Beneath Mount Zijin, night pressed heavily upon the forested slopes. The darkness was thick, almost tangible, swallowing every trace of sound except the rustling of the wind and the occasional creak of old branches swaying under its weight.
A cold, biting wind swept through the trees, carrying with it a faint metallic tang that made Li Tianyuan's skin crawl. Shadows danced across the undergrowth, forming shapes that seemed like countless pairs of eyes watching from the darkness. Each movement of the foliage felt deliberate, as if the forest itself were alive, scrutinizing their every step.
Li Tianyuan stayed close behind Taoist Fuyuan, clutching the old, worn manuscript in his hand. His heart pounded like a drum inside his chest. Since being intercepted by the mysterious strangers the night before, he had understood one simple truth: there was no going back to his life as an ordinary young man. That reality had been shattered, replaced by this grim path that now stretched before him.
"Senior… where exactly are we going?" he whispered, careful not to raise his voice. His words trembled slightly, betraying his unease.
Fuyuan did not turn back. His steps were steady, deliberate, and unyielding. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and resonant, carrying the solemn weight of a distant bell:
"There is an altar deep within Mount Zijin, long forgotten by the world. A century ago, the great array was established upon it. It is the very heart of the seal that restrains spiritual energy. All that you have seen—the dragon shadows, the strange anomalies—are signs that the array is weakening."
"An altar… it really exists?" Li Tianyuan's voice was barely audible.
"Yes," Fuyuan said, pausing to glance toward the mountain's peak. "It has always been hidden within the shadows. Only those with the proper fate—or those chosen by destiny—may see it."
As they walked deeper into the forest, the moonlight gradually disappeared beneath the dense canopy. The path became uneven and treacherous. Insects fell silent; the forest grew unnervingly still, almost as if the earth itself held its breath. Every snap of a twig underfoot sounded like a gunshot in the thick darkness.
Suddenly, Li Tianyuan heard a low, whimpering sound near his ear—part infant's cry, part the mournful call of an owl. His stomach twisted, and a chill ran down his spine.
He instinctively gripped his backpack strap, throat dry. "Senior… did you hear that?"
Fuyuan's footsteps slowed, then halted. With a flick of his sleeve, a talisman shot out and affixed itself to a nearby tree trunk.
Immediately, the eerie wind ceased, and the cries faded into nothingness. The forest seemed to exhale, returning to an unnatural silence.
"Restless spirits," Fuyuan murmured. "Souls suppressed by the great array over the past century are beginning to escape. They wander, confused and enraged. If not restrained, they will become dangerous—hostile to the living."
A chill ran down Li Tianyuan's spine. If such strangeness awaited at the forest's edge, what horrors might lie further within the mountain? He swallowed hard, forcing himself to step forward.
Halfway up the slope, the path suddenly ended at a sheer cliff. Below, a black mist churned violently, concealing the depths from view. The sound of the wind whistled through the crevices, making the chasm seem alive, hungry.
Fuyuan raised his hand, fingers tracing intricate seals in the air. A pale green light sprang from his palm, swirling into a complex sigil that solidified into a glowing bridge spanning the chasm.
"Step forward," he said, voice calm but commanding, leading the way.
Li Tianyuan stared at the faintly shimmering bridge, stomach lurching, legs trembling. The structure seemed almost insubstantial, as though it might vanish if he stepped too heavily. Yet, looking at Fuyuan's unwavering figure, he clenched his teeth, inhaled deeply, and forced himself forward. Though the bridge appeared ghostly, it held firm under his weight, unyielding.
On the other side lay a wide, open valley. Silence enveloped the space, broken only by the jagged remnants of stone pillars, etched with faded runes, weathered by centuries of wind and rain. The air was thick, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Li Tianyuan's eyes widened in disbelief:
This is exactly the altar described in the manuscript!
"The altar…" he whispered.
Fuyuan stepped to the center, hands clasped behind his back, expression somber. "A century ago, Lord Jiang summoned the sages of Taoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism here. With the nation's fate as the stabilizer, a great array sealed the spirits. Since then, gods and demons have not manifested, and spiritual energy has dwindled."
Li Tianyuan's heart clenched. "So this… this is the witness to the Hundred-Year Pact?"
Fuyuan closed his eyes, speaking softly. "Yes. But what you see now is only a shadow of what once was. The array has cracked; the seal is about to collapse."
Before his words could fully sink in, the stone pillars trembled, the residual glow of their runes flaring violently, as if an invisible force surged up from beneath the ground.
Li Tianyuan felt a suffocating pressure on his chest, a ringing in his ears, as if some immense power were trying to tear him apart. He staggered, nearly losing his balance.
"Step back!" Fuyuan shouted, sleeves billowing. A protective talisman affixed itself to Li Tianyuan's chest, and the oppressive force gradually subsided.
Li Tianyuan stumbled backward, face pale as chalk. He looked up to see Fuyuan, unusually grave, eyes glinting with a rare hint of fear.
"…This is not good."
"W-what's wrong?" Li Tianyuan asked shakily.
Fuyuan raised a hand, pointing toward the center of the altar.
The mist between the pillars swirled violently, coalescing into a shadowy figure. Faceless, eyeless, yet radiating a cold, murderous intent, it resembled an ancient evil awakened after a century of slumber.
Li Tianyuan's pupils constricted; his blood felt frozen in his veins.
The shadow began to speak, voice hoarse, hollow, yet chilling:
"The Hundred-Year Pact… will finally be broken."