Ye Chenyu stepped into the deep valley of West Mountain, where the dense mist coiled around his ankles and limbs like a living entity, threatening to engulf him. The stone path beneath his feet was slick and uneven; every step echoed, low and hollow, like prayers rising from the depths of the earth, or whispers of ancient priests long gone. He looked up: the valley walls on either side were steep, their gray-black rocks seemingly covered with countless eyes, each protrusion subtly shifting in the fog, as if watching, calculating, and waiting.
From the thick mist came a faint but piercing sound—like a baby's cry, yet mixed with a low moan not of human origin. Ye Chenyu's heart tightened, and he froze, trying to locate the source, only to realize the sound came from all directions at once, creating a dizzying illusion. The fog seeped into his throat with each breath, making breathing heavier, as if every inhalation were pressed by invisible hands.
Gradually, twisted figures emerged from the mist—they were canine in form, with long, thin yet powerful limbs, dark gray fur glistening with an oily sheen. Most unnerving were their heads: grotesque human-like faces, sunken cheeks, thin cracked lips, and eyes glowing an unnatural red. When they stared at Ye Chenyu, he felt as if needles pricked at his very soul. These creatures did not bark like ordinary animals; instead, they emitted broken, near-human sobs, like crying and simultaneously chanting forbidden incantations, driving his mind to the brink of madness.
Ye Chenyu cautiously moved, trying to circumvent them, but with each step, the mist seemed to gather as if alive, and the cries tugged at his consciousness. His ears buzzed, hallucinations creeping in: he saw his own arms elongate, sprouting hair; his face contorting into the monsters' likeness; limbs swelling, body twisting and chilling. He heard his own low cries echoing through the valley, as if he were truly becoming one of them.
Fear gnawed at him, almost robbing him of reason, but he reached into his chest for the talisman fragment he carried—a small piece of rune stone obtained from the ruins of South Mountain, faintly glowing. He felt the runes' power suppressing the hallucinations like solid ice, forming a barrier within his mind. Gradually steadying his breath, he summoned all his strength to anchor himself, refusing to be swallowed by the collective illusion.
In the thickest part of the fog, the monstrous pack slowly retreated, seemingly sensing the runes' presence. Their cries became fragmented, like scattered echoes carried by the wind. The mist still carried an indescribable pressure, sending shivers down Ye Chenyu's spine. He sensed that these creatures were not merely guardians—they were extensions of the valley's own will, each step forward a test of the intruder's soul.
As the fog thinned, Ye Chenyu glimpsed at the valley's end an ancient stone gate. Its surface, composed of dark gray rock, was covered in intricate, flowing runes. The symbols writhed and flickered like living creatures, constantly shifting, emitting a faint, eerie glow. Each rune seemed to convey ancient secrets, warning intruders against rash action, while hinting at the hidden power and truths lying deeper within.
Ye Chenyu held his breath, sensing a strange resonance between the glow of the talisman and the gate's runes, as if the two were silently communicating. He raised his hand slightly, almost compelled to touch the symbols, but reason warned him that a careless move could bring irreversible consequences. A mix of urgency and fear pressed upon him, and he felt as if the entire valley was scrutinizing every one of his actions with invisible eyes.
The low sobs gradually faded, leaving only the faint pulsation of the runes and the whisper of wind echoing through the valley. Ye Chenyu drew a deep breath, suppressing the fear in his chest, and slowly approached the stone gate. He understood that whatever lay beyond this door was the true secret of West Mountain, and everything he had endured so far was only the beginning.
He stepped forward, and the mist once again enveloped the world, isolating him completely, leaving only the faint glow of ancient runes and the constant beating of fear in his chest. He knew the path ahead would be darker still, and that each step could bring him closer to an abyss with no return.