Chapter Five: Entering the Mountains

That day, after midday.

Qingyuan entered the mountains.

Along the way, someone saw him and, upon learning his intention, hurriedly tried to dissuade him, fearing he might encounter misfortune in the wild. In the eyes of the villagers, little Yu was likely already lost.

Yet Qingyuan was resolute in his purpose and entered the mountains all the same.

The deep forest was wild and desolate, shrouded in silence save for the cries of birds and the chirr of insects. Everywhere he looked, there were traces of wild creatures—birds and beasts alike.

Qingyuan moved through the mountains, observing his surroundings. He had some knowledge of geomancy, and his heart told him the terrain here was remarkable.

“The lay of these nearby ridges, the flow of the land, the feng shui is extraordinary. Truly a marvel shaped by heaven and earth, the work of supernatural craftsmanship.”

He moved through the mountain with a long blade in hand, exuding a killing aura potent enough to frighten off any ordinary animal.

This was still the mountain’s outer ring, with few fierce birds or beasts.

“Tonight, the full moon will rise. Where will its light fall most brightly?”

He wandered about, studying the contours and undulations of the land, tracing the winding lines of the valleys.

Then suddenly, his gaze sharpened and he looked toward a particular mountain.

Though not tall, at its peak stood a thatched hut.

The humble dwelling was neither large nor imposing, occupying scarcely thirty feet of ground.

In this remote wilderness, where wild beasts roamed, someone had actually built a hut to live here?

Qingyuan’s face showed his astonishment.

He drew closer, climbing up the mountainside.

The hut was empty.

But outside, weeds did not overrun the area, and through the window, he saw no dust or cobwebs—evidence that it was still inhabited, not abandoned.

“I wonder which recluse or sage might dwell here?”

Daring not to intrude, Qingyuan withdrew.

Yet as he turned away, another spot caught his eye and he brightened.

“High on all sides, shallow in the middle, like a treasure basin. A stream winds nearby, gathering water vapor—and moonlight, too.”

“If the moon stands directly overhead tonight, its light will pool most densely here.”

“If the moon is off-center, then perhaps not.”

Qingyuan had found the place most likely to gather moonlight when the moon was at its zenith.

But the rising moon might not stand at the apex; its position would change, and so too the place where its light would concentrate.

“I must keep searching.”

“Luckily, the weather is clear—nothing to obscure the moon.”

…

Night fell.

No wind, no rain, no clouds.

The sky was scattered with stars, the moon high overhead.

The moonlight was clear and bright, pouring down.

The mountain was no longer shrouded in gloom, but rather suffused with a cool radiance.

The birds and beasts were at rest; only insects sang, and night birds fluttered through the darkness.

From time to time came a long, drawn-out howl—like the cry of a wolf—chilling to the bone.

Yet in the midst of this night, a figure emerged silently from a cave.

It resembled a human in form, but was covered in inky black hair, somewhere between ape and monkey.

On closer inspection, though, there were differences. Despite its black fur, a tuft of white hair stood atop its head, its long ears drooped to its shoulders, and its arms hung so low they nearly touched the ground.

Compared to ordinary apes, its body was almost as tall as a man—a rare, naturally robust aberration among its kind.

Its eyes were pale gold, filled with wariness as it scanned the surroundings.

After a moment, reassured, it returned to the cave and soon re-emerged with a young girl in its grasp.

The child’s features were delicate and lovely, but her face was drawn and wan, her life seemingly hanging by a thread.

The ape-like creature tucked the girl under its left arm and moved forward.

It made its way to where the moonlight was densest.

Unskilled in absorbing the essence of sun and moon, it was nonetheless driven by instinct—a primal urge.

It was agile and swift, bounding over hills and through ravines, the burden of a girl beneath its arm not hindering it in the slightest.

But as it was about to climb the peak, a rustling arose—the sound of something moving quickly through the grass.

The creature halted abruptly, freezing in place.

“I’ve found you.”

A voice spoke from the trees, laced with relief.

From behind a curtain of hanging vines, a pale, luminous hand emerged, almost glowing in the moonlight.

The hand parted the vines.

From the dense undergrowth, a figure stepped forth.

His features were clear and handsome, his frame tall and slender. He wore a pale robe trimmed with blue stripes, a short iron rod slanted at his waist.

Qingyuan pointed his long blade straight ahead and said, “Put her down and I’ll spare your life.”

Before setting out, Qingyuan had carefully sharpened the rust from his blade; now, under the moonlight, it gleamed with a cold, forbidding light.

With the subtle play of his hands, his killing intent slowly spread—an aura of death seeping forth.

To the creature, it was as if a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood loomed before it.

It retreated several steps, fear flickering in its eyes.

Then it released the little girl.

She fell to the ground with a soft cry and lapsed into deep sleep.

Qingyuan saw she was uninjured, only severely exhausted, and breathed a sigh of relief.

But in that instant, the ape-creature let out a piercing howl and leaped forward, covering thirty feet in a single bound.

“So, you’re not cowed by killing intent?”

Qingyuan’s eyes narrowed, but he was prepared. With a flick of his outer robe, he revealed several talismans pressed against his inner garment.

To ordinary eyes, they were nothing.

But to the creature, it was as if the young man had suddenly burst into flames—scorching fire blazing from his body, forcing it back in fear.

Surrounded by fire, the young man remained calm.

Qingyuan regarded the beast with surprise.

His blade was sharp, his aura deadly, like a field of carnage.

To such creatures, the fire talismans were no less fearsome than real flames.

These two things alone should have been enough to subdue any minor spirit or beast not yet awakened to true sorcery.

Yet this ape-beast, though afraid, still itched to attack.

“This mountain specter…”

Qingyuan was quietly astonished.

Those who attain true magical power are called demons.

Those who have not, but possess intelligence or have begun to practice breathing techniques, are called “spirit creatures.”

Though they have some wit, these spirits lack true sorcery and still act largely on instinct.

Legends tell of cunning spirits wandering the mountains, yet at the roar of a tiger or wolf, they shudder with fear and are often devoured by those beasts.

Yet such tigers and wolves, lacking intelligence and magic, are mere wild animals.

Qingyuan had believed his sword and fire talismans, with their auras of blood and flame, would be more intimidating than any tiger or wolf.

But now, he realized he had underestimated the ferocity of this mountain specter.

The wind began to stir, bringing a chill, soon turning cold.

The grass bent low, insects sang in waves.

Moonlight shone bright, visibility was clear.

Far off, a wolf howled—piercing and mournful.

Qingyuan advanced, flicking off his outer robe to reveal a white inner garment adorned front and back with fire talismans.

To a spirit’s eyes, it was as if he was wreathed in flame.

In the wild, firelight can attract distant creatures—but up close, the heat drives them away.

But the mountain specter did not retreat.

It crouched low, long arms resting on the ground, ready to pounce.

The two faced each other in silence, the air tinged with menace.

Little Yu, deep in sleep, furrowed her brows.

She curled into herself, shivering from the cold.