It started when a bloody rain was about to fall.

"Existence? Pulsation? 500 meters underground?"

Upon hearing what Shi Linglong said, Qin Lan felt a chill run down her spine.

The chill came without warning, yet it felt incredibly real—like a warm campsite suddenly seeping into the earth's core with its coldness.

It was as if something unseen was peering upwards through the thick layers of rock beneath our feet.

Qin Lan subconsciously stomped her foot, trying to dispel the absurd feeling of being spied on.

Meanwhile, no one in the tent who had been whispering uttered a word.

They sat frozen in place, their gazes unconsciously drifting to the ordinary canvas floor beneath their feet—

It seemed as if there really was something down there, pulsating quietly, anciently, and indescribably.

Fang Dawei clenched the label book in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

He was a rough man who never believed in superstitions, but at this moment he suddenly remembered a saying from his hometown: "Don't speculate about things underground."

He Shusheng moved the chair back half an inch, the chair legs scraping against the ground with a slight sound that seemed particularly jarring in the silence.

He wondered, "What is this 'existence' the stonemason was talking about?"

Zheng Mingyi's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, as if he wanted to say something, but then swallowed it back.

He had seen unusual data before earthquakes and signs before landslides, but those could all be explained.

This is inexplicable.

Luo Xiaoman hugged her arms, feeling a chill all over her body.

He was only nineteen years old and had been with the team for less than a year. He thought that geological exploration and research was just about dealing with rocks, and never imagined that one day he would hear the words "the earth is speaking".

Sun Mingyuan quietly took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with the corner of his clothes, and then put them back on.

This action was meaningless; he just needed to do something to dispel the inexplicable unease in his heart.

Zhao Changhe silently lit a cigarette, took a puff, and the smoke slowly dissipated in the tent.

He had seen too many things, but at this moment his mind was completely blank—that was the instinctive self-protection of a person when faced with something truly incomprehensible.

Zhou Guoliang crossed his arms over his chest, his gray eyebrows furrowed.

He recalled an incident from his youth in the Qilian Mountains, where the data didn't match up and everyone said something was wrong. Later... later, most of that valley collapsed.

He had never told anyone about it, but he suddenly remembered it today.

Liu Demao, a driver who had a similar experience, leaned against the tent frame, picked up the cigarette he had just dropped, put it in his mouth, and suddenly touched the scar on his face—several years ago, late at night, at a bend in the ridge of Mount Tai, a white shadow made him slam on the brakes. At the time, he thought it was a hallucination, but now, thinking about it, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

Outside the tent, everyone stopped moving.

Wu Dayong and Song Shuwen, who were next to the seismograph, stopped recording and stood there as if they were nailed to the spot.

Wu Dayong, who usually dared to say anything, kept his mouth tightly shut at this moment.

He suddenly realized that the joke about "mountain spirits" wasn't funny at all.

Ma Xiaochuan and Ge Hongjun, who were about to move the equipment, stood still.

Ma Xiaochuan's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but Ge Hongjun glared at him, and he swallowed his words.

The two of them stood there, shoulder to shoulder, like two saplings bent by the mountain wind.

Ding Hai's palms were sweaty as he held the soil-collecting drill, and wet fingerprints were imprinted on the metal drill rod.

He recalled that when he went to get the drill rod earlier, he passed by a patch of exposed rock. The rocks lay quietly on the ground, just like usual.

But he just felt that those stones were watching him today.

A mountain breeze blew by, ruffling the hems of their clothes, but no one spoke.

The mountain shadows outside the tent remained silent, and the pine trees continued to rustle.

Everything is as usual; nothing has changed.

But that chill lingered for a long time.

After a while, Qin Lan dispelled the unknown chill that had been creeping into her heart, and then she raised her eyes and looked at Shi Linglong again.

Backlit, Shi Linglong's face was half-hidden in shadow, revealing only a section of her chin and slightly pursed lips.

Those lips, though in the shadows, seemed to radiate a faint glow—like the understated brilliance of a luminous pearl, not dazzling, yet impossible to ignore.

Qin Lan suddenly recalled the shock she felt when she first met Shi Linglong.

That was four years ago.

She had just been assigned to this exploration team and was entering the camp for the first time.

The first thing I saw was the figure squatting next to the rock core sample.

She remembers being stunned at the time.

My mind went blank, leaving only one absurd thought:

How could someone like that be here?

She has seen too many beauties.

The campus beauties of college, the stars on TV, the models on magazine covers—their beauty can be traced and categorized to some extent.

It can be analyzed, compared, and judged.

But Shi Linglong's beauty cannot be categorized.

That wasn't about the refinement of facial features—though it was indeed exquisitely refined.

That wasn't the whiteness of the skin—though it was indeed so white it was almost translucent.

That wasn't a slender figure—though it was certainly slender to the point of being perfect.

Rather, it's a kind of temperament—something that emanates from the very core of one's being, something that makes people afraid to look directly at it.

Just like when facing a glacier that has stood for hundreds of millions of years—your first reaction is not to marvel at its beauty, but to feel your own insignificance.

Just as Qin Lan was marveling at the beauty of the stone, at that moment, the "glacier" turned its head slightly, revealing a pair of eyes.

The eyes behind the lenses appeared even brighter in the shadows.

It was as if two cold stars had fallen into a deep pool, their light softened by the ripples, yet becoming all the more profound and distant.

"The same dream... keeps recurring."

Shi Linglong looked out of the tent while muttering to herself.

The afternoon sun shines on the hillside, casting dappled shadows among the pine trees.

Everything was peaceful and as usual, and everything was operating according to the same rhythm that had remained unchanged for billions of years.

But in her eyes, it seemed as if another world was reflected—

"The earth cracked open, the wounds bottomless. Thick, crimson rain fell from the sky. And... from the deepest part of the fissures surged 'shadows' that could not be described in any known form."

Then Shi Linglong paused slightly in her speech.

"In my dreams, there is always a voice. It is as ancient as newly formed rocks, yet as hungry as if it wants to devour time itself."

Not far away, Qin Lan, after hearing Shi Linglong's words, had just dispelled the unknown chill that had come from before and was now immersed in Shi Linglong's beauty, but she couldn't help but feel that chill return.

This time it seemed even stronger, almost freezing her completely.

She subconsciously took a few steps forward, getting closer to Shi Linglong.

It wasn't to hear her words clearly—which she heard perfectly well—but rather an instinctive urge to get closer to that tranquil core.

It was as if simply standing beside Shi Linglong would ward off the unknown fears from some more powerful being.

As she got closer, she could smell Shi Linglong's scent.

It wasn't perfume, it wasn't cosmetics—she had never seen Shi Linglong use any of those things at the camp—

It's a very faint, almost imperceptible scent, like the smell of bluestone after rain. It's a mixture of fine dust from rock cores and the austere aroma of pine forests.

That aura—

It makes people feel at ease.

Yet, this only makes her seem more unattainable.

And so, the tent fell into a long silence once again, as if time had been paused at that moment.

Meanwhile, the mountain wind continued to pour down from the summit, sweeping over millions of pine needles and seeping into every crevice of the camp, emitting a low, long wail.

The sobbing echoed between the two of them, lingering for a long time.

It was as if the ancient mountain spirit had finally awakened fully from its slumber.

He bent down, listening quietly to the conversation between these two mortals who dared to decipher its secrets.

And amidst this sobbing—

The two women stood facing each other in silence.

One is as brilliant and vibrant as summer flowers.

She is as pure and aloof as a snow lotus, standing apart from the world.

Together they form the final and most breathtaking scene in this picture.