of being watched. Raising his gaze, he saw a flash of red light at the hills on the horizon.
It was a nine-tailed white fox.
Its form was slender and supernatural, the snow-white fur glowing against the gray bones of the wasteland, as if imbued with an unknown divinity. Each tail moved like a living branch, swaying slowly, the tips quivering as though sensing the slightest disturbance in the air. Its eyes were deep red gemstones, cold and enigmatic, seeming to pierce into the heart to expose the deepest fears and secrets.
Ye Chenyu observed carefully and realized that the fox's movements were not entirely natural—they resembled symbols manifesting in reality. With each pawstep, the bones beneath it trembled faintly, emitting low moans. As its tails swayed, the shadows of the wasteland writhed like invisible hands, forming irregular patterns that sent shivers down his spine.
Even more unsettling was the aura radiating from the fox—a coldness that reached straight to the marrow, tightening Ye Chenyu's entire body. It made no attack, produced no sound, yet it seemed to be observing, marking, and waiting. Each flick of its tails recorded his presence, drawing him into an ancient, inescapable order.
He tried to breathe, but his throat felt frozen, his voice suppressed. Fear surged like a tidal wave, yet an unexplainable curiosity tugged at him. He realized that this nine-tailed white fox was more than a creature—it was a guardian of West Mountain, the embodiment of an ancient intelligence. Its very existence was the rule of the wasteland, and a hint of the Spirit Realm's deeper secrets.
Ye Chenyu shifted his feet cautiously, attempting to bypass it. But the fox slowly turned its head, its nine pairs of red eyes nearly filling the surrounding space. He felt each pair pierce into his heart like needles. The swishing of its tails stirred the wind, whispering faintly, fragmentarily, as if a half-complete incantation. A jolt of realization hit him: the apparent calm of this wasteland was only a façade; the true order of the Spirit Realm was hidden within these nine tails.
The fox lowered its body slightly, as if preparing to speak, though its mouth remained closed. Yet a clear warning radiated from it—anyone stepping into West Mountain could not proceed recklessly. One wrong move, and they would become part of the wasteland itself.
Ye Chenyu held his breath, feeling a chill that penetrated to his bones. He crouched low, blending with the terrain, following the fox's direction. Every step was careful; the bones beneath seemed to sense his heartbeat, trembling slightly with a soft rustle. The wind stirred the fine fur on its tails, the sound mingling with the whispers of bones, creating a dark symphony unique to the wasteland.
At the edge of the wasteland stood a half-open stone gate. The nine-tailed fox paused, its tails curling slowly, its red eyes fixing on Ye Chenyu for a moment, as if assessing his worthiness. Then it leapt lightly, disappearing into the shadows of the wasteland, its tail's final sweep cutting through the air like fire, leaving an indelible mark—a silent rune, reminding Ye Chenyu that the true secrets of West Mountain were only beginning.
Ye Chenyu drew a deep breath and stepped toward the stone gate. The bones of the wasteland moaned faintly in the wind. From afar, he seemed to hear the fox whispering with an indescribable amusement, reminding him that the path ahead was fraught with unknown dangers.