In the realm of the Northern Mountains, the world lay like a silent grave. The moment Ye Chenyu stepped onto the icy plain, the wind and snow surged toward him like invisible hands, carrying a cold sharp enough to tear flesh. The endless white expanse stretched to meet the sky, blending seamlessly, as if the world had no horizon. Every color had been stripped from the land, leaving only merciless shades of gray and white.
He moved slowly, his footsteps crunching softly on the thick snow. Strangely, these sounds were stretched and twisted by the wind, echoing like whispered murmurs. The voice seemed to come from deep beneath the earth, yet also as if the snow itself were speaking: "Return… return…"
Ye Chenyu froze, holding his breath to listen. But as he focused, the whispers instantly transformed into the wailing of the dead, pressing in from all directions, like countless souls who had perished on this frozen plain murmuring at his ears. A chilling illusion gripped him—this wasteland itself was a massive graveyard, and he was merely a lone spirit trespassing within it.
Through the drifting snow, a shadow flickered. It slinked across the ice, limbs long and pale, nearly blending into the snow. The first thing that caught his eye was the sharp, curved horn on its head, gleaming coldly like carved ice.
Its body resembled a dog, yet it was more robust than a tiger. When its claws sank into the ice, a deep cracking sound echoed. As it drew closer, Ye Chenyu noticed its eyes: dead gray, pupils frozen deep within, utterly lifeless, yet impossible to look into directly.
Suddenly, it lifted its head and let out a shrill cry—a sound as sharp and jarring as a wooden stake smashing against stone. Instantly, Ye Chenyu felt a crack open in his mind, a relentless buzzing filling his skull.
The wind and snow abruptly transformed. The world's colors turned dark red; the snowfield no longer white, but a field of stacked bones. The murmuring winds became a terrible wail, as if countless skeletal arms were reaching from the snow, trying to drag him underground.
Ye Chenyu's heart tightened; he understood immediately—the creature's cry could disturb the mind, pulling one into a hallucinatory abyss.
He bit his tongue, and the iron-like taste of blood flooded his mouth. The sharp pain allowed him to claw his way free from the illusions' grip. Yet the snowfield still shimmered and swayed—he had only pierced a thin veil. Deeper layers of the hallucination still threatened to drag him under.
The creature lunged, swift as a gale, claws scattering shards of ice like flying blades. Ye Chenyu drew his short blade in a reverse grip; the cold flash of steel seemed lone and defiant amid the swirling storm. He realized: he could not confront it head-on. He had to find the flaw in its sound.
Yet the creature cried again. A thousand stakes seemed to slam into his mind at once. His eyes bloodshot, Ye Chenyu was surrounded by visions: the icy plain transformed into a battlefield, thousands of armored corpses advancing through the blizzard. Their eye sockets hollow, yet their throats emitted that same shrill crashing sound.
These phantoms were unreal, yet enough to swallow a man's will. His heartbeat raced; his blood felt frozen.
He gritted his teeth and whispered, "Illusions persist, my true self endures." He slashed his arm with the short blade; blood spattered across the snow, stark and vivid against the endless white. The pain temporarily cleared his mind—the edges of the illusions fractured, and most of the skeletal soldiers vanished instantly.
Seizing this brief clarity, Ye Chenyu fixed his gaze on the creature's true location. Its horn gleamed coldly as it prowled through the mist, readying to strike again.
"Now."
He stepped deliberately onto the snow, using the wind to glide. His form merged with the storm, short blade slicing. The creature roared, illusions crashing toward him, trying to engulf him completely. But at the moment the blade struck, its piercing cry faltered, and the hallucinations shattered like countless broken mirrors.
The endless white snowfield reappeared. The creature had been struck across the shoulder and neck; blood mingled with snow, spattering into the harsh wind. Yet it did not collapse immediately—it let out one final shrill, crashing cry, a strange, lingering incantation that echoed across the frozen expanse.
Ye Chenyu's eardrums felt torn; darkness clouded his vision. He staggered, collapsing to his knees in the snow, breath ragged, as if the cold had frozen his lungs. Just before he sank completely into unconsciousness, he vaguely heard deeper whispers amid the wind and snow:
"…This is only the beginning."
The world fell into boundless white.