The scenery in the deep valleys of the Wildlands appeared particularly twisted beneath the gray-white mist. On either side of the valley, fissures crisscrossed, and jagged rocks piled like sharp blades, ready to tear apart any living being that dared to step inside. As Ye Chenyu stepped into the valley, he felt the air heavier than anywhere else he had been, thick with the scent of damp earth, and faintly carrying the sound of "crying" from afar. Instinctively, he clenched his rune shard, only to find the sweat on his palms rapidly freezing into crystals in the cold wind.
As they advanced, a crimson swamp appeared before them, its surface churning with deep red liquid, steam rising like a blood-colored curtain. Each breath felt as though it were forcibly drawing the soul from his body. A strange, gnawing fear welled in Ye Chenyu's heart, as if the swamp could devour memory and willpower. From the air came piercing cries—the sound of infants, yet interwoven with deep, guttural roars, as though nine unknown voices erupted simultaneously from beneath the earth. The cries were unnatural, as if emanating "pain itself" from a rift in heaven and earth, shaking the mind and spirit.
The Nine Wailing Infants appeared. Towering in form, their nine serpentine-dragon-like heads coiled above the swamp, each mouth spewing fire and water. The flames bathed the mist in red, while the water vapor spread like steam. Every eye on each head flickered with an uncanny light, like black holes capable of seeing into the human heart. Their movements were irregular, yet seemed to follow some ancient ritual; every cry, every jet of flame and water, seemed to rewrite the very order of reality. Watching them, Ye Chenyu felt his rational mind begin to waver, as though he too would be drawn into the endless crimson swamp.
Among the fissures and the muddy red waters, bones and remnants floated to the surface, stirred by the Nine Wailing Infants as if they were sacrificial offerings. The cries and the wind combined into an extreme psychological symphony, leaving Ye Chenyu's limbs weak and his mind on the verge of shattering. He glanced at Liyue Ying, who stood at the edge of the swamp; her icy gaze, sharp as blades, pierced his nerves yet steadied his mind. Xuan Ye murmured incantations, his rune formation flickering with faint blue light within the red mist, forming a protective net.
The Nine Wailing Infants roared lowly, fire and water intertwining violently in the swamp. The turbulent energy surged toward the three, forcing Ye Chenyu backward, mud and water splashing beneath his feet, his heart feeling as if it were struck by a heavy hammer. The interweaving heat and cold of fire and water nearly froze the air itself; he felt as though trapped in chaos, unable to distinguish reality from illusion. Within the swamp, he saw fragments of forgotten childhood memories—loneliness, fear, helplessness—an overwhelming oppression crashing like tides into his chest.
Xuan Ye acted. He expanded his rune formation over the swamp, the runes flashing in the air to form a blue shield, suppressing the flames and torrents of the Nine Wailing Infants. Yet their power was not fully diminished; the fire and water slammed against the formation, steam and heat battering him. Xuan Ye's face turned pale, the formation's light flickering as though it might collapse at any moment. Clenching his teeth, his body battered by simultaneous heat and cold, he steadied the formation, protecting Ye Chenyu and the others from being engulfed.
Xing Lan quietly attuned herself to the Wildlands' power, chanting softly, resonating with its ancient covenant, suppressing the Nine Wailing Infants' psychological onslaught. Her voice crashed like waves into Ye Chenyu's heart, allowing him to reluctantly pull himself free from the illusions. Together, the four temporarily restrained the Infants' frenzy, though their gaze still lurked in the shadows. The cries reverberated lowly like an ancient curse throughout the valley.
Ye Chenyu slowly lifted his eyes, staring at the swirling fire and water in the swamp, and the nine twisted heads. Deep awe and terror surged within him. He knew that every corner of this Wildlands hid unknown intelligence and horror. The Nine Wailing Infants were only the initial trial. In the distance, within the gray-white mist, their forms churned faintly—shadows of nightmares cast across heaven and earth. Ye Chenyu silently warned himself: he must stay clear-headed and press onward, for deeper within the Wildlands awaited dangers far more terrifying than even the Nine Wailing Infants.