Night had fallen once again over Jing'an City.
After returning to his apartment, Li Tianyuan found it impossible to calm his racing thoughts. The news kept repeating phrases like "atmospheric anomaly" and "optical refraction," but the certainty in Taoist Fuyuan's words made it impossible for him to dismiss the "dragon shadow" as mere hallucination.
He tossed and turned, unable to sleep past midnight. On a sudden impulse, he opened the small iron box tucked beneath his bedside cabinet—a relic left by his grandfather. His parents had always insisted it contained only old photographs and yellowed ledgers, but tonight, Li Tianyuan felt an irresistible urge to examine it.
The box lock had long since rusted; he struggled for several minutes before prying it open. A cloud of dust burst forth, carrying the musty scent of decades gone by. Inside lay faded photographs, a few discolored badges, and a manuscript wrapped in worn brown paper.
On the cover, slanted handwriting spelled out:
"Observations of Mount Zijin."
Li Tianyuan froze.
He remembered Fuyuan's mention of a "seal," and here was a manuscript with the unmistakable date 1927—almost a century old. It seemed like a deliberate mark, a signal from the past.
Turning the first page, he could barely make out the words, yet a few lines were legible:
[1927 · Nanjing]"On Mount Zijin, a dragon's roar resounded at night. The mountain trembled, and celestial patterns went awry. We were ordered to observe, yet saw black mists surging; the sealing formation wavered, on the verge of collapse.""Senior Brother Fuyuan said: this is an ill omen. It shall appear again in a hundred years."
Li Tianyuan's breath caught in his throat, palms sweating.
Fuyuan…?
The name appeared here, in a manuscript written nearly a hundred years ago!
He flipped through page after page, growing increasingly unsettled:
"A call for help came from the capital region, reporting a water monster causing havoc in the rivers—likely linked to the disturbance of spiritual energy.""The central authorities forbade disclosure, ordering us to keep it secret, labeling it as 'natural phenomena.'""We vowed, using blood as our guide, to establish another seal beneath Mount Zijin. The Hundred-Year Pact was set."
At the manuscript's end, only a single, scrawled annotation remained:
"Should the Hundred-Year Pact break, our descendants must guard it."
Li Tianyuan stared at those words, his mind ringing with questions.
His grandfather had always seemed an ordinary worker. How could he have been involved in such affairs? Could it be that his ancestors had truly participated in the sealing of spiritual forces?
His fingers lingered over the words "Mount Zijin," and a strange pull rose within him, as if something unseen was drawing him toward the mountain.
At that moment, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number:
"Mount Zijin will give you the answer."
Li Tianyuan's pupils constricted. He looked up sharply, and through the apartment window, a faint purple light flickered in the night sky—gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
He stared at the message, head buzzing. No contact name, no origin, just eight cryptic characters, yet it felt like an invisible hand pushing him toward an unknown abyss. He tried calling the number back, but it came up as "disconnected." When he checked the message again, it had vanished; his phone screen was pristine, as if it had never existed.
"…A hallucination?" he murmured.
But his heartbeat raced uncontrollably. The words "Mount Zijin" on the manuscript and the phone seemed to echo each other, leaving him with no escape.
The next morning, Li Tianyuan took a leave of absence and boarded a train bound for Nanjing, carrying only a simple backpack.
Outside, the autumn wind swept across endless rice fields. Inside the carriage, passengers chatted and laughed, but Li Tianyuan felt weighed down by a stone pressing against his chest. His mind replayed the words from his grandfather's manuscript:
"A dragon's roar at night; the mountain trembles.""The Hundred-Year Pact.""Our descendants must guard it."
He gripped the brown-paper manuscript tightly, a chill creeping into his fingertips.
By evening, the train slowly pulled into Nanjing Station.
The sky was heavy with clouds, and in the distance, Mount Zijin lay like a sleeping beast, quietly dominating the eastern horizon. A faint trace of purple light shimmered along the mountainside. Li Tianyuan shivered.
As he prepared to disembark, a sudden chill ran down his spine. Through the carriage window, he noticed two figures standing on the platform—one tall, one short—both dressed in black coats, hats pulled low, silently watching him.
His pulse quickened. He instinctively shoved the manuscript into his jacket.
After exiting the station, he quickened his pace, but the two shadows seemed to follow.
He turned into a narrow alley, and their footsteps echoed with his. His heart pounded as he glanced back—only to see the alley empty.
He exhaled slowly, about to turn, when a deep voice cut through the silence:
"You… have brought the manuscript, haven't you?"
Li Tianyuan's hair stood on end.
The voice came from deeper in the alley, a man slowly approaching, his face hidden in shadow. Li Tianyuan instinctively stepped back, opening his mouth to deny it, but the man raised his hand.
From his palm, a strange purple light flared, crackling like electricity.
"The Hundred-Year Pact is collapsing. You shouldn't interfere. Hand it over," the man said, his voice hard as steel.
Li Tianyuan froze, mind blank. Before he could react, a sharp shout rang from behind:
"Stop!"
A talisman shot through the air, striking the purple-lit hand. Flames erupted, filling the air with the scent of burnt paper.
Li Tianyuan spun around to see Taoist Fuyuan standing at the street corner, white hair flowing, sleeves billowing, eyes cold as blades.
"Senior… Senior Fuyuan!" Li Tianyuan blurted.
The shadowy man glared at Fuyuan, his face darkening.
"A remnant of Maoshan… it seems a century-old debt must be settled tonight."
Before Li Tianyuan could respond, the man's body blurred into a streak of purple light and vanished into the night.
Fuyuan approached slowly, placing a hand on Li Tianyuan's shoulder.
"You've already been marked. The journey to Mount Zijin isn't merely to seek answers… it's the beginning of the calamity.