I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated, and dampness clung to Li Bai's eyelashes, blurring his vision. He sat up, rubbing his temples—last night's dream was still vivid: the eerie patterns on the bronze masks, the empty gaze of those enormous eyes, and a low, seemingly underground chanting sound. It wasn't an ordinary dream. He was certain.

The light in the valley was still dim, with only a sliver of sky overhead showing a pale, fish-belly white glow. Li Bai stood up and walked to the center of the valley. The rocks here were dark gray, with traces of water erosion on their surfaces, but in some areas the textures were unusually neat, as if… they had been artificially polished? He squatted down and touched the textures with his fingers. The touch was icy cold, and a subtle vibration came from his fingertips, as if the stone itself was breathing.

He took out the wooden plaque the old Taoist had given him and compared it to the patterns on the rocks. Although they weren't exactly the same, a certain rhythm, a certain structural similarity, made his heart race. The carvings on the wooden plaque were deeper and more delicate, while the textures on these rocks were rougher, as if the edges had been smoothed out by time.

"It's not a coincidence," Li Bai said softly.

He put away the wooden sign and shouldered his pack. The pack was much lighter now—he only had three days' worth of dry rations left, and his water bag was almost empty. It was time to go down the mountain to replenish his supplies before heading to the main ridge of Mount Shu.

When he emerged from the valley, it was already broad daylight. Sunlight slanted down from the eastern mountain ridge, bathing the entire forest in gold. Birdsong rose and fell, clear and cheerful. Li Bai walked back along the path he had come from, his steps more steady than before. In his mind, fragments of dreams and geological observations were slowly piecing together.

***

Mount Emei has more temples than Mount Qingcheng, and it's also more bustling.

Li Bai spent three days traveling uphill, starting from Baoguo Temple at the foot of the mountain and visiting Fuhu Temple, Qingyin Pavilion, Wannian Temple, and Xixiang Pond, all the way to Huazang Temple at the Golden Summit. At each place, he respectfully inquired of the monks or Taoist priests, asking the same question: "Master, do you know of any sword immortal lineages in Shu? Or any ancient lands with surviving legacy?"

The answers received were largely the same.

The old monk at Baoguo Temple, fingering his prayer beads, didn't even lift his eyelids: "Layman, Buddhism teaches to let go of attachments and realize one's true nature. What you're saying are heretical thoughts."

The middle-aged monk at Fuhu Temple was more polite, but he still shook his head: "I've only heard about sword immortals in storybooks. If you wish to learn martial arts to improve your health, there are martial arts schools at the foot of the mountain."

The Taoist priest at Qingyin Pavilion was meditating. Upon hearing the question, he opened his eyes, looked at Li Bai for a moment, and then said calmly, "The Tao follows nature and governs through non-action. You, sir, have attachments in your heart and have strayed far from the Tao."

The abbot of Wannian Temple added a few more words: "When I was young, I heard some strange things from the old hunters in the mountains—they said that in the deep forests, sometimes strange lights could be seen and strange sounds could be heard. But most of those who went in never returned. Layman, take my advice: there are some places that are best avoided."

The Taoist nun at the Elephant Washing Pool was washing vegetables by the pool when she heard the words "Sword Immortal." She chuckled and said, "Young man, you're quite handsome, so why do you keep thinking about such unrealistic things? Come, come, help me wash this basket of vegetables, and I'll tell you about the 'Qingjing Jing' (Classic of Purity and Tranquility)."

The Golden Summit Huazang Temple, at its highest altitude, is also the most popular place of worship. Li Bai stood before the hall, watching the sea of ​​clouds surge below him, sunlight filtering through the clouds and casting iridescent halos onto the glazed tiles of the temple. The wind was strong, making his robes flutter loudly. An old monk emerged from the hall and stood beside him.

"What are you looking at, layman?" the old monk asked in a very peaceful voice.

"I'm watching the clouds," Li Bai said, "and I'm also watching the mountains."

The old monk nodded: "Clouds are the breath of mountains, and mountains are the roots of clouds. You've come down from the mountain, wanting to go back into it. Do you know what a mountain is?"

Li Bai thought for a moment and said, "Mountains are the product of crustal movement, the accumulation of rocks, and the recorders of time."

The old monk paused for a moment, then smiled: "Your words are certainly different from others." He paused again, then said, "However, you are right. Mountains are recorders of time. Some mountains have recorded much longer than we imagine. Some secrets are hidden in the oldest rocks."

Li Bai's heart skipped a beat: "Master means..."

The old monk shook his head: "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just reminding you that mountains have their own temperament, and water has its own nature. What you're looking for might not be in temples or monasteries, but in places where there aren't even roads."

