The instant the door swung open, a ferocious wave of sound barreled toward the group like the tolling of colossal gongs, nearly slamming them all to the ground.
It was impossible to pinpoint what the noise actually was—like the warbling static of a radio tuning in and out, mingled with the hollow thunk of wooden fish drums and droning chants: sizzle sizzle, sizzle sizzle, Om Mani Padme Hum, ding-ling, thump thump, Namo Amitabha Buddha, clang clang, sizzle sizzle, sentient beings of this southern continent.
Zhao Meiyou struggled to pry his eyes open amid the raging torrent of sound. He saw Qian Duoduo standing squarely between the two city gates, bearing the brunt of it all yet standing firm as a rock.
In the play of light and shadow, the man dipped his head ever so slightly, like a sculpture carved from flawless jade.
It felt as though an invisible hand had gently but inexorably pressed over his eyelids, plunging him into darkness.
And just like that, he lost consciousness.
…
He was dreaming again.
No—he seldom dreamed. He never dreamed at all.
So what happened in these dreams: were they mere fantasies, or fragments of reality that had once unfolded?
…
“Zhao!” Someone clapped Zhao Meiyou on the shoulder. “What’re you spacing out for? You’ll fall.”
“Huh? Oh.” Zhao Meiyou snapped back to reality and glanced down at his feet. “Shit, how the hell did we end up here?”
“Wasn’t it you who insisted there was something up on this mountain and dragged me out here in the middle of the night?” Liu Qijue stared at him in bewilderment. “How many all-nighters have you pulled in the lab? Careful, or you’ll burn your brain out.”
Right—he had said that. Zhao Meiyou slapped his forehead.
The Metropolis had stood for fifty years now, and the government was using it as a hub to systematically probe outward. Their expedition team was from the elite faction, saddled with immense pressure from above—they had to produce results on this run. Easier said than done, though. Probing pre-war civilization ruins was no picnic. Rumor had it the last team had unearthed dinosaur fossils and still come up empty on any trace of human civilization.
When it came to human grandeur, stones were what endured the longest.
“Team leader sneaking off at night is a major violation.” Liu Qijue squinted toward their distant campsite. Their well-equipped team had the lights blazing, giving it the faint vibe of a little town.
“You ever think about what happens if someone spots us?”
“What’s there to do about it? We’ve been out in the field for two years already. If we don’t make progress soon, those government suits back home will skin me alive.” Zhao Meiyou waved it off. “Quit yapping and let’s hit the mountain. I’ve got two packs of Marlboros stashed—yours if we head back.”
His expedition team had been roughing it in the southern hemisphere for over two years. At first, everyone was gung-ho, but with nothing but barren wasteland in every direction, it was hardly an environment to foster diligent work. It was like tossing archaeologists into an aquarium—even the most rigorous ones would end up swaying with the seaweed.
That all changed about half a month ago. They’d motored near this range of peaks, and Zhao Meiyou had holed up in the lab for days on end, poring over specimen data from the surveyors. He’d scrapped the next scheduled site on the spot and, in the dead of night, hauled Liu Qijue—who’d been on shift with him—up the mountain himself.
“The team already concluded yesterday: nothing on this mountain.” Both men were decked out in survey suits, grumbling like monks toiling up the slope with water buckets on their shoulders. “Or do you think that parachuted guy in the crew is shady…”
“Shady’s everywhere in this team—not like he’s the only one.” Zhao Meiyou adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. “What bugs me most is how the surveyors don’t like getting their hands dirty anymore. One machine scan and they call it done. Bound to miss stuff.”
“You’re seriously pitting manpower against machines, Zhao?”
“You bet.” Zhao Meiyou grinned. “Dig up your ancestors’ graves without getting your hands in the dirt? They’d rise from it pissed.”
“What you dig up might not even be your ancestors.” Liu Qijue snorted. “Could be an artificial human.”
“The Metropolis bans have been around for decades—artificial humans and space tech off-limits on the surface. Space tech aside, the upper echelons might still tinker with artificial humans on the sly.” Zhao Meiyou shrugged. “But you’d better pray we don’t dig any up. Lowly types like us? We’d end up as cannon fodder.”
“Ah, no—scratch that.” Zhao Meiyou’s face lit up as something occurred to him. He chuckled. “Cannon fodder’d be me. You’ve got your little side piece. So, how’s that going? Sealed the deal? He runs, you chase, not even wings could make him fly?”
“Can’t you hit the black market for something useful for once, Zhao? What’s the point of reading romance novels from centuries ago?”
“What’s wrong with romance novels? They’re a killer tool for bonding at work.” Zhao Meiyou puffed up indignantly. “Everyone on the team except you has come to me for copies of my files.”
