The cold wind was even more piercing than the day before. Ye Chenyu stepped across the ice, the soles of his boots crunching faintly, as if each step pressed upon fragile glass. His breath formed white mist in the air, only to be shredded instantly by the relentless wind, vanishing into the boundless snowy wasteland.
Suddenly, he stopped. Ahead, the landscape began to take on a strange outline—like massive hills rising from the icefield. But as he drew closer, he realized they were not hills at all. Instead, they were enormous mounds composed of countless piled bones.
The bones gleamed faintly blue in the cold light, varied in shape: human remains, the carcasses of beasts, and even grotesque spines unlike anything he had seen before, twisted like serpents or curved horns. The wind whispered through hollow sockets, producing low, fractured moans—a never-ending dirge.
A chill gripped Ye Chenyu's heart.
"How many lives… were buried in this wasteland?"
He climbed halfway up one of the bone mounds. Through the gaps between stacked skeletons, he glimpsed what appeared to be an even larger spine at the center—like a colossal pillar that once supported the heavens, now broken and buried over time.
Then, a faint crying reached him.
It was barely audible, like a newborn's wail, carried by the wind into his ears. Ye Chenyu's body stiffened; his nerves immediately tensed. He turned quickly, but saw only the endless snow and wind.
The cry came again.
This time, it was closer—almost beside him.
A sudden cold dread surged through him from his chest to his soul. He took a deep breath, focusing, a thin mist appearing in his eyes. Atop the bone mound, a strange creature slowly crouched.
Its face was a horrifying human visage, eyes pale gray and lifeless; its body, however, was robust like a tiger, fur matted and frozen into icy armor. A long ox-like tail trailed behind, whipping through the air with a sharp, piercing sound. Though its throat moved, the sound it produced was a newborn's wail—high-pitched and fragile, piercing directly into the soul.
"…!"
Ye Chenyu felt a violent shock in his mind, and the world around him twisted abruptly.
The icy plain, the snowstorm, the bone mounds—all vanished in an instant. In their place was a dimly lit wooden house. The air reeked of damp and blood. Looking down, he realized he had become an infant, swaddled tightly, unable to move.
The crying no longer came from the outside—it emanated from his own throat. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and fragile, tearing open the deepest cracks in his memory.
"This… is an illusion!" Ye Chenyu realized. Yet even so, his mind was pressured to the brink of collapse. The vulnerability and helplessness of infancy were too real to deny, a fear of being utterly alone in the world that tore at his very soul.
His consciousness fluctuated violently between darkness and the cries, almost succumbing entirely several times.
—"Remember, you are in the Northern Mountains."
The symbol on his chest pulsed violently, like a brand reminding him of his reality. He snapped his eyes open and pressed his palm hard into his own hand. The warmth of his blood allowed him to claw his way out of the illusionary trap.
The icy plain reappeared. The human-faced beast crouched, staring at him. Its gaping maw still emitted infant-like cries, low and mournful. The sound seemed to take shape as tendrils, wrapping around Ye Chenyu's limbs, trying to drag him deeper into the hallucination.
"If I truly sink in… I'll never return…"
Ye Chenyu gritted his teeth and swiftly traced symbols on the ice with his fingers. Flames erupted suddenly; the runes glowed amid the snowstorm, forming a wall of light. The crying was weakened, and the oppressive psychic pressure finally loosened.
The beast was forced back, its massive body weaving through the bone mounds. Its tail lashed against the skeletal remains with a deafening crash. The infantile cries gradually dimmed, eventually fading into the wind and snow.
Ye Chenyu exhaled deeply. His clothing was soaked with cold sweat.
He gazed into the depths of the bone mounds. Beneath the broken colossal spine lay an even deeper darkness.
"The Northern Mountains… what secrets are truly hidden here?"
The wind howled, and the bones sang in mournful resonance across the wasteland, like countless spirits whispering prayers. A vague thought rose in Ye Chenyu's mind: this massive skeleton was not merely a relic of death—it seemed more like an ancient altar.
—"Bone altar."
The words suddenly surfaced in his mind.
He did not know their origin, yet instinct told him: this would reveal the true secret of the Northern Mountains.
Night fell, the wind and snow intensified. Ye Chenyu stood alone atop the giant bone mound, eyes deep and thoughtful, unease growing quietly in his heart.