He turned to leave, then stopped, glancing back at Li Bai: "The sword at your waist, sir, carries too much killing intent. If you truly intend to go to those places, remember... to be in awe."

After saying this, the old monk went into the main hall, leaving Li Bai alone standing atop the sea of ​​clouds.

***

On the fourth day, Li Bai stopped visiting temples and Taoist monasteries.

He began to consciously apply his geological knowledge from his previous life to observe the terrain and rock formations of Mount Emei. He avoided the routes commonly taken by tourists, choosing instead secluded paths, and sometimes there were no paths at all, so he could only climb over rocks and grab onto vines to move forward.

He noticed that the rocks of Mount Emei were mainly limestone and sandstone, but the rocks in some areas were noticeably different in color—a dark gray with a hint of red, and the texture was also denser. He chipped off a small piece and examined it in his palm. The cross-section of the rock had fine crystals that sparkled in the sunlight.

"It has a high iron content, and there may be other metallic minerals as well," Li Bai muttered to himself.

He continued walking, beginning to record the changes in vegetation at different altitudes. At the foot of the mountain were evergreen broad-leaved forests, gradually transitioning to mixed coniferous and broad-leaved forests as he went up, and further up were coniferous forests dominated by fir and hemlock. However, in certain specific valleys, the distribution of vegetation was abnormal—ferns that should have grown at low altitudes appeared in areas above 2,000 meters; while some sun-loving shrubs grew in shady mountain hollows.

"The microclimate is abnormal," Li Bai judged. "The geothermal activity in these areas may be more active, or... there may be other energy sources."

On the afternoon of the fifth day, he arrived at a secluded valley in the back mountains of Emei.

The entrance to the valley was well-hidden, hidden by a dense forest of arrow bamboo. Li Bai cut a path with his short sword and slipped inside. As soon as he entered the valley, he sensed something different—the air was exceptionally fresh, carrying an indescribable sweetness. Breathing it in invigorated him. His fatigue vanished, and even the aches and pains from days of travel lessened considerably.

He looked around. The valley was small, oval-shaped, about two hundred meters long and fifty meters wide. It was surrounded by steep cliffs, with traces of flowing water on the walls, but now there was no water. The valley floor was flat, covered with moss and a low-growing plant with silvery-white leaves.

Li Bai walked to the rock face and observed it carefully. The rock formations here were very distinct—layers of different colors alternated, some horizontal, some tilted, and some even twisted into spirals. He reached out and touched the rock face. It felt warm to the touch, unlike the coldness of ordinary rocks. Moreover, he could feel a subtle, rhythmic vibration at his fingertips, like… a heartbeat.

He crouched down to examine the soil at the bottom of the valley. The soil was dark red and loose in texture; a handful gave off a faint metallic smell. He brushed aside the surface moss and found some small, black particles beneath the soil, resembling fragments of some kind of mineral.

"Magnetite?" Li Bai picked up a few grains and placed them in his palm. The grains were very light and gleamed with a metallic luster in the sunlight.

He stood up and walked to the center of the valley. There was a large, flat rock there, its surface smooth, as if it had been sat on countless times. He sat down on the rock, closed his eyes, and sensed his surroundings.

The wind was gentle, like silk brushing against his face. The sweetness in the air was stronger, mixed with a woody scent similar to sandalwood. A subtle vibration traveled up from the stone, through his spine, and to the top of his head. He felt an unprecedented tranquility, as if all his anxiety and obsessions had vanished in that moment.

But when he opened his eyes and looked around, he found no trace of man-made remains—no buildings, no stone carvings, no altars, nothing at all. It was just like an ordinary valley, albeit one that was somewhat unusual.

As dusk fell, Li Bai decided to spend the night there. He found a sheltered rocky hollow, spread out his belongings, and started a small fire. The firelight illuminated the rock walls, casting eerie shadows on the twisted rock strata, like distorted faces.

He ate some dry rations, drank some water, and then sat down against the rock wall. Exhaustion washed over him, but his mind was unusually clear. He took out the wooden plaque and examined it closely by the firelight. The patterns on the plaque seemed to come alive in the firelight; the lines flowed, swirled, and rearranged…

He fell asleep after some time had passed.

***

The dream came suddenly and was very clear.

He stood in a vast, circular plaza. The plaza was paved with dark blue-green flagstones, engraved with intricate geometric patterns—concentric circles, spirals, triangles, and… eyes. Countless enormous eyes were carved into the flagstones, into the surrounding pillars, and into the dome of the ceiling. All those eyes were staring at him, empty and profound, as if they could see right through him.

In the center of the square stood a row of bronze statues. The statues were very tall, at least three meters high, dressed in strange clothing, wearing tall crowns, and with their hands clasped in front of their chests. Their faces were flat, their eyes bulging, their mouths tightly closed, and their expressions solemn yet eerie. What startled Li Bai most were the statues' eyes—hollowed out—through their sockets, one could see the unfathomable darkness behind them.