Liu Qijue aimed a kick at him. “Damn it, the survey progress is tanking because of you!”
Zhao Meiyou and Liu Qijue tussled like this all the time. He should’ve dodged with ease, but it was pitch-black out. He misjudged and tumbled right off the slope.
“Shit?!” Liu Qijue’s voice echoed from above. “Zhao, you okay?”
“I’m good!” Zhao Meiyou brushed the dirt off himself. “Drop the traction line and haul me—” His words cut off abruptly.
A floating lamp drifted down from above. Its casing was a screen displaying Liu Qijue’s avatar. “What’s up?”
“Looks like there’s a mountain path down here.” Zhao Meiyou scanned his surroundings. “Here’s the plan: you keep going straight up the vertical route. I’ll circle around this way, and we’ll link up at the summit.”
“You sure you’re fine?” Liu Qijue sounded skeptical. “You’re not planning to ditch me here and sneak back for shut-eye, are you, Zhao?”
“Shut-eye? No one’s waiting in my bunk anyway—just staring contests with Diao Chan. His lab reeks like a coffee bomb. Get moving already.”
Liu Qijue cursed on the screen, then the call dropped. He must’ve headed up.
The route Zhao Meiyou took wasn’t much of a path—just a treacherous landslide gouged by ancient water flow. He had to scramble up on all fours, the floating lamp probing ahead to light the way.
The night was heavy with dew, the local ecosystem far from recovered. No insect chirps broke the silence. Zhao Meiyou finally crested an excruciatingly steep stretch and keyed in his channel password to the lamp. He pulled up the stored files. “Read me a story.”
The screen loaded, and a synthetic voice began: “…The moonlight flooded the window. As he tossed and turned, all sounds had faded into silence. Then came a rumbling wind, and the mountain gate creaked open…”
Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio: Mountain Elf.
Deep into the night, Zhao Meiyou trekked alone through the desolate mountains, the mechanical voice weaving eerie, haunting tales: the ghost who skinned her victims, the mountain god’s sacrifice, the flower sedan at the crossroads, the landlord’s new concubine drowned in the well—the fox-faced youth who brewed wine from that well water, forever hearing a woman’s song after getting drunk.
Zhao Meiyou was listening raptly when the synthetic voice broke into song itself. The notes came in fragments, like a bad signal. He couldn’t make out the words. He tapped the lamp, but the screen went black.
What the hell? Broken?
He hefted the lamp and wandered in search of a signal, unsure where he’d ended up, when the faint, intermittent singing resumed from within.
One more step forward, and it vanished.
Zhao Meiyou tested the area and realized the song acted like a guide—audible only along one specific direction. The path was brutally steep. It took all his effort to claw his way up. His foot landed on a bluestone slab with a sharp click.
The mud and scree were gone. He’d found a real mountain road—one bearing the marks of human craftsmanship.
He seemed to be at mid-slope. The steps were crumbling, stretching off into the unknown. The song from the floating lamp steadied. He still couldn’t catch the lyrics, but the melody sharpened into clarity. Zhao Meiyou paused there, certain he’d never heard it before.
There was definitely something on this mountain.
The smart move would’ve been to backtrack, rally the full team with proper prep, and explore properly. But he couldn’t be sure what lay at the road’s end. The expedition was riddled with government plants from all sides— one wrong move could unravel everything. If he got a head start on whatever was up there, he’d be better positioned to handle it.
Besides, Liu Qijue was still climbing. If they converged on the same path, they’d at least have each other’s backs.
Zhao Meiyou weighed the risks and rewards in a heartbeat, then plunged ahead down the path with the highest stakes—and the biggest payoff.
A miasma hung in the mountain air, laced perhaps with some unknown magnetic interference that made the floating lamp glitch out. Zhao Meiyou unpacked his portable analyzer and ran a scan on the vapors. The results blindsided him.
Sandalwood.
The stuff was virtually extinct in the Metropolis. He’d heard whispers of it in the Lower District: a rare wood turned into incense, its finest essential oil dubbed “liquid gold.” Even on the black market at layer 330, it was next to impossible to score.
A natural sandalwood grove up here? Zhao Meiyou thought, Holy shit—if word got out, the government might wipe his entire team to corner the market.
But he overlooked something. Sandalwood had many uses beyond health tonics.
For instance—worshipping Buddha.
After what felt like ages of trekking, Zhao Meiyou spotted a lake nestled deep in the forest.
The music was rising from its waters.
He’d been climbing half the night; dawn was nearing, the woods dim and shadowy. Zhao Meiyou circled the lakeshore, pondering, then toggled his survey suit to dive mode and slipped beneath the surface.
