Ye Chenyu followed the winding path deep within the withered forest, finally arriving at a chasm almost entirely swallowed by shadow. The air around him was heavy and humid, as if even time had been compressed into a viscous slurry. The soil beneath his feet was soft; every step felt as though he were treading on unknown voids. The bottom of the abyss was shrouded in dense mist, seemingly impossible to discern.
At the center of the chasm hung a massive stone bell, its surface cracked and covered with ancient runes. A faint, chilling gray glow emanated from the bell, as if it absorbed the surrounding darkness. Every slight sway produced a low, eerie resonance. The bell's tolls were slow and ponderous, like roars from deep underground, yet they seemed to penetrate the soul, striking some hidden corner of memory.
At the first toll, Ye Chenyu's mind went blank. Instinctively, he gripped the core fragment tightly, trying to use its faint light to remain conscious. But with each successive chime, a part of his memory seemed erased by an invisible hand—the past images, the symbols, even the scenes he had just experienced in West Mountain began to blur and fade.
"Cannot… forget…" Ye Chenyu muttered under his breath, his voice barely merging with the shadows of the abyss. He forced himself to recall the shapes of the symbols, tracing their remnants in the air, trying to anchor his memory. Each toll felt like a sharp blade slicing through his thoughts. He even perceived the surroundings warping slightly, the edges of the chasm stretching as if to consume him entirely.
Amid the relentless tolling, five overlapping visions appeared in his mind: the stone forest of South Mountain, the waters of the Eastern Sea, the tempestuous sands of the wasteland, the illusions of West Mountain, and the unknown depths of the northern region. These scenes felt like bas-reliefs carved in his mind, gradually being washed away by the vibrations. Yet he clung to every fragment—these glimpses revealed that West Mountain was not isolated; it controlled illusions and memory, hiding the deep secrets of the Spirit Realm.
As the tolls grew lower and heavier, the pressure threatening to tear Ye Chenyu's mind apart, a figure emerged from the shadows. Li Yueying silently appeared at the edge of the abyss. Her eyes were cold and resolute, and with a subtle wave of the rune fragment in her hand, she temporarily shielded him from the impact. Ye Chenyu felt the pain in his head ease slightly, though he still could not fully resist the bell's corrosion.
"You cannot endure this for long," Li Yueying said, her voice low and icy, yet clear in Ye Chenyu's ears, like the whispering wind from the abyss. Her gaze swept across the bell, as if calculating the rhythm and force of each toll. Looking up, Ye Chenyu saw her features resonating with the runes in the dim light, each breath seeming to absorb the darkness of the chasm.
The bell tolled again. The mist at the bottom of the abyss churned, as if countless invisible hands were tugging at his mind. Ye Chenyu almost heard his own name being stripped away, his memories slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Yet Li Yueying's presence was like a lighthouse in the dark, helping him barely maintain consciousness. He gripped the core fragment tightly, silently repeating the sequence of symbols, striving to record every vital piece of information.
Amid the bell's deep, echoing resonance, Ye Chenyu felt an unprecedented loneliness and fear. He realized that the deep secrets of the Spirit Realm could not be reached through courage alone; every step risked permanent erasure of his consciousness. The bell's toll was like the whisper of an ancient deity—indifferent, merciless, silently judging the value of intruders.
Li Yueying stood quietly nearby, occasionally waving the fragment to protect him, but without directly intervening. Her aloofness carried an unspoken intimidation, yet also reminded him that survival in this abyss relied entirely on his own will and acuity. He took a deep breath, letting the low tolls resonate through his chest, tracing the symbols in the air—each stroke a careful negotiation with the abyss itself.
When the final toll faded, the abyss fell into a brief silence. Ye Chenyu was soaked with sweat, breathing heavily, and parts of his memory still blank, yet the outline of the rune combinations in his hand remained largely intact. Li Yueying's gaze was calm, yet carried a hint of profound meaning. She nodded lightly before disappearing into the shadows, leaving Ye Chenyu alone atop the chasm.
He gazed at the stone bell suspended below. It hung silently, as if unmoved, yet its deep echo still lingered in memory. Ye Chenyu understood that West Mountain controlled illusions, and he had only touched the tip of this Spirit Realm's iceberg. The chill and oppression of the abyss felt like invisible chains, a reminder that every descent challenged the limits of consciousness and memory—and Li Yueying's presence was only a temporary safeguard.
Ye Chenyu lifted his feet, beginning the journey back, his eyes burning with determination and vigilance.