A low, chanting sound arose. It wasn't a human voice; it sounded more like... the sound of stones rubbing together, the sound of metal vibrating, and a mixture of wind, water, and thunder. The sound came from all directions, making his chest resonate.

He walked forward, feeling the hard texture beneath his feet. The stone slabs were cold, chillingly so. He reached a bronze statue and looked up at it. The statue's face was blurred in the shadows, only its hollowed-out eyes glowed with an eerie green light from some unseen source.

He reached out, wanting to touch the statue.

Just as the fingertips were about to touch the bronze surface, two flames suddenly ignited in the statue's eyes—golden flames, burning fiercely, yet without heat. Within the flames, images emerged: a colossal bronze tree, its branches adorned with bells; a golden mask, its patterns resembling lightning; a sun disc, its edges edged with serrated spikes; and… a gigantic, upright eye, its pupil containing swirling nebulae.

The chanting grew louder and more urgent. The square began to tremble, cracks appeared in the stone slabs, and white mist billowed from the gaps. From the mist emerged more figures—not bronze statues, but real people. They wore linen clothes, their faces painted, and danced around a bonfire, holding strange musical instruments. Their movements were slow and solemn, as if they were performing some kind of ritual.

Li Bai wanted to get closer and see their faces clearly.

But the fog suddenly thickened, engulfing everything. He could see nothing but the chanting and... his own heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each sound felt like a blow to the soul.

***

Li Bai suddenly opened his eyes.

Before dawn, the fire had died down, leaving only ashes and a few dark red embers. The valley was pitch black, with only a sliver of sky overhead revealing a few scattered stars. The wind had stopped, and all was silent, so quiet you could hear your own breathing.

He sat up, covered in cold sweat.

Every detail of the dream was terrifyingly clear—the bronze statues, the enormous eyes, the eerie rituals, and finally, the wisp of mist. He raised his hand, looking at his fingertips. In the dream, he had almost touched the bronze statue.

"Sanxingdui..." he uttered the three words in a low voice.

In his past life, he had visited the Sanxingdui Museum. Those bronze masks, those golden scepters, those sun wheels, and that famous "protruding-eyed mask"—its eyes bulging out like pillars. The scene in his dream just now bore too many similarities to the artifacts unearthed at Sanxingdui.

But it's not exactly the same. The scenes in the dream are grander, more...real. That sense of oppression, that sense of sacredness, that illusion of being in another time and space—you can't experience that in a museum.

He stood up and walked to the center of the valley. The sky was beginning to lighten, the morning light faint. He looked around—could this valley, this valley that made him feel so comfortable and invigorated, be…some kind of entrance? Or at least, a clue?

The patterns on the rocks, the minerals in the soil, the unusual vegetation distribution, the unique microclimate… all of these point to one conclusion: this is not an ordinary valley. Its geological structure is unique, its energy field is unique, and perhaps… its spacetime structure is also unique.

"The land of Shu holds ancient secrets," Li Bai murmured to himself, "and I have already reached the door."

Daylight broke. He packed his bags, took one last look at the valley, and then turned and left.

***

The descent was easier than the ascent. Li Bai walked quickly, but his mind raced. The dream had given him a map, blurry yet clear in its direction—he needed to find the bronze, the eyes, and the origin of the rituals. And that origin was likely deep within the main vein of Mount Shu.

He needs more supplies: dry rations, water, rope, tinder, medicine, and probably a better knife. A short sword is enough for self-defense, but not enough for clearing a path or dealing with wild animals.

Around noon, he returned to the village at the foot of the mountain.

The village was small, with only a few dozen households scattered in the mountain valley. Most of the houses were made of adobe, with thatched or tiled roofs. At the village entrance stood a large banyan tree, under which several elderly people sat, basking in the sun. Several children chased and played in the open space, their laughter ringing out.

Li Bai entered the only general store in the village. The store was small, with some salt, sugar, cloth, farm tools, and a few jars of wine on the shelves. The shopkeeper was an old man in his fifties, who was sitting behind the counter dozing off.

"Shopkeeper, I'd like to buy some things," Li Bai said.

The old man opened his eyes, looked him up and down, and asked, "Sir, you've come from the mountain?"

"Um."

"What do you want to buy?"

Li Bai made a list: twenty catties of fried rice, five catties of dried meat, two jars of wine, a bag of salt, a bundle of rope, ten fire twigs, as well as wound medicine and deworming medicine.

As the old man picked up his things, he asked, "Are you heading deep into the mountains, sir?"

"possible."

The old man shook his head: "Take my advice, don't go. The mountains... aren't safe."

