The fog over the East Sea grew even thicker. The whispers of the water sounded like countless spirits wailing softly at once, striking against the rocks as if tearing at Ye Chenyu's consciousness. The sound of the tides ebbed and flowed, guiding him toward some unknown abyss. Each step on the slippery rocks felt as though the sea itself was tugging at his soul, amplifying the fear swelling in his chest.
Then, ripples formed on the water's surface, and a vague figure appeared in the mist. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, her face half-hidden and half-revealed—neither fully human nor otherwise, like a ghost stepping out of ancient myth. Her gaze was hollow yet mournful, suffused with a suffocating sorrow, as if she could pierce every memory of Ye Chenyu's life.
As the figure materialized, a sharp and piercing cry rang out. It reverberated like the tides from the ocean floor, or like countless shattered souls screaming, striking directly at Ye Chenyu's mind. His thoughts began to spiral into chaos. The rocks, the water, and the mist around him twisted and warped, and the sea's surface reflected countless illusions of himself: a child, a lonely figure wandering the wasteland, a being transformed into some unidentifiable creature.
Ye Chenyu felt himself nearly losing his sense of identity. His thoughts were like sand washed away by the tide, memories being devoured bit by bit. He gripped the rune shard tightly, struggling to use what remained of his consciousness to stabilize himself, but the crying seemed to seep into his bones, striking at the deepest fears of his soul.
At the brink of collapse, a cold, sharp presence arrived. Liyue Ying appeared beside him like a blade in the night. Her gaze was piercing and resolute, the rune shard in her hand flickering with an icy blue light. She spoke no words, only reached out, and in an instant, the faint glow enveloped Ye Chenyu, transforming the cries into an invisible pressure that steadied his mind.
In the mist, the figure of the Fish Woman trembled slightly. Though her cries were suppressed, they still echoed in the shadows like endless whispers, reminding Ye Chenyu of the cruelty and incomprehensibility of this sea. He felt the fear in his chest had not entirely dissipated; the cold terror surged through his blood like tidal currents, each breath threatening to drag him into the unknown depths.
Liyue Ying spoke calmly: "Do not be deceived. Every tide is a temptation—do not let illusions consume you." Her voice cut through the fog like a blade, carrying an unshakable chill that gradually restored Ye Chenyu's awareness. He lifted his gaze slowly, seeing tearful eyes deep in the mist, warning him that the abyss of the East Sea was not a domain for humans to tread lightly.
The trio's shadows stretched across the mist, rocks echoed under the tides' pounding, as if countless unknown creatures beneath the waves were observing them. With each step, the whispers of the sea acted like an invisible barrier, attempting to make intruders forget themselves. Ye Chenyu realized that this sea tested not only the body but also mind and memory.
When the Fish Woman's cries finally faded, the surface of the sea returned to a deceptive calm, though the low rumble of the tides lingered in their ears, a reminder that deeper, unknown horrors awaited in the East Sea. Ye Chenyu clenched his fists, his chest trembling, fully aware that far greater dangers lay ahead. Liyue Ying stood coldly beside him, her gaze sweeping the distant fog like frost—her presence both shield and silent warning.
The three moved slowly along the rocky shore. Every step felt like walking on thin ice, the fog twisting and writhing like a living entity, breathing and whispering. Deep in Ye Chenyu's heart, a resolute determination took root: no matter how many indescribable entities awaited ahead, he would uncover the secrets of the East Sea—even if it meant his soul would be repeatedly eroded by the tides.