Ye Chenyu proceeded along the stone path at the end of the valley. The mist gradually thinned, but the air remained thick with dampness and decay. His feet pressed against the slick rocks, and the faint sounds of his steps echoed endlessly through the canyon, like taps on the lids of coffins. Ahead, a wide platform suddenly appeared, at its center an ancient stone altar, surrounded by countless stone statues of men.
These stone men assumed various postures—sitting, standing, crouching, stretching—their faces blurred, as if deliberately smoothed, leaving only contours and deep-set eye sockets. Upon closer inspection, Ye Chenyu realized these figures were not mere carvings. Their surfaces bore traces of flesh and blood, now petrified, with the texture of breathing faintly preserved—their chests rising and falling as if in silent respiration. A chill ran through him; he felt as if these stone men could open their eyes at any moment and peer into his soul through their hardened faces.
Around the altar, on low pedestals, shadows of three-headed beasts subtly emerged. The beasts were massive, muscles bulging beneath coarse, scaly skin. Each of their three faces bore a different expression: one sneered with wet, sharp teeth; one wept, its tears evaporating into the ground as they flowed; the third glared in fury, its mouth emitting a low, resonant roar. Their poses were rigid, yet their gazes seemed alive, sweeping over Ye Chenyu, each breath sending tremors through the ground and air, threatening to unbalance him.
Ye Chenyu held his breath and advanced cautiously, each step echoing in the altar's vast emptiness, each heartbeat amplified as if by invisible hands, pressing against his chest. At the altar's center, the top was inscribed with strange runes in blood, faintly flickering under the eerie glow, as if breathing in rhythm with Ye Chenyu's pulse. Driven by curiosity, he extended a finger to touch the blooded symbols—
The moment his finger brushed the surface, the entire altar trembled. The stone men quivered slightly; the textures on their chests seemed to swell as though alive. The three-headed beasts' roars merged into a deep, chanting hum, sounding as if it poured from the depths of the earth, yet simultaneously descended from the heavens, reverberating painfully in Ye Chenyu's ears. The air filled with the stench of rust and blood, nauseating yet irresistibly compelling.
Ye Chenyu felt his consciousness begin to drift; hallucinations surged like a tide. He saw the stone men slowly open their mouths, murmuring in a low tone as if summoning a long-imprisoned being. The three-headed beasts' expressions shifted continuously—laughing, crying, and raging—reflecting the deepest fears and madness of humanity. His vision blurred; broken whispers filled his ears, like ancient gods revealing ineffable secrets, yet impossible to comprehend.
He tried to step back but found his feet adhered to the stone, refusing to move. His chest constricted; his heart felt gripped by cold hands, his breath erratic. Desperately, Ye Chenyu used the light from his rune fragment to suppress the mental assault. Whispering fragments of incantations remembered from memory, the runes' light surged like a tide, expanding to envelop the altar and the three-headed beasts surrounding it.
The whispers abruptly ceased. The stone men returned to stillness; the three-headed beasts' faces froze in their original expressions. Yet Ye Chenyu's heartbeat thundered in his ears. His hands trembled slightly, his consciousness feeling as if swept by a flood, chaotic and disoriented. The pressure on his chest gradually eased, leaving an indelible sense of horror and the unknown: deep within this secret altar, some presence lurked and watched, its whispers fragments of a dark message to the world.
Ye Chenyu slowly retreated to the edge of the altar, drawing several deep breaths to steady himself. He realized that the West Mountain ruins were far more complex and dangerous than South Mountain; the stone men and three-headed beasts were only the surface, with deeper secrets yet waiting. He raised his eyes to the altar's center—the blooded runes still flickered faintly, as if ready to awaken again.
At that moment, a narrow passage appeared at the altar's corner, disappearing into bottomless darkness. From within, a faint eerie glow shimmered like that of his rune fragment, yet colder and stranger. A chill ran up Ye Chenyu's spine; he understood this passage led to the deepest part of West Mountain, the unknown domain he must next confront.
He held his breath, staring at the glowing passage, and stepped forward slowly, silently warning himself: the path ahead offered no retreat, and the whispers of the altar and the gaze of the stone men would echo in his mind for a long time to come.