Li Bai paid the money and packed the items into his bag, asking, "Why is things not peaceful here?"

The old man lowered his voice: "Sometimes at night, strange noises come out, like thunder, but not quite. There's also a light, a greenish light, floating in the valley. My grandfather's generation said that it was the will-o'-the-wisp of a mountain spirit, capable of stealing people's souls. A few years ago, some young herb gatherers didn't believe in such things and went in, and the result... only one of them came back insane, muttering 'eyes, so many eyes,' and died a few days later."

Li Bai's heart skipped a beat: "Eyes?"

"Yes, eyes." The old man handed him the last item. "Sir, if you really want to go, be very careful. If you see a green light or hear strange noises, run immediately and don't look back."

Li Bai nodded: "Thank you for the reminder."

He shouldered his bag and walked out of the general store. The sun was shining brightly, warming him. Under the big banyan tree at the village entrance, several old people were still sunbathing, while a middle-aged man dressed as a woodcutter sat beside them, sharpening his axe and listening to the old people chat.

Li Bai walked over and sat down next to the woodcutter.

The woodcutter glanced at him, said nothing, and continued sharpening his axe. The axe blade made a rhythmic swishing sound on the whetstone, which was particularly clear in the afternoon silence.

"Brother," Li Bai began, "I've heard there are strange things happening in the deep mountains?"

The woodcutter stopped what he was doing and looked up. He was in his forties, with dark skin, weathered features, and sharp eyes, like an eagle in the mountains.

"Why are you asking about this, sir?" the woodcutter asked in a hoarse voice.

"I want to go into the mountains to learn more about the situation."

The woodcutter stared at him for a long time, then said, "I've been cutting wood in these mountains for thirty years, and there are some places I never go."

"Which places?"

"To the west, past Black Wind Ridge, further in, there's an old forest," the woodcutter said. "The trees there are incredibly dense; it's like nighttime even during the day. My grandfather said that forest has a spirit; it knows its way around. If someone who doesn't know their way goes in, they'll wander back to where they started and never be able to find their way out."

"Anything else?"

The woodcutter lowered his voice: "I saw a green light once. That winter, I was chasing an injured deer to the edge of the forest, and it got dark. I was too scared to go in, so I waited outside. In the middle of the night, a green light suddenly appeared in the forest. The light was soft and not dazzling, but it shone very far. It seemed like... something was moving in the light, but I couldn't see what it was. I was so scared that I ran away as fast as I could."

"That strange sound? Have you heard it before?"

The woodcutter nodded: "I've heard it a few times. It doesn't sound like thunder, nor like the wind, but more like... more like many people hitting stones at the same time, rhythmically, thump, thump, thump. The sound comes up from underground, making my feet numb."

Li Bai recalled the chanting in his dream last night, and the tremor he felt.

Has anyone been inside?

"Yes," the woodcutter said. "I know an old hunter who went in ten years ago and never came out. Last year, a Taoist priest from another village came in, saying he wanted to go in to seek immortality, and he also disappeared. The village organized people to look for him, but they only circled the outer perimeter and didn't dare to go deeper."

The woodcutter sharpened his axe, tested the blade with his thumb, and then stood up: "Sir, let me give you a piece of advice: you only have one life. That place is not for ordinary people."

Li Bai also stood up: "Thank you for reminding me, brother. But I must go."

The woodcutter looked at him and sighed, "Since you insist on going, I'll tell you something—if you really enter that forest and see a large, square, black rock with an eye carved on it, then it means... you're on the right track."

"Eye?"

"Yes, eyes," said the woodcutter. "My grandfather said they were road signs. But whether those signs pointed to heaven or hell, nobody knows."

After saying this, the woodcutter shouldered his bundle of firewood, picked up his axe, and headed towards the village. After taking a few steps, he turned back and glanced at Li Bai: "Take care, sir."

Li Bai stood at the village entrance, watching the woodcutter's figure disappear at the end of the dirt road. Sunlight shone on him, casting a long shadow on the ground. He touched the short sword at his waist, then touched the wooden plaque in his pocket.

The patterns on the wooden sign, the patterns on the rock, the eyes in the dream, the road signs mentioned by the woodcutter... all of these point in the same direction.

He raised his head and looked west. There stretched a range of mountains, layer upon layer, all the way to the horizon. The deepest part of the mountains was shrouded in mist, its true form obscured.

But Li Bai knew that the place he was going to was right there.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, adjusted the straps, and began to walk westward. Behind him, the village receded into the distance, and the sounds of people faded away. Ahead lay denser forests, steeper peaks, and deeper unknowns.

The wind blows, bringing the scent of the mountains and forests. In that scent, there is pine resin, earth, and a faint, sharp, metallic smell.

Li Bai took a deep breath and walked with firm steps.